BOOK ONE
(Lucy)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I thought by now Paco would have made an appearance, given his propensity to show up at the needed moment. But I determined not to allow someone else’s bad timing derail my resolve. I would look for James myself and go forth to the tunnels. I checked my backpack for a flashlight and water and started out the door. As an afterthought, I darted back and plucked a flower from the vase to put in my hair. I dropped the pack to fuss in the mirror, then left in haste, closing the gate behind me. It was a matter of only a minute before I hailed an oncoming taxi.
“Las ruinas. Cuanto?”
“Seis lempiras.”
I went to pull the lempiras from my wallet when I realized I had dropped my backpack when fussing with my hair, and there it sat, inside the house behind the locked gate, the keys in it. I turned helplessly to the taxista. “I forgot my wallet. I’m locked out of the house.” I intended to plead with him that El Doctor would pay the fare when I found him at the ruins. But the driver peeled away before I uttered another word.
I determined not to allow someone else’s bad manners deter my intention. I would walk. It was only a half mile to the park, though, admittedly, the sun was hot and I was wearing sandals, which didn’t do well on cobbled streets. But I knew the cobble ended just beyond the Quebrada. Anyway, I decided to take off my shoes and walk freely.
Just beyond Comedor el Casteo on the edge of the village, I started to sweat. A bus that read “We Are The Champions” over its windshield, belched smoke and exhaust as it passed, which turned my stomach and caused me to slow my pace. I decided there was no point in hurrying to find James, only to look like a wilted flower and smell like an old shoe. I ambled, dangling my sandals between fingers and greeting a woman sweeping her step. The cobblestone gave way to asphalt about where the cows were munching weeds in a grassy lot piled with truck carcasses. At that point, I abandoned strolling and decided to pick up the pace to make up for lost time. I was pleased with the ground I covered in vigorous strides, avoiding Jugo cartons and mounds of horse dung, sweating, but undeterred. I passed Stelae 5 and 6 on the left, two forlorn outcasts beyond the perimeter of the grounds, and then the Pupuseria Comedor. Approaching the entrance to the archaeological park, as I neared vendors sitting along on the roadside selling miniature stelae, I felt a stab on the bottom of my foot. I yelped. Blood trickled steadily where I pulled out a shard of broken glass. I pressed my finger to it, but doing so made it difficult to walk. So I hopped a few steps, then walked—more like a half-skip—then hopped some more and sometimes stopped to continue to press the bleeding. I eventually landed myself on the verandah at the Visitor’s Center and decided to give it some solid pressure to stop the bleeding. It slowed, and I was relieved. I determined not to allow a little physical pain get in the way of a mission.
I welcomed the coolness of the dirt on the pathways against the stinging heat of the asphalt and allowed my feet to luxuriate in it with only fleeting thoughts of rabid infection.
I reached the watchman’s shelter where Berto had worked, where James and I had met him in the rain that day when we were locked in. I felt sadness that Berto was gone. But this was tempered with relief that he hadn’t been painted blue and hung up. His replacement was a vigilant watchman and he wouldn’t let me pass without a ticket. He didn’t believe me when I made the plea about my admittedly incongruous relationship with Dr. Fee. “I cannot let you pass without a ticket,” he said, waving a finger.
“El Doctor would want you to let me in,” I said, hopping and pressing. “Call him on the radio. He’ll tell you.” He waved me off.
Bands of sweat had formed around my waist and under my breasts. For all the wetness overtaking me, I might as well have been caught in the rain again. I found a rock to sit upon and loosened the bow around my waist and tied it around my bleeding throb-bing foot. Sweat drenched the hair around the nape of my neck.
In the distance, I heard guides telling stories on the Great Plaza. “Yax Pasah estab-lished the cosmic symmetry of the dynasty at Copán on Altar Q.” And, “18 Rabbit was a very proud king.” I immediately recognized that voice as Raúl’s. Evidently, he was leading a group of English-speaking tourists. They had gathered near Structure 4, within sight of the entrance.
I stood and waved. “Raúl!” He looked up, but didn’t see me. “Raúl! Over here!” He looked again and this time I saw him nod to the visitors and jog to the gate. He smiled and bobbed.
“Have you rested? Are you feeling better?”
