Nick typed into Google a search for places of historical interest around Cuernavaca and scrolled down the list. Immediately one caught his eye, the Palacio de Cortés.
Of course, he thought. That is the one place that can get me in the right frame of mind.
He had remembered hearing about it when he was down here years ago digging on the nearby Toltec ruins. But he had never had the time or means to visit it back then. That would have been a luxury an indentured servant like an archeology student simply didn’t have. Nick beamed inwardly at the fond memory of his little band of brothers scraping, sifting and sweating through a dry hot summer, all under the sagacious gaze of Dr. Storm. Fun nights were had too, camping out near the dig, with the help of the locally made tequila and mezcal. A fair amount of research had gone into discerning the subtle differences between the two, and he had to admit that all these years later, he still liked the sweetness and smokiness of the mezcal better.
Nick put his things into his backpack, punched the address into his portable GPS, snapped it into its cradle on the dashboard, and drove away from the resort toward town. Almost to his destination, he pulled up to one of the many roadside food stands and wolfed down a quick lunch. Today food was for fuel only, he had an agenda to get to.
Reaching his destination, he parked and gazed at the exterior of the Palace of Cortés, reading that a former tribute palace of the Aztecs had stood on this very spot. Located in the heart of downtown Cuernavaca on the Francisco Leyva, it had been constructed between 1523 and 1528. Cortés himself had lived here with his second wife in the fortress-like structure, and he purposely chose the location to assert his authority over the conquered populace.
“Gotta love the Spaniards, always conquering for God and King,” Nick ruefully reflected. “Never missed an opportunity to consecrate, dominate, or subjugate.”
He walked fully around the exterior to take it all in through his practiced and critical eye. A fortress indeed, it had been designed not just to impress but to provide safe haven if needed from a resentful populace. A cylindrical tower stood on the northwest corner, seemingly out of place with the original architecture of the rest of the building. The clock within it was especially incongruent, a callous relic from a more recent time. The tower had been added about a century before, after an earthquake had damaged a part of the original structure.
As he walked around he noticed a covered dig in progress, although no workers were at the site yet. Nick paused in front of a large carved Aztec stone set on a pedestal before the palace entrance. His fingers moved along the etchings, tracing grooves made by skilled craftsmen over 500 years before. Craftsmen from a now extinct civilization.
He entered and paid his fee, and slowly and methodically started exploring the nearly empty building. It was exactly what he needed, a time capsule to transport him back to an inflection point of a civilization in chaos, decimated by war and disease, ruled by an alien culture who wanted to exploit the native population and force their religion upon them. He felt himself drifting away from the present, his mind’s eye sifting backwards through the layers of time to when this had truly been a very different place.
The museum had nineteen halls covering the history of the area and peoples from prehistoric to contemporary times. He purposely concentrated on the periods of just before, during, and after the conquest, ignoring the mammoth fossils, the murals glorifying the revolution, and samples of the modern-day output of the region. He lingered over the artifacts of the Aztecs and those related to Cortés, trying to gain a glimmer of insight into the psyche of both the conquerors and the conquered.
As Nick pondered over suits of armor, obsidian war clubs and religious artifacts, he had no immediate epiphany, but rather a gradual increase in awareness that slowly synchronized him with the era. For three hours he went from exhibit to exhibit, pausing to take photos and read the placards, and touching where the bare interior original walls showed through the modern resurfacing. The echoes of the past were louder in his ears now, the whispers clearer, what he must do now crystallized in his mind.
He was jolted out of his contemplation when a janitor dropped a mop handle on the floor, which sent a sharp loud crack reverberating down the empty halls. With his mind finally full, Nick went outside to where an archeological excavation was taking place, which had been covered when he first arrived. He spotted a small man with a pencil mustache in a neat suit coat holding a clip board, who was directing the work crew. His name tag said he worked for the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, the caretakers of many important historical sites, including the Palace of Cortés. Nick introduced himself as a professional colleague and asked if they were having any luck.
