Sisimito II--Xibalba

by Henry W. Anderson

  “Well, it’s like this. You use any cuss word convenient to you at the time.” I chuckled. “Rhys uses mainly ‘fok’ or ¡Ai yai yai! ¡Hijueputa!’ Choc uses ‘fokmi’, Choco uses ‘madafoka’, and Teul says ‘madafok’. I have heard Taat grumble under his breath, but I don’t know if he’s cussing.”

  A very big smile covered my face. “Maybe I did notice it, but never really paid any attention to it. I suppose every man has his own cussing field of operations and they don’t infringe on each other’s theatre. That’s amusing. And you, Robertson? What’s your favorite cuss word?”

  He grinned. “Being a bobby, a police man, is different from being a soldier. A soldier is trained to react immediately in the face of unrest, and danger, with his rifle. Anyone that threatens is the enemy. Soldiers do not have conversations with an enemy. That’s why they’re not good for civilian duty. They’re not trained for civilian duty. We bobbies deal with civilians and have to act with restraint. We are trained to act with restraint.” Robertson chuckled. “Can you imagine us talking to a civilian and after every few words there’s a ‘fok’ or a ‘madafok’. It just wouldn’t work. Yes, Sarge. It wouldn’t work.” He looked around and stretched. “I say the occasional ‘fock’, but I restrict myself mainly to words like ‘bollocks’, ‘bugger off which actually means ‘fock off’, and ‘bloody hell’.”

  “Well, Robertson,” I laughed. “You’re a fokin soldier now so you better get a word for yourself. Just don’t step into the other men’s cussing field. I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you a good one in my language. Let me think. Since you usually say ‘bollocks’, let’s use kowil. That’s one of our words for ‘balls’. So now, you can cuss in soldier’s language.

  “Kowil! Thank you, Sarge. Now, at last, I am one of the boys.”

  “So, you are,” I answered, laughingly.

  Choc, Taat and Teul approached us, not in any apparent hurry, so I felt a bit less apprehensive. Choco and Rhys immediately joined us.

  “They’re all here,” said Choc.

  “What?” I asked, flabbergasted. “How could you amble so fokin casually over here, knowing that?” Koal seed rose.

  “We weren’t going to run over here. We’re not afraid of those madafoks,” asserted Teul.

  I stared at Teul. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know what you meant,” he answered, grinning.

  “It was better for us to just walk over, not show them that we had any awareness of their presence,” explained Choc.

  “Oh, don’t be fooled. They know we know, Choc,” I emphasized. “They know everything, even how good you and Taat are in the jungle. Now brief me please, Choc. Give me the dirt.”

  “The hach-k’ek’ens are on my right, the kitams on the left, and the batz in the middle. We didn’t see them, but they are there, about two hundred feet away from the perimeter of the floodplain, in the jungle. They’re resting, but their sent renk283 of tension.”

  “Okay, Men, what do we do now?” I asked, keeping my promise to involve them in decision making as much as possible.

  “Well, I see that Rhys has taken out some of that army grub,” said Taat. I suggest we eat. We’ll need our strength. We should act natural, routine.”

  “Okay, Taat. We’ll eat, quickly, but not appear to be hurrying. What’s next?”

  “Even if it’s not natural … routine?” asked Teul, intentionally softly

  I fumed and was about to severely reprimand Teul for being fokin flippant, but Choco saved his balls by hurriedly saying, “I agree with Taat. Whatever we do, it must appear routine.”

  Still fuming, I asked, “What next?”

  “We get to fok out of here,” said Rhys.

  “Yes!” I concurred. “We walk east, remaining close and parallel to the riverside, but at a distance that we just avoid the spurs. We don’t want to have to walk around each spur. By paralleling the river, as close as possible, we’ll be far enough from the jungle tree line and be able to see them immediately they begin their advance, should that be their strategy. Now, let us eat

  and then refill our canteens. And even if it’s not routine, we’ll eat with bergens on our backs, ready to move.”

  “And what’s on the menu today, Rhys?” asked Teul, grinning. “No madafok yeast extract today. As Taat said, we’ll need our strength.”

