Sisimito I--Ox Witz Ha Read online

  The above extract and artwork were taken from Characters and Caricatures in Belizean Folklore.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:

  Most photographs in the illustrations were taken by Vincent Clarke for Expedition Bold. The reconstruction of the Caana in Illustration 45 is from Chronicles of the Maya Kings and Queens. Thanks to Cpl. Coh, L. D. (Luis Delmar) for the use of his image as Bas. Thanks also to Federica and Benedicto Choc for help with the English/Maya translations.

  Illustration 1: Molly and Sergeant Chiac’s Bus Journey.

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE ROAD TO SANTA CRUZ.

  Holy Week – Awas Q’ij.

  Tuesday, March 28, 1972.

  The local bus was hot. The restricted air was rank, humid with sweat. Passengers were cramped two adults a seat, sometimes with an additional person catching the bare edge along the narrow aisle which itself was crowded. There were children; some were eating biscuits and drinking bottled soft-drinks, some bottle-feeding, some breast feeding, some sleeping, some doing nothing in particular except looking very feverish and irritated. One child was crying. Her tears made lines through the red dust that had risen from the clay covered road and clothed her face. Coughing, throat clearing, sneezing were done often and often done with great amplification, both from the children and adults, as more and more crimson dust gushed in through the open windows. Conversations were few, impeded by the stifling red mist that immediately coated the open mouth. Occasionally, a parent scolded a child or an adult passed a loud remark which brought laughter or silence as the transport continued bumping and rocking its occupants down the unpaved road.

  The sixty-odd passengers were resigned to their temporary fate: a long drive of over one hundred miles in an old yellow school bus from Dangriga to Punta Gorda on a hot and dusty March day, on a dirt road with large, medium and small potholes marking its scrubboard surface. Occasional light rain showers did nothing to control the dense dust and only made the red powder filled humid tropical air more unbearable. Whenever the bus passed another vehicle, the dust was so thick that Molly could not see the countryside she had wanted so badly to see and the dust did not dissipate quickly but hung over the road for mile after mile. Molly’s disappointment and discomfort grew even though she had dressed suitably, lightly for the trip. She wore a faded pink cotton short-sleeve blouse, buttoned to just above her breasts, and blue jeans shorts. On her feet were plain brown sandals. She had dressed for the heat, but there was no attire for the dust.

  It was impossible to say if the hot wind and dust overtaking the bus made the driver uncomfortable or concerned about his passengers. He just kept on driving. If he were not bothered about the hot and dusty conditions then, perhaps, that was because there was little, if anything, he would have been able to do to alleviate them. He had a dirty handkerchief around his neck and, from time to time, took it and wiped the red sweat off his face. A small and noisy fan was attached to the body of the bus, not far from his head. It kept a steady flow of dusty hot air directed at his face. His khaki uniform shirt was drenched in sweat and he had opened his shirt buttons displaying a stained undershirt from which hung his brown hairy sweaty belly. He was not a very tall man, but medium built with extra belly pounds that the heat and sweat had not been able to get rid of. He kept moving his head to static filled music coming from a small radio situated above his head and near to the noisy fan. Occasionally, he would hum loudly or sing a few lines. When Jim Reeves’ This is it was playing, he sang the whole song. At times, he would push his head out the window, blast the loud horn and shout something at someone on the roadside, or at a house with people on the steps or in the yard, and even at houses that were completely closed with no one thereabouts. Molly was glad that the people and houses were distanced by miles or the horn would have been blaring continuously.

  Also, apparently unaffected by the conditions he and the travelers faced was the conductor. He stood leaning on the back of one of the seats, about midway down the crowed aisle, rocking as the bus rocked. He kept writing in a small black book while keeping a little black bag securely held under his left armpit. Molly thought it amazing that even in those deplorable travelling conditions, he was intent on making sure that everyone paid and that it was all written down in his little black book. At that time, he was checking a group of passengers who had just boarded the bus from the roadside village of Kendal. The bus had stopped for a few minutes, lessening the dust but increasing the heat, allowing some passengers to leave and others to come on.

