Trouble Down Mexico Way

by Nancy Nau Sullivan

  “Where should we go? Looks like the universe showed up here.” Haasi still held tightly to Blanche’s arm.

  “Dunno, but I’m all for sitting. I didn’t exactly expect to go to the Palacio and find a newly dead body,” said Blanche.

  “Newly dead? Really, Blanche, I’m just not sure what you mean by that.”

  “You tell me. That is not a real mummy. As advertised.”

  “Maybe not, but what can we do about it? The poor soul!”

  Blanche bumped into a dancing man wearing a feathered headdress and clackers like walnuts on his ankles. “Excuse me, sir.” Blanche was chagrined; it was his plaza, not hers. He gave her a wide berth and a forgiving smile and didn’t seem to miss a beat.

  They ran-walked, arminarm, Haasi steering, Blanche trying not to run into anyone again. They cruised along the arcade that bordered the Zocalo, past jewelry stores and narrow entrances that led to homes and businesses overlooking the plaza.

  “I’m starving,” said Haasi. “And we have to talk.”

  “Talk about? Vacation? Food? Dead bodies?”

  “All of the above.”

  Blanche was hungry, too, but where Haasi was concerned, they did not put off meals. She was a machine, the smallest eating machine Blanche had ever met, and it needed to be fed.

  Haasi again looked over her shoulder as they circled the plaza. Blanche nudged her. “What is up with you?”

  Haasi shook her head.

  A small sign on the sidewalk advertised a restaurant, and they ducked up a flight of stairs. A young boy produced enormous menus and seated them in the long dining room with a high ceiling, white tablecloths, and red leatherette chairs. They sat in a window with a view of the crowd rushing back and forth across the Zocalo.

  Two frosty Tecates appeared on the table. Haasi lifted her beer, a look of relief in her dark eyes. “To vacation. But I have a feeling it’s already screwed up. Blanche, you are not going to save the mummies of the world.”

  “I hear you. But that dead…? Person? Come on, Haas. We can’t let this go. What if there is something going on over there? We saw it.”

  “You think so, don’t you.”

  “I think so,” said Blanche. “We have to deal with it.”

  “Blanche, we don’t have to deal with it.”

  Blanche did not seem to hear her; her eyes glazed over with a faraway look. “You might be right, but we’ll see.” She sighed. “We do have to get that work done for Clint. One way or the other.” This was the actual purpose of their visit to Mexico City. She had an assignment for the Island Times, the newspaper on Santa Maria Island, to write stories about Mexico City, the Mayan exhibit, and the amazing Aztec Temple in the city center. Haasi was in charge of photography for the stories. An advertiser, The SunStream Travel Agency, was paying the newspaper for the photos and articles, and the trip was handsomely covered. Blanche’s boss, Editor and Publisher Clint Wilkinson, grumbled and huffed about editorial and advertising crossing boundaries, but then he decided it was a sort of bonus assignment. It hadn’t taken much for him to relent as a rare wave of gratitude washed over him. Blanche and Haasi were alive and well, after helping crack the murder case of a local realtor. They deserved a break.

  “That said, I know this ‘dead body’ thing is going to drive you crazy,” Haasi said. “I just get the feeling we’re off to a shaky start here. Can’t help it.”

  “Guess we have a knack for it.”

  “Uh-huh.” Haasi took a long pull of the beer and stared out at the plaza. Blanche was struck once again by the strength of that gaze. She was leery, too, about the start of this Mexican adventure, but they were together, and for that she was thankful. They were so different, and at once, blood—distant cousins connected through the same great-grandmother who’d had a Miccosukee lover. Blanche knew she wouldn’t be sitting here if it weren’t for Haasi, who’d saved her from a kidnapper. They were a good team. Now, it was just the two of them. Sister-cousins. Stuck with each other and loving it.

  “Haas, I don’t think we’re the only ones on to something.” She leaned over, dipping a sleeve in salsa. “That guy, Raúl López, acted really weird. He got crazy when I came up with the pink plastic clip and the skin on that mummy. Did you get that?”

  Haasi raised an eyebrow. “Do you hear yourself? Yeah, I got it.”

  “We have to find out what he’s hiding.”

  “Blanche! I don’t know.”

