Chapter 15. What walks below flies above

Where the unknown and the implied call for courage and confidence

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.

When the long sun began to sink below the crisp edges of the upper canopy, the ceiba tree at the edge of the rainforest found itself with company. A young explorer, all decked out with the latest jungle trekking gear, sat at the base of the tree double-checking the contents of his backpack.

Still some distance away in K'aax Itzà, the object of his patience was trying to extricate herself from her daily duties.

“¿Ya está bien, abuela?” (Can I go now, grandma?)

Itzel had bathed her little sister Eme, told her a bedtime story, helped her grandmother clean the dishes, tidied up the family’s thatched hut, and now patiently awaited the moment she would be released. Time and circumstance were on her side: her grandmother customarily took to bed early, not too long after sunset, for she rose before dawn. Her mother worked in Flores during the week; her father was training to become an aj q’ij, a keeper of the sacred Calendar, which, together with the bees and his other responsibilities, often required his attention after dinner; and her grandfather, long a Daykeeper himself, was often out and about the community and at least once a week away in his home village, tending to his duties as the Spiritual Guide and Community Needs Advisor.

This left Itzel with a fairly appreciable volume of free time in the evenings, time she spent studying a Spanish-English workbook of letters and numbers she’d received from a young couple who’d stayed a few weeks at K'aax Itzà on a research internship. On the nights of the full moon, she would slip away into the rainforest to watch the sacred ceremonies at the ancient Cacao Tree, which Don Rigoberto presided over. Tonight, she would have a special guest with her.

Finally. The soft, peaceful snores of Doña Victoria alerted Itzel she was free to go. Checking in one last time on Eme, she stepped softly over to Doña Victoria’s hammock, and touched the edge lightly.

“Buenas noches, abuela,” she whispered.

She grabbed her poncho and mochila and slipped into the arms of the falling light.

“Buenas noches, mi amor,” whispered Doña Victoria in her sleep.

* * *

Passing by the meliponario, it struck Itzel that no one was about. On the eve of every full moon, the Elders gathered here to perform a brief ceremony for the bees before they headed into the forest to bless the sacred Cacao Tree.

Qué raro, she thought. How strange, maybe the Elders are a little behind. Or maybe I’m early. She looked up at the treeline where the sun was setting: no, her timing was just right. She shrugged it off: Maya time was natural time—it ebbed and flowed without concern for those painfully specific nuggets called seconds and minutes.

“Hola Itzi. ¿Donde vas?” (Hi Itzi. Where are you going?)

Itzel turned, surprised. She knew the voice too well: her brother Juan. This was less than convenient.

“Hola Juan. ¿Y tu que haces aquí?” (Hi Juan. And what are you doing here?)

“Maybe the same as you, hermana.”