  The conductor hung over Molly. The heat, plus the heavy scent of Right-Guard, Brut, dust, and sweat, augmented by the mélange of smells from passengers, food, belongings, and the general cargo the bus had taken on, were making her feel sick. Although the window was only one person away from where she sat, it was in the unreachable distance and she fully accepted that her fellow passenger would not give up his window seat. She tried not to think of her growing nausea and, as a distraction, kept looking at the conductor, hoping that his Right-Guard and Brut would hurriedly pass. She glanced down and noted his cordovan brown leather ankle boots with side zippers and squared toes. She raised her eye brows, still looking at him. Those boots were not cheap. He was tall, very dark, slightly built, but tight muscled. His face was narrow and that was more pronounced because of the grand afro he wore. A large rhinestone filled afro-pick was strategically placed in the afro and he looked down at the passengers from very dark glasses. He wore a well ironed light-green bell-bottom cuffed polyester pants, complete with wide leather belt, and a colorful dashiki shirt … a Modesto. The shirt had bright red, navy blue, green, dark brown, yellow, deep purple and cream designs in diamonds, flowers, triangles and stripes, angel wing sleeves, a V-neck, two front square pockets, and side slits. Molly stared, momentarily, at the little black bag, tucked amidst all the color, held securely under his armpit, absorbing his sweat. She wondered abstractly how a conductor on a local bus service could wear that brand of cloths to work … and why? He smiled at her as he maneuvered his way further down the aisle. “Good afternoon, Miss,” he said. She smiled back at him, weakly, her nausea growing.

  The stop at Kendal had not been without commotion. As some seats were vacated, the passengers who were standing near the seats hurriedly sat down, trying to secure a seat for the remainder of the long trip. Two local men, however, had pushed their way through the disembarking passengers and hurriedly taken a seat that two other passengers were about to sit in. The passengers were, at that time, standing and putting their bags on the rack overhead when the two men slipped into the vacant seats that were immediately behind Molly.

  “Hey,” shouted a fat black Kriol1 woman from across the aisle. “That seat’s not for you two. Can’t you see those two passengers right there? They’ve been standing since we left Dangriga.”

  “What happen now?” challenged the slightly taller of the two men. He spoke slowly and with a slur. “Since when you become the bus police? Nobody tells Stephen Chiac what to do. Nobody!” The man sniggered. “Look how you fat. Maybe if you never so fat they would fit in the seat with you … instead, you take up a whole bloody seat by yourself.”

  “I paid for these two seats, Mister Man Stephen Chiac,” shouted the woman. “I like to travel comfortable and I don’t mind paying for it. And I’m fat because I eat damn good … not only tortilla and beans like you.” A few of the passengers laughed loudly and the woman shifted triumphantly in her seat. “Ah, Stephen Chiac! Everybody know about you, Stephen Chiac. You’re just a trouble maker. Not even the army’s helping you.”

  “We’ll move,” replied Stephen, slowly, nodding his head, “but only if we can sit on your lap. And I want to put my head right between them big sweet luscious breasts you have there.”

  “You don’t have a chance, Indian,” shouted the woman, pouting her lips, closing her eyes and tilting her weighted chin upward. “I already got a man and he’s a good man, a very good man at everything he chooses to do.”

  Stephen was
about to stand up to continue the altercation, but his companion held him down. “What now, Bas?” Bas just stared at him, not answering, keeping his hands firmly on Stephen’s shoulders. He shrugged his shoulders and yawned, remaining seated. “You too fokin2 soft, Bas.” The engine backfired and the bus started to move. The two standing passengers shook their heads and held on to the overhead hand rail once more.

  The bus rocked along and the conductor continued his collecting.

  “Five dollars,” Molly heard him tell the two men sitting behind her.

  “Five dollars?” bellowed Stephen. “I always travel this bus and I never in my life had to pay five dollars to travel from Kendal to Punta Gorda Cutoff yet. I always pay three dollars. Three dollars it is and that’s all I’m going to pay.”

  “It’s five dollars and it has always been five dollars,” stated the conductor, hitting his black book repetitively with his black ballpoint pen and flicking his dark shades with his nose.

  “Well, I’m not paying five dollars,” retorted Stephen. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He took out three dollars while counting aloud “One! Two! Chree!”3 and handed them towards the conductor. The conductor did not take them.

