1977
=====
"Thank you," he said.
He took the bowl and inhaled the warmth emitting from it. It was fish broth, and like all the others, it was greasy, green colored, and the fish still had its scales. But he did not care. He was hungry, and the broth and fish were big enough to refuel him, but not heavy enough to make him sleepy. It was the rain forest's natural foods that kept these people alive and healthy, and he was glad he was learning from them. And he was glad that the guaranai had taken to him.
He had reached the guaranai about 2 years ago, by accident. He had left Guatemala City, driving towards Mexico, alone, when a thunderstorm, common on the Guatemalan rain forest, pushed him off track. He kept driving, but unable to find the road, under the heavy rain and lightning, decided to wait in the car.
The wait lasted an entire night.
He woke up the next morning hungry. He got out of the car and examined his surroundings. Around him there was nothing more than wild canopy, perhaps 20 or 30 feet above him. The gentle sounds of the jungle surrounded him, and the fresh smell of fauna and flora enveloped him, causing euphoria of wonderment and fear.
He turned to the car and noticed no damage, but decided not to drive until he got a good sense of his whereabouts and in what direction he would be driving.
He started walking towards the east, when he heard a noise behind him. He turned around and noticed a boy, about 7, staring at him. The child was wearing jeans and an old t-shirt, but his facial features were one of a native Indian.
"Hi," he said, smiled and waved.
The child did not respond, but simply stared at him and the vehicle.
"I'm father Jose Alejando Rey from The Lord Our Savior Missions. Maybe you can tell me how to get back to the main road. I got caught in the rain, and somehow I ended up here."
The child cautiously walked to the car and timidly touched the passenger door, all while watching the priest, waiting if he would be reproached.
"You like the car?" The priest asked.
He walked to the passenger door and opened it. The boy hurriedly scurried away.
"Come on," said the priest smiling, motioning for the kid to get inside. "I'll drive you around, in exchange that you tell me where the road is. Deal?"
Slowly the kid walked towards the car, peeked inside, and incredibly, jumped into the passenger seat. The priest got on, turned the engine, startling the child.
"Calm down," he smiled. "Now, where's the main road?"
The child pointed, and the priest followed the path.
=====
The priest laughed at the memory. Even after 2 years it was still amusing him. The child did not lead him to the road, but actually to the guaranai, a group of people that was yet to be absorbed by modern society. The clothing they wore was actually trades from the people of Chajuf in Chiapas. Meaning he was actually only hours away from reaching the Mexican border.
A few of the guaranai had started farming, but most still held to hunting and gathering. They lived in huts, surrounded mostly by forest, with the exception of the farms. Mayan religious beliefs still strong among them, along with worship of ancient gods like the sun, moon, war, and various animals like the quetzal and jaguar. Supposedly, inside the jungle lived still a Maya priest and a guardian, and access to either one of them was forbidden.
Spanish was not spoken, only ancient dialects, which were probably Mayan. And during the 3 days that the priest stayed with them, he had to communicate through rudimentary sign language. He slept in a hut with the family of the boy he found. And during his stay, he tried learning their way of life was much he could. This was a new order from the church. Unlike his forbearers who forced religion upon their arrival on ancient America, missionaries were now trained to become part of the natives' cultures. Thereby gaining their trust and friendship, making it easier to preach the gospel and spread the word of God, if so they accepted.
After 3 days, he signaled his desire to return to the road and continue onto Mexico. One of the guaranai understood him and led the way. The priest thanked him and promised, as much as he could make it clear, that he would return.
The moment he got back to Mexico, he reported his findings to the church, and requested permission to establish a one-man mission with the guaranai. Given permission, he spent 2 months requesting help and donations. He also hired a local man fluent in Mayan customs and language to aid him during his stay. Ending the third month he set out back to the guaranai, accompanied only by the local man.