  “Might be a murder there.”

  It wouldn’t do any good to argue the matter. It was apparent something weird was going on at the Palacio.

  Haasi studied Blanche and hesitated.

  “What?” Blanche said, waiting for the shoe to drop right on top of her enchilada.

  Haasi glanced around. “Now, don’t get all excited, Bang.” The old nickname stuck. Blanche “Bang” Murninghan had a tendency to shoot from the hip. Or, as she readily admitted, shoot off her mouth.

  “What?”

  Haasi winced. “Did you notice the suspicious, tall guy at the exhibit? The one standing in the corner near the mummies? Seemed to be listening to everyone.”

  “Haasi, there were dozens of people. Is that what all that drama was back there? After you disappeared? You’ve been acting kind of funny ever since we left the exhibit.”

  “The guy. Tall and wide as a door. I checked him out, watched him for a bit. He wasn’t a tourist.” Haasi jabbed a poblano with her fork and stuck a huge bite of the cheese-stuffed pepper into her mouth.

  “Big guy would be unusual, I guess. Most of the people here are more our size. But why not a tourist? Could be security, or an official of some sort for the Palacio.”

  “Don’t think so. He looked fierce, and cagey, secretly writing a bunch of notes.”

  Blanche considered this bit of news, while she sucked on a wedge of lime and stared out at the plaza. The food was delicious, and now a wave of fatigue washed over her. They’d been up most of the night, hustling to the airport and customs, catching the bus from the air terminal to their hotel. They’d been so anxious to get going and see the city. And now this. It frazzled her. Gave her a raw edge.

  Blanche frowned. “What do you think?”

  “I think we should lay low. Not get entangled in something that is…well, too creepy for words. And maybe just plain dangerous. In any case, it’s not our business. Our business is travel writing. And eating.” The last observation was delivered with a huge smile, and a helping of quesadilla off a plate they were sharing.

  Blanche picked at a tortilla and chewed thoughtfully. “Speaking of notes, I didn’t get a whole lot of them, with the mummy and such. What am I going to write about? Headline: Dead Body Found in the Palacio Nacional of Mexico City. Don’t think so. We have to go back.”

  “You are changing the tune.”

  “Maybe.”

  “We need to be careful, Blanche. I mean it. This is not Santa Maria Island.” She went at the chips and salsa with a vengeance.

  Blanche put her fists under her chin. No, this is not anything like our sleepy little hometown of Santa Maria Island.

  Blanche stared a hole right through sister-cousin. “They do have police here.”

  “True. Let that crew at the Palacio check it out, now that you’ve stirred it up,” said Haasi. “Wow, this is soooo good.” A salsa-verde-covered chip disappeared.

  Chapter Four

  BEWARE OF THE SNAKE

  Blanche and Haasi headed toward their hotel on Calle Donceles where they’d dropped off their things that morning. For now, all Blanche could picture were those crisp white sheets and the cool room, a single window between the twin beds. It was a long way from Santa Maria Island and her cabin on the beach, and even farther from Haasi’s abandoned boat in Sarasota Bay, which she was “renting” from a ninety-two-year-old fisherman. They had traveled to another world. It was 2002, but she felt out of time. They were in the land of the Aztecs, in Mexico City founded upon lakes and lagoons; a grand city on a plateau mostly surrounde
d by mountains and hills. Indeed, they were a long way from home, and Blanche was feeling it. She needed to recharge after that visit to the Palacio exhibit, and think.

  “You tired? I need a short nap,” she said. “You must be tired, too, after eating everything in that restaurant.”

  Haasi laughed and fell in step. “I’m good.”

  “Haas, you don’t look it. Why are you so jumpy? Maybe you need dessert, or something.”

  “No, I’m OK. But dessert sounds good!” She glanced over her shoulder. They kept walking. “Blanche. That guy. The big one I was telling you about in the restaurant. I think he’s following us.”

  “You’re imagining things. You need some sleep.”

  “Blanche, I’m serious. You can’t miss him. Why would they, whoever they are, send an elephant when they could send a cat.”

  “O-M-G. What are you talking about?” Blanche hurried to catch up to Haasi who walked even faster. They threaded through the crowd on the narrow sidewalk—past a red-painted devil, a couple of clowns, and a newspaper vendor.

