by Alehandro
Mack gazed at the runway. “Yeah, well that’s good for you, but I would rather be ‘somewhere’ and not ‘no where’ right now.”
Chauncy adjusted his wide-brimmed hat and his sunglasses, surveying the area again. There was no sign of human life, but he knew from experience that the jungle was far from lifeless, no matter how still it seemed at first. If one only knew but to listen, there was much sound. It had been silent when the plane left, but now the silence of the jungle was broken by the sounds of wildlife. Screaming monkeys, an array of bird squawks and songs, hisses of unidentified origin, all blended together. Some would consider it noise, but to Chauncy it was like a beautiful melody.
The sun beat down upon them, and the humidity was well above what they were used to. Dark perspiration spots began to form on their clothes.
Chauncy wiped his brow before stooping to pick up his luggage. “We better start setting up camp and then look for Dr. Sova,” he said as he made his way toward the shade under the canopy of trees. “If there really was a mistake then we have no reason to fear, Mack. We can always use my satellite phone to call for help. Of course it had better be an emergency - I’m sure you know how much it costs for each call.”
Chauncy started to walk the perimeter of the airstrip, wondering how the landing had been as smooth as it had been. Calling it an airstrip was far too generous; it was more like a dirt road, a simple break in the jungle canopy. Perhaps if he looked hard enough he could locate a way out of the primitive landing area with the intent of finding a civilized area. Instead of joining the search, Mack just sat on his luggage, apparently wondering what to do.
The lack of a welcoming committee had obviously thrown him for a loop. Chauncy felt that talking to Mack would raise his spirits. “I’ve found two roads so far that go off into the jungle,” he called out, picking his way carefully along the edge of the trees. “Neither appears like it has been used for a while…no, wait…here we go!” He smiled broadly, turning back to look at Mack. “There are fresh tire tracks on this one, my friend, all is not lost.”
Before Mack could respond, the distant sound of a vehicle came to them through the jungle. Chauncy stood for a moment, his head tilted at a slight angle, identifying the sound. After a few seconds his smile returned. “It’s definitely getting closer, and if I had to guess, I’d say it is coming down this road too. Cheer up Mack, I think our ride is here.”
As Chauncy stepped back to the luggage, a large and luxurious SUV crossed the runway. A small man dressed in safari khakis stepped out of the passenger side. Chauncy immediately recognized the gray hair and white goatee of the famous Dr. Sova.
Sova walked toward the two men and introduced himself, even though he knew he wouldn’t have to. “Good morning, Mr. Estlund, Mr. Rollock. My name is Dr. Sova. Please, you must forgive me for the delay - we were quite busy with another matter. I’m sure you understand.”
“Think nothing of it,” replied Chauncy as the chauffeur loaded their luggage.
As they drove slowly through the dust they generated along the bumpy road, Chauncy relished the cushy interior of the vehicle, since it was as far removed as possible from the environment outside. The leather seats were very comfortable, and the air conditioning was a welcome relief. Despite the jarring ride, Chauncy knew what mattered more than the environment or the condition of the road was their destination: Temple #22. Mack and Chauncy had been chosen as the representatives of the United States in the multinational archaeological undertaking. The only paleontologists, they had been invited because it was believed that the skeletal remains of King Chac would be found in the pyramid.
To fill the long drive, Chauncy took advantage of the privilege of speaking with the great Dr. Sova. They discussed the general state of the project, the overall mission, and the progress that had so far been made in clearing out the temple.
“We are making fine advancement indeed.” Dr. Sova’s voice was rich with professional excitement. “Most of the overgrown plant material has been cleared. Soon we will be able to make our ascent to the top of the temple and from there we will need to pry open the flagstone on the top floor in order to gain access to the tunnel.”
He paused as the vehicle hit a rather large pothole. “You two are the last men I have invited to this project, and therefore the last to arrive. Once we have access to the tunnel we will then be disinterring the remains of King Chac, and I will need you two paleontologists to analyze his skeleton.”
