The Curse of the Jade Amulet
Annie Crawford
Copyright 2011 Anne Crawford
Smashwords Edition
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Acknowledgements
I am not a solitary writer, and this book could not have been written without the help and encouragement of many people. First and foremost, I’d like to thank my wonderful husband Rick Crawford, without whose love and support I wouldn’t have had the courage, the time or the wherewithal to make this dream a reality. My children Nick and Ellie Luna also supported me unwaveringly through the many periods of self-doubt that accompanied the writing of this novel. Thanks for believing in me! I am grateful as well to fellow author and writing mentor Don Kurtz for reading early drafts and offering encouragement and helpful suggestions. My friend and critique partner, Pam Torres, a talented author in her own right, generously gave me the invaluable benefit of her experience as I ventured into the unfamiliar world of blogging and Internet publishing. For my beautiful book cover I am indebted to accomplished mixed-media artist Linda Ingraham. There isn’t enough room here to name all the other friends and family members who so generously listened and offered feedback and encouragement, but I am grateful to you all.
Last, but not least, I’d like to dedicate this book to the memory of my dear friend and critique partner, author Aimee Leon. Thank you, Aimee, for helping me become a better writer.
The young girl’s eyes were squeezed shut and her slight figure trembled as she knelt on the ledge overhanging the Sacred Cenote, the stone well of sacrifice whose opaque waters had filled her dreams since the High Priest had spoken to her father. A heartbeat away the ledge ended in a sheer sixty-foot drop to the dim green surface of the water.
She opened her eyes just enough to see the priest towering over her. His headdress of sweeping bright-blue quetzal feathers stood out against the pale brilliance of the full moon. Chanting, he extended his right arm heavenward. She squinted at the semicircle of figures in the darkness around her. Where was her mother?
The priest was so close she could smell him. A wave of dizziness rolled over her. She told herself it would all be over soon, this was the greatest honor any twelve-year old girl could hope for, her parents were proud, her soul would fly to heaven. She closed her eyes and tried to keep her face rigid, but the tears came anyway.
With a muttered incantation the priest crouched next to her. His feathered headdress swept her cheek as he brought his hand toward her. She gasped as a burning coldness invaded her chest. . .
**
A piercing shriek jolted Nic out of his reverie. Just below him, a tourist struggled to haul her child down the steep narrow steps of the Great Pyramid. He smiled at the toddler’s determination to go in the opposite direction.
He looked around. The oblique rays of the late afternoon sun shone across the Mayan Ceremonial Center of Chichen Itzá, gilding the gray stone of the pyramids. In the distance, just beyond a narrow swath of jungle, lay the Sacred Well of Sacrifice, the setting of the vivid scene that had just played itself out in his mind. Who had that girl been? Where had she come from? He’d always been a daydreamer, but this wasn’t just any daydream. He’d been inside her head, he’d heard her thoughts. He closed his eyes and tried to summon her up again, but she was gone.
The distant rumble of a bus engine starting up reminded him his group would be leaving soon. Spring break had flown by and tomorrow was his last day. The other kids in his junior year abroad program had had enough of crumbling pyramids and were anxious to get back to the university in Mérida. They couldn’t understand Nic’s obsession with the Ceremonial Site—to them it was more fascinating to be waved into an antro, a Mexican club, without having to show ID.
Nic didn’t understand it either. Maybe it was because he was half Maya and could almost pass for native, with his dark skin, black hair and aquiline nose. Only his green eyes and gringo accent gave him away—and his gangly 6’ 2” frame. He’d been interested in pre-Columbian history ever since reading about the Aztecs and the Mayas in seventh grade. But it was more than that. Chichen Itzá was mystical. When it was quiet, like now, he could almost hear the voices of his ancestors floating across the grassy expanses between the ancient stone structures. This was where he wanted to be, not in an airless classroom listening to some stuffy professor drone on. He wanted to be where it had all happened.
He made his way down the steps of the pyramid, feeling for his footing in the failing light. He was almost to the bottom when he saw a small dark man looking up at him.
“Perdón—”
“Sorry, is the site closing?” Nic said in Spanish. “I’m on my way out.”
“No, no.” The man shook his head. “I wanted to ask—I mean, I’ve noticed you this week. I can tell you’re interested in our history.” His dark face was an intersection of flat planes, as if hewn from a block of mahogany with a few economical strokes of the axe.
Nic took a furtive look around, but no one else was in sight. “I am. My major’s Mayan history.”
The man stuck out his hand. “José Moreno. I take care of the grounds here.” Nic’s large hand enveloped José’s small, callused one.
“Nic Porter. Mucho gusto.” He pointed to the bus idling at the edge of the site. “I’d better be going. I think my group—”
“Will you be here tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow’s my last day.”
José took a deep breath. “Could you—would you like to come to my house for comida?”
Nic looked toward the parking lot. “Uh. . .”
“We could talk about history. Or—do you have to stay with your group?” Was it Nic’s imagination or did his tone sound pleading? Maybe he was selling something. He yielded to his curiosity.
“Okay, I guess I could come. Thanks.”
José’s dark face broke into a smile, exposing kernel-like white teeth. “Muy bien. I’ll look for you tomorrow.”
“Okay. Adios! ” Freed, Nic sprinted for his bus.
