The Chalupa Conundrum

by Lyle Christie

“Afraid not.”

  I nosed around a little longer and looked more closely at the dried blood droplets that resided just below what appeared to be a series of scratches on the far wall.

  “What do you make of these?” I asked.

  “They look like they were made by a jaguar or some kind of animal with equally serious claws.”

  “That’s what I was thinking—except my mind keeps flashing to images of King Chalupa’s half-man, half-beast demon creatures.”

  “There’s no such thing, believe me. I’ve been all over this world and heard some pretty crazy stories, and all of it came down to some very vivid imaginations describing otherwise ordinary events.”

  “I would agree, though that phone call I got from Estelle was pretty fucking weird.”

  “Yeah, but don’t forget about the assholes in the alley. They were clearly not minions of King Chalupa,” she said.

  She had a good point, and it meant that we had two completely different avenues of investigation. One was potentially supernatural, and the other was a couple of super-assholes. We moved on to the next building, and, upon stepping inside, the first thing I recognized was the smell of Estelle’s perfume. It was a fragrance by Givenchy called Amarige, and it stopped me dead in my tracks. Olfactory responses were incredibly powerful, and the memories flooding my mind were making me feel as though I were standing in the same room with my beloved ex. My heart had an instant ache, and it only got worse as I looked around and took in the obvious signs of intimate cohabitation. The two foldout beds had been fastened together into a full size bed, and Estelle and her fucking fiancé’s belongings were completely intermingled, with the most obvious example being the dirty laundry pile in the corner. On the very top were a pair of Estelle’s pink thong underwear, and it was, coincidentally, a pair I had personally slid off her body on several occasions. Below them were a pair of grey men’s boxers, and seeing the two garments together was almost worse than the fucking pictures of the happy couple hanging on the adjacent wall. This was a fucking dig site and not an apartment, so how was it that they had the time to create such a cozy little tribute to their relationship in temporary housing?

  “Fuckers,” I mumbled under my breath.

  “What?” Alessandra asked.

  “Nothing, I was just talking to myself.”

  “Clearly, you’re still coming to terms with your breakup with Estelle.”

  “Believe me, I came to terms with it the moment I hung up the phone.”

  “Intellectually, but what about emotionally?”

  Goddammit! I wish Professor Hot Sauce would stop bringing up such valid points.

  “You know, there’s still plenty of time for you to go back to school and switch to psychology,” I said.

  “Yeah, and I hear there’s an available slot in the Princeton Graduate Psychology Program.”

  “Good one, and now would it be possible to talk about your complicated secret boyfriend instead of my ex-girlfriend?”

  “Maybe, if I were pining for him, or he just happened to be missing from this camp.”

  “I’m thinking you should skip psychology and try comedy.”

  She smiled.

  “Shall we move on?” she asked.

  “By all means.”

  We thankfully left Estelle’s love nest then went to the building that housed their generator. I checked the fuel level and wiring then started it and listened as it purred like a kitten. Estelle had said that they had lost power, but, as far as I could tell, their electrical power system was working perfectly, which meant that whoever or whatever sabotaged it, did so in such a way as to leave behind no trace. I hit the off button and killed the generator, and the pleasant tranquility of the jungle and its various inhabitants now filled the void. We headed off to the communications hut, and I suddenly felt my scrot-sense tingle, so I immediately stopped and looked off towards the nearby hill.

  As the two people walked through the camp, the man paused and turned to look out at the hill where the creatures were slowly advancing towards the camp. They froze in place and watched as the man lifted his hand to block the sun as he scanned the area and ran his eyes over every inch of the terrain. This man wasn’t like the others—he was observant and somehow able to sense their presence, so they would have to be more cautious and wait for the right moment to strike.

  “What is it?” Alessandra asked.

  “Nothing, I just had that same uneasy feeling that we were being watched again.”

  “I want to think you’re just being paranoid, but they say it’s always good to follow your instincts in situations like this.”

  “Yeah, and assuming my instincts are correct, then I wonder what the hell is out there?”

  “I wish I knew, but my deep inner scientist keeps going back to some kind of animal or even the wind.”

  “Yeah, but neither of those generally triggers my scrot-sense.”

  “Excuse me? Scrot-sense?”

  I had to laugh, for I was once again explaining the name I had jokingly come up with to describe my intuition.

  “It’s a term I use to describe my intuition, and when something bad is about to happen, it manifests itself in my scrotum.”

  “And what exactly does your scrotum do when something bad is about happen?”

  “Obviously, it drags my balls up into my butthole.”

  “I certainly hope that’s anatomically impossible—for your balls and your butthole’s sake.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s more of a feeling than a physical reality.”

  We continued on towards the communications building, and Alessandra stayed right at my side and cast the occasional glance my way, which I suspect was an attempt to keep track of my emotional state. It seemed a little unnecessary and perhaps a bit overprotective, but then it wasn’t every day that people experienced the mysterious loss of friends or loved ones. We reached the building and paused in front of its open door.