  “That’s all he probably got,” laughed the very plump Kriol lady. “Spent all the rest on rum.” The passengers burst out laughing.

  “It is five dollars,” insisted the conductor, the expression on his face unchanged, as he continued hitting his black book with his black pen, the black bag still secured under his armpit. The bus hit one of the larger potholes and the passengers were shaken from side to side. The conductor did not move, the passengers absolutely quiet.

  “Pay the bloody five dollars, Stephen,” Bas demanded, quietly. “I’m in no fokin condition to walk this damn road in this midday heat. In fact, I might as well tell you … I ain’t walking today. You’ll walk alone.”

  “Who said anything about fokin walking? I want to see who’s man enough to take me, Stephen Chiac, out of this bus. Sometimes, Bas, you’re too …”

  “Driver!” shouted the conductor. “Stop the bus. ¡Malpagos!4

  The bus started to decelerate then came to a complete stop. The red dust cloud that was trailing the moving bus began entering through all the windows. The bus suddenly backfired, again, even more loudly, causing everyone to jump, that is, except the driver and the conductor. Several children began to cry and some passengers were beginning to cough. Molly looked around. Almost everyone had placed reddened handkerchiefs over their nose. Unfortunately, she had not brought one.

  “Well, I don’t know about man enough, but I certainly know about woman fumfum5 and that’s the worst beating a man can get and I am willing to provide it,” warned the woman who was then breathing very loudly as she continued to occupy the entire seat across the aisle from the two men. “Pay up, boy, because I don’t have time to waste. I knew these two would give trouble from the time I laid these eyes of mine on them.” The woman shifted on her seat effortlessly and with great mobility then vociferously addressed Stephen, Bas, and the whole bus. “I am on an important mission. Pay up or get out.” She looked directly at Stephen and Bas. Other passengers started to grumble, some shouting with open hostility at the two men. The two passengers standing near them began looking hopeful.

  “Pay the conductor the five dollars,” demanded Bas, obviously irritated. “Like I fokin said, friend or no friend, I ain’t walking with you today.”

  “Three dollars only!” blurted out Stephen, adamantly. He sat upright with his eyes closed.

  Bas gave the conductor his fare and the additional two dollars after snatching the three out of Stephen’s outstretched hand. Stephen opened his eyes and looked over to the woman. He rubbed his chin slowly with his right hand. He then moved his tongue deliberately over his upper lip after which he winked at her. There was no response from the woman, she just kept looking at Stephen. He shrugged his shoulders and leaned back, resting his head at the junction of the back of his seat and the side of the bus. He closed his eyes.

  “Proceed, Driver,” shouted the conductor.

  “All right,” cried out the woman. “Let’s get this damn bus moving. I’m on a mission … and, Driver, can’t you drive any faster? Ha! Ha! Ha!” she exploded, then turned and faced the two men, the laugh dropping from her face. “You must know how to behave among decent people and especially when there are visitors. She smiled and looked towards Molly. There were nods of approval and grunts of support from the other passengers. The woman settled back into her seat looking well pleased with herself.

  Molly had been mesmerized by what had happened and, unconsciously, had turned in her seat and was staring intently at the two men. It was hard to tell their ages, but they were young men. The one called Stephen was thin but muscular, not frail, a little tall for a Maya, taller than his friend, not that she knew much about the ethnic groups in that part of the country. She had seen Maya people, from time to time, in Belize City and those she had seen were generally short in stature. The only Maya that she had any real contact with was Gus Cucul, a senior student at the school where she taught. He was Mopan Maya and he was short. One day during the last semester, Gus had offered to teach her the local languages and she had grasped the opportunity. She taught English, Spanish, knew some French, and was always eager to learn other languages. She welcomed the chance at learning Ke’kchi and Mopan, especially since they were ethnic Maya languages of Belize. Her trip down South was to allow her to practice and experience them first hand.

  Stephen had short oily black hair that shined even through the dust. Yet, under the sunlight from the open window, his hair was thinner than his friend’s and there was a subtle hint of a golden-brown color. His face was narrow, he had thick dark eyebrows, a sharp nose and a surprisingly small mouth. There was seriousness, but a lack of calmness on his face, unlike his friend Bas who seemed to have a hidden smile somewhere. Bas’ face was wider, eyes more wide-set, nose smaller and mouth bigger. Even though Bas also seemed unapproachable, there was a suggestion that beneath that facade there was something positive, perhaps small, but something positive. Molly jumped when Stephen addressed her, loudly.

