THE INSURGENCE of CHAN SANTA CRUZ

BOOK NINE: BOOK of the JAGUAR PRIEST

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

Juan Kui thought the Mayan obsession with corn a foolish superstition, for he had studied the science of nutrition in Paris. The Gods, if such creatures existed, cared not whether men ate corn or rice or even wheat, for those who consumed any of these grains, along with beans or meat and some green vegetables and fruit to prevent diseases, usually flourished. Superstition was that obstacle which must be removed if the mazehualob were to enjoy the full blessings of science and progress. The teacher had done his own part by bringing back seeds from Egypt and the Orient, but the mazehualob were afraid of them and would not help with their cultivation. Finally, after he had had to do all the work of planting and weeding, as well as carrying water over a great distance from a cenote, someone had entered the grounds of the school by night, uprooting every foreign plant.

In the war between progress and superstition, the drought was the strongest General in the latter army. Pedro Yoac might well be a madman, but his popularity was rising throughout Santa Cruz and the neighboring villages under Silvestro's influence. In the plaza, all talk was of Miguel Chankik. Even the old belief that the ridiculous mountebank was Juan de la Cruz himself was heard again and, with each day of burning sun and anxious idleness, those of the mazehualob who had turned towards progress became skeptics, those already skeptical embraced magic, and those in magic's thrall clamored for the brujo.

Had he but returned, Silvestro could have settled the matter as he had done in other disputes between villages... notably those loyal to either of the rival Generals, Vega and May. He would have fabricated a solution allowing the leaders of both factions a measure of respect, but also lending the implication that his small but well-disciplined army would take the side of the most reasonable party if it came to fighting. Such was the genius of the Tatoob. Juan Kui acknowledged himself a great speaker but, after all, an outsider from Yucatan, as was Silvestro Kaak, and the teacher had no army to enforce his words. In normal times he could lend his support to men like Moises Lum and contain Pedro Yoac... but these were far from normal times. And the telegram that the mazehualob had sent to the Governor in Merida remained acknowledged, but unanswered, and the hot, dry days followed, one after another. Each brought more followers to Yoac and increased their boldness.

Kui reached the door of Bravo’s old cathedral which, in the six months previous, had been emptied of many of its old commercial tenants. Silvestro had ordered part of it nearest the altar be given to the teacher as the city's school six days a week, and forty children between the ages of five and eleven were loosely seated on wooden pews that faced the teacher. He had set a desk of board up on the old altar steps and this was piled with small, sour limes. By now, all but the very youngest would normally be assisting with the planting but, because the rains had not come, the course of their education was extended.

"This," said Juan Kui, "is the appearance of number seven." He took three of the limes in his left hand and four in his right and held the former up. "Josélito, what is it that I have here?"

"Three limones, Profesor."

"And here, Carmen?" he asked, displaying the other.

"Four."

Kui nodded. On the previous day he had explained the numbers one through five. It had gone well, but only because such sums can be measured by the fingers of one's hand. He placed the contents of both hands atop the desk. "And now, who will tell me what I have here? Emilio?"

"Limones, Profesor," said the unruly one and suppressed laughter echoed within the old church.

"Obviously," sighed the teacher. "But... how many limones." A sea of blank faces greeted him and he finally answered his own question. "Seven. As many as are the days of the week. Lunes," he said, holding one of the limes up, then placing it apart from the rest. "Martes," he continued, placing another beside the first. "Miercoles..." and he continued through the days until the seven limes were once again together.

"How do we count the number of the days," he asked, "if we have no limones? With our fingers!" And he held up his right hand. "Count with me to five."

As the students completed their task, Capitan Lum passed through the door and along the wall to the far side of the church, hissing for the attention of the teacher. Kui nodded. "How do we make seven out of five?" he asked. "We use the other hand." And he smiled, holding up his forefinger. "Six!" The middle finger followed. "Seven!" Eighty little hands waved, fumbling with this discovery. "Seven fingers, seven days, seven limones! Now, practice drawing the numerals zero to nine. Mario, distribute the papers and pencils and keep order while I speak with don Moises."

"Ma alo," the Capitan said, drawing Juan Kui aside. "Where do you get paper for them to write upon?"

"I have the Merida newspapers sent to Vigia Chico. They arrive somewhat late, but I can keep up with events... it seems the Frances and the British are going to win their war, now that the Americans have joined. Anyway, when I have finished with them, the children can practice their writing over the text, and, after that, they may go the way of all paper. Do you approve?" the teacher asked, wiping his brow.

"They seem formidably educated."

"This," Kui said, "is nothing. The true challenge comes when I have reached twenty, when one runs out of toes and fingers. Then the mathematical process begins. When they imagine twenty-one as an entity... the way the old ones did... that river shall have been crossed." The teacher sighed. "When I came to this place I had the expectation that within a few weeks we would have entered into realms of geometry and have begun Tacitus and Plutarch in their Latin of origin. I brought books." He winced. "The Halach Uinic promised that he would look for those more appropriate to the capacity of children these days than to my expectations. Have you heard from him?"

"Not a word," said Lum. "The news is not good and only worsens. Pedro's plotting to bring in the xaman only gains popularity."