The smile faded from the little man’s face as he turned and walked away. Long practice guided his steps in the darkness to a narrow, well-worn path that cut through the low jungle and came out in a clearing where his house was one of a group of modest dwellings occupied by the lower echelon of employees at Chichen Itzá. José pushed open the creaky wooden door. “Malinali! ¿Dónde estás?”
“I’m lying down,” his wife’s voice came from the bedroom. “Your dinner’s on the stove. I’m afraid it’s just beans and tortillas tonight. I couldn’t go to the market.”
José went in, sat on the edge of the bed and took his wife’s roughened hand. Her long black hair, streaked with grey, was fanned out against the pillow, and her mahogany-brown skin was dull. “Cómo estás?”
“Bien, bien.” Malinali smiled and began to get up, but José pushed her gently back onto the pillow.
“Just rest. I can heat it up.” José’s expression was somber as he surveyed the lines of weariness etched into her face. He went to the kitchen and returned with a tortilla and some lukewarm beans. “Is Itzel home yet?”
“She came back an hour ago. Said she’d had an exhausting day and was going straight to bed. I tried to get her to eat something, but she wasn’t hungry.” Malinali avoided José’s eyes. “How was work?”
“Fine. I talked to that boy. I invited him for comida tomorrow.” Malinali opened her mouth to protest. “It doesn’t have to be anything special.”
“I wish I had more energy. Maybe next week I’ll be feeling bet—”
José brought his fist down on his knee, knocking a tortilla to the floor. “We have to take advantage of this opportunity. The boy’s leaving tomorrow. Itzel can deny it, but it’s happening to her.”
“Maybe you’re wrong. Just because I was unlucky doesn’t mean she will be. Look at my great-aunt—she’s almost a hundred and hasn’t been sick a day in her life. Itzel works hard. She’s not like the other tour guides who stay at the bottom of the pyramid and wait for the tourists. It’s a lot more exercise than she gets at school. No wonder she’s tired.” Malinali put a hand to her heart, worn out by her long speech.
“Your aunt is the exception. Face facts, Malinali. Your grandmother was sick. Your mother was sick. You’ve gotten worse. All the women in your family have wasted away and Itzel won’t be any different.”
Malinali looked away. “Itzel is a good girl. I have faith. I know God will protect her, even if I’m not spared.”
José turned her face toward his. “Listen. I’m not telling you not to pray for her. But remember, God helps those who help themselves. We have to do something! Do you want Itzel to have the life you’ve had? You two are all I have!” He stroked her cheek as her dark eyes filled with tears. “Remember, the last doctor said he’d heard doctors in the United States were studying conditions like this.” Malinali nodded. “I have a feeling this boy can help us.”
She wiped her eyes. “Bueno, está bien. I hope your plan works. Now it’s time for my prayers.” She got up and walked to a small altar at one end of the room. Kneeling with difficulty in front of the flickering candles, she crossed herself. José watched her, then went to the kitchen to wash up.
Nic lay face down on the grass next to the Great Pyramid. The delicious meal José’s wife had just served him was making him drowsy. What was it called? Papadzul. Nic could still taste the complex flavors of the mole the tortillas were dipped in. Malinali had told him it had chocolate in it, along with two or three kinds of chiles and about nineteen other ingredients. He wondered if she ground the corn herself on a metate, like her ancestors. She’d said Mayan women had made papadzul for over a thousand years.
Malinali’s and José’s house was one of a tiny community of squat, thatch-roofed adobe dwellings surrounded by packed-earth patios where chickens pecked and dogs sprawled in the hot sunshine. Battered cars were parked outside some of the houses, and a flimsy electrical wire connected each dwelling to a lone pole standing at the edge of the clearing.
Inside, wall hangings in classic Mayan patterns complemented the simple unfinished wooden furniture. A wooden loom was propped in a corner of the living room, and José had told him his wife and daughter were expert weavers. Malinali was a small plump woman whose dark skin contrasted with the red-and-blue embroidered Mayan blouse she wore. She’d given Nic a shy smile and laid her hand limply in his in the typical Mayan handshake before retreating to the kitchen. José offered Nic a small glass of mezcal before the meal and grew voluble after drinking his own. They’d talked about the history of Chichen Itzá, where José had lived his whole life.
Partway through the meal, José’s daughter had come in. “So you’re the reason for the fancy dinner! I was wondering why Mom was making papadzul.” Flashing Nic a smile, she sat down and helped herself.
Itzel was about his age, with a finely-drawn aquiline nose like her mother’s and almond-shaped eyes with irises so dark they were indistinguishable from the pupils. The only discordant note were the dark circles under her eyes.
She’d turned and caught him staring. Embarrassed, Nic had stammered, “Do you work at the Ceremonial Center?”
“I’m a student at the University in Mérida, but I’m taking a semester off to work as a tour guide. Are you studying there too?” Nic had nodded, finding it difficult to tear his eyes from Itzel’s face. He was enchanted by the lilt in her voice and the graceful way she moved her small hands.
“Do you think I could come on one of your tours?”
Itzel’s face had turned serious. “I don’t know. Do you think you could come up with the twenty pesos?” She’d laughed as Nic fumbled for words, provoking a reproving look from her mother.
Nic blushed, remembering. Pretty girls always made him tongue-tied. He glanced at his watch. Maybe he could see her again today, even go on one of her tours.
A shadow fell across him and he looked up. José stood over him, twisting his straw sombrero with both hands.
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you. That was an amazing meal. Your wife’s a great cook.”