“Ah señor, it is most intriguing,” replied Alejandro Diaz, who was flattered to have anyone at all interested in his work. “Not only are we finding remnants from our Aztec cousins as we dig but buried deeper under that is proof of the Tlahuicas who preceded them. These grounds are alive with history.”
“And have much to say,” Nick commented. “It is so good to see that you are bringing it to light. My specialty is in Mesoamerican migrations, and I can tell you this area was an ancient throughway to all of South America.” He paused thoughtfully for a moment, and then asked, “You don’t per chance know a Chico Martinez, do you?”
Alejandro discretely led Nick by the elbow away from the work site, away from open ears and wagging tongues. “Chico? Of course I know Chico, anyone in this field knows him. A good hombre, an honest hombre señor. No soborno with him, no bribing him. He and I have both been at this a long time, long enough to know when to keep our heads down. But I sense he is getting frustrated and hope he can take the long view. Me, I have a wife, children, I have to be patient. I want to win the war, not just a single battle. But Chico is single, thinks he is Che Guevara, you know, more of an agitator. But we both love our country and want the right thing.” Alejandro furrowed his brow and looked down, then spat on the ground in frustration. “It’s not easy señor.”
“Doing the right thing never is, Alejandro,” Nick replied, shaking his hand. “It never is.”
It was nearly 3 p.m. when Nick drove back to the conference center, inspired by what he had seen and learned. To have been in the actual palace fortress built by Cortés, right on top of a tribute gathering place for the Aztecs, was ground zero for his quest as far as he was concerned. And stumbling across a knowledgeable archeological patriot like Alejandro, well, that was just serendipity.
He went to the bar, grabbed a tall Corona draft, and set up shop in his favorite corner of the veranda. He was barely conscious of his surroundings, almost in another place in his mind, as he added more and more information into his research spreadsheet. His fingers flew in an outpouring of pent up creative thought, back and forth to online resources, the gaps in the historical record becoming starkly evident. He worked until he was too bleary eyed to continue, his impending task in Mexico City becoming ever clearer.
Nick awoke early Wednesday morning, well before the dawn. He had never heard Soba come in the night before, and she hadn’t disturbed his rest. He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then left a short note. He had been a little too sedentary with all the driving and researching and slipped into running shorts and went outside with Nanook. The starry pre-dawn air was crisp, just the slightest hint of an imminent sunrise hanging off the far horizon. He slowly stretched out and spotted a rough outline of a trail leading away from the parking lot to the east. Nanook finished marking his territory and looked at him expectantly.
“Let’s go see what trouble we can get into boy. I think we could both do with some exercise,” he good naturedly whispered. He then smiled at himself, realizing there was no one around to possibly disturb.
Nick headed down the barely visible trail, and once Nanook discerned where he was headed, the white wolf took the lead. The outline of Nanook was easier to follow than the trail itself, and Nick fell into an easy rhythm as his lungs acclimate
d to the temperature and pace. The trail meandered away from the last vestiges of civilization, out toward rougher country, as the dawn slowly brightened from black to dark blue, to finally a hint of orange. Nick squinted as the first glimmer of sun sparkled on the horizon, glad to be sweating out some of the beer and tequila of the past few days.
They trotted on for a good 30 minutes, toward a sun that was now fully above the horizon. Pausing to put his sunglasses on, he noticed Nanook had stopped and was sitting up ahead. Catching up he sat next to Nanook, who turned and gave him a quick affectionate lick, then stared straight ahead again, unblinking. The trail had led up a gradual incline, to the top of a ridge with a clear, unobstructed view in all directions. The trail continued down in front of them, until it faded away in the morning mist. A gentle breeze brushed their faces as the air was warmed and rose up over the ridge, a few birds of prey starting to drift lazily on the thermals in front of them.
