“Actually it’s ruffled the feathers of more than a few of the Maya we’ve met,” said Margie. She turned to Will. “I still say you’ve got to think about using your real name for the new project, Will.” He sloughed off her hand and said quickly, “Let’s not discuss that now, corazón.” Margie took a deep breath and picked up her fork.
“So Will-am,” Harriet asked, purposely mispronouncing it to sound more like Chilam, “when I last saw you, you were a sculptor, were you not? When did you make the transition to painting? And not to belittle your obvious talent, but how exactly did you end up at the Met? Side by side with Diego Rivera and David Siqueiros? That’s quite an achievement.” She raised an imperious eyebrow.
Will had a habit of nosily slurping the broth from the birria when he wasn’t the one talking. And now, after this none-too-veiled insult from Harriet, he slurped even louder. Margie gave Will a slightly disapproving look. Tess noticed she did this with a small, silent intake of breath and a tightening around her mouth.
Tess was reminded of a couple she had seen at the café that morning; the man had been using his knife to scrape up bits of egg on his plate, and then was eating right off the knife. His wife, without even looking at him, handed him a fork. She just held it out, until he took it and started using it instead. The whole time the wife kept on talking to the person next to her. Tess had wondered, How many years of marriage does it take to get to that point?
“Actually, Harriet, if you must know,” said Will with a stiff smile, “I was lucky enough to meet a curator at the Arte Moderno in Mexico City, and he really liked my work and felt my pieces would fit nicely into the exhibition. I was incredibly lucky.”
Harriet peered over at him like a suspicious detective shining a flashlight. “I should say so. Siqueiros was a dedicated—not to mention famous—political activist, a brilliant social realist … . As striking as they may be, William, it was … just surprising … to see your Armageddon paintings alongside Siqueiros.”
Will brushed his finger across his lip, then leaned back, took a swig of wine, and smiled in a thoughtful manner. “Well, actually, you know, I did conceive those pieces as a comment on the fall of the common man, the ultimate oppression of the masses, you know, the tragic result of the corporate—”
Margie suddenly started coughing, almost choking. They all realized she was laughing. Will turned his head sharply toward her. She gave him a “come on, now, be honest” look, and he smiled again, this time somewhat sheepishly.
Margie rubbed him fondly on the back. “It didn’t hurt that Will went to Choate with the curator at the Met,” she said.
Everyone laughed long and loudly at this, including Harriet. It seemed to ease the tension that had been with them the whole evening.
Margie turned and regarded Tess. “So, Harriet tells us you are doing an assignment for Wayne Orbus?”
“Yes … well,” said Tess, taking a piece of the sourdough bread called birotes from the basket in the center of the table. “It’s just a paid gig.” She was immediately afraid that sounded too defensive. She did not really know how they felt about WOOSH. “I mean it’s an interesting writing project but …” Tess switched directions, “So, I gather, I mean, do you all know him well?”
“We knew him as much as most people did. But we don’t talk to Wayne anymore,” said Margie. She and Will looked at each other with volumes in their eyes.
“Tess, you don’t have to worry too much about Wayne, but just so you know—” began Margie.
Will turned and put his hand on Margie’s shoulder. “Marge, Tess is very bright. She doesn’t really need to—“
Harriet interrupted. “Yes, Tess does really need to. Chilam, or William, don’t tell me you are still defending Orbus? After everything, all this … ? I want you to tell Tess what she needs to know. I don’t want her disappearing for ten years, like some other people.”
There was an awkward silence, broken only by Ana coming in from the kitchen with more warm corn tortillas. Will looked down at his plate.
“Well, here’s one thing that might give you an idea about Wayne,” said Margie in an arch tone. “After we started moving away from the organization a bit, we found out that when he first started the group in college, it was known as the ‘Wayne Orbus Organization for the Subjugation of Humanity.’”
“Oh, come on, Margie, don’t exaggerate. It was ‘the Saving of Humanity,’” Will insisted.