“Thank you. Can I talk to you?”
“Sure.” Nic stood up. “What’s up?”
José’s dark face reddened. He looked down and mumbled, “I don’t know if you noticed my wife and daughter aren’t well.”
“Not well?” Nic frowned. Those dark circles under Itzel’s eyes. . . Malinali had them too. “They looked a little tired. What is it? Nothing serious, I hope?”
“It is serious.” José took a deep breath and said, “I wanted to ask if you could help us.”
“Me?”
The little man struggled on. “All the women on Malinali’s side have been sick, as far back as we can remember. Well, except for her aunt.”
“Sick in what way?”
“Fatigue, constant colds and flu. . . some have been worse than others, but it’s always the same. They keep getting weaker. We were praying Itzel might escape it, but she’s starting to show the signs too.”
Beautiful Itzel, the girl he’d just been fantasizing about? A knot formed in Nic’s stomach. “What do the doctors say?”
“They don’t know what it is. The worst part is, it doesn’t get better. Some of Malinali’s ancestors lived with the sickness for forty years, and others died within a few years. There’s no way of knowing how long they’ll live.”
Nic did a mental calculation. Malinali must be forty or forty-five already. “Wow. That’s rough.”
“The last doctor we saw told us doctors in the United States were studying conditions like this. He said they thought it was caused by a –cómo se dice?—defect in the genes. They’re working on a cure.”
“In the States, huh?” said Nic. “Maybe I could find out about it.”
“That’s what we were hoping.” José kneaded the brim of his hat. “I know it’s a lot to ask, you don’t even know us.”
“I’ll be glad to do what I can. . . but I won’t be going back to the States till summer.”
José’s face fell. “Oh. . . I understand.”
Nic chewed his lip. Itzel, with a fatal illness—there had to be something he could do. “I know, I’ll ask my parents to find out about it.”
“Mil gracias.” José made a formal bow and put his wilted sombrero back on his head. Nic’s mind leapt forward in a brief daydream. The doctors would need to see Itzel, and he would escort her to the United States. She would rely on him and he would be there to help her with everything. . .
José pulled a smudged piece of paper from his pocket. “I’ve written out all the symptoms.”
“I’ll talk to my parents as soon as I get back to Mérida. Do you have a phone?”
“My neighbor does. If you call and give him a time, I’ll be there. Here’s his number.” He pointed it out. “I don’t know how to thank you. Whenever you come to Chichen Itzá, aquí tienes tu casa.” He bowed again, then said, “I’d better get back to work.”
**
Frustrated, Nic glanced up at the late-afternoon sun. He’d spent the last hour looking for Itzel, and his bus would be leaving soon. He walked around the Great Pyramid one last time and saw a knot of people outside the Observatory. His heart lurched when he saw Itzel’s shiny black hair and delicate profile. She was speaking with animation, gesturing with both hands. As he approached, she noticed him and gave him a quick smile. He blushed when several tourists turned to stare at him.
The group moved on to the Ball Court, Nic with them. He tried to concentrate on Itzel’s explanation, but was distracted by the musical sound of her voice and her quaintly accented English. Finally the tour ended and the tourists drifted off. Itzel came to stand next to Nic. He hadn’t realized at lunch how good she smelled.
“What did you think of the tour? How was my English?”
Nic blushed again. “It was excellent, from what I saw. And your English is perfect. The tourists were riveted.”
“Riveted? I don’t know that word.” She frowned and wagged her finger at him. “You glummed onto the tour without paying. I don’t allow tourists to do that. It’s bad for business.”
Did his grin look too goofy? He played along. “Please forgive me, Señorita. By the way, I think the word is ‘glommed.’ Where’d you learn a word like that, anyway?”
Itzel’s color rose under her dark skin. She shrugged. “You pick up things from the tourists.Thanks for correcting me: glahmmed.”
Nic made a mock bow. “Would you allow me to buy you a soda to make up for glomming onto your tour? Or. . . do you have to give another one?”
Itzel lapsed into Spanish. “No, I’m finished for the day. I don’t think I’m up to giving another tour.” She moved her shoulders as if to ease stiffness, then smiled at him. “I’ll consider forgiving you if you buy me a soda.”
She led the way to a wide grassy area next to the parking lot. A small open-air café was tucked among the row of stands hawking brightly-colored Mayan traditional clothing, leather sandals, and fake Mayan idols. They sat at a white metal folding table emblazoned with a large red and black Tecate advertisement. Nic ordered a Coke for himself and a mineral water for Itzel.
The late afternoon was pleasant. The air was still warm, but a fresh breeze stirred the leaves on the trees. Nic sipped his Coke and gazed at the Ceremonial Center. Most of the tourists had left and the ruins looked mysterious in the gathering twilight. He sighed. Itzel watched him.
“What are you thinking?”
“Wishing those stones could talk. Not that I would have time to listen.”
“And if they could talk, what would they say?”
“What they’ve seen, what they’ve heard. . . how the people went about their daily lives, farming, cooking, washing, marketing, hanging out with their friends—”
Itzel laughed. “You think they hung out with their friends? I doubt they had that much freedom.”
“I know their lives were regimented by religion, but they were people, too. Just like you and me. That’s what I’d love to know: what they thought, their hopes and dreams, what their friendships were like.”
“You’re really into this stuff, aren’t you?”
