“Gus! Choc! Father! All you men!” I roared at those still beside me. “Help Robertson get Molly and the women to the village. Alcalde! Get everybody into the churches. Rhys …”
“I am staying with you,” he shouted back.
Taat was at my side, his machete in his hands. Robertson and the other men were hustling the women and Molly down the path, already crowded with fleeing villagers and guests.
“Skinny, skinny, yu no know me?” Xwáay Chikoop hovered above the escaping flower girls then dove. I heard the report of Robertson’s pistol and Xwáay Chikoop screamed as she twisted in her flight, disappearing into the bourgeoning black storm, becoming a fiery ball of blazing light.
Then I smelled them, the smell of the hach-k’ek’ens, and I heard their vicious grunts as they chomped their powerful jaws together. Taat smelled them too for he shouted, “Village. To the village or get into the trees.” Rhys, Taat, and I started racing down the path, but there, in front of us, was Hach-k’ek’en Ajchaq’e.91 His fierce, cruel, white human face and evil red eyes stared directly at me. Taat raised his machete and hurled himself at the creature. Hach-k’ek’en Ajchaq’e got up on his hind legs, stood tall, froth and spit foaming about the long sharp tusks that protruded from his mouth. As Taat’s machete started its downward swing towards the creature, Hach-k’ek’en Ajchaq’e vanished into the jungle.
A beautiful and haunting song came to me, a voice I had heard before. I shuddered. I turned, looking back at Uch Ben Cah. Seated on the altar was the enchantress Xwáay Ok’ol,92 singing her namesake song, La Llorona, combing her long and wavy black hair, fire coming from her fingers, her serpent tail feet moving slowly over the ground. Sitting beside her was Xwáay Éek’,93 her long golden hair falling to her breasts. She laughed out loud then
pulled her large firm breasts from her flowing gown, the nipples pink and erect, offering them to me.
“Fok!” yelled Rhys, in disbelief, holding onto me. “What the fok is this, Chiac? What did you do?”
Xtabai94 was also there. Three women of the Kechelaj Komon95 were seated on the altar, but away from the statue of Mary. Xtabai was in the form of a beautiful Indian maiden with long hair, dressed in a white huipil, the póót pulled down to her waist. Her cloven left foot and the clawed right were almost touching the ground. She sat, enticing me with her bare chest and soft breasts, beckoning me with her finger.
The underbrush along the path began moving, shaking, and loud menacing grunts crushed the air around us. A drove of hach-k’ek’ens was coming for us, nostrils flaring, tusks protruding, eyes mean. Rhys dragged me and we rushed down the pikaado as the hach-k’ek’ens began crowding onto the path behind us, Taat leading us with his machete. Ahead, I saw the fleeing women, the flower girls, the villagers, the guests, Robertson with his pistol held high. I was unarmed and I felt absolutely naked and useless.
We reached the San Antonio Road and turned right towards Santa Cruz. Etzelal Iq’ was trying to force us to the ground as he hurled powerful wind gusts at us and villagers around us were beginning to vomit and faint as they came under his enchantment. Lightning struck continuously, burning trees, melting the rocks on the ground, tearing into fleeing villagers and our guests. Hail battered us and we began to bleed. As the hail pelted the hot liquefying rocks, a mist began to form around us.
Across from the junction was Xwáay Mulibal-k’ux’.96 She was shrieking with laughter, holding up her mouth, which was the jawbone of an old cow, with a stick. The greenish hair of young ears of corn that covered her arms, the dried banana leaves that were her dress, they were blowing in Etzelal Iq’’s high winds. Standing beside her was Kitam Ajchaq’e,97 an old man with beady eyes and a long white beard, wearing tattered cloths and a sombrero looking hat. Behind him was a drove of Collared Kitams, snorting and grunting. Kitam Ajchaq’e took off his strange hat and threw it into the air. As if awaiting that signal, Etzelal Iq’ blew the hat down the road to Santa Cruz, the kitams following it, attacking anything, anyone, in their path.