“Whatever,” said Margie, rolling her eyes.
“That was a million years ago when he was a kid. The point is,” continued Will, “He’s not a cult leader. When Margie and I decided we did not really believe in what WOOSH was doing, because for one thing the more Maya we talked to, the more we realized the whole 2012 phenomenon was made up … There are actually only two specific references to that date in any end-of-the-world way. But anyway, when we decided we wanted to go our own way, no one tried to stop us. We were incommunicado for most of all those years by choice. We were … you know, expatting it. Doing our own thing.”
Here Harriet raised her eyebrows so far up in disdain Tess was afraid they would touch her hairline and set it on fire.
“We just wanted to be around people who thought like us,” continued Will. “We were disgusted with America—”
Margie interrupted, “You were disgusted. I was being supportive.”
“Now it seems,” Will said in a more gentle, apologetic tone, “well, we realized it’s probably it’s not a good idea, not really a positive action, to cut oneself off like that, from so many people.”
Margie reached over and squeezed Harriet’s arm. “I’m so sorry, Harriet. I really felt I was visiting another planet and could no longer breathe the air back in the old one. It just seemed too hard.”
“Well, I’m just glad you are okay,” said Harriet, her eyes moist. “I thought I was going to have to have a hit put out on you, Señor Balam, and have Margie kidnapped and deprogrammed. Thank god you both finally came to your senses … All this fucking apocalyptic mass hysteria … . I think we can agree the only real end of the world is when Carlos tell us there’s no more birria.”
Everyone laughed, but Will smiled mischievously, pushing his hair back from his ear. “Wait … . Who said we don’t believe the world is ending?”
Margie turned quickly toward him. “Come on, Will, stop it. You’ll freak everybody out.”
Will ignored her and poured himself some more wine. “Listen, no one can deny that something big is happening. Just look at the news. The honeybee is disappearing. Bats are disappearing. Fish are becoming extinct.”
“And Newt Gingrich is running for president!” Tess interjected. She was happy when everyone laughed.
“The point is,” Will continued, “when the food supply shrinks, famine grows. There will be more famine unless the consciousness of the world changes. Famine leads to plague—”
Margie turned to Harriet and winced. “I’m sorry, Harriet, he gets on a roll with this stuff.”
Will leaned back and tilted his head to the side. “Listen, people who prophesy about the end of the world, you know, are successful, and get followers, partially because the theory they hang their hat on has some truth to it … . Like, I’ve recently learned that the super-volcano underneath Yellowstone National Park last erupted over 640,000 years ago but that, unlike most other super-volcanoes on the planet, it is not extinct. The volcano sits on top of a magma chamber that is about fifty miles long, twenty-five miles wide, and five miles deep—that’s a chamber large enough to fit New York City inside it three times over—and this volcano in Yellowstone is still alive and kicking. The crater from the volcano is something like thirty by fifty miles in size. Now, if I wanted to start a movement about it, I could easily put together some history of Earth’s volcanoes, overlay a few portentous Nostradamus passages, and voilà! And that’s just one potential earth-changing phenomenon. There’s—”
“Please! Will, now just stop it!” said Margie, taking her napkin and
pretending to tie it over Will’s mouth to shut him up.
Just then Carlos entered from the kitchen and looked in concern at Will and Margie and the napkin. “Everything is okay? Does señor need more water? Birria too spicy?
***
CHAPTER 5
Post, Post, Post-Modern Mealtime Mores
You are probably still feeling disoriented, to one degree or another, because everyday life has become so strange. You may be searching around your memory for comforting customs of genteel civilization you can follow to help you feel more normal. The trouble is, things are a lot different now; the old rule book is gone. (The old rule book has been devoured by wild animals or a gang of paper-eaters, or has been burned for fuel.) You certainly can’t expect anyone to care whether you pour tea from the right or the left. On the other hand, this is not the time to think to yourself, Hey, all hell’s broken loose; if everyone is running around marauding, why should I pay attention to my table manners? Because, believe it or not, mealtime etiquette is still extremely important, lest we become wild animals ourselves.