He established himself, again, with the boy's family, and immediately began to work with the farmers by instructing them in modern planting techniques. He also introduced medicines badly needed by the sick and dying. He taught them how to trade for better quality products and the modern use of money. He also insisted in better education for the children in both Mayan and Spanish.
"Ask him his name," said the priest to his translator, referring to the boy.
The man spoke back and forth with the boy's father.
"K'abeet Cuch'. It means 'Arrived with need'."
"Why did they give him that name?"
"It isn't their son. They found him. He's an orphan."
Something deep inside the priest hurt immensely. He knew that although the child was accompanied by this family, the boy still felt alone.
It was pain he knew all too well.
For the following two years he dedicated himself to the betterment of the guaranai. Endlessly working until sometimes he would faint and not wake for days at a time. During those trances, the guaranai never touched him nor sought help. To them, faint spells like those meant that the priest's body was being refueled by the gods, and when he woke, he would be enlightened and his spirit refreshed. And when the priest woke, he would immediately begin to work, never thinking about himself, but only about the guaranai.
=====
The guaranai had asked him to sit down that night with them, the boy, who had taken to him, like a son would to a father, sat at his right, the translator at his left. It did not rain, which was fortunate for it would make the fire, outside, light faster, and the ground would be good to sit down on.
One of the elders spoke, standing on a wood platform so he could be seen by everyone.
"We have asked all of you to come tonight," repeated the translator, "to honor a man that has dedicated himself to our people and our beliefs, without, ever, asking for anything in return, except for our wellbeing. To Ah-z'ak (Healing Priest) we present our most precious, yet humble, gift."
The priest was taken aback by such words, and even more so when 4 young men, their faces painted to reflect four different deities, stood around the fire and began to dance. The god of war was represented by a young man, his face painted green and his eyelids a shade of red. Another represented the quetzal by wearing long plumage at his hair and shoulders. The sun god was represented by another young man painted entirely in yellow with 2 orange lines running across his chest. And finally, the god of agriculture was being represented by a young man holding maize in his hands, spreading powder along the floor as he followed the other 3 dancers in a circle around the fire.
The dance lasted about 15 minutes, with more gods added to the dance. It was followed by a banquet. The richest and sweetest of fruits accompanied the traditional "tortilla", along with various meats and delicacies.
During his stay, the priest had never been had the chance to sit down and relax like he did at the moment. To him, perhaps, this was the greatest gift that these people could offer him, one single night of relaxation. And as he closed his eyes and allowed the night's sounds and smells to take him, he heard an unfamiliar voice, very strong and powerful in its tone, with authority echoing around the camp.
"Ah-Meqtan-Pizan!" The voice said.
The priest immediately opened his eyes and stared at the source of such an ominous voice. It came from a largely built man dressed in the ancestral warrior outfit, resembling that of the god of war. On his left forearm he held the circular Mayan shield, engraved with a leaping Jaguar. On his right arm, were the warrior rank bands, and this man proudly wore the highest ranking. Something very few had ever accomplished during the last century. On him, also, was the traditional loin covering and leg shackles. Everything richly covered in gold. But unlike the god, this man did not carry the proud symbol that is the head crown, richly embedded with plumes, but rather, and perhaps his strangest feature, he wore a dark gray jaguar mask, covering his head completely down to the shoulders. So perfectly fitted was the mask that the priest noticed that the mask could change facial expressions, without, yet, loosing its ferociousness.
"Who is that?" The priest asked. "What did he say?"
"That's the priest's guardian," replied the translator. "And he just announced his coming."
In that moment, the guardian stepped aside, and an old man walked towards the fire and stood, proudly, on the platform. He wore the ceremonial headdress representing the sun god. His frail body was covered by a jaguar skin, beautifully held together by threads of gold. In his right, he held a scepter bearing the resemblance of a quetzal, demonstrating the priest's sovereignty. In his left hand, hanged a bundle held together by jaguar skin. He lifted both hands, signaling he was about to speak, and began. Everyone stood in silence.
