Chapter Four: The Village of Metzabok - Continued

When we entered Metzabok’s caribal we discovered amid the scattered huts four saddled horses idly standing near four men dressed like cowboys urgently talking with one of the older Lacandon men of the settlement. Dogs were barking incessantly as we came into their view.

The men were wearing high-laced shirts, boots with spars and straw hats. On their hips were holstered revolvers. Strapped to their saddles were large cubes of sapodilla sap, large coiled rope and machetes. Two saddles had rifles wedged in under the leather stirrup straps.

“Chicleroes,” Montero said, waving us to hold still.

There seemed to be a disagreement between them and the elder Lacandon man. They took little notice of us at first as we paused behind Montero. Then the barking dogs turned their attention on us. And that brought the gaze the Mexican cowboys that caught a glimpse of Cassarina.

Ignoring the elder Lacandon, they openly made malicious lewd sexual gestures toward Cassarina. Montero quickly walked over to them, muttering something under his breath, welding his machete with a tight grip. Jorge was right behind him. I imagine they were hoping to thwart an unpleasant scene.

The sun was lowering in the sky by now. Daylight was running out for us to set up our camp. I had been looking forward to getting things squared away before nightfall. But this inconvenience would have to be resolved. A hostile confrontation was not something I was up to, especially after the hike in the humid jungle. I saw Cassarina to be more delicate and fragile in stature, contrary to her attitude. Moreover, she was an unlikely warrior of her own birthright. But she proved me to be a bad judge of character.

“Of all the dangerous places I’ve been, I’ve yet to find a dangerous place,” Cassarina said to me. “You can write that on my heart.”

In the spirit of a godly world, she majestically moved with prowess, charging triumphantly to confront the rough looking Mexican cowboys. Dumping her backpack along the way, Cassarina marched crossed the settlement making it clear she wasn’t going to show any fear toward these armed chicleroes. If there was going to be a showdown she was going to meet it in full glory. All the men’s eyes were fixed upon her countenance fastened to her commanding voice.

“Que es problema?” she demanded, standing in warrior poise. Her sudden forcefulness perplexed them. Montero stood behind her and Jorge behind him. The elder Lacandon moved toward the horses, carefully gathering the reins. A crowd of villagers started to circle showing solidarity for Cassarina. Unwilling to make a scene with this feisty woman the chicleroes relented. In short haste, they silently mounted their horses and trotted off, disappearing into the surrounding jungle.

Cassarina made an impression on the Lacandones. From that moment on they carried a confidence and respect toward us that months of co-existing habitation couldn’t have accomplished.

We had entered the Lacandon’s life during a transitional period. Up till now the Lacandones had guarded themselves from the corruption and abuses of Western religion and industry. I don’t want to bother about the details of our first few months at Metzabok. You can find the documentation of our labors in the bibliotheca at Anahuac, if the documents have not already been seized by the Mexican Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

As I mentioned before, these direct descendants of the Maya were now surrounded by the sordid selfishness of industrial consumerism, the violent passions of economic greed for the forest and land that had been their sanctuary for centuries. The Maya had predicted this industrial era as the last four hundred year Baktun cycle. The scourge of humanity was inevitable, marked by the arrival of the Spanish Conquest lead by Hernan Cortez on their shores in 1519.

Ironically, Cortez arrived exactly on the cyclic completion predicted for Quetzalcoatl’s return. This caused ruling Montezuma II so much distress and confusion he allowed Cortez to quickly gain dominance over the Aztec empire.

What followed was the annihilation of the Mayan cosmological knowledge, the grand temple monuments that became hidden to the jungle growth, and the flesh of their souls spent from bloodshed by vainglorious foreigners. History, biology and psychology can tell us why they were, but these things cannot keep them alive. The tropical forest has proven to be their sustaining life force and that was quickly being extinguished.