The vehicle came across another particularly rough spot on the road, and this time the conversation did not resume or a while.
It was almost exactly an hour later when they arrived at the foot of the imposing pyramid. As he got out of the vehicle, Chauncy couldn’t help but stare at the muted grandeur of the place. The first thing that came to his mind was how vertical the structure was. He wondered idly whether any of the ancients had lost their foothold and fallen to their deaths while climbing the temple. It wasn’t a pleasant mental image. He shook his head in an effort to rid himself of the thought, and gazed at the details of the pyramid.
It had the weathered and eroded look that was peculiar to buildings with centuries of neglect and abandon behind them. It was obvious to the paleontologist that at one time the temple was adorned with vivid, colorful paint, but dark and nearly indiscernible streaks replaced what had once been vibrant color.
It taxed the imagination to visualize that this place and other silent temples of the area had once been a thriving metropolis with a dynamic economy.
Dr. Sova led the way to a large courtyard, which had been improvised as base camp. Many tents had been erected and there was a large outdoor kitchen. Even from a distance, Chauncy could smell the food.
When they made it to the large open sitting area, Chauncy was surprised to see how many people there were. They were sitting on benches, chairs, or the ground, eating, chatting, studying maps and diagrams, plotting their work. Dr. Sova introduced the two Americans to the rest of the international crew, all of whom had already been working at the site for some time. The doctor did the introductions in at least four languages, which impressed Chauncy. The various professionals and workers offered their welcomes in their respective languages, with Dr. Sova translating for most before carting the two paleontologists off to show them their tents.
They arrived at Mack’s tent first, and Dr. Sova recommended he get settled in before exploring. Mack agreed and exchanged farewells with Chauncy. Once Mack had disappeared into his tent, Dr. Sova motioned Chauncy to follow. The linguist immediately set off, Chauncy right behind him.
But instead of continuing down the line of small tents, Dr. Sova was making his way toward a very large white tent structure, one of the biggest in the camp. Chauncy felt his eyebrows lifting - was this the doctor’s tent, or his own?
His question was answered the second they arrived. “This is my humble abode,” Dr. Sova said jovially. “Please, come in.”
Chauncy followed the doctor inside and was astounded to see modern conveniences in stark contrast to the primitive surroundings of the jungle. Chauncy could hear, and feel, an air conditioning unit and generator hard at work. The tent appeared to have several rooms partitioned with cloth doors. From where he stood Chauncy could see a full-sized kitchen with a microwave, refrigerator, and other modern amenities. He was obviously in the living room portion of the tent, as there were several plush chairs, a couch, and a coffee table.
Dr. Sova’s personal chef was busy preparing a meal. The linguist called to the cook and asked something in French that Chauncy didn’t catch. Moments later the cook returned with two glasses and a bottle of wine. He placed the glasses on the coffee table and poured the wine, leaving the bottle and returning to the kitchen.
“Come, sit down,” the doctor invited, taking a seat himself in one of the chairs near the coffee table. He picked up his glass of wine and raised it in a toast. “Congratulations, Mr. Rollock!”
Chauncy sat down, perplexed about the whole situati
on. “If I may ask, what exactly are you congratulating me for?”
Dr. Sova laughed before taking a long drink from his glass. He did not answer Chauncy immediately; instead he leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and took a cigar from a metal case in his vest pocket. Clipping the end off, he lit it and took a puff from it. As he exhaled the smoke he finally looked at Chauncy.
“You passed the test! You were the only one who did. The Russians, the Europeans, the Mexicans, the Canadians, even your American colleague - everyone out there in this camp, they all failed,” he said as he waved his hand in disdain.
Chauncy was even more perplexed. He took a cautious sip from his wine, hoping he could figure out what was going on. “Okay. I give up. Why are you congratulating me?”
Dr. Sova unfolded his legs and leaned forward, a look of concentration on his face, his wine glass in one hand and the cigar in the other. “Please allow me to explain. What I am about to say is very serious. You see, I really wasn’t late to pick you up from the airstrip as I made you believe. In fact, we were observing you, watching the both of you from a distance with binoculars.”
