The Secret of Xicalpan Chapter Two
Chapter Two: Mmmm, what's for dinner?
2: The Yucatan Peninsula, Central America, October 1931
A shaft of sunlight sliced down through the thick canopy of trees, Illuminating the forest floor with a lambent green light, making Esther feel as if she were in a vast, verdant cathedral. Bright blue butterflies hovered overhead, the scent of tropical blossoms hung in the air, and small birds in jungle creatures cried out to each other from the thick undergrowth. On the trail up ahead, dressed in his customary field attire of leather jacket, battered belt hat, and two day beard, Indy sat his mule with an easy grace, his bull whip coiled tightly at his waist. Esther, who had never before seen Jones away from the familiar surroundings of the college, had still not entirely accustomed to herself to this "new" Indy, and she found herself intrigued by his transformation from tweedy, mild-mannered academician to lean, hard-eyed adventurer. No stranger to field work herself, Esther was wearing what Indy had immediately dubbed her lady archaeologist costume: knee-high lace-up hiking boots, stout whipcord jodhpurs with a leather lined seat, and a comfortable twill riding jacket, now removed and lashed across the back of her saddle.
They had come by boat to the port of Merida and had headed for the interior in a rented auto, abandoning the car for two riding mules and a pack animal when the roads had dwindled into little more than riding paths through the jungle. The people they had met along the way had directed them onward, and each village they had come to was smaller than the last, with the signs of human habitation becoming further and further apart. They had spent the previous night camping alone in the jungle and, by Esther's calculations, they had entered the area circled on the map in her saddle pack late that morning.
Up ahead, Indy reined his mule to a halt, motioning or forward, and she kicked her reluctant mount into a trot to draw even with him.
"Village coming up," he said tersely.
Esther nodded. She, too, had seen the partially overgrown remains of last year's slash and burn vegetable patch a while back. They rode on, Indy holding the pack animal's lead rein.
Around the next bend in the trail they found it, a large clearing with perhaps twenty small houses clustered around a central village square- if the open plot of land where donkeys grazed, children played, and chickens scratched could be dignified with such a name.
"This has to be the end of the line," Esther remarked as they rode in and dismounted. From the curious stares being directed at them by the villagers who were turning out to greet them, it was apparent that strangers were an infrequent sight in this out of the way place.
Indy, in somewhat rusty Spanish, gave a sketchy explanation of who they were and asked if there were some village elder they might speak with.
"Ah, si - Padre Perez!" replied one young man, motioning for them to follow. A number of the village children ran ahead, falling over one another in their eagerness to be the first to bring the news of the strange American visitors to their priest.
By the time they reached Father Perez's house, the frail, dark-clad figure of the old priest could be seen waiting for them on the veranda. The children crowded around him, one very small fellow peeping shyly out of the folds of the old man's cassock, his bright brown eyes alive with wonder. Esther smiled at him, and the shyness disappeared, to be replaced by a wide grin.
"Welcome. Welcome to Xicalpan," the old man said in surprisingly good English. "My young friends have told me that we have two visitors from the United States. Welcome!" Father Perez seemed inordinately proud of his ability to converse with his guests in their native tongue, and Jones would have been the last person to gainsay him; neither his Spanish nor Esther's was anything to brag about.
Indy extended his hand. "I'm Indiana Jones, and this is my associate, Esther Schultz. We're archaeologists from Connecticut."
Father Perez shook Esther's hand and beamed. "Whatever has brought you to Xicalpan, you are most welcome. We seldom see strangers this far into the interior."
"Don't you have visitors from other villages?" Esther asked.
The old man shook his head. "Alas! Very rarely. Except for the last village you pass through on your way here, ours is the only one for nearly forty kilometers around."
Esther and Indy exchanged a pleased look; whatever they were looking for, this was it.
"Pleas," the priest continued, "come inside, and you can tell me why you have come here."
Indy blinked his eyes to adjust his vision to the dim light of the hut's interior, as father Perez led them into a small room furnished with a rough wooden table and chairs. A wiry middle aged man rose to greet them as they entered.
"Allow me to introduce our hereditary village headman, Juan Chrysostomo," Father Perez said.
Indy studied the man in fascination. With his straight fringe of black hair, large beaked nose, and slightly crossed-looking eyes, Juan Chrysostomo might have stepped right out of a stone freeze at Palenque; clearly there was not the slightest trace of Spanish admixture in his background. Slightly cynically, Jones wondered how this obvious scion of the proud Maya race liked his Christian missionary given name and the dominion of the descendants of the Conquistadors over the land of his ancestors. "Probably never thought about it one way or the other," Indy told himself in answer to his own question. "He's never known anything else."
The headman shook Indy's hand. "How do you do?" he said smoothly.
"You speak English too," Indy observed with a hint of surprise.
