Mayan December

by Brenda Cooper

  Alice reached a hand out and put it on Nixie’s arm. “But I don’t want you to go anywhere like that again.” She waited until Nixie looked directly at her. “Promise me?”

  Nixie shook her head. “I just walked there, Mom. I didn’t try to go there.”

  “I know, honey. But try not to, okay? I was really scared.” Talking about it made it real all over again, and sent flutters of heat up her spine. She wiped an arm across her face, looking down as it came away damp with unshed tears.

  She stood up and turned toward the pool, watching a big boy try to dunk a smaller one. The younger boy dove down of his own accord and swam along the bottom of the pool, surfacing a few feet away and turning to laugh at his would-be tormentor.

  Alice felt small arms slide around her from behind, and the comfortable weight of Nixie’s head just below the wings of her back. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

  She turned around and held her daughter. “You didn’t scare me, honey. But I was scared for you.”

  Nixie looked up at her. “Can I have the bead?”

  What harm could it do? “Sure.” She glanced at the table. “I can watch your feather if you want to swim.”

  Nixie shook her head. “No, I’ll put it away.” She took the leather loop and bead from Ian’s outstretched hand, placed it carefully beside the feather, and walked off toward the building their room was in.

  Alice collapsed back into her chair. “Oriana, Ian, I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep much last night. It’s all so overwhelming.”

  “Of course it is,” Oriana whispered.

  “I’ve worked all my life to be here now. But ten years ago, I didn’t expect the world to be so hard, or that so much attention would be on this place in this time.” She swept her hand toward the busy pool. “I bet every one of these people knows this is the end of the Mayan calendar. They don’t understand it, they just read the cheap novels and the flashy books from the last few years, and watched the silly movies and TV shows. They’re here to escape riots and car bombings, flash crowds, and maybe even floods or the drought at their own homes. They’re hoping for something that can’t happen . . . ”

  Ian whispered, “Why not? Why can’t something happen? Something good?”

  “And then, to almost lose my daughter . . . ” She shook herself, feeling rude and self-absorbed. “Maybe something good will happen. But I’m still scared.”

  “Maybe we all need to be a little more open to magic right now,” Ian said simply.

  This was what she’d sworn not to get sucked into. Crazy beliefs. False hopes. Dammit, she was a scientist. A mom. She’d earned respect. Been published. She wanted to say all that, to talk about science and reason, but what came out was, “I don’t believe in magic.”

  DECEMBER 16, 2012

  CHAPTER 9

  “Mom?” Nixie stood in the kitchen, clutching a towel. “Oriana doesn’t get here for an hour. Can I go down to the beach?”

  Her mom wore work clothes; khaki pants and a neatly ironed white shirt, her hair pulled back into a high ponytail. Her face had pinched up tight. “I’m sorry, honey. I don’t have time to go with you today.”

  It wasn’t fair. She needed air and sunshine. “You let me go the day before yesterday. I came back in an hour like you wanted me to, and I didn’t go in the water, except up to my ankles, just like you said.” She tried to sound innocent. “There aren’t any waves at that beach, and there’s a lifeguard. I’ll come back in half an hour this time.”

  Her mom looked away, out of the window, and for a minute Nixie thought she saw a tear sliding down her cheek. It took two sips of coffee and a cough before her mom turned back to her. “I have some free time tomorrow. I’ll take you then. Why don’t you draw a picture of your feather, or watch TV or something?”

  “You never want me to watch TV.” Nixie picked up Snake and her book, a paperback about flying horses, and went out onto the porch, not quite slamming the door behind her. She curled Snake into a soft green pillow for her head and crossed her bare feet in front of her on the railing. She opened her book, but instead of turning the pages she fingered the bead Ian had given her, and looked out over the low broken jungle canopy between their room and the water.

  How had she gotten to that old time? Her mom must think it had been real, or it would be okay to go to the beach.

  She tried to read her book, but the words kept fading to hash marks. She fetched her journal and colored pencils, and drew the walkway below her, and the tops of the jungle trees, and the bright blue sea meeting the paler blue sky. The ruin she’d walked through yesterday stuck up just above the trees, and from here, it was clear there was no tall-tree jungle and no cenote. Just resort.