  “So, this is very likely where Estelle was when she called you,” Alessandra said.

  “What kind of communications equipment do they have?”

  “A short wave radio system as well as Satellite phones and a portable satellite internet unit.”

  We entered the building, and, looking around at the various equipment and furniture, I saw that some kind of struggle had clearly taken place. The desk was a mess, various papers were strewn around the room, and both of the two chairs were lying on their sides. The short wave radio had been smashed, and the two satellite phones had met similar fates. One sat broken on the desk while the other lay shattered on the floor beside the door, and it wasn’t painting a particularly rosy picture of Estelle’s fate.

  “Seeing this room is not exactly comforting.”

  “Yeah, I imagine it’s not,” Alessandra said, gravely.

  I gathered up the papers, put them in order, then placed them on the desk before taking a moment to look them over. It was a report of the team’s latest findings, and the entire document was sixteen pages, though nine through fifteen were missing. Interesting. I took another look around the room, as I was curious if any of the missing pages had fallen behind the desk or any of the file cabinets. There were none to be found, but I did see where the laptops had been hooked up, as the ethernet cables that obviously would have connected them to the satellite internet unit were still on the desk. I decided to follow the cables, and they led me to a nearby table which was conspicuously empty.

  “Do you know if any of the first responders would have taken the laptops and the satellite internet unit as evidence?” I asked.

  “No idea, though I suppose it’s possible your embassy people might also have grabbed them.”

  “I guess I’ll have to ask Greaves.”

  We stepped outside the communications hut, and Alessandra pointed towards the Chalupa pyramid.

  “Ready to see the ruins?” she asked.

  “Absolutely, this camp is a little depressing.”

  To the west, there was a lar
ge open area, and we crossed it before continuing along a dirt path which the scientists obviously used to commute to the dig site. Upon reaching the official border of the city, the path turned to stone and was marked by strings that designated the safe area where we wouldn’t disturb any of the various individual dig sites. As we headed towards the city center, we passed the ruins of what Alessandra explained were once the homes of the aristocracy. They were quite large and contained many rooms and looked oddly similar to ones I had seen in Roman ruins. The next area was accessed via a small bridge which crossed over a stone aqueduct that miraculously still flowed with water. This new area was the commercial district and appeared to have been a large open market with a number of permanent buildings lining its sides. At the far end was a massive open square composed of some kind of smooth sand, and in the center was a stone path that led past a fountain and over to the Chalupa Pyramid—assuming, of course, it was actually Chalupan.

  “This must have been quite a city in its day,” I said.

  “Yeah, it’s believed to have had a population of over seventy-five thousand residents at its height.”

  “And how many of these Chalupans still exist today?” I asked.

  “Between Spanish Colonialism and the influx of European diseases in the sixteen hundreds, not many. I’d guess no more than a couple thousand.”

  “Which is why I suppose Von Träger wants to make this a national heritage site.”

  “Exactly.”

  We walked along the paved path, and I noticed it was in surprisingly good shape for its age and made me wish the Chalupans had built some of the roads back home in Northern California, which could hardly survive a rainy winter let alone a thousand years in a tropical climate. We arrived at the fountain, and, in the center of the water basin, there was a raised pedestal occupied by life-sized statues of a man and woman. Below them, on the pedestal, were four perfectly circular openings, and the two smaller palm-sized openings served as the water spouts that were filling the main basin. The other two openings were wider, about six inches in diameter, and appeared to be dry, so I decided to climb onto the fountain and have a closer look. It turned out that each of the larger holes contained a stone sphere that was sitting about twelve inches below the lip, and I reached down and felt that I could move them ever so slightly, but they were too smooth and heavy to get a good enough grip to lift them out. I therefore took out my folding combat knife and tried to pry one of the spheres loose, but all I managed to do was scratch the edge of the stone.

  “I see you found the spheres,” Alessandra said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Interestingly, stone spheres are one of the many mysterious objects left behind by the pre-Columbian inhabitants of this region.”

  “I take it no one has figured out what they were used for?”

  “Nope.”

  “Interesting—and are they generally found in holes in fountains?”

  “No, they’re usually found out in the open and can range in size from a baseball to a Volkswagen, though their presence here hints that the Chalupans either acquired them from another people or happened to create similar items.”

  “Do you know if anyone has ever tried to get one of these out of their holes?”

  “No idea, but it’s doubtful they would try if it in any way damaged the stone.”

  “So, using a knife or a screwdriver would be out of the question?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I looked down at the scratches I had made with my knife and felt like an idiot.

  “Shit,” I muttered.

  “What is it?”

  I had to think fast if I hoped to cover up my idiocy.

  “Um—well—I said shit, in terms of whether or not all this plumbing and mastery of water means they had properly flushing toilets,” I said.

  “I might have guessed that a man with bathroom issues would be pondering that question.”

  “Well, of course, as a proper deuce is the hallmark of a well-lived life.”