The man nodded. "For a time in my youth, I studied at the Jesuit school in Campeche, and I picked up a smattering of it there. My good friend, Father Perez, and I practice it together - two old men amusing themselves on an otherwise boring afternoon."
Father Perez smiled modestly and indicated two chairs. "Please be seated, Senor Jones, Señora."
Esther grinned inwardly at the use of the title, Señora, but didn't bother to correct him. She knew that the Latin culture sometimes took a rather strait- laced view of an unmarried woman traveling alone with a man. No use in scandalizing the gentle priest.
The old man sat down and placed his hands in front of him on the table. "And now, my friends, how may we help you?"
Indy reached into his pocket and pulled out a somewhat crumpled piece of paper, opening it up and laying it flat out on the table in front of Father Perez. It was the most realistic depiction of the soapstone statue he was capable of drawing. The original, far too valuable to be dragged along into the jungle, was resting securely on its shelf back in Hartford. "We're looking for the place of origin of this statue. All we know is that it must have come from somewhere near here. Does it look familiar to you - can you tell us anything about it?"
For a moment Jones thought he saw a flicker of something on Juan Chrysostomo's face, but when he looked more closely, the man was staring at the drawing with a polite disinterest, nothing more. Father Perez shook his head, a look of perplexity on his seamed face. "Alas, I have never seen anything like it. It is some kind of religious object, is it not?
Indy nodded.
"No doubt that is why it is so unfamiliar to me. There was a heathen religion here before the coming of the Friars, and it took longer to die out in the outlying areas, but that was long before my time. My people have not practiced the old superstitions for many years."
"No, not for many years," echoed Juan Chrysostomo chuckling tolerantly, as if amused at the idea that the "old superstitions" might still be extant. He smiled - an almost feral smile, Indy thought - revealing a row of even white teeth. We're all good Christians here, the smile said.
"Aren't any relics or traditions left - anything at all? "
"I'm afraid not, Señor Jones,"Father Perez replied. "Even the old holy spot is deserted… For many years now."
Esther saw Indy prick up his ears. "Holy spot, you say?"
"Yes. It lies a short distance away into the jungle, I'm told. I have never been there myself. The place is generally avoided as much as possible."
Jones leaned forward, his voice taut with excitement. "Could you give us directions to this place? We'd be very interested in having a look at it."
"One of our lads can guide you to it in the morning if you wish. It would be safer for you that way."
"Surely there's nothing in there bigger than the occasional jaguar or tapir, " Indy said, feeling the reassuring weight of the pistol he had tucked into an inner pocket of his leather jacket.
"So one might think, Señor Jones," the old priest replied gravely, "but the jungle can be a treacherous place. It seems that if at least once a year a child wanders off and is lost in it, or a hunter goes out and never returns, or a young maiden takes a stroll and disappears."
"Come now, Padre; you exaggerate," Juan Chrysosyomo interjected, with his same tooth revealing smile. "Those young girls are no doubt eloping with their lovers - or else they have heard tales of the bright lights of Campeche and are running off to seek their fortunes."
"Perhaps, my friend - you know more about young girls than I," Father Perez answered with gentle humor, but his expression remained troubled. "I would still be happier if our American friends were in the company of someone who knows the way. It would be no trouble, and we are glad to help." He looked at Indy and sighed. "I only hope that you have not come all this way for nothing. You will not find much there, I'm afraid."
"Anything - no matter how small it is - will be of interest to us," Indy assured him. He decided not to elaborate, sensing that the destruction of much of the Maya's history might still be a touchy one with Central American Catholic clergymen.
Instead, they talked of other things as the long afternoon wore on. At last, Juan Crysostomo rose and excused himself, saying, "I hate to leave such an interesting conversation, but, unlike father Perez, I have a wife who grows shrill if I am late for supper."
As the head man left, Indy and Esther exchanged a diplomatic look.
"Surely you will do me the honor of sharing my evening meal with me," Father Perez said quickly, before either of his guests could broach the subject of leaving.
"We wouldn't like to put you out…" Esther began.
Please, Señora - I have visitors so infrequently. It would give me the greatest of pleasure if you would stay and sample some of the few delicacies our village has to offer."
It was plain that the old man was eager for the company. "Of course, Father; we'll be happy to have supper with you," Esther said.
"Concepcion," Father Perez called out, raising his voice slightly to summon his housekeeper, a solid, stockily-built Indian woman, who appeared momentarily from the back of the house. He explained the change in plans to her, and, nodding and smiling, she bustled out of the room to begin preparing what promised to be a sumptuous feast.
Soon dinner was served, each dish being brought in by a proudly smiling Concepcion. There were a number of strange fruits and vegetables, cornmeal fritters, and a delicious kind of mushroom Father Perez told them grew from the stumps of fallen trees. Jones was enjoying himself heartily as the next dish was brought in.