  She added color and a quetzal bird flying up toward the sun, then sat and stared at her drawing. It hadn’t seemed scary to be there, or maybe she should think, then. But what if there hadn’t been a path home?

  After a long while, her mom came out and stood beside her on the balcony. “Nix, do you want ten dollars to go shopping with Oriana today?”

  “Where?”

  “I’m going to ask Oriana to take you on one of those tours to Tulum. You haven’t been this trip, and you liked it before.”

  Nixie blinked at the new plans. “But . . . but I thought Oriana was going to take me snorkeling.”

  When her mom didn’t answer right away, Nixie said, “You don’t want me near the little ruin. Tulum’s just a big ruin.”

  “But there’ll be a lot of people there.”

  Like strangers would keep her safe? “Mom—I promise I’ll be careful.”

  Her mom’s arm snuck across her shoulders and she found herself looking into her mom’s blue eyes, at least two shades paler than her own. Summer sky washed by the sun. She looked really, really worried. Maybe even a little scared. “Please Nix? For me? Unless you’d rather stay in the pool.” Her jaw quivered, and she looked away, out toward the cluster of ruins. “You’ll have fun.”

  At least there was a beach at Tulum. She didn’t remember if it was okay to swim there, but all of Tulum looked down on the ocean. It was the prettiest ruin in Mexico; a neat, whitewashed set of Lego-like buildings perched by the open sea and surrounded by a low stone wall. She brightened at a stray thought. “Will Ian come with us?”

  Her mom shook her head. “Just Oriana.” She held out a ten dollar bill. “American money will be fine anywhere on the resort, and you should be able to use it in the little shopping village outside Tulum, too. I’ll give Oriana a little more for snacks, but this way you won’t be broke.”

  “Thanks.” Nixie shoved the bill into her pocket. “Will you be home in time for dinner?”

  “No. I have to go to a party.”

  Nixie brightened. “A party?”

  “Boring. Archeologists and scientists.”

  Oh. “I like scientists.” Fat chance of her going.

  “You can take Oriana to one of the restaurants. We get two adult passes with the room anyway, so Oriana can use our extra one. She can get towels, too.” She bent down over Nixie’s drawing. “That’s very good.” Her voice quivered as she asked, “But why did you color the ruin blue?”

  Nixie bit her lip. That was the color the ruin had been yesterday, from the magical old side. She remembered that now, the steps red, and the lintel the bright blue of the sea more than the blue of the sky, maybe even brighter. Like the blue in the quetzal feather down by the spine, a shining blue. “The colors are pretty.”

  Her mom was silent for a few moments. “I must have told you that in the old days, the Mayans used bright colors on their houses and temples. They’re only gray today because the color has all worn off.”

  Nixie didn’t remember that, not exactly. She just remembered what she saw.

  A knock sounded on the door. While her mom let Oriana in, Nixie picked up her drawing materials. Before she went inside, she stood at the edge of the balcony, looking at the sea.

  Nixie laughed as Oriana zipped the car into a tiny parking
spot at the edge of the gravel-strewn parking lot under a small copse of trees. She climbed out, swinging her backpack over her shoulder and clutching her camera. The dark oily smoke belching from the tourist buses running between them and the entrance to Tulum stank, huge things with high dark windows and sun-cracked paint. The sides were pasted with big, bright signs saying things like, “Riviera Maya 2012! The dream of a people,” and “Best sacred places tours. See Tulum and Xel-Ha!” Painted snorkelers the size of whales swam along the sides of some of the buses, peering at painted fish the size of Oriana’s little purple Volkswagen beetle.

  Nix stopped to snap pictures.

  Oriana grinned. “The morning crowd will be gone soon. That’s why we drove—they come here in two big clumps for the morning and the afternoon tours, as if two hours were enough to see this place.” She held her hand out, and Nixie took it, liking the dry, rough scratch of Oriana’s palm against hers.