“Stunning, eh Nanook? This is the land the Aztecs ruled over, where they built fantastic temples and prayed to their gods, where they celebrated life and honored death. Their voices are loud in the wind, their history rich in this soil. I can feel their presence here, why they wanted so badly to preserve their legacy. You know what I think ol’ boy? It’s time for us to see if they managed to pull it off.”
Soba gave her presentation later in the afternoon, and after the elders came up with a common resolution and communal prayer, the conference wrapped up with a banquet dinner open to all. She dragged Nick along, insisting that he come to meet more of her friends and colleagues. He agreed reluctantly, since he was on a roll with his research. He typically liked to work when the inspiration flowed, which it didn’t always do, but it was now. However, upon walking into the main hall he was instantly glad he was there. This didn’t transport him back in time like his visit to the Palace of Cortés had, but it immersed him in the diversity of the original peoples of the Americas, an altogether different experience.
Soba was noticeably relieved, the pressure of her presentation behind her, which had obviously been well received. Numerous delegates came up to her with compliments and promises of keeping in touch. She graciously accepted their praise and introduced Nick to indigenous peoples from as far north as the Inuits of the Arctic, to Central American descendants of the Aztecs and Maya, and to those from the far south with pure Inca bloodlines still coursing through their veins. To Nick it felt like things were somehow coming full circle to a logical conclusion, whatever that conclusion might be.
Deeply engaged in an introduction from Soba to a regal looking Incan speaking Quechua, Nick jumped when somebody grabbed his buttocks sharply from behind. He abruptly turned around and looked down to see Colel innocently standing there, gazing away but giggling under her breath.
For the love of Pete, he thought. It’s going to be a long night.
He was right. Lying in bed much later and reflecting on what had played out, Nick had found himself spellbound by it all, with so many different peoples gathered under the boundless nighttime sky, a cacophony of languages in the air. He had observed a common pride in the past, angst of the present and fear of the future that seemed to bond the various tribes together. They certainly had their divisions and internecine rivalries, just like the countries they inhabited. But by and large seemed to be on the same noble endeavor of attempting to save their cultures from oblivion, before it was too late.
Up before the dawn, Nick took Nanook out to do his usual morning business. Standing there in the dark, he saw the lit tips of cigarettes, and heard two truckers talking about their cargos, destinations, and best whorehouses along the route. When he heard one say he would end up in Guatemala to deliver his load and pick up another, he listened harder.
Yes, a region that rich in recently discovered archeological sites would be believable, Nick thought. This would be perfect if I can pull it off. It might keep them off my trail in Mexico City, if only for a little while.
Nick’s eyes followed the trucker as he went back to his rig and noted the make and license plate. After he brought Nanook back in, he grabbed the blinking black box out of his truck and hid until no one was visible and all was perfectly quiet. Just to be safe he forced himself to wait another five minutes, then stealthily crept inside the back-cargo bin of the tractor trailer. Pulling up a canvas tarp, he quickly unstacked several crates, then placed the black box deep under the machine parts that were in it and restacked the crates. Pulling the tarp back over, he slipped out the back, the only sound being his own muffled breathing and the beating of his own heart, ever louder in his ears. Back in his room and safely under the covers he tried to get back to sleep, but it was useless. He quietly made coffee and read his phone in the dark, letting Soba get a little more rest before they hit the road.
“I lost you for a few days there,” Soba observed as the scenery flashed by her open window. “Are you always so obsessive when you catch a scent?”
“Hmm, yes. I guess so. I think I got that from my dad. He used to joke that the road to nowhere was to become a jack of all trades and master of none, just like him,” Nick reflected. “But when he wanted to accomplish something important, it always got his complete focus. Mom, she could keep all the balls in the air at once, but not Dad. He was kind of like the absent-minded professor type when he got into a project. I guess that’s why they made a good team.”
“Well, we’ve got some time to kill on the ride,” Soba added. “You’ve been immersed in my world the last few days, how about you bring me up to date on yours?”