Esther was the first to sample it. "This is delicious," she exclaimed. "What is it?"
"Snake," Father Perez replied, taking a generous portion for himself. "Tasty, isn't it?"
Esther glanced quickly over at Indy, who had frozen with his fork half way to his mouth. He carefully lowered his hand to his plate and began to toy with the snake meat, pushing it around his plate with all the cunning of a four year old child hiding his spinach under the potatoes.
Esther, well aware of Indy's phobia, suppressed a grin. "Why, Doctor Jones, where's your scientific curiosity? Mmm - this is good. You don't know what you're missing. She continued to chew her snake meat with ostentatious relish.
"People who live in glass houses, Esther…" Indy replied, sotto voce, referring to the fact that she was reduced to helpless terror by the sight of any arthropod whatsoever, something he had discovered when he had been called upon to remove a spider from the wash bowl in her hotel room in Merida.
Esther merely grinned, while Indy continued to push his food around, as if trying to make it disappear by pure force of will.
He was still at it when the beaming Concepcion returned with the next dish, producing it with a flourish of pride.
"This is a special treat," Father Perez said. "Something we rarely have."
Esther took a bite and began to taste it with evident appreciation. It was crunchy and had a delicious golden brown taste. "Yes; this is good! What is it?" she asked, taking another forkful eagerly.
"Jungle ants, deep fried in pulche batter," Father Perez replied, savoring his own portion with gusto.
Indy cast a sidelong glance at Esther, who had turned white - no, make that green, he amended silently, stifling a grin at the poetic justice of the situation. Too well-bred to insult her host by spitting the ants out, Esther had clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes darting about in panic. Abruptly, she leapt up from the table and ran out into the night.
Father Perez looked at Indiana in shock, as if silently asking for an explanation of this strange form of American behavior.
Jones gave a non-committal shrug. "A touch of La Turista, perhaps?" he ventured unconcernedly. "Now, tell me, Father, "he said, favoring the old priest with his most charming smile, "What's for dessert? "
-O-
Later that evening, Indy and Esther sat together around a crackling fire that Indy had kindled in a small clearing a little distance from the village. The villagers had offered them the use of an empty hut for the night, but Esther, whose unvoiced opinion was that the hut was a grand hotel for creepy crawlies, had politely declined. Indy, too, preferred to sleep in the open. The fire was ostensibly to keep away the local wildlife, but the night air was surprisingly chilly for such a tropical climate, and the leaping flames provided the two of them with a welcome warmth.
Indy, who was seated on a log near the fire, reached into his hip pocket and pulled out his brandy flask. Taking a quick sip for himself, he held the flask out to Esther with a companionable smile. She shook her head silently.
"Come on, loosen up, why don't you? It's legal down here," he said teasingly, patting the log beside him. "The night's cold. It'll be warmer if we sit closer together."
"No thanks, Jones," she said wryly." the brandy, the fire, snuggling close - I know where all of that leads, and I think I'll pass this time if it's all the same to you. The first time around was quite enough for me."
Surprised at the sudden angry tone in her voice, he re-stoppered the flask and put it back in his pocket. "Rather bitter tonight, aren't we?"
She nodded. "How very perceptive of you, Dr. Jones."
"So that's it," he sighed. "I knew there's been something eating it you ever since you showed up in my office, but I really still can't figure out what you have to be angry with me about. Correct me if I'm wrong, Esther, but - weren't you the one who ended up leaving me?"
"Only when it became apparent that I was wasting my time!"
Indy looked puzzled. "Listen, Esther, I was always straight with you. I made it plain before we even got to square one that that there would be no strings with us. I'm not the marrying kind."
She gave a tired shake of her head. "It isn't you I'm angry with, Indy - It's myself. You're right; you were always honest with me, and I told you I understood. But I didn't really. I was a lot younger and very inexperienced then, and I had the naïve idea that if I just tried hard enough I could make you change your mind. I hate stupidity, Indy. I positively despise it in myself."
He had no answer for this, and she picked up a small stone and threw it angrily Into the fire, where it landed, sending up a shower of sparks.
"But do you know something, Dr. Jones?" she continued. "Maybe I wasn't so stupid, after all. I might just have had a chance - that is, if you had been like other men."
He looked at her quizzically. "Like other men?"
"You seemed warm and attentive enough, but you let me get just so close and no further. Sometimes you seemed to forget I was even there. You have a place inside you, Indy, that you won't let anyone touch. It's almost as if someone had gotten there first and shut me out. I always used to wonder who it was - who you were still carrying a torch for."
He looked away, beginning to feel needled. Her words had touched on something he usually tried to keep well buried, bringing up memories of a time in his life he was not proud of and could only explain as a bout of temporary insanity. "Carrying a torch? You're nuts, Esther," he said, with a carefully cultivated equanimity.