“I love history. I wish I had more time to spend snooping around this place.” He glanced toward the bus on the far side of the parking lot. “But I only have another half hour before I’ll be leaving it behind forever.”
“Forever?” Itzel’s smile was teasing.
“Maybe not forever, but that’s how it feels. If there were only some way I could have more time. You don’t know how lucky you are to live here.” Was he coming across as too much of a geek? She was smiling, though.
“I could say the same thing. In a few months you’ll be going back to the States. Don’t you think I’d love to spend time there? I guess we’re in the same boat.” She looked toward the Ceremonial Center. “It doesn’t seem that special to me, I guess because I’ve spent my whole life here.” She pointed to the Great Pyramid. “The first time I climbed that pyramid I was four years old.” She turned back to Nic. “Where are you from?”
“Los Angeles.”
“Where Disneyland is, right? I’m sure you’ve been there lots of times. I’m jealous.”
“Disneyland’s about an hour from my house—LA’s a huge place. I haven’t been there since I was a kid. Once you get older, it kind of loses its appeal. All the crowds, the long lines. You’re not missing much, believe me. Besides, it’s all phony,” he added. “No history behind it. This is much more impressive.”
“So you say. But I’d still love to go there.”
“Have you thought about doing an exchange program? That’s how I got here.”
Itzel hesitated and took a sip. “Okay, I’m going to let you in on my big secret. That’s the real reason I took the spring semester off, to work and save up money. I’ve been accepted to a study-abroad program in California next spring. Just for a semester, though. I can’t afford a year.”
“Wow, that’s great! Your parents didn’t say anything.”
“I told you, it’s a secret! They’re so overprotective I need to break it to them gently.”
“Anyone can see they dote on you—why do you think they’d object?”
A shadow crossed Itzel’s face. “Maybe they just want to keep me close. I’m all they have. My mother wasn’t able to have more children. She almost died having me.”
She squeezed some more lime into her mineral water. “Anyway, you should talk to whoever’s in charge of your program. Maybe they’d let you do an independent study here at Chichen Itzá.”
Nic’s eyes lit up. “Do you really think so?”
“Why not? You’re motivated enough.” Itzel rolled her eyes and giggled. “You seem like a perfect candidate.”
“That would be amazing. But. . .” he stopped, crestfallen, “I wouldn’t have any place to stay. The hotels are too far away and I couldn’t afford a hotel for more than a couple days anyway.”
“Maybe you could arrange lodging with some poor but honorable family looking to make a few extra bucks.” She raised an eyebrow at him.
“Do you think your parents might be willing to put me up?”
“Sure. We have a spare room—that was supposed to be for my little brother, but he never materialized. I know! You could be my adopted little brother.” She giggled again. “Seriously, my mom just uses it for sewing and stuff. And I can tell my parents like you.”
“I thought they were cool too. Could you feel them out about it?”
“No problem—you arrange things at your program and I’ll take care of everything here.”
Nic grabbed Itzel’s hand and squeezed it. She pulled back, startled, then laughed. “Thanks! This could be huge—if it works out, I mean.” Nic drained his Coke and went off into a brief daydream about all he would do. The waiter came by and brought his attention back to the present. “Do you make good money leading tours?”
She sighed. “I should, but I actually haven’t made very much. I get paid for the number of tours I lead, and I haven’t been able to lead as many as I thought.”
“How come?”
“I don’t have as much energy as I used to. Ever since I moved home I seem to be coming down with something—nothing serious, just colds and flu.” Itzel laughed. “Maybe I’m allergic to this place. I’d have preferred to stay in Mérida, but here I can sponge off my parents and save everything.”
Was it possible Itzel didn’t know about her condition? Or maybe she didn’t want to talk about it to a virtual stranger. He ventured, “Your mother also seemed a little under the weather.”
Itzel’s smile vanished. “Oh, I get it. My father’s been talking to you.” She lowered her voice theatrically. “About the family curse.”
Nic stammered, “Don’t you—don’t you believe it?”
“No, I don’t. My father loves to dramatize.”
“Then it’s not true that all your female ancestors on your mother’s side—” Nic’s voice died away when he saw the anger on Itzel’s face.
“So what if they died young? Some people live a long time, others don’t. It’s all a game of chance. It doesn’t mean a thing.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
Itzel stood up. “I think your bus is leaving. Thanks for the drink.” Without another word, she walked away.
The low rumble of a bus engine confirmed her statement. Cursing himself for being an idiot, Nic started across the parking lot.
It was almost dark by the time José sat back on his heels, puffing from the exertion. Though his back was stiff, he felt satisfied as he got up, brushing the dirt from his hands and running his eyes over the neat, weed-free rows of red and white frangipani shrubs bordering the Visitor Center. The fragrance of the flowers, stronger at dusk, filled his nostrils as he broke off a few sprigs to take to Malinali. He remembered the old story his grandmother had told him about the beginning of the world and how the first man had been born of the mating of the red and white frangipani flowers. Nic would be interested in that story, if he didn’t know it already. The boy was a real Mayan history nut.
As he crossed the ceremonial site, José’s step was light, and he felt more hopeful than he had in a long time. Perhaps Nic or his parents would be able to help them. At least there was a possibility now of a cure, whereas before, every doctor’s visit had left him feeling more helpless.
A blurred patch of white huddled on the steps of the Great Pyramid caught his eye. It was his daughter. “Itzel! What’s wrong?”