Even though bullets were not flying over my head, my trained ears noted the crack and thump of rifle reports coming from the village and so I knew that my men had gotten their rifles and were beginning to strike at whatever was attacking Santa Cruz. Ahead of me, amid the chaos of the storm Etzelal Iq’ had unleashed on us, I heard the anguished cries of my people. Then came the odors, the smell of burning trees and melted rocks mixed in with burning incense, mixed in with the smell of burning flesh, mixed in with the smell of blood and death. Mangled bodies were scattered on the San Antonio Road. Villagers! Our guests from Belize City! Men! Women! Children! I couldn’t believe the horror I was seeing, the horror I had caused.
It was difficult to recognize the dead, not only because of lightning burns and torn flesh, but also because we are running. I looked, praying that Molly was not there among them. As the gruesome scene escalated around me, a rage built itself within me gripping my chest. This day was my wedding day. This day, Molly Cervantez was to become Molly Chiac … Mrs. Eutimio Chiac … wife of Sergeant E. Chiac. This day, suddenly, was no longer mine and all I had was blood and chaos and the knowledge that I did not know if Molly was already dead.
I looked behind me. Hach-k’ek’en Ajchaq’e and Kitam Ajchaq’e were standing among the dead while their kitams and hach-k’ek’ens were eating the burnt bodies, grunting, frothing at their mouths, their eyes red in murderous anger. Xwáay Mulibal-k’ux’ was shrieking in laughter, still holding up her jaw with a stick. My anger and horror was tearing at any rationality I had left and I began turning back, but Rhys pushed me forward saying, “They’re already fokin dead.”
The reports of rifle and gun fire was intense as we entered Santa Cruz. Church bells were ringing, not for my wedding but in alarm, and groups of women and children were fleeing to hopeful sanctuary in the six small churches of my village. My men were shooting at attacking rabid hach-k’ek’ens, kitams, ocs,98 and icims or mottled owls. Patzapik99 was in his human skeleton form, dragging a chain, making a haunting clatter that resounded throughout Santa Cruz, causing further terror. Alaj Chaj-r-ij Wíiniks100 and Alaj Ponopiks101 were running between the villagers’ feet making them stumble and, as they fell, Xwáay Chikoop swirled down from out the dark clouds and sank her long fangs into them, draining them of their blood. Xtabai, with the face of a vulture, transforming at times into a hissing green snake, was standing under the Sacred Ceiba Tree in the Central Plaza, happily observing the chaos and suffering. Xwáay Éek’ was sitting on the bank of the Santa Cruz Creek laughing at Q’eq Ja’ Wíinik102 who was jumping from dead body to dead body. Xwáay Ok’ol sat on a rock near the creek, combing her long wavy black hair and crying pitifully for her baby she had drowned in a river. Her serpent tails lashed out continuously at panic filled villagers, breaking their bodies. Xwáay Kumätz 103 rose from the waters of the creek, quickly
moving up and down, pulling in the dead bodies with her snake tail. Tata Ponopik104 went to the dead, the hurt, and ripped off their thumbs.
The remaining villagers were fighting back. The men had gotten their machetes and their shot guns. The women were using their wooden pestles. They fought, ignoring the fallen and those that were falling. Their eyes betrayed no fear, just anger, some confusion, and the determination to do what was necessary. Pas pushed two rifles and some magazines against Rhys and my chests. Rhys and I immediately start shooting at the kitams, the hach-k’ek’ens, Alaj Chaj-r-ij Xibs, Alaj Ponopiks, ocs, icims … anything. Then I began feeling the exhilaration of my thirst for blood and I was hurled back to my battle at Ox Witz Ha when I rushed one of K’uxaj’s Warriors, my spear firmly held, and I felt it enter just below his armpit and I pushed it until it came out the other end of his body. His blood had fountained across me; I had tasted it and I was suddenly lost to the delirium that surrounded me. I was in the noise and smell of war. The taste of blood was in my mouth. The scent of sweat and blood filled my nostrils. The cries of agony, the frantic shouting, th
e whoops following weapons well placed, the whistling, the beating drums of horror, and the urgent call of the conch shell war trumpets were all a part of me once again. I had killed without thought at Ox Witz Ha and that was how I fought at Santa Cruz. When my bullets were done, I shouldered my rifle, picked up a machete that lay beside a dead villager, and any enemy Warrior that came towards me I added to the carnage that was building around me. I cried out the battle cries, I shouted, I whooped, I whistled, and I killed without thought. I listen for the chant to come from Ox Witz Ha, Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Ke’kchi! Ke’kchi! Ke’kchi! At times, I saw Rhys gaze quickly at me, for he had never left my side, fighting with a machete as I was, and I looked back at him through crazed eyes.