She shrugged. "Perhaps, Indy. Perhaps."
For a while there was silence between them, each staring into the flames lost in his or her own thoughts.
"I went to a seminar in New York a few months ago," Esther began again, as if changing the subject. "I met an old professor of yours there - Abner Ravenwood." She paused, as if carefully studying the effect of her words on Indy's face. "He gave some crackpot paper about a dig he had planned in Nepal - looking for the Ark of the Covenant, of all things. He had his daughter with him."
Indy's expression had altered drastically. "Funny," she said quietly, still watching his face, "they looked exactly the same way you do now, when I mentioned your name." She looked away and went on quickly, "I should have known, Indy, she's beautiful. I could never hope to compete with someone like that. Not even with her memory."
She looked back. Even with the reflected ruddiness of the firelight, his face looked deathly pale. "How did you know…?"
"I guessed as soon as I heard her name. No one else would have made the connections - that is, unless you have made a habit of doing what you did to me, Indy. Once in a while during, shall we say, tender moments, you had a tendency to call me Marion."
"Oh, my God," he whispered, his face stricken.
"Don't worry, Indiana, your secret is safe with me. And it has to remain a secret, doesn't it? She's awfully young even now, and it doesn't take a BS in math to figure out the story. Something like that would ruin you if it got out, and, no matter what, I still feel too much for you to ever do you harm."
"The hell with that!" he said roughly. "Forget about me. It's you I'm worried about! I'm sorry." He never meant to hurt, he told himself, and yet somehow he always seemed to end up saying those words. The trouble was, he had to admit sadly, that when it came to his relations with women, he had all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop.
He went over her to kneel beside her. "Esther, you've got to believe one thing: whatever I am, whatever I may be - and I'll admit that may not be much - I did care, I do care for you in my own way! "
Slowly she turned to look at him, an unfathomable look in her eyes. He held out his hand to her. "Please, Esther, believe me."
For one awful moment, he thought she wasn't going to respond, and he sighed with relief when she finally took his hand, slowly entwining her long, sensitive fingers with his. Then she came close, burying her face against his leather jacket with an almost weary sigh.
"Oh, God, Esther, I'm sorry," he murmured, drawing her in gently and stroking her hair if he were comforting a child, although if the truth were to be told, the comforting was as much for his benefit as hers.
Gradually, he became aware that she was slowly turning her face upward to meet him, and the thoughts of comfort faded, to be replaced by a more familiar sensation. Tentatively, his lips brushed the soft skin of her forehead, her temple, tasting a brief hint of salt at the corner of her eye. At last their lips met in a gentle kiss. She didn't pull away.
Indy drew back a little, giving her a quizzical look. "I thought you were sore at me," he said softly.
She looked up at him with a rueful smile. "Oh, what the hell, Indy - a little more stupidity won't kill me," she whispered and kissed him again.
-O-
Jones awoke as the first shaft of morning sunlight filtering down through the trees fell upon his face. He stretched his cramped muscles ever so slightly, careful to avoid disturbing the sleeping woman whose body he lay curled around. He felt stiff from lying in the same position most of the night, but it was a good, satisfying kind of stiffness. There was nothing quite as nice as spending the night two to a sleeping bag, he told himself with drowsy contentment, as he lay still and listened to the sounds of the jungle coming awake around him.
His face was buried in Esther's prickly hair, and as he breathed some of it worked its way into his nose tickling him and making him sneeze. The sound pulled her from sleep and she began to stir awake, rolling over into her onto her back and cocking one eye open at him.
"Good morning, Professor," she said lazily.
"Morning yourself. Feeling okay?"
She stretched contentedly and reached up to run a gentle finger down the beard stubble on his chin. "Better than okay." Her voice grew softer. "We laid a few old ghosts to rest last night."
Indy smiled. "We friends again? "
She nodded. "And maybe a little more than just friends - whenever the mood strikes."
His smile developed a provocative tilt. "Now that sounds as if it has some interesting possibilities," he chuckled, moving his face closer to hers.
She laughed and sat up, eluding him. "Where's your professional dedication, Dr. Jones? We have a lot of work to do today, and we'll need an early start. Besides," she said, bending back down to kiss him lightly on the tip of his ear, "if my hearing serves me correctly, the village is awake, too, and I for one don't fancy having an audience of donkeys, chickens and curious village children." She slid out of the sleeping bag and began to gather up her scattered clothing, giving each article a careful shake before putting it on. She moved off in the direction of the village, casting a teasing glance over her shoulder at him as she went.
"Why not? Do their education a world of good," he yelled after her, looking quickly around for his battered felt hat. He jammed it firmly on his head before rising to greet the new day. It was to be one of the worst in his life.