  “Teul,” cautioned Choco

  Rhys shook his head. I saw Taat close his eyes. “No ‘madafok’ yeast extract, Teul. We’re having cheese spread and crackers, lemon tea mix, beef jerky, and fruit biscuits. From now on, I want to reserve the little remaining rations for the lunch snack only. We need to get fruit for breakfast and game meat for supper, so keep your eyes open,” Rhys stressed.

  “Well, by the end of the afternoon, we might have a whole pile of game meat, it seems,” said Choc, almost blithely, raising his forehead and opening his eyes wide.

  “Okay, Men! Scabbard all machetes and, each of you make sure you and your rifle are ready. Safety off. One round in the chamber. One shot per trigger pull. Check your clips.284 They should be full. Taat. Same with you for your slings and stones. Choc, make sure you have easy access to your cartridges. Medic, check your pistol. If the fighting becomes close combat, shoulder your rifles and resort to your knives and machetes.” I looked at each man, knowing that they were there because of their loyalty … their love … the fact that they were soldiers. “If things get worse than bad, we draw back into the river and head downstream. We always stay together. And why is that so?” I shouted.

  “Because We are never stronger that when we are one!” bellowed Rhys, Choco, and Teul.

  “Ka xi’ik teech utzil,” Men.”

  “Sarge!”

  “As soon as you’re done, let’s sit and eat in a wide circle. Choc, Taat Teul, and Choco, you face the jungle. Robertson, Rhys, and I face the river. Observe the area you can see, eat, then let’s get out of this fokin place,” I said.

  Wah-co!-Wah-co!-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.

  “You madafok bird,” yelled Teul. “I’ll shoot your madafok yet.”

  “Only a bird,” commented Robertson.

  “That’s no ordinary bird,” countered Taat. “It’s enchanted. Evil.”

  “Finish up,” I ordered.

  We sat eating, more slowly than hurriedly. “I wish I had some coffee and tin-titty,”285 mumbled Robertson, looking into his mess tin.

  “Now, Medic. What the fokmi is ‘tin-titty’? Oh! I suppose it’s a World War Two slang,” scoffed Choc.

  “Yes, it is,” concurred Robertson. “It’s slang for ‘canned milk’. Another slang for canned milk is ‘armoured cow’.”

  “Well, Medic …” Choc’s face became inscrutable for a moment, then he continued. “Don’t look around. They’re coming.”

  “Keep doing what you’re doing, Men. How many fokas and where are they coming from, Choc?” I asked.

  “They’re still partly hidden in the tree line. Kitam Ajchaq’e is on my right flank. Hach-k’ek’en Ajchaq’e on my left. I can’t see the packs, but they’re there as the bushes are moving. I can’t see any movement between the two flanks.”

  “That’s where the madafok batz are,” briefed Teul, looking deeply concerned, his eyes darting.

  “Kowil! What do we do now?” asked Robertson. We looked at him.

  “Continue eating. We need the food,” uttered Taat.

  Even the soft sound of the flowing water seemed to have disappeared as the floodplain, the valley, became absolutely quiet except for the sounds we made as we quietly ate. “What happened?” I asked. “All of a sudden, nobody can’t say nothing. What’s up Teul? We have to act normal. Talk. You’re always fokin talking.”

  “We’re eating. My nah’ always told me that I shouldn’t talk with my mouth full.” He shrugged his shoulders.

  “Teul! You’re full of fok,” chuckled Rhys.

  “What do we do if they attack?” inquired Robertson, calmly.

>   “I don’t think there’s any madafoka if about that,” countered Choco.

  “What do you suggest as our line of defence? Should we use the river? Teul? Do we get up and run for one of the spurs and get into the jungle on the other side of the river?”

  “Can’t do that,” sang Robertson. “There’s movement on the spurs.”

  “So, they’re all around us,” I concluded, quite loudly.

  “Except in the river,” noted Rhys.

  “They want us in the river,” cautioned Taat. “Being in the river would not be good. It’s difficult to fight in water.”