  They threaded through a pile of busy open-walled shops just outside the ruins. Nixie stopped to take a photo of brightly dressed young men hanging by one foot from a pole high in the air. The pole began to spin, and the five men descended slowly, upside down, each tied by a single rope wrapped from thigh to ankle and held at their waists. The pole turned faster. The men swung in fast, wide circles high above the heads of the crowd, eliciting entranced sighs from the audience.

  “Do you want to stay and watch?” Oriana asked.

  Nixie shook her head. She’d seen the same dance at Xcaret, only with the men in bright red-and-green macaw feather headdresses and white loincloths. “Let’s go in.”

  “All right,” Oriana said. “Can I be your guide?”

  “You bet! The last time our guide was a fat guy who kept making bad jokes.”

  Oriana clapped her hands together and started toward the entrance. “How old were you last time you were here?”

  “We came two years ago, so I was nine.”

  “Do you remember much?”

  “It was a place for priests.”

  Oriana nodded. “It used to be called Zama, which they think was a word for “sun.” It was a sacred place, and also a trading port. See how small it is compared to Chichén Itzá? The archeologists think the priests and warriors lived inside the walls, and that they held ceremonies here. But most of the people lived in villages outside, or came here by traveling. This was a key defensive spot, the way it’s on the ocean here.”

  “Can we go to the beach?” Nixie asked.

  “Sure. But we have to get in first.” They fetched up against a line of tourists shifting impatiently, waiting to gain entry. A pair of gray-green iguanas watched the people, cocking their heads from time to time, as if having a silent conversation. Nixie used the 3D setting on her camera and got two good pictures before a little boy in bright yellow shorts came too close. The reptiles skittered under rocks.

  Ten minutes later, she and Oriana were inside, going upstream against tourists beginning to drift back toward the shopping area and the parking lot. “Can I walk you around once before we go to the water?” Oriana asked. “It’s emptying out some, and this would be a good time to go see the temples.”

  Nixie looked up at her. “Can we go to the beach, first? Please?”

  Oriana cocked her head at Nixie, as if deciding whether to assert her adultness. Then she smiled. “Okay.” She led them down a wide dirt path flanked with brown grass and short palm trees. They picked their way around a corner, and the path gave way to fine white sand that clung to their tennis shoes. In front of them, the sea stretched light blue in the midday sun. Small waves licked at the beach. Oriana pointed. “See how there is a huge break in the reef here? That’s part of why they built Zama here. They could get boats in and out.”

  Nixie frowned. “I wish I’d brought my fins and mask.”

  Oriana shaded her eyes and looked out. “There are better reefs just off the resort.” She pointed at an old Japanese couple walking slowly through water over their knees. “Sometimes they don’t let anyone in the water, but it looks like it’s okay today.”

  Nixie grinned. “Good.” She took off her shoes and raced down the beach, the hot sand stinging so much she cried out before plunging into the sea. She went as far out as the old couple, water lapping her thighs. She turned to look back at the beach. Oriana clutched Nixie’s pack in her right hand. She walked quickly across the sand, set their gear near Nixie’s abandoned shoes, and waded in, her face tight and her brows drawn together.

  Oriana slid easily toward Nixie, as if she and the water were the best of friends. Her brown eyes snapped with the reflection of the sun on the sea as she said, “Don’t do that. Please. I only want you to go in the water when I’m with you.”

  Nixie glanced at the couple, now wading shoreward, hand in hand, heads bent close in conversation. “It’s safe here.”

  “But if I’m going to teach you to snorkel, I need to know you’re going to do what I tell you around and in the water.”

  Nixie stiffened. But Oriana had brought her down here and, in truth, she sounded more worried than mad. “Sorry.” She turned, looking away from the gray stone bones of Tulum toward the vast Caribbean. Something flashed in the warm water at her feet. She bent down. A school of tiny fish. She pointed. “Look.”

  Oriana peered at the seafloor. “Baitfish.” She glanced over her shoulder at the ruins, and then said, “Let’s go out a little further. Maybe we can find something more interesting.”

  “Does it get deep?”