She looked at him. “Nothing, Papá, I just felt like being alone.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine.” She stood up. “Are you going home?”
They began to walk toward the jungle. José said, “That Nic seemed like a nice boy, no?” Itzel shrugged. “You didn’t like him? You seemed to be having a nice conversa—”
She whirled on him. “Why do you have to tell people about our private lives?”
José knew better than to feign ignorance. “I only mentioned it to him because I thought he might help us. He’s a nice kid, interested in our culture.”
“So? What does that have to do with anything? Does that mean you have to let him in on all our deep, dark secrets?”
“Tranquila,” José said, a warning edge to his voice. “I think I have the right to talk about what I want to whoever I want—especially if it’s something important to my family’s future.”
“But Papá!” Itzel lowered her voice. “What can he do? He’s not a doctor!”
“He can find out important information for us. In fact, I didn’t even have to ask him, he offered. Do you remember the last time I took your mother to the doctor he said they were studying conditions like yours in the United States?”
“Don’t say ‘conditions like yours’,” she cried. “I’m not sick!” She broke away from him and ran up the path.
Malinali met him at the door. “What was that all about? Itzel ran in crying and went straight to her room. She didn’t even say hello.” Muffled weeping could be heard through the bedroom door.
José sighed. “She found out I talked to the boy. You know how sensitive she is.”
“I know. Don’t worry, I’ll go in to her in a minute.” Malinali drew him to a seat at the table. “But tell me, what did Nic say?”
“He told me he’ll help us. He won’t be going back to the U.S. for a few months, but he’ll ask his parents to look into it.” He patted Malinali’s cheek. “I feel hopeful. For some reason, I have faith in this boy.”
“Maybe you’ll have me around for a few years yet,” Malinali said, smiling at him.
“You’d better not be thinking about deserting me any time soon. How could I go on living without you to scold me?”
“Don’t worry, you can always get Aunt Zafrina to do that. She’s an expert. And the way she’s going, she’ll live to be a hundred and ten.”
They laughed, then Malinali stood up. “I’m going to talk to Itzel. If you’re hungry, there’s some papadzul in the kitchen.”
She knocked on Itzel’s door and went in without waiting for an answer. Her daughter lay on the bed, sobbing, her face buried in the pillow. Malinali sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked her long black hair. “Ya, ya, mi hijita, ya no llores. Don’t cry. Everything will be all right, you’ll see.”
There was no response. Malinali continued to stroke her hair and murmur soothing endearments until, with a final sniff, Itzel sat up and faced her, hugging the pillow. Malinali wiped the tears from her daughter’s cheeks with her apron, then took her hand.
“I’m sorry, Mamá, it just makes me so mad when Papá talks to total strangers about your illness.”
“I know, hija. But be fair—this is the first time he’s ever done it.”
“Well, maybe not to strangers, but when the family’s together he talks about it so openly!”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“And—and—”
“Yes?”
“I hate to think about you being—being sick. Mamá, I need you so much, I couldn’t live without you.” She burst into a torrent of weeping. Her mother put her arms around her and drew her close, rocking her until the sobs subsided.
“Your father’s hopeful. The boy’s going to talk to the doctors in the States. Depending on what he finds out, maybe I’ll go there for treatment.” Malinali was careful not to include her daughter. There would be time enough for Itzel to come to terms with her own condition. She smiled sadly. Only a few months ago, she and José had still hoped Itzel would be healthy.
“But how can you afford that?” Itzel asked.
“Your father’s been putting a little aside. Now, hija, I don’t want you to worry. You’ll see, God willing, everything will work out.” In a lighter tone, she asked, “What happened with the boy? I’m surprised he mentioned what he and your father talked about.”
Itzel blushed. “He didn’t actually mention it. I sort of jumped to conclusions. But he didn’t deny it.”
Her mother smiled and patted her cheek. “And then I suppose you treated the poor boy to a taste of your temper?”
Itzel laughed in spite of herself. “I feel guilty now. The poor guy was trying to make a good impression and I scared him off. I’ll have to call him to apologize.”
“Yes. I think that would be a good idea.” Malinali looked at the small plastic clock on the bedside table. “Bedtime. Want to come say prayers?”
“Sí, Mamá.”
Hand in hand, the two went into the living room. Itzel bent to kiss her father’s cheek. “Perdóname, Papá. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I was just tired and depressed.”
José squeezed her hand before returning his gaze to the small television set. “No te preocupes, hija.”
Itzel followed her mother to the simple altar mounted on the wall in the bedroom. Framed pictures of saints hung above the altar and votive candles flickered. A much-thumbed prayer book lay on the lace-covered surface, and next to it, a carved jade disc about the size of a silver dollar. Mother and daughter kneeled on small cushions. Malinali picked up the disc and pressed it to her heart. She touched it to her lips before passing it to Itzel, who repeated her mother’s actions. Malinali then opened the prayer book and began to pray in a low voice. Soothed by her mother’s murmur, Itzel bowed her head and traced the complicated markings on the disc in an unconscious habit born of long years.
**
When Malinali came into the kitchen early the next morning, she found a cheerful Itzel preparing scrambled eggs.
“Where’s that salsa you made the other day, Mamá?” She rummaged through the small refrigerator.
Malinali handed her the jar. “You’re up early this morning.”
“I know! Isn’t it great? I slept well and woke up early, so I decided, why not get up?”