"What is he saying?"
"He's talking about you, father," said the translator. "He says 'that for long before the coming of the white man that tore down our beautiful cities and before the raping of our mother the earth. The gods, who have yet to forget us, their most proud of children, gave to us guardians that which would uphold the law and beliefs that kept our people together. An example is still alive today, here, in the form of Boteel'"
The priest pointed to the masked warrior, who solemnly stood with his arms crossed, and respectfully bowed his head.
"'Strong and ferocious is he like the jaguar, our protector. And since he was nothing more than a cub, he has taken care of me, like a son would care for his dying father. One day, perhaps, if it is the god's will, he will care for you, as I have for so long.
But during the last seasons I have noticed a man, not one of us, who came and settled in the wilderness with us. Leaving behind the comforts of his people, his family, and perhaps a wife and children. All he left behind in order to heal our sick, nourish our hungry, shelter our homeless, and teach the uneducated. For many seasons I have seen this man grow into one of us, and perhaps, even more than most will in our lifetime. Because not only has he become guaranai, before the eyes of the gods, but also a protector of our most precious believe. The right to live with others, without the worry of change to someone else's false religions and expectations. For he has upheld that believe above his very life. And for that I thank you. Not with mere words, but with that honor those only gods can give to man. And only few men, outside the proud Mayan, accomplish.
"'I ask you,'" said the priest, unraveling the bundle he held. "'Will you wear that which only the few wear? The symbol that makes us who we are. That protects us at night. That protects our children from harm. That protects our men during the hunt, and their travels. That makes us strong when the fight comes to us. Will you, priest, wear the mask of Baalam?'"
Slowly the old priest removed a jaguar mask from the bundle and displayed it holding it above his head. It was golden and light, unlike the guardian's dark mask, and it reflected the fire and its eyes, emitting a beautiful display of light. The priest was dumbfounded. Never, he thought, would he receive such a gift and honor from these people. And if he did not accept, all his work might unravel.
"Thank you," he said.
The Mayan priest held the mask in front of him, and the priest was about to reach for it when he felt something hit his throat. He hit the ground backwards, hitting his head. A ring resounded through his ears, and the pain began. Lights blinded him as he tried to open his eyes, and felt around his arms, pressure, as if someone was trying to pull him. Slowly the lights began to fade and he noticed that the translator and the boy were pulling him away. He heard a roar, and he saw the guardian, Boteel, screaming at the old priest. He could not hear what the guardian was saying for the ringing was still in his ears, but whatever it was, the priest was holding the gold jaguar mask away from Boteel. The guardian roared and turned to the priest. He began walking, his footsteps heavily imprinted on the ground, dust rising with each step. His arms were so tense that veins protruded beneath the skin. He picked up the priest by the collar and held him close to his masked face.
"Ah-z'ak," said the guardian with his hot breath drowning the priest. Its face contorted to the point of showing madness. "Camay!"
He lifted the priest and sat him down on his shoulders facing him. The priest tried holding on, but to no avail. He was too weak. He felt the guardian lift him and sent him plummeting down towards the ground. The priest simply waited the fall. He closed his eyes as he realized that he was slowly falling. He didn't think, just waited. And to him it seemed like a lifetime before his back hit the ground. His ribs, he felt, shattering inside, and his heart stop pumping.
"At least," he thought, "I'll rest."
=====
Author's note: This chapter took a big chunk of imagination to create, but I finally finished it. In case you didn't understand some words, those are actual Mayan dialect. Here are the translations:
Baalam (Jaguar) Ah-Meqtan-Pizan (Highest Priest) Boteel (Warrior) C'am (Receive) Camay (Die) Nacon: God of war
Big thanks to those who reviewed. Also, I'm still trying to find that King story that starts with King I, then goes on to King II, with him fighting alongside Jin against True Ogre. Anyone now who the author is? Let me know.
Remember kids! Practice safe story writing! Read and Review! Tuqui-tuqui
=====
"Thank you," he said.