  “Then getting in the river is what we must not do, unless we have no choice,” I said. “Listen in as we don’t have much time. We put our backs to the river and form a semi-circle, the arc facing the enemy in the jungle. At each end of the semi-circle we have two rifles. Choco and Teul on the right. Teul closest to the river. Rhys and I on the left. I will be closest to the river. Medic, with rifle and pistol, will be at the top of the formation with Taat on

  his left and Choc on his right. We space out a bit at first, but draw in closer as we need to.”

  “What about the spurs,” asked Rhys.

  “Coming to that. Teul and I also have responsibility for monitoring the spurs and river. What positions do you suggest, Teul?”

  He didn’t answer for a few seconds. “Traditional offhand,286 and kneeling.287 Sarge, Medic, and I, offhand. The rest, kneeling. We modify as we see fit.”

  Got it, Men?”

  “Sarge!”

  “Use your bullets sparingly. Selective fire. One enemy for one bullet. Like a sniper. Now get up slowly. Act normally. Oh, remember to pick up your trash.” The men responded by looking at me as if I were nuts. I had to laugh out loudly.

  “Skinny, skinny, yu no know me?” screamed Xwáay Chikoop, from the ceiba trees.

  “Formation!” I barked, jumping up.

  Kitam Ajchaq’e and Hach-k’ek’en Ajchaq’e were walking briskly through the riverside brush towards us, kitams and hach-k’ek’ens surging ahead of them. As if on a signal, as the packs left the low bushes and came onto the sand, they began alternating a deep moaning sound with loud discordant barks making our skins rise with koal seed. The hach-k’ek’ens numbered a hundred or more animals, the kitams were divided into two packs, each having about forty animals. With protruded tusks that were a brilliant white as they reflected the sun, they ran towards us, at times leaping, spittle and froth foaming at their mouths.

  “Ready, men.”

  “Sarge!”

  “Fire at will.”

  The first report was as one, Robertson, Rhys, Teul, Choco, and I taking out five of the raging animals. Choc had not fired yet, as his gun had a shorter range. We fired again and five more animals dropped. The packs were then about quarter mile away and closing fast, but Kitam Ajchaq’e and Hach-k’ek’en Ajchaq’e remained on the perimeter of the sandy riverside zone. There were yet no signs of the batz.

  “Robertson,” I yelled. “Eliminate the fokin Kechelaj Komon.” Robertson took aim, fired, and I saw Hach-k’ek’en Ajchaq’e leap up and backward. I didn’t know how badly he was hit as he remained standing and gave no indication that he was hurt. Yet, the hach-k’ek’ens stopped their advance. I turned my attention back to the approaching packs of kitams.

  Illustration 13: The Battle at Chiquibul Branch.

  Robertson fired again. “Got that bugger,” I heard him shout. I looked quickly and did not see Kitam Ajchaq’e. The kitam packs’ moaning and barking grew to loud howls of terror, so loud that they resounded and echoed throughout the surrounding mountains and valleys. Their advance stopped then all was quiet except for the echoes of rifle reports rebounding off the mountains.

  “Cease fire,” I ordered. “Everyone! Offhand position.” We all were standing, rifles in position, staring at our enemies, knowing that we were terribly outnumbered.

  “Skinny, skinny, yu no know me?”

  Immediately, the roar of the batz began and it rose to such intensity that our muscles shuddered throughout our bodies. Sweat broke out, but it was not the sweat of fear even though there was the realization that we were in extreme danger and would probably all die.

  “I think some big enchilada is madafok angry,” shouted Teul. “We need to reassess, Sarge.”

  The batz came tearing through the jungle and onto the floodplain bushes, a frenzy of over a hundred roaring rabid animals.

  “Fire,” I ordered, and our reports once again thundered into the Maya Mountains of the Vaca Plateau. The hach-k’ek’ens and the kitams did not move and as the batz reached the perimeter of the sandy plain they stopped.

  An eerie quiet engulfed the floodplain once again, seeming to steal even the air around us. Hach-k’ek’en Ajchaq’e was with his hach-k’ek’ens and, once again, Kitam Ajchaq’e stood with his kitams.