Malinali smiled. “Are you going to work today?”
“Of course. I can’t afford to take days off.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed you had that many expenses. Are you saving up for something special?”
Itzel winked. “You never know.”
After breakfast, Itzel and José walked the jungle path together.
“You seem to be feeling better today, hija.”
“I feel great. I must have been fighting something off yesterday.”
“Good, mi hija. I’ll see you at lunchtime.”
They emerged into the ceremonial site. José turned off toward the decrepit toolshed where the gardening implements were kept, while Itzel walked on to the Visitor Center, vowing to make up for the previous days by giving as many tours as she could. Though Spring Break had ended the day before, there were sure to be some English-speaking tourists staying a few days longer.
“And you’re going to climb to the top of the Great Pyramid every time. No shirking for you, young lady,” she admonished herself. In fact, that might be the problem: she wasn’t getting enough exercise. That was why she always felt so tired, she was out of shape.
When she arrived at the Visitor’s Center, a group was already assembled under the “English Tours” sign. She called out, “Good morning, everyone!” The tourists smiled at her. She could tell it was going to be a good day.
**
José frowned as he dragged his rake over a patch of grass. Itzel hadn’t come home for lunch, not unusual in itself, but given her delicate physical condition he was worried. Malinali, always calm, had dismissed his fears, but it wasn’t so easy for him. He wondered if Nic had called his parents yet.
A little boy who eked out a few pesos selling fake Indian artifacts at the Center came running and pulled at his sleeve.
“What is it, hijo?”
“Your daughter, señor. Over there— ” The boy pointed at the Great Pyramid. A knot of people were descending the steps. Heart pounding, José broke into a run.
“What, what happen? My daughter—” he gasped out in his broken English. The tourists parted and he saw Itzel in the arms of a young man. Her face was pale and drawn, the dark circles under her eyes pronounced. She averted her eyes as the young man set her down.
“She’s okay. She just fainted for a few seconds up there. I think she overdid it a little. I’m sure she’ll be fine with some rest.”
Itzel thanked him and walked carefully away from the circle of gaping onlookers. Her father caught up and took her arm. When they’d distanced themselves from the tourists, José turned to her, his face suffused with anger.
“How many tours did you give today, hija?” His voice was tight. Itzel flinched and kept her eyes on the path. “Don’t you understand you have to take care of yourself? Anyone would think you’re trying to make your condition worse!” He glanced in exasperation at his daughter’s silent profile and saw a large tear form and hang on the long black lashes before splashing to the ground. Relenting, he stepped in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders. She looked up at him through her tears and he pulled her to him.
Her face pressed into his shoulder, Itzel said, “I thought I could do it, Papá. . . I thought I was just out of shape and needed exercise.” She broke into sobs and pulled away. “I wanted so much to believe I wouldn’t get sick like Mamá and all the rest. I thought I’d be different.”
He struggled to find the right words. “I have hope, mi hija,” he finally brought out. “The boy will help us.”
Itzel wiped her eyes. “I’m not so sure about that, Papá.”
“Why?”
“I kind of yelled at him yesterday for meddling in other people’s business.” When she saw her father’s face, she added, “But I’ll call him and apologize. I’ll do it tonight, I promise.”
José shook his head. “Por qué, hija? Why do you do things like that? When he’s our only hope.” He took a deep breath. “Call him as soon as we get home. And then I want you in bed. No work for you tomorrow. Not another word!”
Nic lay across the bed in his dorm room, hands clasped behind his head, and stared at the ceiling. Since arriving in Mérida the night before, he hadn’t felt like doing anything.
More accurately, he was paralyzed with indecision. Should he bother talking to the program head about the independent study? With Itzel’s attitude, it didn’t seem likely he’d be welcome at her family’s house. And should he ask his parents to look into the medical condition? He fingered the list of symptoms in his pocket. He didn’t want to anger Itzel further. But he’d promised José.
Nic rolled onto his side and gazed at the parched square of grass outside. The heat was making him sleepy. If only he hadn’t made that comment about Itzel’s mother everything would have been all right. He could have already talked to the prof. . .
“Hey, man.”
Nic awoke with a start. His roommate was standing at the foot of his bed holding the receiver. “Phone for you.”
Nic took the phone. His heart jumped when he heard Itzel’s voice. “Nic?”
“Hi. How are you?” He regretted the words, but Itzel only said,
“Fine. Listen, I wanted to apologize for my rudeness yesterday. I had no right to talk to you that way.”
“It was my fault. I shouldn’t have poked my nose into your business.”
“Don’t be silly. You weren’t being nosy. I know my father brought it up.”
Silence. Then Itzel said, “My father wanted me to ask if you’ve talked to your parents yet.”
“Not yet. I didn’t know if—”
“I know. Sorry, my fault.” She paused. “He would appreciate it if you would.”
“Sure, I’ll do it tonight.”
Another uncomfortable silence ensued.
“I also asked my parents if it would be okay for you to stay with us. I don’t know. . . were you still interested?”
“Of course! That is. . .if it’s okay with you. What did they say?”
“They said they’d be happy to have you.”
“Really? They really said that?”
“That’s what I’m telling you, isn’t it?”
Nic stammered, “But would you?”
“Would I what?”
“Would you be happy to have me?”
“It’s fine with me.”
Nic waited, but there was only silence at the other end of the line. “Okay, then. I’ll talk to the program head and call you.”