He took the bowl and inhaled the warmth emitting from it. It was fish broth, and like all the others, it was greasy, green colored, and the fish still had its scales. But he did not care. He was hungry, and the broth and fish were big enough to refuel him, but not heavy enough to make him sleepy. It was the rain forest's natural foods that kept these people alive and healthy, and he was glad he was learning from them. And he was glad that the guaranai had taken to him.
He had reached the guaranai about 2 years ago, by accident. He had left Guatemala City, driving towards Mexico, alone, when a thunderstorm, common on the Guatemalan rain forest, pushed him off track. He kept driving, but unable to find the road, under the heavy rain and lightning, decided to wait in the car.
The wait lasted an entire night.
He woke up the next morning hungry. He got out of the car and examined his surroundings. Around him there was nothing more than wild canopy, perhaps 20 or 30 feet above him. The gentle sounds of the jungle surrounded him, and the fresh smell of fauna and flora enveloped him, causing euphoria of wonderment and fear.
He turned to the car and noticed no damage, but decided not to drive until he got a good sense of his whereabouts and in what direction he would be driving.
He started walking towards the east, when he heard a noise behind him. He turned around and noticed a boy, about 7, staring at him. The child was wearing jeans and an old t-shirt, but his facial features were one of a native Indian.
"Hi," he said, smiled and waved.
The child did not respond, but simply stared at him and the vehicle.
"I'm father Jose Alejando Rey from The Lord Our Savior Missions. Maybe you can tell me how to get back to the main road. I got caught in the rain, and somehow I ended up here."
The child cautiously walked to the car and timidly touched the passenger door, all while watching the priest, waiting if he would be reproached.
"You like the car?" The priest asked.
He walked to the passenger door and opened it. The boy hurriedly scurried away.
"Come on," said the priest smiling, motioning for the kid to get inside. "I'll drive you around, in exchange that you tell me where the road is. Deal?"
Slowly the kid walked towards the car, peeked inside, and incredibly, jumped into the passenger seat. The priest got on, turned the engine, startling the child.
"Calm down," he smiled. "Now, where's the main road?"
The child pointed, and the priest followed the path.
=====
The priest laughed at the memory. Even after 2 years it was still amusing him. The child did not lead him to the road, but actually to the guaranai, a group of people that was yet to be absorbed by modern society. The clothing they wore was actually trades from the people of Chajuf in Chiapas. Meaning he was actually only hours away from reaching the Mexican border.
A few of the guaranai had started farming, but most still held to hunting and gathering. They lived in huts, surrounded mostly by forest, with the exception of the farms. Mayan religious beliefs still strong among them, along with worship of ancient gods like the sun, moon, war, and various animals like the quetzal and jaguar. Supposedly, inside the jungle lived still a Maya priest and a guardian, and access to either one of them was forbidden.
Spanish was not spoken, only ancient dialects, which were probably Mayan. And during the 3 days that the priest stayed with them, he had to communicate through rudimentary sign language. He slept in a hut with the family of the boy he found. And during his stay, he tried learning their way of life was much he could. This was a new order from the church. Unlike his forbearers who forced religion upon their arrival on ancient America, missionaries were now trained to become part of the natives' cultures. Thereby gaining their trust and friendship, making it easier to preach the gospel and spread the word of God, if so they accepted.
After 3 days, he signaled his desire to return to the road and continue onto Mexico. One of the guaranai understood him and led the way. The priest thanked him and promised, as much as he could make it clear, that he would return.
The moment he got back to Mexico, he reported his findings to the church, and requested permission to establish a one-man mission with the guaranai. Given permission, he spent 2 months requesting help and donations. He also hired a local man fluent in Mayan customs and language to aid him during his stay. Ending the third month he set out back to the guaranai, accompanied only by the local man.