I wasted no time presenting my case. With the wave of a hand, Raúl promptly got me admission. I walked with him back to the tourists who were waiting dutifully at Struc-ture 4.
“Why do you limp?”
“Have you seen Mr. Fee? I’m looking for him.”
He shook his head. “No. I have not seen him. I will tell him you are looking for him if I see him.” He bobbed. “Why you are not wearing your shoes? You should be wearing them. We have the chichicaste. We have scorpions.”
“Do you think he’s in the Acropolis?”
“That might be a guess. Possibly,” he said.
I left him with thanks and he watched as I scaled the stairs up the western side of Structure 11. Despite the limp I mounted them in leaping strides with intermittent hops. I waved from the top. He watched as I jumped a root and navigated blocks and stones, my sandals flailing in my hands.
Near the top, I missed a step and landed hard. He called to me and I raised the sandals to signal I was fine. I incurred a sizable scrape on the side of my arm, and took a deep, clean, bluish gash on the knee. But otherwise, fine. Blood from the knee drained in rivulets, not unlike the blood that had come from my foot. Anyway, I determined that I would not allow minor calamity to overrule my goal.
I stood and brushed off my dress. By this point, it was drenched from sweat and soiled with dirt from the fall. It had not been easy scaling the steps of Temple 11 and I had worked up a thirst, but soldiered on, beyond the Ceiba tree where James and I had stood so many times. I descended the steps on the southeast face of Temple 11, over a patch of grass and rocks. Beyond the court of the dancing jaguars to my left, down a little and over a rocky path, I skirted the northern edge of Temple 16. I felt sure James would be waiting for me there. It took some finessing to navigate the descent of that rocky ridge, what with the scrape on my arm, the gash in my knee and partial use of one foot. It leveled out as I neared the cusp of the corte, the steep face that had yet to be descended to get to the tunnel entrances. I made my way to the portion that had not been consolidated since it still held plenty of grass and roots to cling to. The consolidated sheer surface of well-ordered stone would have been impossible to descend without disaster. Yet (I was to learn) even upon the unconsolidated surface, I should have known not to attempt reckless strides at such an angle of descent. Even the grassy surface was a straight drop, which I didn’t realize until I began losing my footing. I would have made it to the bottom without injury were it not for that one brief but disastrous misstep. I leaned badly into what I felt was becoming an inevitable tumble. I raised my arms to break the fall and managed to curl my legs at odd angles, which lowered my center of gravity and accelerated what ended up to be a rolling finishing flourish. I came to rest at the bottom, leveling out after two, maybe three, complete rotations. I tore my dress on a jutting root. I lost a sandal. Achingly, I stood. I couldn’t get away from the throbbing in my foot. Nor the burning of my arm. Nor the bleeding knee. Nor my aching legs and, now, a spasming back. My head hurt. My eyes twitched. My face, in any case, was resolute. I determined not to allow loss of body control and disorientation get in the way of one’s plan.
I located the tunnel system where James had taken me many times and found the entrance open and unguarded. This signaled great hopefulness that James must indeed be there. I went forth with confidence, feeling sure I knew the way in and sensing only a slight disadvantage at not having a flashlight. I mounted the stairs leading to the entrance and stepped inside. Overtaken with sudden darkness, I thought it best to stay close to the inner wall. I remembered James turning right at some point, so I took several steps and turned right. I remembered James turning left at some point and proceeded to make the first left I came upon. At that point, I found myself making turns that felt unfamiliar. I stopped, staying close to the inner wall in any case, in keeping with my plan.
A flashlight would have been helpful.
I retreated a few steps and cursed myself for not paying better attention all those times I had walked with James through these tunnels. A second tunnel intersected with the one where I stood. Optimistically, I concluded this must be the right tunnel. I stepped forward tentatively, but made a hasty retreat. James’s words about Temple 16 came to my mind —“ . . . the goriest temple in Copán. Really nasty.” This was where Yax Pasah’s final-phase stairway displayed human skulls from sacrificial victims mounted on poles.
I inched forward. With each step I became more disoriented. I felt sure I remembered James bearing left. So I followed a tunnel that went left. Then I was forced to make a second immediate left, which I hadn’t remembered James doing. He had never made two successive immediate lefts. I proceeded, clutching my one sandal. It grew darker and more silent and the air more stifling the farther I went.