He sat holding the phone, a frown creasing his forehead, then looked at his watch. 7:00 PM. Later than he thought, too late to talk to his professor. He’d do it first thing tomorrow. He lifted the receiver and punched in his parents’ number.
**
“. . . That’s my idea. You’ve had the opportunity to get to know me this year, and you’ve seen my academic performance. If you give me this opportunity, I guarantee you won’t regret it. It would mean a lot to me, sir.” Nic sat down on the edge of one of the armchairs. His professor propped his elbows on his desk, placed the tips of his fingers together, and studied Nic over them. The only sound was the morning twittering of the birds outside the open windows. “You’re one of the best students we’ve ever had in this program,” he began. Nic flushed with pleasure. “But more important, you’re not just interested in grades, you’re genuinely interested in Mayan culture. You’re one of the few students I’ve seen who I think has the makings of a true Mayan scholar. So, the answer to your request is yes.”
“Thank you so much, sir. You don’t know how—”
His teacher silenced him with a wave of his hand. “Normally, for a request of this sort, I would need to consult with your other professors. But in this case I believe I’m justified in making an exception, since I have no doubt they will all be in favor. You can check out whatever books and materials you need from the library.”
Nic stood up. With a smile, the professor leaned over the desk to shake his hand. “I have only one request.”
“What’s that, sir?”
“Include me in your acknowledgements when you publish your first book.”
Nic laughed. “Your name will be first on the list, sir.” Published. A mental tableau of the party he would throw rose before his eyes. Itzel was there, clinking her glass of champagne against his. . .
“Have you made arrangements for room and board? There’s not much available at Chichen Itzá, you know.”
“Yes, sir. It’s all arranged.” Nic pushed the thought of Itzel’s distant tone from his mind. “Excuse me, sir, when can I leave?”
“As soon as you’d like. You have two months until the program ends. Make the most of them! I look forward to reading your paper.”
Looking back, it seemed to Nic he was barely conscious of what happened next—his thanks, more hand-shaking and a benevolent pat on the back, the selecting of books from the library—so bewitched was he by the possibilities that unfolded before him. Two months in Chichen Itzá, two months of long unhurried days to wander, to study, to wonder. Best of all, two months of warm spring nights when he would have the Ceremonial Center all to himself. He could lie spread-eagled on the grass watching the moon rise over the Observatory, or sit on the top step of the Great Pyramid gazing out over the jungle and letting the mystery of the past soak into him. Maybe Itzel would be with him on some of those magical nights. . . Fat chance. It was obvious he’d blown any possibilities he might have had with her, though he still didn’t get why. She’d been friendly enough at first. Women, he thought, shaking his head.
“Are you sure it will be all right?” Malinali asked Nic. “I’m sorry it’s so small.” The room was monastic in its severity. A narrow cot with a coarse woolen blanket was pushed against one wall. Against the opposite wall was a small wooden dresser. The floor, of unfinished brick tile, was bare except for an oval braided rug. A straight-backed wooden chair and a three-shelf bookcase completed the furnishings.
Nic turned from the window where he was gazing at the dense jungle bordering the small backyard.
“It’s perfect.” He smiled at Malinali. "It’s all I need.”
Nic, Malinali and José had sat around the dining table making small talk until he’d been able to coax out of them the minuscule amount they’d settled on for his room and board. Even now he felt unsure about not having offered more. He’d learned in his year in Mexico that the differences between this culture and his own ran deep. His blundering American directness didn’t always have the desired results, he thought, thinking of his encounter with Itzel.
“Do you need anything else? Oh, I forgot—” Malinali bustled off to bring him a towel. Returning, she said, for the third time, “I’m sorry there’s no bathtub,” to which Nic responded, for the third time, that he preferred showers. He was relieved at having an indoor bathroom of any sort after having seen outhouses behind several of the neighboring houses.
“Would you like to eat something?” Malinali asked.
“Are you and José going to eat?”
“Not right now, but I can heat up some—”
“Please, I don’t want anything special. I’m not hungry right now. I’ll eat at your regular mealtimes.” Though still ignorant of traditional Mexican ways, he’d learned enough not to suggest fixing something for himself. “What time do you eat dinner?”
“Around 8:00. But if you get hungry before--” Nic shook his head.
“Well, if you’re sure.”
Nic closed the door and lay down, but immediately jumped up again. Unpacking his belongings took all of five minutes. He lingered before the small bookcase, leafing through one library book and then another. Bubbles of excitement rose in him. Here he was at Chichen Itzá, the heart of classic Mayan civilization! He threw himself on the cot again, stuffed a pillow behind his head and began to read, but his attention wandered.
He gave up and closed the book. Outside, the blue sky was deepening to indigo. There was just time for a walk around the Ceremonial Center. Most of the tourists should be gone by now.
The sound of the front door opening made him hesitate as he was leaving the room. He heard Itzel’s voice and his heartrate altered. He stepped back into the room and closed the door, at the same time berating himself for being an idiot. Irresolute, he sat on the bed until the absurdity of the situation made him stand up again. He strode to the door, opened it wide and stepped into the hall. No one was in the living room. Malinali put her head around the kitchen door.
“Can I do something for you?”
“Did Itzel just come in?”
“Yes. She went to lie down. She’s –she’s a little tired.” A flush rose to Malinali’s cheeks, and she turned back to the kitchen.
