Chapter One
Driving Along the Mayan Riviera, Yucatán Peninsula, Mexico
From her seat in the back row inside the artisan-modified bus driving down route three zero seven south of the Mexican vacation resort of Cancún, Clarity Nice scanned the people around her and smiled at the older woman seated a few rows in front of her. The woman kept staring at Clarity and her friends Lanai, Cynthia, Jenna, and Taimi, because they were comparing bikinis frivolously. Most of those traveling with her on the guagua, whose rooftop was filled with unsold crafts, were inhabitants of the small village of Miradorcito, a less than prosperous place numbering less than one hundred autochthonous members, where her other friend, ethnographer Flower Parkwood, was going to work on her first official mission with renowned Egyptian archaeologist Akhris Zephairi.
She placed the head of Flower, who was sleeping with her head resting on her own shoulder, gently against the seat of the bus, and took a piece of paper out of her pocket. The invitation sent to Flower to her hotel room in Cancún came from Zephairi's Alabastriah foundation, the organization paying for their trip. The piece of paper just said 'permiso de arqueología A-29, región de Campeche'. It was a permit from Mexican authorities which allowed Zephairi and his crew, to work in the region looking for artifacts, such as Mayan statues, called stelas, or pottery, valued by collectors and museums.
They followed the main road south driving past the ancient city of Tulum and the aquatic theme park of Xel-ha to Chetumal, continuing west on route one eighty six, then south, and then finally turning east on a narrow trail leading to an isolated area a few miles north of the Belize border, in the province of Campeche, rarely seen by tourists, because there was nothing to see there.
Zephairi welcomed them when they reached Miradorcito. He was in his early fifties with an energy level that rivalled the most versatile Black and Decker drill. Unable to sit in one place for more than five minutes in a row, Zephairi liked to inquire around the places where he was working until he could get hold of some type of object, a trophy he could bring back to the Egyptian authorities in the museum of Cairo, who paid for some of his expenses. Zephari walked straight towards Flower, waving at her.
"Were you informed of our mission here?" he asked.
"No, I got your message, but you didn't say anything other than it was a mission of utmost ethnographic importance for Egypt and the Egyptian government." Zephairi nodded and glanced at Clarity and her friends, stepping out of the bus with small trolleys.
"These are my archaeological assistants," said Flower, shaking dust off her long hair.
"Wait a minute," said Clarity, "we never said we worked for you, we just came because we've never been with an Egyptologist."
"She works for me, you work for her, that's how life is," said Zephairi, looking at Flower and at her backside. The Egyptologist placed his hand on Flower's shoulder. Clarity and her friend Lanai followed them. Behind them, Jenna and Taimi and Cynthia were deciding how to drag the trolleys along the dirt trail leading to the entrance of the village.
"Our mission is very important, you know that already."
"What are we looking for?" asked Flower.
"A Mayan pyramid which looks like an Egyptian pyramid."
Clarity looked around the few run-down homes in the village. A few hundred feet away, she could see the jungle and a river splitting the north and south of Miradorcito in two. Certainly, there was no trace of any pyramids there. She followed Zephairi to their camp, and the place where they would sleep, a Coleman six person instant tent that Zephairi had picked for its superior ease of use and comfort. The head of the village, Ms. Lidia Morales, was letting Zephairi settle for a few days and explore the village because he had promised to buy some crafts from the artisan of Miradorcito, a local named Kish Chunab who owned an old, traditional loom, which he used to build a variety of textiles, shawls and blouses among them. Her friends Jenna, Lanai, Taimi and Cynthia settled with Clarity inside the tent. Flower informed them that the head of the village was Ms. Morales.
"The lady that kept staring at us in the bus?"
"Yeah, she sort of heads things around here."
"Sort of?"
"I mean, my patron says she has all the authority here, she keeps the papers which describe births and deaths and marriages, and all the property titles of the land here in Miradorcito. She's the one who approved the archaeological permit of Zephairi." Clarity took out a sleeping bag and unfolded it.
"Your patron, your patron is Zephairi? Just refer to him as Mr. Zephairi or Zephairi."
"I like him as Zeph."
"I hope Zeph doesn't make us work too hard."
After changing into more comfortable clothes, Clarity got out of her tent and listened to a heated discussion between Ms. Morales and a man she'd noticed inside the bus, named Duldu, shabbily dressed in worn denim pants cut one or two sizes too small and narrow for his ankles. Duldu carried a level with him, a device normally used to build a road, and Ms. Morales, a woman of strong build, wasn't happy at all to see him use the instrument.
"Are you with Mr. Zephairi?"
"No, I came on my own."
"What are you doing?" asked Ms. Morales.
"I'm looking at how the new road will look here, it's important that the road be straight," said Duldu. He placed a plastic helmet normally worn by construction workers on his head.
"What road?"
"The one that will be built where I stand, if the dam around here is strong enough to withstand the rainfall during the rainy season."
Duldu pointed to several run-down homes behind him and moved both of his arms in front of him, aligned, towards the jungle and some crops, as he looked into the level. Were a new road to be built, thought Clarity, it certainly meant several homes would be levelled and destroyed, along with some crops.
"There are no plans to build a road," says Ms. Morales.
"The only good plans are those which are not foreseen."
"Who sent you here? We dislike foreigners." said Ms. Morales.
"A powerful person in the region."
Ms. Morales walked towards Duldu, blocking the view of the self-appointed road building worker. She told him he wouldn't build a road in Miradorcito. According to the strong woman, Miradorcito didn't need a bigger road that would destroy people's homes and crops. It was self-sufficient, had been for generations, and would stay like that for generations to come.
"How many generations?" asked Duldu.
"Many," said Ms. Morales.
"You better worry about this generation, I don't think you'll be living here by the end of the month."
"I dislike your helmet, take your level and leave please."
"I'm just following orders Maam."
"Well, you're not working anywhere close to here."
"I'll be back Maam, my boss is diligent."
"Your boss is not welcome here, and neither are you." Duldu took his level and walked away. He waited for the bus headed for Chetumal to stop by the trail which led to road one eighty six and left the village.
Ms. Morales invited Clarity and her friends for tea inside her modest home, a palapa. Clarity noticed that she was purportedly joyful, smiling a smile, which was there to sustain a sense of courage around the big mess that was Miradorcito. The village was barely self-sufficient. The normal array of tourists didn't travel as far as Miradorcito, which lied just north of the border with Belize, housing only jungle. There was no activity which made money for the village and Ms. Morales feared a recent article on Diario de Quintana Roo and Días de Yucatán by the governor of Campeche, which spoke of bringing a renewed sense of wealth to traditional run-down areas which were not blessed by western flocks of tourists coming from the U.S. or Europe.
"Bringing wealth is good, someone will think of Miradorcito to rebuild the homes here."
"No, the governor wrote of the need for relocating people living in poor areas, he's ashamed of places like Miradorcito." She stood towards a chest of drawers and pulled out a wooden touca
n out of one of them.
"This is our only hope now."
Clarity stared at the bird with the long wooden beak. Clearly, it was a totem for the village, an item adopted for its spiritual significance as emblem.