Chapter 11. Itzel's secret

Where an ancient secret is revealed beneath a ceiba tree

Note: Author commentary at the end of the chapter. This commentary is exclusive to the Cacao Muse; you won’t see it on Amazon, my author site, or printed inside the wrappers of my favorite chocolate bars.

The next morning dawned mysterious, heavy with fog. The pre-dawn songs of the jungle fluttered through the trees, filtering into Max’s dreams, teasing him slowly awake. He found himself fully conscious at one point, without remembering having ever woken up. His parents were still asleep. Something about the expectant morning haunted him, pulling him outside. Max slipped quietly from the cabin.

All was still, yet vibrant, awake. His body suddenly relaxed and he felt he understood everything, the forest, the birds, the animals and insects. He felt in his bones that somehow he belonged, that he was neither a visitor nor a stranger, and yet still not quite a part of it the way Itzel and her family were. His life back home, with all of its comforts and distractions, no longer made sense. He longed to live here.

Suddenly he felt his back. Someone, or something, was tracking him. Watching. He focused his eyes and ears on the trees, scanning, listening for anything big enough to betray action.

“¡Hola Max!”

Max turned around. It was Itzel, with a bunch of cacao pods in her arms.

“Hola Itzel. Wow those are big.”

The cacao pods Itzel held in her arms were larger, and of different colors, than the others he had seen in the grove the day before.

“Are those from the cacao grove?”

Itzel put her finger to her lips, motioning for Max to come with her. He followed her, past the cabins, past the granary, past the Great House, to the edge of the forest. There, at the base of a large ceiba tree, Itzel sat down and let the cacao pods tumble to the ground. Max sat down opposite her. Leaning against the tree, she reached into her mochila and took out a handful of what looked like nuts, or maybe fruits, Max couldn’t tell. She offered him some. He turned the curious fruit around in his fingers. About the size of a small apricot, it was round, firm, and had a thin orange skin that smelled of citrus.

“So what do you call this again?” Max asked.

“Ujuxte,” said Itzel, grinning. She waited to see if he’d take the bait. But Max wasn’t about to try and pronounce that.

“Okay… but what’s it called in Spanish?”

“Ramón.”

“Haha, isn’t that a person’s name?”

“Si, claro.” Itzel wasn’t sure why that would surprise Max. “All the names mean something. Doesn’t yours?”

“Umm… yeah.”

“What does it mean?” Itzel wasn’t one to let a question go.

Max was a bit uncomfortable. “It means… well, it means ‘great’.”

An awkward silence followed. But it was awkward only in Max’s head: he had never felt comfortable with what he considered an overly grandiose definition of his name, and he categorically despised its longer forms Maximilian and Maxwell. He’d certainly been teased about it enough even if his real name was Max, plain and simple. Only his best bud could call him Maximus—because his name was Claude and together they called each other Claudius Maximus, after the ancient Roman philosopher and teacher of Marcus Aurelius they’d learned about in history class—but that was as far as it went.

Itzel was sure there had to be more to it.

“ ‘Great’? You mean, like, ‘grande’? Like ‘big’?”

Max twirled the little breadnut between thumb and forefinger, anxious to change the conversation. He decided the best thing was to just say it and be done with it.

“I mean, like, Alexander the Great. Someone who does big things in life.”

“Ah, bueno, ¡entiendo! Estoy segura que tu vas a hacer grandes cosas en tu vida,” said Itzel, smiling sincerely at Max. (Okay, got it! I’m sure you’re going to do great things in your life.)

“Thanks,” was all he could say. He flipped the question to Itzel.

“So what does yours mean?”