The Snake by J A Kellman

Author:J A Kellman [Kellman, J A]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781613093818
Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
Published: 2019-07-31T22:00:00+00:00

Twenty-four

Tikal National Park, Guatemala, the Following Day

The mist was still rising the next morning as we set off for the Central Plaza. Pat and Bill, despite the mounting tension outside the park, hurried behind Ochoa, eager for their first glimpse of the ancient city. Luis was mounted on Poncho as before. Zoila and I trailed behind. The sound of the pony’s hooves knocking against occasional stones provided counterpoint to the thin high cries of jungle birds and the chattering of several families of spider monkeys in the nearby canopy. A howler called in the distance, his hoots muffled by the moisture, the trees, and the thick jungle air. By the time we reached the plaza, my shoes were wet with dew. Temples I and II, soaring in the morning fog, fierce, otherworldly, seemed to lean over the plaza, overwhelming the steles, the altars, our little group. Pat and Bill were stunned by their first view of the temples’ enormity and their vast brooding timelessness.

Pat spoke first. “No wonder people are fighting over this place. It feels like the center of the cosmos.”

Ochoa nodded. “It always seems like that to me, too,” he said, as he led us into the center of the plaza. “This is where my world began.”

~ * ~

Hours later, as we settled in a thatched shelter near Temple IV over plates of cold chicken, fruit, and tortillas, we planned our afternoons. Luis and Zoila were eager to get to the library. I was, too. They had scholarly agendas. I hoped to dig up something on Kan’s antecedents. Pat and Bill wanted to see parts of Tikal further from the Central Plaza, to develop a sense of the city’s complexity and its place in a difficult environment of jungle and limestone.

We separated into two groups after we repacked the lunch basket. I untied Poncho from the nearby railing, where he had spent his break drowsing in the shade. He was as happy to follow me as he was to obey Ochoa, especially since we were heading in the direction of his stable outside the park.

“Be careful,” Bill called as we started out. “Keep your eyes open.”

“Don’t worry,” I said and waved as we turned toward the complex of buildings that housed Tikal’s offices and museum.

Jaime’s nephew, sitting in the shade of the museum, was waiting to pick up Poncho as soon as we rounded the corner of Temple I. He’d placed Luis’s wheelchair and walker on the porch before we arrived. So far, everything was going according to plan, though the sky was beginning to darken with an advancing storm.

Later that afternoon, drowsy and stiff from bending over books in the stuffy archives of the museum, Luis wanted a break. I needed one, too. Maybe a short walk would help. I strapped Luis in his chair; the path to the central site was fairly rough, and I didn’t want him sliding out. Zoila remained behind, absorbed in her work.

We’d gotten as far as the path leading toward the Central Plaza when it became clear that something wasn’t right.

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