  “Cease fire,” I shouted. “Withdraw to the river.”

  From behind a thicket of bamboo, about five hundred feet in front of us, walked Sisimito and Molly, hand in hand. Anger rose within me, so intense that my eyes blurred and my chest constricted my lungs. I blinked my eyes rapidly to get rid of the deep darkness as I took control of myself. My finger began the initial slack movement of my two-stage trigger then Molly walked in front of Sisimito.

  “Don’t fokin shoot,” I heard Rhys shouting, “You’ll kill Molly,” but he seemed far away. “Release the fokin trigger, Sarge, or I’ll take you out.” I barely saw Rhys bringing his rifle butt toward my head. I cradled my rifle.

  I felt the water seeping into my boots as I stepped into the river. I stood, regaining my inner strength as I cried out, “I will come for you Molly. I will take you home. And I will kill you Sisimito, you piece of fok! I will see that you never walk my jungles again. You will wish you had stayed where Tzultacah288 took you. And I will kill you because I am Ke’kchi … I am a soldier … and I am the Maya Warrior called Fuck.”

  I turned, giving Sisimito my back and walked determinedly to the center of the river where the water was deepest. I held my rifle above me and started to drift downriver.

  We floated towards the first spur, our feet touching the bottom of the river. We held single file, the same formation as when we walked through the jungle. The river passed a foot or two below the ceiling of the spur and there was only a residual dim glow as light filtered in from the river’s entrance and exit. We passed under the spur without incident except that I noted a slight increase in the forward speed of the water. As we came into the sunlight, it took a few seconds for our eyes to adjust. Hach-k’ek’ens, kitams, and batz lined the southern edge of the river, the Kechelaj Komon on the northern edge. They just stared at us, faces expressionless, remaining absolutely quiet.

  “I don’t like this no madafok,” mumbled Teul, quietly. “Something’s up. They’re doing nothing.”

  “We just keep on going,” I responded.

  We approached the second spur and went through just as we did with the first. I again was aware of a further increase in the speed of the current. On exiting, I noted that the packs and the Kechelaj Komon lining the river edges continued to remain quiet, but with some agitation and restlessness.

  “They’re restless, Men,” I stated.

  “Be ready,” warned Rhys.

  We kept on going, walking, drifting, calmly towards the third spur. The closer we got to it the more agitated the animals became, some moving into the shallows of the river edge.

  Skinny, skinny, yu no know me?

  Wah-co!-Wah-co!-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.

  Then came that beautiful song from the jungle, not one song, but many songs, over and over, filling our hearts with hope and needed strength.

  Katy-Katy-yu-baby-di cry.

  Jut-jut. Good-cook.

  Katy-Katy-yu-baby-di cry.

  Jut-jut. Good-cook.

  The xan-cotis and the jut-juts were with us, reminding us that all in my jungle was not lost to Sisimi
to, his Kechelaj Komon, and his Kechelaj Jupuq. There was still beauty in sight and sound, and it gave us hope, invigorated us; but that moment of beauty was immediately torn away.

  “What the fokmi?” hollered Choc, and I saw him struggling to stand as a strong current began pulling him forward. Before I could rush forward to help him, we were all pulled off our feet and were hurling downriver toward the river’s passage through the next spur. As we rapidly approached the spur, I did not see the telltale light of the exit, only a solid wall deep within, and a ceiling two feet above the water. I was suddenly submerged, my mouth filling with water. I came up again, coughing, saw men around me, not sure who, and realized we were going to slam forcefully into the wall. But we didn’t. We were yanked to the left and began crashing against thick roots coming from the roof of the cave into the water below, and the water kept rushing, taking us with it.

  We had very little light, but we grabbed onto the roots and were able to hold on. We then came onto a talus pile of collapsed boulders half submerged in the wall to wall river. We were able to get footholds and handholds as we crossed over the submerged bridge, but there were sharp limestone edges trying to cut into us. The men began moving toward other boulders and a small sand bar on our left, holding on to one root then the next as they moved. As I approached the rocks, hands reached out and pulled me onto them; I lay coughing, trying to get the water I had inhaled out of my lungs.