Pujuys105 were everywhere, hurling themselves up and down, adding their bad luck and evil to an already devastated scene. Then, above the chaos in my mind, I heard the crazy call that I knew so well, Wah-co!-Wah-co!-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. Vicious memories exploded in my head once again and I fought to return to Santa Cruz and bring back whatever sanity I had left. I heard the call again, but that time there was a frenzy of Wah-co!-Wah-co!-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. I look to the sky and saw hundreds of kos106 diving forcibly down upon us. And then I heard the roar of the batz,107 the Black Howler, and I knew he was there. Sisimito was there in my village … in Santa Cruz. The roars and howls intensified and batz came rushing out of the jungle on all sides of Santa Cruz.
“We have to find Molly,” I shouted at Rhys and we both ran towards the first of two churches bordering the Central Plaza. Around us, batz were tearing everything apart. Huts, sheds, everything not solidly built were being torn down. The tables and decorations for the reception were demolished. The musical instruments … the harp, the marimba … all destroyed. The food and drinks were scattered on the ground. But the churches were withstanding the barrage because the churches had been left alone.
Matilda Moss was kneeling at a church door, crying out in loud sobs. She saw me and shouted, “From the first time I saw her in the bus, I feel that something bad was going to happen to her.” Her face became angered. “And I blame you, Stephen Chiac!” she screamed, her sobs becoming louder as she kept repeating, “Lord help her.”
“Let’s go,” yelled Rhys, pulling me away from the woman.
He and I searched church after church as the murder and chaos continued, chopping with our machetes in the diming daylight at any target that presented itself. Kinich was beginning to disappear into the Maya Mountains, hastening the darkness, adding further chaos to whatever devious plot had overtaken us. Nowhere could we find Molly. Nowhere did we see Sisimito. Then, suddenly, all was quiet. There were no more batz, no kos, no rabid animals, no Xwáay Ok’ol, no Hach-k’ek’en Ajchaq’e, no dark boiling storm overhead … just a clear sky, a brightening waning moon, the dead, the smell of death, the cries of the hurt, the howls of lamentation, the suffering of a destroyed village, all bathed in the fading blue, orange, and red light of the disappearing god, Kinich Ahau.
I was dazed, confused, in rage, unable to accept what had happened. Rhys and I raced over to the hut Molly and I were to spend our first night as man and wife. The hut was not there; not just destroyed, not there; no thatch, no posts, no flowers. Mixba’al.
I fell to my knees, screaming, cussing, and crying. Pain enveloped my heart and I felt that I was unable to breathe as I sweated the deep agony of utter distraught. Rhys put his hand on my shoulder, but said nothing. Gongora, Choco, and Robertson were soon beside me. “I tried to stay with her,” said Robertson, shaking his head, looking grave and haunted. “We got separated. I am sorry, Chiac.”
“We’ll get her back, Superintendent,” I said, too weakly. Rhys pulled me up, putting his arms around me. The touch of his camaraderie helped me to take control of myself. I must control myself. I must control myself for I am Ke’kchi … I am a soldier … I am a Maya Warrior called Fuck.
I wiped the tears from my face. Tears would have to wait. I needed time to think, to plan. I had a mission to perform. I had to rescue Molly Cervantez, once again. I had to get Molly Cervantez away from Sisimito, once again. I gave Rhys my rifle, grabbed my machete, and start walking swiftly.
“Where are you going, Chiac?” asked Rhys, as he walked beside me.
“I’m going somewhere where I can think.” I stopped, looking at him. “Find Pascascio. Tell him to organize this place. Look for my parents.”
“Where are you going, Chiac?” repeated Rhys, sternly. I stared at him. At least, I had not lost him as I had lost Bas. “I’m going to Uch Ben Cah.” I’ll be back to help, but I need to do this.”
“I’m going with you. There may still be something out there.”
“No, Private. I’ve given you your orders.” He looked at me, pained. “The villagers need help. I’ll soon be back.” I looked around for a torch, one of those that would have lit up the festivities of my wedding night. I walked over to one, picked it up and Rhys lit it with his lighter.
“Sarge!” he shouted, and was off.