  “What the hell are you looking at, pretty gyal ?”6 he demanded, bringing his unsmiling face close up to hers. He then added quietly, “Or, is it just that you like what you see? Me! I know I’m handsome.”

  “I’m sorry,” gasped Molly. She was looking directly into his eyes. They were not completely black, seemed to have a shade of brown within which were definite hidden streaks of grey. “I didn’t mean to stare.” She swung herself towards the front of the bus, feeling more nauseous than before, for Stephen’s breath covered her face with the smell of stale rum and cigarettes.

  “I haven’t finished talking to you yet, Señorita,” continued Stephen, eyeing her lustfully and leaning towards her over the back of the seat until his head almost rested on her neck. “Don’t be nervous. I wouldn’t hurt you. I just provide pleasure.” He laughed, loudly, as the lady from across the aisle glared at him. He lowered his voice. “I know you’re not from around here, Sweetie, and you’re not travelling with a man so I feel it my duty to see that you don’t feel lonely. That you enjoy yourself.” He spoke even more quietly. “I’m sure you know about men and I am the best of the best when it comes to those things. Yeah! And, Muchacha, I can really work Tóolok,”7 he whispered, spittle bubbling at his lips. “I’m Ke’kchi, not Kriol like you, but once the lantern is out and the night is dark, every tóolok is the same, wants the same and gives the same happiness. Joy. Great joy. Just like Christmas. I love Christmas, you know. Don’t you?” Molly did not answer, but kept staring straight ahead. “Now, why don’t you want to talk to me? Let’s arrange a little Christmas joy, Muchachita. Let’s hear some silver bells and have some Christmas cheer.” Stephen smiled, sleepily. No one moved or said anything and the bus would have been absolutely quiet were it not for the static filled music coming from the radio. However, all ey
es were focused on Molly and the two men. Bas had not moved, but his eyes were riveted on Stephen.

  “Leave the young lady alone,” shouted the woman, this time shifting laboriously in her seat. “Come on, Conductor. Do your job. This drunken Indian interfering with the young lady. Being disrespectful. Christmas! Hmph! What would you know about the real meaning of Christ-mas?”

  Bas held tightly on to Stephen’s arm on seeing his friend’s face hardening at the woman’s comment. “Cool off!” Bas pleaded, quietly. “Fokin cool off and stop this drunken shit! You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

  “Yes! Tell him to cool off,” ordered the woman. “My name ain’t Matilda Moss if I will allow anyone to take advantage of an innocent young lady, but maybe she’d surprise us and beat your drunken ass. After all, Tiga maaga but e strong.8 And, she looks the olympic type.”

  The conductor had struggled up the aisle. He pulled his dark glasses down over his nose, looking over it at the two men. “Listen!” he warned, pointing his black pen at Stephen. “No action on this bus. Any more problems and I’ll take you … both of you off the bus. Take it easy and let’s go where we’re going.” His features did not change and, that time, both the black bag and the black book were secure under his armpit.

  “Cool off, Stephen,” Bas repeated, in resigned annoyance. “I’m not going to walk with you. It’s you alone this time. I’ll even help them throw you off the fokin bus. Leave the girl alone and settle down, man. You’re behaving badly and there’s no reason for it.”

  Molly felt Stephen moving away. She turned to look at them, wanting to repeat that she had not meant to stare. Stephen smiled, his eyes half-closed, then he looked across to Matilda Moss who was still staring directly at him. He wrinkled his nose at her, after which he immediately settled himself into his corner by the window, closed his eyes, and was promptly asleep. Molly looked at Bas, wanting to thank him. She blushed, for he was staring at her bosom. She, immediately, started to turn towards the front of the bus, but caught sight of a green string hanging around Bas’ neck. She reached up and held her own chest, feeling the Green Scapular9 lying there. She looked back at him saying, “Thank you.” He simply nodded and then looked towards his friend. He shook his head slightly and smiled. He leaned sideways, resting his head on Stephen’s shoulder and was soon asleep as well.