I stopped, hopelessly lost, though still hugging the inside wall. I broke out in a sweat and let out a whimpering plea for James who, evidently, was not in the tunnels. Surely by now he would be looking for me the way I had come looking for him. Surely, not finding me, he would know I was lost inside Temple 16.
I turned a corner, bumping and scraping against cold rugged walls that led me to nowhere. I abandoned all thoughts of pleasing James with my dress and him thinking me the spinner. Hope left me. The darkness had overtaken me and, in a way I can’t explain, had also entered me. I collapsed to the ground unable to move. Every step I had taken only led me deeper into the shadows. Bats darted over me, “denizens of the Underworld,” James called them. I recalled my long hours in the jail with longing. There, I had had visitors and apparitions of old friends who spoke comfort to me. I tasted warm soup from Lillian and heard Carlos whisper to me. There, I had lost myself in other worlds, such as Nobody’s grave where I stood with my father and brother. Here, in this tunnel, I felt nothing but the weight of darkness. Ghosts and friends were beyond my reach. I groped along haltingly, crouched on my knees. I kept my hands awkwardly about my head to stave off the bats. I lost all spatial orientation and did not know the time of day, or even if it was still day. It felt like it was the end. It seemed to me good to die and leave my story buried in these tunnels. I languished for water, but took comfort knowing I would soon be dead. I thought of others before me who had died languishing for water and that they somehow got through it, which consoled me. I longed for daylight. I tried to picture it. I thought water and daylight must be what heaven is like. I would be there soon. How would they find my rotting bones?
I pitched forward in my crawl and scraped my head. I fell flat as one dead and came to rest in a niche carved into a wall. I don’t know how long I had lain there fading in and out of fitful imaginings of vipers and fire. I groaned and tried to turn. I dropped a hand. I imagined I was touching a snake. It was sliding between my fingers, narrow and smooth. I felt it again and again. Then, I recognized it differently. It was not a snake. It was the taut rubbery coil of an electrical cord. I followed it, half dazed, but awakening. With groping desperate hands, it led me to a light bulb and—I found a light switch. It felt like the beginning of a new day. I wept.
Light filled my tomb with an orange-bronze glow. My eyes came into focus and I saw a creature carved into the facade of the niche. Feathers splayed outward from both sides of its face, its faraway eyes like the snake I thought I was touching. Its haunting half-smile had the look of a bad joke.
You have come this far with me, reader, and here I must beg you to forbear yet a little longer. For when you are lost, as I was, fatigued by a sense of doom, fired by imaginings and bereft of hope, you see things that, after the fact, you can’t explain, nor can you recall if they were real or imagined. In these dark places it becomes clearly evident that there exists a world behind a veil, a world we cannot see. And in moments such as that which I faced, the veil between that world and this one becomes very thin. I heard things. In fact, I heard very specific things to the extent that, insofar as one can converse with a being beyond the veil, I did so. The haunting image before me that had been carved into the niche seemed indifferent as I lurched in opposing directions, trying to pull a pincher bug from my hair. Then I heard it say, What do you know about dark places? I stopped. My blood ran cold. I turned an ear. What do you know about the tunnels? About dwelling underground?
“Who is speaking?”
You take three steps in and you are hopelessly lost.
“Who are you?”
Who are you?
“Stop talking to me.” I buried my head in my arms. “I’m losing my mind. I’m insane.”
Because you are insane, do you think I will stop talking? Where is your archaeologist? Have you driven him to the ground?
I put my hands over my ears. “Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah.”
Do you mock me?
I didn’t answer.
A believer in God, and she mocks.
“Are you of God or of the devil?”
Is the one who mocks of God or of the devil?
“Are you real? Are you of God?”
The one who puts his hope in many gods is attempting to know the God of gods.
“I’ve stopped listening to voices.”
What does Lucy Shaw know about dark places? She takes three steps in and is hopelessly lost.
“I’m going to die here.” I turned my face to the wall and chafed my wet cheek against its jagged edges.
The God of all gods excels in dignity. He delights in mercy.
“I’m insane. I won’t listen to voices. Today is the day I am going to die.”