He established himself, again, with the boy's family, and immediately began to work with the farmers by instructing them in modern planting techniques. He also introduced medicines badly needed by the sick and dying. He taught them how to trade for better quality products and the modern use of money. He also insisted in better education for the children in both Mayan and Spanish.
"Ask him his name," said the priest to his translator, referring to the boy.
The man spoke back and forth with the boy's father.
"K'abeet Cuch'. It means 'Arrived with need'."
"Why did they give him that name?"
"It isn't their son. They found him. He's an orphan."
Something deep inside the priest hurt immensely. He knew that although the child was accompanied by this family, the boy still felt alone.
It was pain he knew all too well.
For the following two years he dedicated himself to the betterment of the guaranai. Endlessly working until sometimes he would faint and not wake for days at a time. During those trances, the guaranai never touched him nor sought help. To them, faint spells like those meant that the priest's body was being refueled by the gods, and when he woke, he would be enlightened and his spirit refreshed. And when the priest woke, he would immediately begin to work, never thinking about himself, but only about the guaranai.
=====
The guaranai had asked him to sit down that night with them, the boy, who had taken to him, like a son would to a father, sat at his right, the translator at his left. It did not rain, which was fortunate for it would make the fire, outside, light faster, and the ground would be good to sit down on.
One of the elders spoke, standing on a wood platform so he could be seen by everyone.
"We have asked all of you to come tonight," repeated the translator, "to honor a man that has dedicated himself to our people and our beliefs, without, ever, asking for anything in return, except for our wellbeing. To Ah-z'ak (Healing Priest) we present our most precious, yet humble, gift."
The priest was taken aback by such words, and even more so when 4 young men, their faces painted to reflect four different deities, stood around the fire and began to dance. The god of war was represented by a young man, his face painted green and his eyelids a shade of red. Another represented the quetzal by wearing long plumage at his hair and shoulders. The sun god was represented by another young man painted entirely in yellow with 2 orange lines running across his chest. And finally, the god of agriculture was being represented by a young man holding maize in his hands, spreading powder along the floor as he followed the other 3 dancers in a circle around the fire.
The dance lasted about 15 minutes, with more gods added to the dance. It was followed by a banquet. The richest and sweetest of fruits accompanied the traditional "tortilla", along with various meats and delicacies.
During his stay, the priest had never been had the chance to sit down and relax like he did at the moment. To him, perhaps, this was the greatest gift that these people could offer him, one single night of relaxation. And as he closed his eyes and allowed the night's sounds and smells to take him, he heard an unfamiliar voice, very strong and powerful in its tone, with authority echoing around the camp.
"Ah-Meqtan-Pizan!" The voice said.
The priest immediately opened his eyes and stared at the source of such an ominous voice. It came from a largely built man dressed in the ancestral warrior outfit, resembling that of the god of war. On his left forearm he held the circular Mayan shield, engraved with a leaping Jaguar. On his right arm, were the warrior rank bands, and this man proudly wore the highest ranking. Something very few had ever accomplished during the last century. On him, also, was the traditional loin covering and leg shackles. Everything richly covered in gold. But unlike the god, this man did not carry the proud symbol that is the head crown, richly embedded with plumes, but rather, and perhaps his strangest feature, he wore a dark gray jaguar mask, covering his head completely down to the shoulders. So perfectly fitted was the mask that the priest noticed that the mask could change facial expressions, without, yet, loosing its ferociousness.
"Who is that?" The priest asked. "What did he say?"
"That's the priest's guardian," replied the translator. "And he just announced his coming."
In that moment, the guardian stepped aside, and an old man walked towards the fire and stood, proudly, on the platform. He wore the ceremonial headdress representing the sun god. His frail body was covered by a jaguar skin, beautifully held together by threads of gold. In his right, he held a scepter bearing the resemblance of a quetzal, demonstrating the priest's sovereignty. In his left hand, hanged a bundle held together by jaguar skin. He lifted both hands, signaling he was about to speak, and began. Everyone stood in silence.
"What is he saying?"