  “More like a very basic facet of a normal life and as such is nothing to get too worked up about.”

  She had a point, though logic and reasoning wouldn’t help with my issues, as they were tightly woven into the fabric of my being. I stepped off of the fountain and rejoined Professor Hot Sauce, then we proceeded along the stone path to reach another ornate fountain that resided directly in front of the pyramid. This one was different in that the water basin beneath the statues was separated into two catch pools—one on the male side and one on the female side. Unlike the first fountain, whose water came from holes in the raised platform, this one was fed by little water channels that originated in the pyramid, though, strangely, the female side was completely dry.

  I moved past the fountain and gazed upon the large stone wall that resided behind it and couldn’t help but think that it looked as though it might be an entrance—if you could somehow move something that large and heavy. We continued on around it to the stairs and climbed up the pyramid to reach its majestic summit, and, feeling the exertion of our efforts, we sat down and took a moment to catch our breath. It was no small task in the heat and humidity, and both of us had a great deal of perspiration evident on our clothing. Alessandra, in particular, had a nice patch of sweat on her chest, and the see-through effect it created left me gazing longingly at her nipples as they poked through the thin white fabric and served as glorious ornamentation to her rather lovely full breasts. As expected, she caught me looking then casually shook her head in dismay.

  “Even pining for your lost love, you still find the time to admire another woman’s breasts.”

  “True, though I only do so because it has always been an excellent way to ease my mind in moments of emotional duress.”

  “Nice try.”

  “No, I’m serious, and there are even studies that show that men get legitimate stress relief from looking at breasts.”

  “I have a feeling those studies were conducted by men.”

  “Yes, very lucky and insightful men.”

  We continued to sit, and I used the time and commanding view to study the city’s unique layout and water system. Starting at the pyramid, I visually traced the series of aqueducts that flowed throughout the area, and it was surprisingly complex and reminded me of a miniature version of the city of Venice, though these canals were obviously much smaller than their Italian counterparts. I also noticed that every major structure sat over or beside a waterway, so this was likely to have been some ancient version of indoor plumbing. That said a lot about whoever lived here, because, even today, many places in the world went without such conveniences.

  I stood up and turned my attention to the top of the pyramid to see it was roughly fifty feet square with a three foot tall stone lip along the edge. In the middle was a small walled-in area with a kind of carved stone X-shaped altar, and my immediate suspicion was that it was used for human sacrifice. Interestingly, it looked a lot like the altar in my dream, and I moved closer and imagined some poor soul fastened to it while a high priest gutted him or her like a fish.

  “This thing gives me the creeps. Do you think they sacrificed virgins up here?” I asked.

  “Doubtful, but, even if they did, you’d obviously have nothing to worry about.”

  “So, will you be here all week, or are you taking your act on the road?”

  “Oh, I’ll be here all week.”

  “Seriously now—what do you think they used this for?”

  “We don’t believe Chalupans engaged in human sacrifice, as that was mostly an Aztec, and, in some cases, a Mayan practice, so, honestly, I have no idea.”

  “So, maybe it was used as a sort of a sex altar.”

  “Or a place where they had sacred meals.”

  “You mean where they ate out?”

  She didn’t bother to respond to my attempted cunnilingus joke, so I decided to move on—literally. I walked over to the edge of the pyramid and gazed down at its structure and pondered the civilizatio
n that could have created such a massive monument.

  “Has there been much exploring inside the pyramid?” I asked.

  “No, though they have tried some ground side sonar techniques and discovered that there are chambers both inside and beneath the actual structure.”

  “So, why hasn’t anyone gone inside?”

  “No one has been able to find the entrance.”

  “Too bad, as I’d have loved to have explored it.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “So, do you mind if we walk the perimeter of the ruins?”

  “Not at all.”

  We descended the pyramid, which was a far easier task than the ascent, then moved to the farthest edge of the ruins and began walking around its periphery. While there, I looked at all the various sets of tracks, and, as expected, saw that all of the prints circled either around or back to the site, which meant they belonged to our missing team and had obviously been made during the course of their daily work. As we completed our circumnavigation and arrived back at the large open sandy area below the pyramid, I discovered something puzzling. The areas to the left and right of the stone path were as smooth as a baby’s bottom, while the rest of the ruins, were covered in various boot and shoe prints. Did it mean that this area of the pyramid was somehow devoid of any archaeological significance and therefore left out of the latest dig?

  “Is there any reason that the team wouldn’t have spent much time in this particular area?” I asked, pointing at the square.

  “No, why do you ask?”

  “There aren’t any tracks. Everywhere else around this place is littered with tracks, so why not here?”

  “Interesting—I have no idea.”

  I got down low and practically placed my head on the ground as I gazed upon the area, and I noticed something odd. There were subtle striations that weren’t visible when I was standing.

  “What do you see?” Alessandra asked.

  “Do you play golf?”

  “Not too often.”

  “Well, then have you seen a Japanese zen garden that has sections of sand?”

  “Yeah.”