The Mayan Codex

83

‘When Friar de Landa felt that enough torturing had been done, and that he had sufficiently re-established the Church’s authority over its errant flock, he called me to him. He asked me if there were still men who could read the ancient scripts that he now held within his grasp. And that if there were such men, that I should immediately bring them to him.

‘I admit now that I feared for my own safety.

‘I turned towards the square and pointed to the dead men littered across its wastes. “All these could read the ancient scripts. And also the chief whose eyes you started out of his head with your garrotte. They are now dead, and he is blind. So the books are blind too. None are left to call them out.”

‘Friar de Landa stared at me for some little time. I felt then that he was delving into my soul like one Death and Seven Death, the Lords of Xibalba, in the Place of Fear – that his eyes were piercing through me to the five levels of creation that made me up.

‘This is when the terrible fear came upon me that our understanding of the five levels of creation would be lost forever were I, too, to be killed. Which Chilan would be left to teach our children the knowledge of the first level of stone and fire that makes up their bones, their heart, and their gall? Who could tell them of the second level of plants, flowers, and trees, that makes up their flesh? Of the third level of waters, lakes, and rivers that makes up their blood, their nerves, and the liquid essences of their body? Who could describe to them the fourth level of wind and animals that encompasses their breath and their vision? Who would be left to tell them of the fifth and final level that makes of them “earth fruits”? That makes of them human beings, similar in essence even to Friar de Landa?

‘“And you?” he said to me. “Can you read these books and write this script? I conjure you, upon your Christian oath, to speak truly.”

‘Then came upon me the spirit of the Lak’ech. The spirit of our Maya code of honour. The Halach Uinic had called upon me to mould myself, pari passu, with the Spanish. To defend our people from my place of concealment. To this end there was a saying amongst us: “I am another yourself.” Before this day, I had attempted to put this into practice. To understand Friar de Landa – to place myself in his shadow and understand his doings to the extent that I was able. The time for understanding had now passed.

‘“On my Christian oath, I cannot.”

‘“And the thirteenth crystal skull? The so-called ‘singing skull’? The skull that the most credulous amongst your people think activates the twelve skulls stolen from Nachi Cocom’s secret library? My soldiers and my friars have searched everywhere, and put many people to the question, and still they have not found even one of the thirteen. I know these skulls exist, for I have seen them. Who has them now?”

‘I pointed to the greatest of the dead chiefs. “He does. He was the guardian of the skulls.”

‘Friar de Landa smiled, and his smile was terrible. “Shall I put you to the question, too, Salvador, my son?” Here he used the name the Spaniards had given me. My so-called baptized name. The name by which I was known to all but the dead.

‘“I am your loyal servant, and a loyal servant of the Church. I will answer all of your questions, however they are posed to me.”

‘Now the friar laughed. How he laughed. He clapped his hands together and he danced a dance, his skirts swinging in the dust. He shouted to his soldiers, his voice like the song of the macaw. “Bring me their books. Bring me their idols. Bring me their altar stones.”

‘The Spanish soldiers drove our people who were their slaves before them, staggering under the weight of our patrimony. Now the sacred books that Nachi Cocom had shown to Friar de Landa were laid out like strips of maize across the square. As were the sacred objects. As were the sacred altar stones. Stakes and shafts of wood were piled across them, then brushwood was placed on top of these. Incense was interleaved inside the branches, and crosses made from withies were planted on the periphery of the pile. Soon, the skeleton of a great bonfire was revealed, twenty feet high, and one hundred feet around in its circumference, and designed in the form of a volcano.

‘Night was falling. I, Akbal Coatl, the “night serpent”, whom the Spaniards call Salvador Emmanuel, had never feared the night. Now I feared it.

‘Our people stood in lines around the unlit bonfire. Some vomited. Others took out knives and slit their own throats.

‘I stood next to my master, Friar de Landa. I raised my pen and wrote as he dictated. The friars had provided me with a lectern for my convenience. They also brought me water to drink, from the very same source they had used to fill the mouths of their victims. I brushed it away. My throat was parched. My eyes were streaming. I could scarcely see the vellum on which I wrote for tears.

‘A soldier brought the Friar a burning branch, swathed in cotton and liquor. The flames from the branch played over the Friar’s face.

‘I thought of our code, the Lak’ech. I thought of our saying, “I am another yourself.” I knew then that this friar was no part of me, or of anything that I represented or believed in. I was glad that the thirteenth crystal skull had been given into my possession. Glad that I knew the location of the greatest of our sacred books. For through me, the future of the Maya might be secured. Through me, our customs and beliefs would not be lost when the skull and the book were once again reunited at the end of the period known as the Cycle of Nine Hells.

‘For was I not Chilan and ak k’u hun – priest and chief guardian of the sacred books? Was I not the friend and devoted servant of the friars? Party to their confidence, and privileged witness to their outrages? Was I not destined to travel back to Spain with Friar de Landa and visit the monasteries and libraries of our order when the time for an accounting came? Had I not sacrificed myself sufficiently to placate the gods?

‘Friar de Landa turned to me. He pointed to the skeleton of the mighty bonfire. He made the sign of the cross over me and he smiled. “Here.” He handed me the burning branch. “You light it.”’