Way Beyond Artichokes: How to Eat Without “Traditional” Utensils:
If you are lucky enough to still own any silverware, you are probably using it for digging, building, or trading. (Tablespoons also make fairly passable mirrors.) No worries: there are many world cultures that historically did not use knives, spoons, and forks—for example, the Ethiopians (remember going to those trendy restaurants and eating with our fingers?). But the best model is Asia. Chopsticks are the simplest and yet the most sophisticated of utensils. You can make them out of almost anything. You may decide upon tree twigs as the best raw material. When using tree twigs, peel bark off on at least the bottom half. (If you have the time, it’s more elegant to peel and sand the whole twig.) The well-appointed post-2012 household has pre-peeled twigs by the ready. *Note: If you are in an area where there are no more trees, you may use pencils (lead removed), old pens, or even dried animal bones. However, do not try to use two knives as chopsticks. This can result in injury to the mouth, and also just looks horribly common while you’re doing it.
Staying Safe and Saving Face:
When you find yourself a guest at someone else’s table, staying safe and being polite can be a tricky combo. Not everyone is going to be well-educated about which foods are healthy and which foods are poisonous due to contamination or lack of proper preserving agents or methods. When in doubt, unless you are literally starving to death (in which case, see page __), it’s best to politely refuse the item offered, with a sincere-sounding “Thank you so much, but I have a medical condition that prohibits my being able to enjoy [the food in question].” (No one has to know that your “medical condition” is in actuality your own common sense.)
Cannibalism: Yes or No?:
More than ever before, we all need to go with the flow, do as the natives do, adjust to the current status quo. We can get used to just about anything. People used to marry their sisters, in primitive days, because they needed to propagate the species … so when someone serves you meat, and you suspect it may not actually be pork, just remember a few basic rules of behavior—
“Tess! Lunch is ready on the patio!” Harriet called up.
Tess closed her laptop, wondering if she might be going too far with the cannibalism section. And why put the idea into people’s heads? Then she caught herself and almost laughed out loud. What was she thinking? She often forgot that this book was not going to be read by any actual 2012 survivalists—that no one was really going to be following her advice. Man, talk about getting into character.
When she got out to the patio, it was sunny and Eden-esque as usual, except Harriet was already fighting with Will.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, Harriet,” Will was saying with irritation. “But this is why we are going to see the monarch butterflies. While we still can. While they are still here.”
“Butterflies? What butterflies?” Tess asked cheerfully, trying to break the prevailing combative mood.
Will got up to greet her, kissing her on both cheeks; Margie smiled and blew her a kiss from across the large round glass table. Tess already felt she and Margie were related, that they were family, since they had both been Harriet’s assistant. Will pulled out the empty chair for Tess, next to Harriet’s wheelchair. The table was set, complete with fresh flowers, and there was already a basket of fresh bread in the center as well as a tall pitcher of papaya juice, a bottle of mineral water, and an ice bucket containing a bottle of wine.
“It’s the peak season,” he said. “It’s when millions and millions of monarchs migrate south and many of them descend on this one area, a butterfly reserve. It’s one of the most fantastic sights in nature. Next week is the Festival Cultural de la Mariposa Monarca. Have you ever seen trees bending down with the weight of several thousand butterflies?”
Tess felt her eyes widen, trying to picture this. “Can’t say that I have.”
“Tess, why don’t you come with us?” said Margie. “I don’t know what you have planned while you were here, but … we’re also going to see our Mayan friend Alejandro on the way.”
“He’s authentic, Tess. I’m sure Wayne Orbus would approve.” Will laughed, but Harriet just pursed her lips and took a sip of wine.