Chauncy took another sip. “You were? Why?”
Dr. Sova’s eyes flashed with emotion as he glared out at the camp. “What we have out there is no small, insignificant project! This is a very important and serious undertaking. It has been many decades since a burial tomb of a king has been discovered. The translation of the temple staircase has enlightened the world about this new king, but it has also enlightened me about something else. There are amazing things to be discovered from that temple, amazing things.
“The reason I have invited an international crew was for the purpose of finding one man, just one that I could take into my confidence. I intend on grooming that man to become my partner, and you, Mr. Rollock, are that man! I need a person that I can use in the continuation of this project. There is so much more that I have read on that staircase that I have not revealed to the world, as of yet.” He leaned back in his chair, waiting to gauge Chauncy’s reaction.
Chauncy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Dr. Sova wanted to take him under his wings and train him? He took another sip from his glass and let the wine sit on his tongue for a moment, as if the liquid would somehow wake him up from this dream. But it wasn’t a dream; he had heard correctly. He took another sip, still thinking furiously.
This was the chance of a lifetime. What others would give to be personally trained under the tutelage of the great Dr. Sova! And now here he was, Chauncy Rollock, sitting and talking with the famed linguist himself, drinking expensive French wine in his tent.
“Why me?” he finally managed to ask.
Dr. Sova put his wineglass down, stood up, and began pacing the room. With the hand that held his cigar he tapped his temple. “Because you are a thinker Mr. Rollock. Oh, don’t get me wrong, those men and women out there are fine, hardworking professionals, all of them. But you my friend, you are different, you are exceptional! I have observed every man and woman at the airstrip, including you. I had given orders to the pilot beforehand, stating that he would deliver the archaeologists and scientists and then leave immediately, not waiting for me or anyone else to show up, and that he would tell them nothing. I did that on purpose, Mr. Rollock, in order to observe them from a distance. Stressful situations are the most wonderful way to test people’s mettle, to see how they think and react. You were the only one that used powers of perception and discernment.
“It was obvious to me that you are the analytical type. As soon as you realized that the pilot had left you and Mr. Estlund alone, you immediately set about finding a way to survive. Not Mr. Estlund! He simply sat down on his luggage, baking in the hot tropical sun. Meanwhile, you were busy trying to find a way out of your predicament. You found a place for your luggage in the shade, away from the harsh sunlight, and then you proceeded to examine your surroundings and find a way out. You are an analytical multi-tasker. Is my evaluation correct?”
“Well…I suppose.” Chauncy was proud that Dr. Sova had taken note.
Dr. Sova continued. “Yes, of course. Next point: on the way over here in my vehicle, I keenly observed that you were making mental notes as to where the temple was located. You were looking out the windows, keeping track of our movements. You even took out your notebook and drew a map, did you not?”
“Yes, that is correct.” Chauncy replied as he pulled out his notepad and opened it to reveal the crude drawing.
“But your colleague, Mr. Estlund, was looking at the palms of his hands,” Dr. Sova stated. “God knows where his mind was! What if my vehicle had broken down? You would have known how to return to the airstrip. Not him.”
“You saw all of that?” Chauncy asked, surprised.
“That and much more my friend, when we arrived at this camp, your associate was too busy worrying about his luggage. You, however, were observing the details of the whole operation, your eyes missed nothing. In fact, I would venture to say that your notebook contains another map, one of the camp. Is that correct?”
Chauncy turned the page of his notebook, grinning broadly as he showed Dr. Sova the schematic he had drawn. “Could I dare take the liberty of making a suggestion? The latrines are upwind from base camp - not a good idea, if you know what I mean?”
Dr. Sova laughed out loud. “Very good, my friend, that was very observant of you and on top of that you are gifted with a sense of humor.”
