The Results:
An hourglass-shaped scar carved out of the jungle’s shaggy hide.
Rambling Notes:
A slew of green canvas tents ring the tree line at one end. They form a rough circle, clustering the humans together in a sheltered corral for safety. A fire pit holds court in the middle of the tents, with flames kept alive throughout the night to keep predators at bay.
Even in this modern age, the innate need of creatures to circle the wagons still surfaces where trouble might lurk in the dark, whether on a stormy prairie with deadly lightning and cataclysmic winds, or here in the steamy jungle where sharp-clawed and pointy-toothed terrors slink in the deep shadows under the umbrageous canopy with…
“You need to wrap up that last sentence,” Juan said from the next camp chair over. “It’s a little too wordy.”
A drip of sweat rolled off the end of Quint’s nose and splattered onto the page. He brushed the drop off the waxy paper.Thiswas why he bought waterproof field notebooks by the dozen. If it wasn’t sweat, it was rain or snow or sea spray from rough waves splashing onto the deck. His job was messy more often than not.
Juan fanned himself with a freshly cut palm frond. “Do you always use that many flowery words when you write?”
Andthatwas why Quint preferred to write his first drafts when he was alone, without bored wannabe editors looking over his shoulder.
“They aren’t flowery.” He shut his notebook with a snap. “They’re descriptive. Keep in mind I’m not writing an archaeological field report here with snooze-worthy details about site location, findings, methods used, project objectives, and all the other tedious bits you have to write in your papers.”
“Tedious? Listen, Junior Mint, what I write is educational, enlightening, and engaging.”
“I’ll give you the first two, but engaging?” Quint rubbed his chin, which was in desperate need of a shave, but his arms had been too sore and shaky each night to mess with holding a razor.
Juan swatted him with the frond. “I’m very engaging.”
“I don’t know about that,” he teased. “You scholarly types tend to expound on a research topic in never-ending, stuffy detail. I’ve read through a lot of educational journals, and most of the articles are filled with mind-numbing fluff, which leads me to wonder if there is a minimum word count on original research papers that has to be met, or do archaeologists get paid by the word these days, like some freelance journalists?”
Juan grinned. “I agree that some of my peers do tend to wax on, especially at fancy funding events when they are trying to land a grant by selling their prospective research to the highest bidder. Take my daughter’s ex-husband—”
“Not for ten million dollars,” Quint cut in, his molars grinding at the mere thought of Angélica’s ex.
“Jared could schmooze like no other.”
“Hey, you know the rule—no talking about that asshole for an hour after we eat.” Quint rubbed his stomach, which was happily full of the corn tortillas packed with guacamole, scrambled eggs, cheese, and fried plantains that he’d scarfed down before heading out with Juan to greet today’s special guest. “Just hearing that egomaniac’s name gives me acid indigestion.”
“Being his father-in-law was no fiesta, believe me.” He pointed at Quint’s closed notebook. “I saw a lot of fluffy adjectives in there.”
“Not all adjectives are fluff.”
Quint shielded his eyes, searching the sky above the open field Raul and he had finished clearing earlier in the morning. There were no vultures gliding on the air currents today, as there had been off and on since the first day they’d come across Site 5—the name Angélica had insisted on using for this place until the Mexican government said otherwise. It appeared that after three days of watching the humans below hack away at the thorn- and pest-laden brush, the scavengers had given up and gone elsewhere in search of the dead.
“Besides,” he added, focusing back on Juan. “What I wrote is mostly ramblings. A rough start. Same as this fieldwork camp.”
“That it is, son.” Juan clapped Quint on the shoulder. “But at least the food is good now.”
Thank the Maya gods for that!
Upon returning to camp that first day, after they came across the wall and pile of skulls, Angélica had started making calls with the satellite phone. The next morning, Teodoro and María had come meandering up the freshly cut trail from Calakmul, leading two donkeys loaded down with crates full of everything needed to put together a basic camp kitchen and first aid tent.
By supper that evening, María had hot homemade tamales ready for their hungry bellies. The spicy chicken meat wrapped in sweetened corn masa was a mouth-watering reward, especially after a long day of battling thorny branches covered with biting ants, sharp-edged yucca leaves that sliced flesh almost as easily as they stabbed through it, and every kind of blood-thirsty insect this side of the equator.
Later that night, after the sun had fully set, Teodoro performed a short ceremony to appease the Maya gods. According to Angélica,he also needed to ask for permission to trespass on their sacred ground and to seek protection from any harmful tricksters waiting in the shadows. The shaman had sealed the deal with the gods by offering a small gourd bowl full ofxocolatl, which Angélica explained was an ancient drink made from ground cacao beans, chili spice, and some other secret ingredient Teodoro refused to share with her, which she suspected was honey from his personal hives.
The chocolate drink was then passed around in small gourd bowls, one for each of them to drink. Quint groaned at the first sip of the warm liquid full of complex flavors—rich, a little spicy, only a bit sweet. Foreign tasting, compared to the typical hot chocolate with marshmallows he grew up drinking on cold winter days, yet just as comforting.
Hisxocolatldisappeared too quickly. Resisting the urge to lick out his bowl, he’d tossed out the idea of having this protection ceremony performed every morning and night. After all, Raul had found a fresh pile of big cat scat and several paw prints behind the communications tent from a jaguar that had paid a visit overnight. Lucky for them, the buffet down at theaguadahad been more appealing apparently than fresh human meat.
Juan seconded Quint’s notion, reminding his daughter that the drink was prized for its energizing properties, but Angélica had weighed in that future ceremonies were up to Teodoro and sipped on her drink as the shaman wrapped up the request for help from the Maya gods.