“It sounds fabulous, really, but I was going to try to get down to Palenque. I want to see the palace, and the Temple of the Inscriptions, and the ball-game court, and I read about these big rectangular pools where the calendar priests would look at the reflections of the stars—“
“Tess, Palenque is fifteen hours away,” protested Will.
“And that’s if you’re driving,” put in Margie.
Harriet nodded. “For once I agree with you, Will. It’s too far to go alone. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her!”
Margie turned to Tess with clear, calm eyes. “Tess, I know what you’re thinking, about the ruins, you’re thinking you are going to have some Big Spiritual Experience there. We have watched so many people we know come here with the same idea. We were like that too. But it’s just filled with other Americans, all wandering around with cameras trying to have the same Big Spiritual Experience.
“Listen, after the butterflies, we’re going to Mexico City for a meeting Will has about his next project. The National Museum of Anthropology has wonderful Mayan artifacts. Half the exhibits in the Maya Hall are actually from Palenque. It’s one of the best museums in the world. You really should see it, if you’ve never been. Why don’t you come, Tess?”
Will hooked an arm through hers and pretended to pull her. “Yes, come with us, please. You can keep Margie from picking on me.”
Margie ignored him. “We’re staying with Alejandro in Morelia overnight. He won’t mind another person.”
“Absolutely,” Will agreed.
As she ate her lunch of chilaquiles and scrambled eggs and listened to Harriet, Margie, and Will talking about places they had been in Mexico over the years, she started picturing the long dusty, bumpy bus ride to Palenque all by herself, trying to navigate her way around without knowing the language … . She had already had her return flight arranged to leave from Mexico City, so ending up there would work perfectly. (Margie was planning on accompanying Harriet back to the States for a long overdue visit in a few weeks.) Tess loved the idea of being driven through the country by people who really knew it. What could be a better way to see Mexico? And so Tess decided that one butterfly reserve, one authentic Maya, and two personal guides beat one spectacular Mayan ruin.
***
During the twenty-four hours before Tess left Ajijic, Harriet vacillated between relief that Tess was not going off by herself on a bus and worry that another of her ex-assistants was getting mixed up with Chilam Balam. She also was worried about their traveling south on Highway 15, which she said was the route used by dangerous drug traffickers. “For heaven’s sake, we’re not hitchhiking, Harriet,” Margie assured her.
As usual, Harriet channeled most of
her anxiety into health issues, her favorite worry-subject. “Mexico City, Tess, has one of the highest pollen counts. Won’t you suffer terribly? You know, it’s a higher altitude, you might not react well … .” The way she talked about it, Tess could tell that Harriet felt she herself could have an attack—by osmosis, or psychic connection—even though she would be miles away. Tess told Harriet if she needed her to stay she would not go.
“No, I told you you did not have to babysit me. I’ve got Ana and Carlos. Go, have fun. At least you won’t be by yourself.” Then she pointed at Will and Margie with a straight strong arm, index finger out. “You two take care of her or I swear I will cause an international incident—and you know I can. Tess, you must email me every day, please!” But Harriet had talked to Margie enough during the couple’s stay in Ajijic to feel certain they were not going to whisk Tess off into any dangerous cults.
About an hour out of the Lake Chapala area, however, on the road to Morelia, Will turned to Margie and said, “So, should we tell her?”
“I don’t know, should we?”
“I think we have to.”
Tess sat up a little straighter in the backseat of the car.
“You know, Tess, I didn’t want to mention this back in Ajijic. I did not want to get Harriet going,” said Margie. “But one of the reasons we are going to be living in Mexico at least until after December is the crystal skulls.”
Margie turned around and gazed into Tess’s stupefied face. “Have you heard of them?” She smiled. “Yes, I see you have. It’s true most people think we’re insane. But what else is new? The location of many of the skulls is kept very secret. The people who care for them don’t want them falling into the wrong hands. These skulls come from another planet, originally. And the beings who brought them are returning to Earth next December.”
Etiquette for the End of the World Page 15