  “I’m sure it’s him. We need to lose him.”

  “Haasi, you don’t even know…” She didn’t finish. Haasi had hold of Blanche’s arm. The two ducked behind a kiosk selling corn on the cob slathered in mayo and chili powder. For a second, Blanche’s mouth watered, but then her thoughts leapt to survival.

  “In here.” Haasi yanked her into a recessed entry. The door was open. At the top of the stairs, an old woman was silhouetted under a sky light. Her silvery hair shined like a halo, her full skirt was wider than an overstuffed chair. In fact, Blanche’s first impression was one of comfort. The kind that she could sink into. To hide.

  “Ven.” The woman beckoned to them.

  Blanche and Haasi stared up the narrow, rickety stairwell. “I guess that means come up,” Blanche whispered.

  Haasi nodded and called up, “Gracias.”

  “Peligro,” the woman said. The waving became a bit more insistent.

  “Danger, Haas. She says, danger.” Blanche stumbled against the door and it banged shut. She followed Haasi up the stairs. How did an innocent visit to an exhibit turn into…this. She considered grabbing Haasi and backing out into the street and sneaking away, but they were into it now, and Blanche was curious as all get out.

  “I saw you,” the woman said in halting English. “At the kiosk. Hiding. No?”

  “Someone was following us,” Haasi said.

  “Not unusual. Two beautiful young señoritas in a big city.”

  “Haasi Hakla.” She thrust her hand toward the old woman in greeting. “My cousin, Blanche Murninghan.”

  “María Obregon Villamajor.” The hint of a curtsy.

  The woman showed them into a large room off the stairwell. It was dim, and crowded with furniture and other trappings of rugs, pillows, draperies, cloths that covered tables—including an altar with flowers and candles and old, curling photos.

  “Sit. Don’t worry. Tranquila.” Their host directed them to two ladder-backs with intricate carving and small cushions.

  Blanche was relieved to be in a quiet place after their adventure thus far, but she didn’t feel so tranquil. She was not tired anymore, with that spike of adrenalin, and she was confused. She wasn’t afraid. If anything, she was annoyed that someone might be following them. Haasi had the same sort of reservation, and confusion, written all over her face.

  “Un momento, por favor.” María clasped her hands together, looked Blanche and Haasi over, and disappeared into the back of the flat. The light shifted on the sunbeams speckling the floor through the lace curtains. It was a comfortable living room, and cool with a cross-draft passing through the front windows to back.

  María shuffled toward them with a pitcher of red liquid and three glasses. She set the tray on the table. “Jamaica. Drink.” They drank. Blanche didn’t realize how thirsty she was.

  “You like it?” María refilled their glasses.

  “Yes!” said Blanche, Haasi nodded. “What is it?”

  “You say, hibiscus.”

  Blanche thought of the huge bright flowers on the bushes that ringed her patio back in Florida. She’d never thought to drink them. But the beverage was delicious, a flowery, tart taste that cut her thirst.

  María sat and crossed her arms over the generous folds of her skirt. “Lowers cholesterol and fever. Good for digestion. Very good for you.”

  “We are grateful. ¡Gracias!” Blanche hesitated, unsure of how to approach the subject. She wasn’t shy. “Señora, I’m not sure why anyone would follow us.”

  María shrugged. “Do not worry so much. Be careful, stay to yourselves. Take a minute now to relax.”

  Blanche and Haasi exchanged a look of relief, but Haasi turned to María. “Will you tell us about the police here?”

  “They are police. What can I say?” She turned her palms up, resigned. “Sometimes they are friends, sometimes not so much. In Mexico, prepare for the surprise. But maybe there is no one. Maybe you see people and imagine danger… It does happen here.”

  Blanche didn’t want to seem abrupt, but she could hardly help herself. “What does that mean?”

  “We are complicated. Our history is a good example.”

  “We’re learning,” said Blanche. “We just visited the Mayan exhibit at the Palacio… In fact…”

  Haasi crossed her leg under the table and nudged Blanche.

  “In fact, it was very memorable,” said Blanche.