"He's talking about you, father," said the translator. "He says 'that for long before the coming of the white man that tore down our beautiful cities and before the raping of our mother the earth. The gods, who have yet to forget us, their most proud of children, gave to us guardians that which would uphold the law and beliefs that kept our people together. An example is still alive today, here, in the form of Boteel'"
The priest pointed to the masked warrior, who solemnly stood with his arms crossed, and respectfully bowed his head.
"'Strong and ferocious is he like the jaguar, our protector. And since he was nothing more than a cub, he has taken care of me, like a son would care for his dying father. One day, perhaps, if it is the god's will, he will care for you, as I have for so long.
But during the last seasons I have noticed a man, not one of us, who came and settled in the wilderness with us. Leaving behind the comforts of his people, his family, and perhaps a wife and children. All he left behind in order to heal our sick, nourish our hungry, shelter our homeless, and teach the uneducated. For many seasons I have seen this man grow into one of us, and perhaps, even more than most will in our lifetime. Because not only has he become guaranai, before the eyes of the gods, but also a protector of our most precious believe. The right to live with others, without the worry of change to someone else's false religions and expectations. For he has upheld that believe above his very life. And for that I thank you. Not with mere words, but with that honor those only gods can give to man. And only few men, outside the proud Mayan, accomplish.
"'I ask you,'" said the priest, unraveling the bundle he held. "'Will you wear that which only the few wear? The symbol that makes us who we are. That protects us at night. That protects our children from harm. That protects our men during the hunt, and their travels. That makes us strong when the fight comes to us. Will you, priest, wear the mask of Baalam?'"
Slowly the old priest removed a jaguar mask from the bundle and displayed it holding it above his head. It was golden and light, unlike the guardian's dark mask, and it reflected the fire and its eyes, emitting a beautiful display of light. The priest was dumbfounded. Never, he thought, would he receive such a gift and honor from these people. And if he did not accept, all his work might unravel.
"Thank you," he said.
The Mayan priest held the mask in front of him, and the priest was about to reach for it when he felt something hit his throat. He hit the ground backwards, hitting his head. A ring resounded through his ears, and the pain began. Lights blinded him as he tried to open his eyes, and felt around his arms, pressure, as if someone was trying to pull him. Slowly the lights began to fade and he noticed that the translator and the boy were pulling him away. He heard a roar, and he saw the guardian, Boteel, screaming at the old priest. He could not hear what the guardian was saying for the ringing was still in his ears, but whatever it was, the priest was holding the gold jaguar mask away from Boteel. The guardian roared and turned to the priest. He began walking, his footsteps heavily imprinted on the ground, dust rising with each step. His arms were so tense that veins protruded beneath the skin. He picked up the priest by the collar and held him close to his masked face.
"Ah-z'ak," said the guardian with his hot breath drowning the priest. Its face contorted to the point of showing madness. "Camay!"
He lifted the priest and sat him down on his shoulders facing him. The priest tried holding on, but to no avail. He was too weak. He felt the guardian lift him and sent him plummeting down towards the ground. The priest simply waited the fall. He closed his eyes as he realized that he was slowly falling. He didn't think, just waited. And to him it seemed like a lifetime before his back hit the ground. His ribs, he felt, shattering inside, and his heart stop pumping.
"At least," he thought, "I'll rest."
=====
Author's note: This chapter took a big chunk of imagination to create, but I finally finished it. In case you didn't understand some words, those are actual Mayan dialect. Here are the translations:
Baalam (Jaguar) Ah-Meqtan-Pizan (Highest Priest) Boteel (Warrior) C'am (Receive) Camay (Die) Nacon: God of war
Big thanks to those who reviewed. Also, I'm still trying to find that King story that starts with King I, then goes on to King II, with him fighting alongside Jin against True Ogre. Anyone now who the author is? Let me know.
Remember kids! Practice safe story writing! Read and Review! Tuqui-tuqui