Becoming serious again, he said, “And yet none of those people out there were able to see all of these details! Your brain, Mr. Rollock, you are using it. You are using your critical thinking abilities. The rest of those people just flow along a stream like dead fish in a river! They simply keep moving with the knowledge they have been taught in their books…. But they can’t think outside the box; they lack that ability. You are different.”
“Why, thank you.” Chauncy said with a smile.
“However, there is one major fault with you!” Dr. Sova thundered in a stern voice.
Chauncy’s smile evaporated. “Uh…and what would that be?”
“I noticed on our way over here, while we were in the vehicle, that you took your wallet out, opened it, and rubbed your fingers over a picture of a woman who I am assuming is your wife. You seem to suffer from homesickness, my friend. That weakness can be your undoing.”
Chauncy could almost physically feel his ego deflate. It was obvious the man had seen every subtle nuance; nothing had escaped his quick and discerning eye. “I…well…I guess you’re right,” Chauncy said.
“Ah! Do not fret, mon ami,” the doctor reassured in a friendly tone. “I’m sure that we can work on that small detail.”
Chauncy looked up, a smile on his face. He raised his wineglass and drained it. He felt not just respect, but friendship.
“Tell me something, Doctor, why did you decide to become a Mayanist?”
The doctor, still pacing, stopped and sat down. “I am a master linguist; my one love is the study of languages. Ah yes, now that is my passion! I quickly learned and then mastered most of the Latin-based languages. I was going to progress on to learn the Oriental languages next.
“Then one day during a visit here to the Yucatan I realized my real calling in life. And what a marvelous undertaking it has been, to learn the Mayan language and decipher ancient writings from a lost civilization. It is truly a task for the mind and the imagination, two things that are most important to me. And now look where it has brought us. That temple out there, that grand pyramid of the past, is just waiting for us to uncover its long-held secrets. Who knows what wonders await us? It is very exciting!”
Dr. Sova’s eyes sparkled as he spoke; his voice had an unmistakable fire. It was evident his whole heart was dedicated to his vocation. He began pacing the living room again, his face serious.
“There was another reason I decided to become a Mayanist. It is because of the people of this world.”
“What do you mean?” Chauncy asked.
Dr. Sova stopped pacing and looked directly at Chauncy. “I’ll put it quite simply: I do not suffer stupidity. The majority of the people in this world are imbeciles, Mr. Rollock. They are morons. It’s that simple.”
At first Chauncy thought he was jesting, but the frown on the doctor’s face erased any doubt.
Dr. Sova continued. “Our modern society is run by foolhardy politicians and judges,” Dr. Sova said. “Men spend more time in prison for killing a dog than for the murder of another human! What an outrage of injustice! Pure stupidity! The masses of humanity have been brainwashed by the media - everything is pre-packaged, pre-edited, and pre-digested for them. They no longer need to think or reason; instead it is all done for them. Like blind, stupid sheep they follow.”
Dr. Sova sat down and took a deep breath, his agitation leaving him slowly. He cleared his throat and spoke, visibly and audibly more relaxed; his voice soft, almost gentle. “Ah, but out here in the jungle, I am a free man. I am not burdened by all the madness out there; instead I am liberated by the simple laws of nature. I do as I please and think as I please without the restraints and irritation of useless bureaucracy and management. I have these Mayan hieroglyphs to occupy, soothe, and challenge my mind. The brain, my friend, is a wonderful thing. Use it! Use it wisely and you too will be liberated.”
Chauncy sat back slowly, his mind racing as he thought about everything Dr. Sova had said. The doctor’s dissertation about society and his general dislike for people left Chauncy feeling a little shocked. It was obvious this man had a remarkable mind, one of the finest, but he also had a very low tolerance for human folly. Chauncy struggled to comment.
“Well…I hope I won’t disappoint you.”
“That’s why I have surrounded myself with professionals like you, Mr. Rollock. I have a tendency to insulate myself from idiots.”
“I’d rather you call me Chauncy.”
Dr. Sova chuckled as he rose from his seat. “Come now - we have much work to do.”