But most of all, he considered himself a direct descendant of the Aztecs, a Mesoamerican patriot, a modern-day reincarnation of Montezuma. One who had the will power, the vision, and the means to achieve his grand ambitions. The scattering of countries and arbitrary borders in Central America made no sense, vestiges of colonial rule that no longer existed. Small regional internecine rivalries bled the area of its strength, depriving it of any synergy in gaining greater prominence on the world stage.
This was his vision, his quest for the remaining time he had on this earth. No longer would he allow petty political or military leaders in Mexico or any banana republic to manipulate and divide the masses. Nor would he allow the greater region to continue to grind under the heel of the Norteamericanos. That was why he took such great satisfaction in flooding North America with illicit drugs. It not only financed his greater mission, it also took a measure of revenge, Montezuma’s revenge, one ruined life at a time.
With his financial war chest secure, Eztli would devote himself to his life’s one true quest. He would personally see to it that the Aztec Empire would rise to world prominence once again. And the world would tremble.
Chapter 26 – Noon, June 25
That was interesting. What do you think it was all about?” Soba asked Nick. “I know they let us pass through customs, but I felt kind of violated.”
“I’ve really no idea. Maybe we just have that look about us, a dusty gringo, a pretty Indian, and a beat-up pickup truck with a wolf in back. I would have expected it more getting into the states, rather than getting into Mexico. I had that experience once when I was 17 or 18 going to a concert with my friends in Canada, but we probably deserved it back then, not now.”
“So how far are you thinking of going tonight? I’m in no rush,” Soba playfully inquired, her hand tickling his inner thigh.
Nick thought for a moment, he really hadn’t planned it out yet, he was just aiming to get south of the border today. “Let’s shoot for Chihuahua, that should get us in around eight. I think I’d prefer a motel tonight, we can shower and clean up a bit, then grab a bite.” What he didn’t tell her was he was feeling a little more paranoid and vulnerable than normal and wanted to be around people until he got comfortable with his surroundings again.
It was Nick’s turn to pick the road tunes, and his selection was a psychedelic collection from the late ’60s and early ’70s. He grinned at Soba and said, “These are from my dad’s radical youth days, I think I know them as well as he did.” Soba recognized many of the songs, and unconsciously hummed along when she heard one she particularly liked.
After a half hour of no conversation with each lost in their own thoughts, she asked, “What ultimately became of Alexandre? You’re on a quest that ties back to him but you never told me his whole story.” The Grateful Dead came on and appropriately played Truckin’ in the background as Nick kept steady time on the highway.
“Certainly not what he had hoped for, and some of this will ring true with you. He had a son, Victor, born before he went off to the Civil War. Just after the war he went home before he headed out to Fort Leavenworth, and his daughter was born while he was away. But ultimately he died far out west, and you know what the irony of it was?”
Soba looked questioningly at him and asked, “I have no idea. Do I really even want to know?”
“He was killed by his fellow soldiers, for being a friend to the Indians he was sent to pacify and then protect. He left a wife and two children behind. Never even had the chance to meet his own daughter. He was killed by his own people, just like your father was.”
Soba sat unmoving, contemplating the uncanny parallels in their lives, the many filaments of happenstance that had brought them together. And which now seemed to be bonding them ever more tightly together.
Nick reached over and held her hand. “I have a copy of a letter, written by an obscure Civil War soldier named Sullivan Ballou, to his wife just before he was killed at the Battle of Bull Run. It is one of the transcendent pieces of literature the English language has ever produced. Ken Burns featured it in his famous documentary on the Civil War, and like it did to millions of others, it made quite an impression on my dad. He said it always made him think of Alexandre serving in the war, and he was so moved by it that he hand wrote a copy and gave it to my Mother. She framed it and kept it by her bedside. And now that they are both gone, I carry it on me.” With that he somberly passed his wallet over.
Soba fumbled with the wallet until she found the well-worn copy tucked in a small compartment behind his credit cards. She carefully removed it and read the poignant letter from a distant battlefield and time, a heartbreakingly beautiful ode to the love of family, freedom and devotion to cause, with a premonition of death. One passage toward the end particularly moved her:
But, O Sarah, if the dead can come back to this earth, and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you in the garish day, and the darkest night amidst your happiest scenes and gloomiest hours always, always, and, if the soft breeze fans your cheek, it shall be my breath; or the cool air cools your throbbing temples, it shall be my spirit passing by.
Sarah, do not mourn me dead, think I am gone and wait for me, for we shall meet again.
She slowly touched the handwriting of Nick’s father and shook her head and looked away out the window at nothing in particular, hiding her tears. “Why is it that the good ones, those who take the moral high ground, not just in words but with deeds, always seem to end up below ground?”
“I wish I knew, I truly do,” Nick grimly replied. “I have to believe that there is justice ultimately meted out for any great misdeed, that there is a sort of cosmic balance to be maintained. You know, the ‘nature abhors a vacuum’ type of argument. And if I have to be the instrument to achieve it in my dad’s case, so be it.”
There was a coldness and edge in Nick’s voice Soba had never heard before, and it chilled her.