“I’m going out,” Nic called to her retreating back. “I’ll be home for dinner.”
Following the path through the jungle, Nic thought about the exchange he’d just had with Malinali. How was he supposed to handle this situation? He felt like a voyeur. No wonder Itzel was angry. Should he continue to act as if he didn’t know anything when everyone knew he did? That would make for an uncomfortable two months.
“Damn it, I’m not going to pretend,” he said aloud. “I didn’t ask for intimate details about this family.”
He walked around the Center a couple times, then stopped by the Great Pyramid to listen to the night sounds of the jungle. He shut his eyes and imagined himself as a thirteenth-century Maya coming home after a long day’s work in the fields. Or would he have been at some sort of school? Where would he have lived? What ceremonies would have punctuated his day? There was so much to learn.
Dinner was strained. Nic complimented Malinali on the food in an effort to make conversation. She smiled and blushed. Itzel looked up from her plate. Her face was tired and drawn, her dark circles pronounced.
“My mother’s an excellent cook. Of course, we eat more simply when we don’t have guests.” Malinali looked at José, who shot a warning glance at his daughter. The remainder of the meal passed in silence, and by nine o’clock, Nic was back in his room.
After the first couple of days, he fell into a routine. Each morning a cacophony of bird and insect calls awakened him. He immersed himself for the first hour or so in one of his library books. Only when he heard the front door close did he venture out to the bathroom and from there to the table. The first morning Malinali served him and retreated to the kitchen, but on the second, he insisted she sit down. This became their morning routine. After giving him his breakfast, normally scrambled eggs, beans, salsa and hot, fresh tortillas, Malinali served them each a cup of atole, a combination of water and ground cornmeal flavored with strawberry or chocolate. This was Nic’s opportunity to ask questions about her daily activities, traditions and family history. At first Malinali was shy, but soon, flattered by Nic’s interest, she became more expansive. The only topic never discussed was the family illness.
At mid-morning, Nic returned to his room to study and take notes, while Malinali did her housework. Around noon, armed with a notebook and a drawing pad, he would set out to explore the Ceremonial Center. He had told Malinali not to expect him for the mid-day meal. He took a couple of tours, but discovered he knew more about Chichen Itzá than the guides. So he wandered from the Observatory to the Great Pyramid to the Sacred Cenote, scrutinizing each structure and making drawings of the Mayan glyphs and artwork. He interviewed José and the other workers about their history, legends and traditions. And he daydreamed. Once in a while he saw Itzel leading a tour, but she no longer smiled at him.
One evening when Nic had been at Chichen Itzá for a week, there was a knock at the door. Itzel was eating and paying no attention to the other three. She’d been withdrawn all week, speaking only to her parents. José answered and was back in a moment.
“Nic! It’s your father!”
Malinali looked up. So did Itzel, and for one unguarded instant, Nic saw fear and hope in her eyes. He jumped up and followed José. Five minutes later he was back.
“What did he say?” asked José.
Nic cleared his throat. “I’m sorry—”.
Itzel’s eyes filled with tears. She pushed her chair away from the table. Her father motioned her to stay in her seat. “Go on.”
“My father said he left a message for the doctor in charge of the research. He finally called back yesterday and said he’d be glad to talk to them, but he has a very busy schedule.”
“And. . .?” prompted Malinali.
“He made an appointment, but the soonest the doctor could meet with him was in a month.”
José looked thoughtful and Malinali resigned. Itzel picked up her half-finished plate. “I’m going to bed.”
“But, hija, aren’t you going to finish your dinner?” Malinali threw a helpless glance at José.
Itzel didn’t answer. She took her plate to the kitchen, then went into her room. Nic picked up his fork and put it down again.
“It’s not bad news,” José said. “We’ve waited this long, we can wait a little longer. The good thing is your father was able to contact the doctor.” Malinali nodded.
“That’s true. I’m sure once my dad sees him he’ll have good news.”
Malinali offered him another helping, but Nic’s appetite had disappeared. He said good night and went to his room.
**
The next morning when Nic emerged from the jungle into the Center, Itzel was waiting. She gave him a tentative smile. “Can I talk to you?” They sat down on a nearby bench. Nic glanced at her profile, but her expression was unreadable. Now what was he in for?
Itzel took a deep breath. “I want to ask you to forgive me for the way I’ve treated you this week.”
“No, it’s okay, I’m the intruder here—”
“Please let me explain. I’m not mad at you. I’ve just been going through a rough time. I haven’t wanted—” She looked away and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I haven’t wanted to accept that I’m—that I’ve got what my mother has. Until you arrived, I could push it away and not think about it, but this past week, with everyone waiting for your dad to call—it started to sink in. And—” She bit her lip.
Nic sat absolutely still, willing her to go on.
“This is hard, you know?” She took a deep breath. “It’s not your fault, but it’s made it worse having you here and having to hide my feelings. I feel all. . .exposed. Like a bug on the end of a pin.” She looked Nic in the eye. A tear slipped out and coursed slowly down her cheek.
“Would it. . .would it be better if I left?”
Itzel shook her head and wiped her eyes again. “Don’t be silly. You just got here. It’s not your fault. I just have to get used to the idea.” They sat in silence for a few minutes, then she smiled. “It’s funny—I feel better now that we’ve talked.”
Nic longed to touch her hand. “If there’s anything I can do to make you feel better, will you tell me?”