Nick turned and smiled at her. “OK, but remember, you asked for it. I’ve been on a bit of a roll since we got to Cuernavaca, it is pretty amazing what can be found online. Not the conspiracy stuff or alien theories, but solid academic research. When you are in the field like me, you get keys to virtual doors that aren’t open to the public. And I have contacts all over the world who also give me their keys. Add in the fact that institutions are methodically digitizing their collections, and it’s pretty incredible what you can find by applying sophisticated search algorithms.”
“I love it when you talk technical to me. So that sets the stage, but what did you find? Or maybe better yet, what couldn’t you find?” Soba asked.
“Spanish conquistadors made trek after trek up through the Desert Southwest, into the Great Plains, and down into the jungles of Central America.” Nick replied. “All of that independent of Pizzaro looting the Incas and starting a frenzy of exploration in South America.”
Soba frowned for a moment, trying to get things straight in her own mind. “Tell me of the myths, I keep getting them confused.”
“It’s interesting. There were different legends in different places. The Seven Cities of Cibola was based initially on stories told by a shipwreck survivor of a failed expedition to Florida. His name was Cabeza de Vaca, and he wandered the Gulf and the Southwest all the way to the Pacific, until he reached Mexico City. The cities he was told about were supposed to be unbelievably rich, like Tenochtitlán was. And another survivor who was with him named Esteban told embellished stories too.”
“I remember that one. What was the other famous one I kept hearing you talk about?” Soba interjected.
“The myth of El Dorado was set in South America and was about a chief who covered himself in gold dust every morning and washed it off every night. They called him the gilded man, and if he could wash gold dust off daily, his kingdom had to have been incredibly wealthy. Like any good story, both legends grew with the retelling.”
Nick sighed before continuing. “Narváez, DeSoto, Coronado, Pardo, Oñate, they all put together well armed and financed expeditions, obviously approved based on some type of intelligence. Maybe myth crept into it, but the Spaniards were too pragmatic, too cruel, to just chase anything. They could torture the truth out of anyone. But they, and innumerable other searches over time, turned up nothing of consequence.”
Now that they were headed to Mexico City with the conference be
hind them, Soba found herself relaxing and getting caught up in the excitement of Nick’s quest too.
“Do you think your modern resources will turn up something they didn’t?” she inquired. “You have more completed research to draw upon, better tools they could never have dreamed of, right?”
“Hopefully. I’m looking for the threads of what they were chasing, what led them to risk not just their fortunes, but their very lives. And I’m hoping to find other expeditions that may not have been as well documented or fell through the cracks of the historical record. Who knows, maybe some of those that didn’t come back actually got close to finding something or did find it and were then lost to time. But as they say, hope isn’t a strategy.”
The drive was only about 90 minutes, and they worked their way back through the El Tepozteco National Park, northward to the outskirts of Mexico City. The traffic congestion grew and the clear air gradually gave way to the hazy pollution of Mexico City. Nanook stuck his head in through the back window and whined slightly, indicating he was not at all happy about where they were going. Soba made a pout face and gave his snout an affectionate rub.
“There there boy. I know, it smells even worse than Nick,” she commiserated.
As they got on the outer beltway, the Anillo Periférico, they were immediately slowed down in the noisy, diesel scented traffic. Nick eventually turned off to head toward the National Museum of Anthropology, which was nestled among other museums and public attractions on a surprisingly expansive green space. This was familiar territory to Nick but not to Soba, and she was surprised to find the large, beautiful oasis within the city.
“Do you know what the nickname of Mexico City is?” Nick inquired, almost to himself. “The City of Palaces. In the late 1700s, everyone who made their fortune tried to outdo everyone else by building the most palatial home. The ultimate game of one-upmanship to flaunt their wealth. Kind of like the mansions in Newport during the Gilded Age. Ostentatious, but still beautiful to look at. If we have time, I’ll give you the nickel tour later.”
Aztec Odyssey Page 23