Later they pulled into a cheap motel in Chihuahua, tired and grimy from the last few days’ travel. Nick paid cash, he had made sure to load up on it before crossing the border, wanting to leave a less traceable path. They each took a hot shower, and, feeling refreshed, grabbed an outside table at Los Mezquites, a hopping local roadhouse he had noticed on the drive in. They purposely took a table on the edge, with Nanook quietly sitting away from the crowd, alert and intimidating as ever. Soba quizzed the plump, fast talking waitress in Spanish and ordered for them both, a couple of local draft beers arriving first.
She raised her glass and proposed a toast, clinking his mug and adding, “To tilting at windmills.”
Nick couldn’t help but smile at his enchanting and insightful companion who quoted Don Quixote. “To fighting injustice through chivalry,” he replied. Some day he would be one thought ahead of her, but evidently not tonight.
He sipped on his beer, contemplating things. “If only the Spanish conquistadors were as honorable as Don Quixote was. Did you know what the Incas called gold and silver? Sweat of the sun, tears of the moon. Descriptively poetic, isn’t it? The Incas and the Aztecs both had the same world views of precious metals, that they were beautiful and useful as adornment and offerings to the gods. But they weren’t obsessed with it like the Spaniards were.
Nick glanced up as a couple was about to sit at the table next to them, and then thought better of it when Nanook emitted a low growl under his breath. “Two different cultures, two completely different value systems. There was a mountain in Bolivia called Potosi, it literally was a mountain of pure silver. By the time the Spaniards had conquered the Inca and forced them to mine it, the Inca had given it a new name. They called it ‘The Mountain That Ate Men.’ Not quite so chivalrous on the Spaniard’s part.”
Soba kicked him gently under the table. “A quest can be an exuberant pursuit, or it can become a dark obsession. I can clearly see you are coming to a fork in the road Nick LaBounty. Are you going to go off joyously tilting at windmills, or are you going to hav
e to dig two graves?” she asked. Nick understood the reference, that before embarking on a journey of revenge, plan on digging two graves because you will inevitably be damned by the process as well.
“I’m not sure yet,” he answered honestly. “In trying to rid the world of an evil, I am worried about becoming that which I hate. But I suspect I’ll know how many graves to dig soon enough.”
It was still a substantial drive to Cuernavaca, which was south of Mexico City, and to Soba’s conference, so Nick put the pedal to the metal. They made about half the distance with a nine-hour drive, arriving at Zacatecas in the early evening. Up before dawn the next morning they had a similar distance to cover, and the conversation drifted to what drove the Spaniards to such levels of zealousness and what they were ultimately after.
Nick & Soba’s Trek South
Soba sat watching the scenery pass by, the rise and fall of empires and the fate of the impacted tribes on her mind. “It still amazes me that a people like the Spanish were so determined to crush civilizations instead of learning from them, or even partnering with them. It seems there was so much more they could have gained with an olive branch rather than the sword,” she reflected.
Nick sighed heavily as he looked down the roadway. “The Spanish conquered the Aztecs in 1521, and the Inca starting in 1532. They poured untold resources into conquest and then colonial administration, all under the flimsy veneer of the justification of saving the souls of the native population. But there was a constant undercurrent of further exploration, always looking for the next fabulous empire to exploit. It kind of became a part of their national psyche, no matter how their rulers whitewashed it.”
“But at such a cost, at least to all those already here in the Americas. What turns a whole society into that?” Soba innocently asked.
“After the Spanish finally kicked the Muslims out of the Iberian Peninsula in 1492 via the Reconquista, you had a whole class of professional warriors with no war, no new cause, no way to improve their lot in life. And then just a few months later Columbus bumps into the New World thinking he’s in the Indies, and its game on. The Spaniards may have been obsessive and overly zealous, but they were also damn methodical. Most of their explorations built upon prior ones, pushing known boundaries quickly. Map makers couldn’t even keep up. Did you know how America got its name?
Soba smiled and looked at Nick with an arched eyebrow. “Is it possible to get the short answer?”
“It was named after Amerigo Vespucci, the first to figure out that it was part of a whole new continent unknown to any European.”
“Maybe if the lands had been poorer, didn’t have gold and silver, they would have left the people alone. I’m guessing just wishful thinking on my part,” Soba reflected.
“I’m not so sure. Even when they didn’t find riches, they exploited whatever resources they could find. Slavery was big business early on during the conquests, they extracted labor whenever they couldn’t take advantage of natural resources. And when they struck out on treasure, they were especially cruel to the inhabitants, taking their frustrations out on them. Symbiotic they weren’t, more parasitic in nature.”
The ride droned on, the landscape turning slightly greener as they worked their way further south of Zacatecas toward Guanajuato, about halfway to their day’s destination of Cuernavaca. A bit after noon Nick pulled into a large dusty truck stop to gas up, and Soba let Nanook stretch his legs and relieve himself. As they were about to leave they noticed a line of truckers standing beside a roadside stall, smelled what was cooking, and immediately drove over to get fresh authentic tortillas to go.