"Why shouldn't it? There are a great many things that the scientists fail to understand, that would be obvious to those who have lived among the people. Of course these mostly have to do with herbs and with medicines... if Pedro's witch doctor can truly create rain where there is none, than he is a man whom I would wish to meet... and study."

"Don Silvestro could keep these matters orderly," Capitan Lum said. "But, as he is not here, Pedro whispers. I am myself a believer in the rational, as yourself and the Tatoob. But I cannot stop Pedro's army of whisperers so long as the fields remain dry and people wait. Fear and idleness and the prospect of hunger lend power to the irrationality, as you should know."

"What do you ask?"

"That you take up the cause of rationality."

"Impossible," said the teacher. "In the first place, I do not have an argument with the beliefs of the mazehualob. Whether or not, of course, God hears the prayers of witch doctors over those of Catolicos is known only to God. The brujo will succeed or he will fail. It is not my desire to involve the school in this controversy. It has enemies enough on its own."

"If Silvestro does not return soon," said Lum, "you will no longer have a choice. Do not delude yourself, Profesor, that you can remain apart from that which takes places in the skies and in the milpas. Chankik is no common curandero. So many legends surround him that it follows at least some are true. Why, it is believed that he practices blood-sacrifice."

"He wouldn't dare. If the Mexicans didn't hang him first, Silvestro would."

"It is not so simple as you believe," the Captain disagreed. "Chankik and the Halach Uinic were allies during the war. At some point they became bitter adversaries, but the true nature of their feelings are a hidden thing. Were such sacrifice to take place, there are only two things possible. The first, of course, is that it would have no effect. The milpas would burn and blow away, and the people would starve. Food could be bought, yes, with the gold that we have saved from chicle and timber, but Pedro Yoac is not wrong in saying that there are some who would refuse it, as well as those in distant pueblos to whom it would not come. To wish for such a thing is abominable, yet I believe it less so than the effects were the blood-sacrifice to succeed. Twenty years of progress felled at one stroke. The school... it would be emptied. And the Mexicans would have another excuse for invasion. Not now, perhaps, not for months or even years but, when the time comes that the capital is at peace, they would turn again upon the territory. No Mexican soldier would cringe at the opportunity to kill, for Christ and money, the followers of Juan de la Cruz. Worse still, until invasion came we would be under the thumb of Miguel Chankik, Pedro Yoac and their desperate men.

"You are not native to the territory," he continued, "and so the stories of Miguel Chankik must seem like those told to wicked children so they'll obey their parents. Stories that he has killed hundreds of the mazehualob besides, of course, Mexicans... women and infants too in the manner of the Ytza... that he eats his victims' hearts, drinks their blood... that he can turn himself into a tiger. Why, it is said even that Chankik loaned his powers to Ignacio Bravo and removed them later, causing the General's madness and his fall. Even this question that he is Juan de la Cruz... I saw it put to him at Muyil, eight years ago, and he smiled in a way that turned my flesh to stone. If you could but see the smile of that old man, you would understand what a catastrophe it would be for all the territory were his sacrifice successful.

"Both outcomes are unacceptable," concluded Captain Lum. "It must be understood, between us, then, that the blood sacrifice never take place. At least we lose our crops, at most our lives, but never that which separates us from the beasts and is our hope for entry into Gloria. Silvestro Kaak will forbid the blue ceremonies, if he comes. But if he does not... it is up to you. Your school shall be the plaything of the Ytza's wizard, if you do not take this stand."

Juan Kui allowed himself a time of silence, during which he heard the counting; forty voices chanting at their own pace and with forty rhythms... "three, four, five... one, two, three..." A chill passed through him... was a cloud outside, perhaps the harbinger of rain, or was it one of those strange winds that still dwelt in the corners of the church, small cold whirlwinds that raised dust and skittered for a few paces before subsiding, even when the door was barred. Souls of the damned, the elders said, and the teacher could not help consider the cathedral and prison an irrational creature of rationals, of Cientificos, whose legacy survived even their fall.

"Which side am I on?" he thought. Education had never prepared him for this question. The directors of universities and academies, with all their titles and degrees, and peons who could not write even their names stood equal under its gaze.

"I must have time," he told the Captain.

"Time?" Moises nodded, holding up his right hand. You have five days... you and I, Silvestro also. Then Miguel Chankik shall hold the small blue ceremony. Animals will be sacrificed. The Chacs will respond, or they will not. If they do not, Pedro will ask for the grand blood sacrifice."

"Many things may happen in five days," the teacher said. The Captain shrugged. "Until that time, I must not neglect my duties. If the Maya gods, the Yuntzilob are angry, they will only be angrier if we do not do those things we know to be right, waiting for the time to come of which we do not know right from wrong."

The teacher returned to his desk, his numbers and his limes. "He took four of the latter in each hand. "This," he said, "is the appearance of number eight."

"Perhaps the gods are mad," the Captain thought, crossing the plaza. "Or they are bored, and have manipulated the Chacs to withhold their rain to drive men to confront one another and themselves for their amusement." The wrath of Lord Kin pounded his scalp through the expensive Texas hat, and a distasteful thought arose. Perhaps they were merely envious of the good fortune of the mazehualob, and chose to strike back at them through drought... that they might know that no man, and no people, could remain so fortunate that they might not, someday, be humbled.

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