I moved quickly through Santa Cruz along the San Antonio Road. The smell of burnt flesh mixed with the smell of the Sacred Incense irritated my nostrils. I tried to ignore the carnage around me, using my rage to disregard what I was running through. I turned onto the path leading to Uch Ben Cah and I slowed my pace. I had to. The tutz fronds were still covered with flowers. I could not run over them even though most were already crushed. It would have been improper so I walked, the soft crunching sound of walking on leaves coming from my bare feet. I saw her walking towards me, across those very fronds she had walked on earlier and the smell of flowers and Sacred Incense replaced the foul smell of burnt flesh; but she was not really there.
The light from the torch lit my jungle and displayed the beautiful colors of the leaves and wild flowers, hiding the horror that had happened there. I climbed the temple and approached the wedding altar. The statue of Mary was still at the groom’s side, my side, along with the bouquet of blue pussy flowers. The fronds of ek-chi-chan still lay scattered. My rage overtook me again. I screamed at my jungle. I hollered. I beat my chest. I tore at my hair; my headdress having fallen a long time ago. I hurled my machete, stabbing it into the ground where it stood vibrating angrily. I ripped off the three necklaces that then hung meaningless about my neck. I pulled off my loincloth and ankle bracelets and fell to my knees, dressed only in my bloodied Green Scapular. I looked at the stone image of the Mother Of God as She sat on the altar and I angrily cried out, quieting the jungle. “I pray to You, Mother Of God, as a humble naked soldier, as a humble naked Ke’kchi, as a humble naked Maya. It was to me, Eutimio Chiac, to me, that You, Mother Of God, came in the waterfall. You came to me. You helped Molly and me escape. Why are You now doing this to Molly? Why are You doing this to me?” But there was no answer, just the return of the sounds of my jungle, the chirp-chirp of the xirs, and the sudden light of hundreds of peeniwali108 about the altar and Her stone image. I closed my eyes and prayed silently and later as I opened them, looking at the ground before the wedding altar, I saw all that remained of Molly Cervantez: two metallic thumbs and a medallion made from Maya jade carrying the image of Mother Of God.109
CHAPTER TWO
THE
DAY AFTER
Easter Monday, April 23, 1973
The early morning fingers of Kinich Ahau brushed against my eyelids and I awoke to a purple and orange dawn as I lay on the ground, on my side, crouched up like a fetus before the wedding altar. I jumped up, immediately angry at myself for I had not intended to fall asleep. I had meant to return to Santa Cruz and help with the chaos that I had brought there. I had prayed, wailed, cussed, walked up and down like an insane man, as I tried to understand what happened, searched to find some rational meaning where there was none, busting my brain to figure out what was best to do next. Perhaps, it was Mother Of God who had pitied me and sent me into a deep sleep. I stretched my body, something I automatically do each morning. That morning, however, it was a b
lood covered and stink body and it was
not a normal morning. Yet, I continued, trying to grasp what had taken place, and as I stretched every bone in my body ached.
I turned to walk back to Santa Cruz. Not far from me was Rhys, his trashed uniform covered with dirt and blood. He was sitting, sleeping, cradling his rifle, his back leaning against a nabac-cue110 tree, ranger style. He must have come looking for me, found me sleeping and decided to guard me rather than wake me up. Just like me, he must have eventually fallen asleep, overwhelmed by the trauma and the tragedy of the evening before. I walked over to him and kicked him on his boots. He was immediately alert, rifle immediately at the ready, pointing at me.
“Don’t fokin do that, Sarge,” he grumbled, standing up as he glowered at me, but I was aware of the deep sadness in his eyes that he was trying to hide.
“You’re correct, Private. Sorry.”
“Sorry too, Sarge. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“Neither did I,” I answered. “How are things?”
“Before I came looking for you, Pas and Robertson had everything pretty much under control.”
“Everything?”
“As best could be. The Health Center wasn’t damaged badly, so there was some first aid stuff. The many casualties are being looked after in the school, getting whatever aid is possible. There wasn’t much damage to that either. The churches are housing the women and children. I worked with them until midnight then I told Pas that I was coming to look for you. You were sleeping.”
“My parents?”
“They are hurt, but alive. Mr. and Mrs. Cervantez, alive also.”
Sisimito II--Xibalba Page 5