Nick pulled the Chevy out and laughed as Soba dived in, the only words she could mutter being: “Wow, so good.” He patiently waited as he drove onward, wondering when she would notice that he too might be hungry. Two tortillas later Soba finally looked up, the homemade salsa dripping from the corners of her mouth, a little perspiration from the heat of the hot sauce forming on her forehead. When she realized Nick had been waiting and watching her, she caught herself and started laughing so hard a little of the hot sauce went up her nose, making her eyes water.
“Yeah, yeah, yuck it up. Nobody’s hungry over here, they don’t smell good at all. I swear you look like Nanook the night he was munching on that deer, with that sauce all around your mouth,” Nick sarcastically observed. That only made her laugh all the harder, the tears from the laughter and the hot sauce running down her cheeks.
Nanook stuck his head in through the back window to see what all the commotion was about and being puzzled gave Soba a lick to make sure she was OK. All he got for his efforts was the taste of salsa and hot sauce, which he tried to wipe out of his mouth with a paw. Having no luck with that and now foaming a little, he licked the back of Nick’s head and shirt to get it off his tongue. To which Soba squealed so hard she snorted, which got Nick laughing out loud too.
Having never heard this surprisingly heinous sound emitted from Soba, Nick asked, “Did you really just snort? Or is that the pork in the tortillas talking?” After unsuccessfully attempting to stifle another snort, with watery eyes she held out one for him to finally have a taste. Nick took a big bite and smiled.
“Yeah, so good. Damn tough for a gringo to get any service around this joint.”
After cooling the spice with iced tea and now with full bellies, they settled back into the rhythm of the road. Soba sat humming to a song playing, leaning into Nick’s shoulder, a look of contentment on her face. Finally she asked, “So what exactly do you think it was that your father sought, what was the treasure he was told about?”
“I’ve spent so much time concentrating on the where of the quest, I haven’t allowed my mind to wander too deeply into the what of it. It’s hard to read into the old letter from Alexandre with his broken English, it leads to a lot of supposition.”
Reaching over Soba rubbed the link on his necklace. “But you must have a theory, or believe this link implies something,”
“If they were hiding something from the Spanish, one would think it was what they so feverishly sought, namely gold, silver, and precious gems. But Alexandre also said, ‘to put the Mexica souls in a safe place forever.’ That would make me think it has something to do with remains or urns. And then there is this pendant, definitely part of something larger.”
Soba sat back up, stretching the stiffness out. “You do know this could all lead to nothing, ambiguous clues lost in the sands of time.”
“I’ve thought of that, that this might be a wild goose chase, or what was there might have been pilfered already. Not much of any substantial discovery has survived the grave robbers and thieves over the millennia. Tut’s tomb was certainly the exception. But Charlie and I need closure, and whether I find anything or not, I’m going to give it the college try.”
By early evening they had run afoul of traffic around Mexico City, and slowly worked their way south. Soba turned to Nick, and with a pout face and sad eyes said, “I see they haven’t improved the air quality since I was here last. Amazing that people have to live like this here.”
“I know, the first time I was here for a field trip and dig it amazed me. The city literally has three strikes against it.”
Soba couldn’t help rolling her eyes, there was another scholarly lecture coming.
“First it is surrounded by mountains, so nothing disperses easily. Second, the city is over 6,500 feet in elevation, so pollutants tend to stay near the ground. And third, there are just way too many people with cars.” They both shook their heads as they passed a couple of older tractor trailers, angrily belching dense diesel fumes as they struggled up an incline.
The traffic let up and the air started to clear as they got south of the city. The route eventually took them through El Tepozteco National Park, where they decided to find an out of the way place to camp for the night. There was no need to press on to Cuernavaca tonight, they could get there easily in the morning. As he impulsively turned onto a promising looking di
rt road, Nick put the Chevy in four-wheel drive. After about 10 minutes Soba pointed out an Arroyo, or dry creek bed off to the side. Nick followed it until they came around a bend to a clearing. The stars were bright to the south, and a little more muted to the north, partially obscured by the glow of Mexico City.
Soba let Nanook loose, raised her arms to the sky and breathed deeply. Surrounded by cacti and agave on a warm summer evening, she filled her lungs with fresh air. “Finally,” she exclaimed, “I can breathe again!”
The air was so heavy with warmth Nick decided against sleeping in a tent or in the back of the truck and spread out sleeping pads and bags to sleep under the canopy of stars. Out of a cooler came dinner and two cold bottles of Modelo, which they raised and clinked together as they smiled at one another. Nanook came back and took several victory laps around them while prancing with a large coatis, or native raccoon, dangling from his jaws. When he wandered off to devour his prey, they tucked into their dinner as well. Once finished, Soba pulled the acoustic guitar Bidzii had given Nick out of the truck and gave it to him.
“You owe me a serenade,” she said seductively in her sing song accent, playing it up because she knew how it enchanted Nick. “Time for you to earn your keep, señor gringo.”
Nick grinned and took a moment to tune the guitar, allowing his mind to wander for something appropriate for the evening. He closed his eyes to concentrate and smiled when the insight hit him. He strummed a few notes to synch his chords, and then belted out:
Aztec Odyssey Page 20