The Mayan Codex

51

You had not expected the Maya man with the rifle to come back. Maybe, you thought, his pursuit of the pheasants had taken him far away – too far, perhaps, to consider returning? Or else his iguana had proved more elusive than expected? Maybe he had found no firewood? Your head sank lower on your chest.

Soon, you knew, you would simply curl up on the spot and fall asleep. The road between where you were and Villahermosa had been particularly difficult to accomplish. First you had been lucky. A market trader, his truck empty, had agreed for you to go in the back. Later, as was his right, he had taken on others. By the end of the journey, you were hanging out over the road, scared that you would fall off and burst your head on the highway. But somehow you had held on, your fingers turning into claws.

Then you had waited many hours for your next lift. But this man had taken you all the way to Campeche in his air-conditioned white car. The air had been so cold in the car that you had started to shiver. You would even have asked him to let you out if you had not been so sure that, after him, no more cars would stop for you. This man was a miracle in himself. A rich man. From Sinaloa. A man of substance.

At first you had been scared you would dirty his car, but later he told you that his father, too, had been a campesino, and that this was why he always offered lifts to those who needed them.

Campeche had been endless. You had walked and walked. After much time you had signalled a colectivo bus. You knew this was unwise, since you only had fifty pesos left to your name, but otherwise you knew you would collapse, and they would take you to the Cruz Roja, and you would lose your belongings, if not your soul.

When you looked up again from your thoughts, the Maya man was watching you. When he knew he had your attention he held up two iguanas. Two.

‘You see? You have brought me luck. Climb onto the front of my triciclo. I shall take you home. Can you cook?’

You shook your head. Your mother still cooked for you, and, in consequence, you had never learned how, as it would have been insulting to her.

‘No problem. I can cook. Can you make a fire at least?’

You nodded.

‘Bring yourself, then. We can make a space for you in here, by the firewood.’