  “Not for a while.” Oriana waved a hand out towards the open sea. “It changes color when it gets deeper. Stay on this side, where the water is lighter. And stay close to me.”

  “It’s so clear.” Small stones and bits of shell speckled the white sand, disappearing as Nixie’s steps sent clouds of fine white powder up into the water, a trail of fairy dust following her.

  “Be careful,” Oriana said. “Watch out for sea urchins or stingray tails—they look like barbed brown sticks poking out of the water. Shuffle your feet so you won’t step on one.”

  “Wow.” As Nixie obeyed, the cloud of fairy dust thickened.

  “When we snorkel, we’ll see parrotfish and angels and big groupers. We might see baby turtles. Last summer’s first crop should be big enough to swim to the reefs. I saw one yesterday morning, off of Akumal.”

  Good. All she’d seen so far was more of the little silver fish. She headed further out, the sand sloping ever so slightly under her feet. She stubbed her toe on a rock and hopped up and down on one foot, losing her balance and falling sideways in the water. She same up spluttering, but laughing. “Sorry.”

  Oriana was laughing, too.

  Her mom wouldn’t have laughed, at least not this year.

  Nixie stood dripping in the water, still laughing, stopping when Oriana’s eyes widened at something over Nixie’s shoulder. “Ssshhh,” she said. “Look.”

  Nixie turned. Just a few feet behind her, a turtle poked its yellow-green head out of the water and regarded the two women. It was gray and green, with pinkish spots, and ridges that went from the front to back of its shell. “That’s no baby,” Nixie said.

  It was almost longer than Nixie was tall. “An old leatherback,” Oriana whispered. “That shouldn’t be in here. Not this close to the beach.”

  Nixie took a step toward it, holding out her hand.

  CHAPTER 10

  Alice sat in the back of a small hot bus, surrounded by locals going to work at Chichén. She’d left her car in a lot in Cancun. Gas was so dear, even in Mexico, that she’d started taking local buses on long trips.

  Today, she drew attention from the brown faces around her as she glanced repeatedly at her phone. She’d turned the tracking on even though she knew the webs were lousy on the roads. It worked, though. Her light blinked in the center, Nixie’s at the edge. As she watched, the background re-drew, showing Alice’s movement away from Nixie, toward Chichén Itzá. She licked her lips, wishing Nixie were beside her.

  T
he bus dropped Alice off near the gate. The lot looked more crowded than she’d ever seen it. To get in, she dodged buses, rental cars, and gaggles of brightly dressed tourists gathering around guides with megaphones. She headed directly toward the gate, where she flashed a pass to get in.

  Just beyond, two men and a woman sat on a gray stone bench, watching for her. Her friend, Don Carlo Agapito, and two people from IndiStudy, a private foundation he funded.

  The woman, Julia Highland, spotted her first. Julia was dressed almost identically to Alice, in khakis and a light shirt with wearing a dull green canvas expedition hat to shade her fair skin. Even dressed alike, they didn’t look alike. Julia might have stepped out of a magazine cover, complete with makeup and blonde hair that looked bouncy even in the humid air.

  Alice shook her hand quickly. “Hello, Julia. You look wonderful.”

  A nod. “Ready?”

  Alice met Don Carlo’s sparkling brown eyes. She genuinely liked him. Two summers ago, they had traveled together with some graduate students on a trip to decipher the paintings on a new mural unearthed north of Merida. He had been respectful and curious, if sometimes slightly drunk and talkative after dinner. Although he had the dark skin, delicate features, and wide brown eyes of a Yucatecan Maya, Don Carlo had been raised in the United States. He’d invested the millions he made in technology to study his heritage, anonymously funding Mayan research and schools. He smiled down at her. “Hello, Alice. You’re as beautiful as ever.”

  She blushed a little at his comment, even while knowing it for his usual manner with all women.

  Michael Lingen looked like the perfect tourist, all tan and lean muscle, almost six feet tall, blond and confident. He wore jeans and a T-shirt. The hand he clasped Alice’s hand with was cool and soft. “Pleased to see you.”