  “The Mayans. And the Aztecs. There are many indigenous peoples, of many names.” The woman’s thin lips curled into a smile. “You have an interest in the history of Mexico?”

  Blanche leaned forward. “Very much.”

  Haasi seemed guarded.

  María’s pensive look drifted toward the window. Her high cheekbones and hooded eyes glowed, an imposing figure with thick black and silver hair and a face straight out of the exhibit they’d just left.

  “I have a story.” María’s voice was firm, almost demanding their attention. “Do you know Coatlicue?”

  Blanche shook her head. Haasi’s fingers drummed the side of her chair.

  “A strange woman. She is an important goddess here in Mexico,” María said. “In mythology, Coatlicue gave birth to four hundred children.”

  “Whoa.” Haasi looked skeptical.

  María walked to the window and looked down into the street. She seemed satisfied with what she saw. She turned to Haasi. “Claro,” María said. “I do not believe Coatlicue gave birth to so many children. But it is part of the story. Our story. The myths, the contrasts of life and death. True, we take many lives away, but we celebrate birth and new beginnings.” She smiled again, flashing large white teeth. “New life is hope.”

  Blanche was thrown a thousand years back in time as she looked into María’s eyes. But what she’d heard, and seen, since arriving seemed new. She remembered the ride from the airport, the children in beautiful clothes, the little ones in strollers, the older ones running through clouds of bubbles, bunches of balloons—their parents and grandparents, sitting on benches, smiling and watching the antics. Her friend Pilar had told her: Proud of appearances, and proud of their children. Blanche patted her hair back in place and pulled at her T-shirt and shorts, probably the best of her ratty island wardrobe.

  “There are many stories about Coatlicue, the earth mother.” María smiled. “She is fierce and constant, sometimes deadly. Her head is two vipers squirting blood.”

  Blanche shivered. “Really? That doesn’t sound very motherly.”

  “True. But the history of Mexico is one of contrasts, the good and the evil. The story of Coatlicue begins simply, like many stories.” Maria nodded with a wry grin. She settled herself back in the chair and began…

  “One day, Coatlicue was sweeping the temple floor. She was a goddess but she believed in the value of hard work and small tasks. The work is needed to keep order. It’s a quality of the mother to see the need, and it is a quality of our peopl
e. Coatlicue swept and cleaned and prayed for her children.

  “While she worked, the sky opened up. Lightning blazed above the dark hills, and a dagger of fire struck near the stones where she swept. It tore into the earth and burned the spot. Coatlicue did not move. She did not speak. Then she saw near the scorched ground a ball of feathers. She stared at the strange appearance—a beautiful and perfectly round shape of black and white feathers, hundreds of them, moving with life.” María paused, her dark eyes shining.

  “Coatlicue picked up the feathers. They seemed to have a strange energy. She cradled the ball of feathers and put it on her belt. She held it close. And in the moment she accepted it, she became pregnant.”

  “Was this baby number four hundred and one?” Blanche murmured. Haasi raised her eyebrows and poked Blanche.

  María’s stolid expression broke into a smile. “This child, this one. Four hundred and one. He was muy importante. The most important of all the gods.

  “The earth was at war. Fighting and jealousy were everywhere. The children of Coatlicue tore at each other. Her daughter, Coyolxauhqui, wanted control of the power and the influence of her mother, and she incited a battle. The daughter decided to kill the mother to take over her powers.

  “Coyo went to Coatlicue in the middle of the night with the weapon of a fire serpent. But Coatlicue was ready. The daughter forgot many things in her blind fury and rage, and one very important thing she forgot: A mother sleeps lightly. She must be ready to care for her children. Coyo also forgot that Coatlicue, her mother, was full of life. Blessed with a gift of the gods.

  “And so, a miracle happened to save Coatlicue. Her son, Huitzilopochtli, burst from her womb, fully grown and armed as a great warrior. He stood by his mother, ready for battle. The god of war and the sun. Coatlicue had nurtured and carried him, her safeguard against jealousy and greed and the forces that would destroy her. Coatlicue’s full power as earth mother came to life.

  “Huitzil decapitated his sister Coyo and her blood spilled down and poisoned the corn and all of the harvest. It withered and died away, and the greed and jealousy of Coyo was a poison that covered the earth.