Persistence in the face of adversity is every writer's poignant day job. Never give up.
- B. Barnett |
Dedicated to the Bowers Museum and to our
humanity which we endlessly seek as it patiently waits.
Around and far below him, the comfortable thin-limbed brown people waited in a nearly perfect arc. In his stratified society, Koro knew few of them. He watched them labor daily at his behest. He nodded approvingly as they paid tribute they could ill afford. It was the adhesive that held his society together: exploitation of the poor through common, unquestioning belief.
Though he controlled the daily lives of those on the ground, Koro was exposed only to those in his class and, because he was a priest, many whose station was far above his. Koro achieved his position through sheer determination and dedication to order and progress among the Olmec—he believed in self-discipline and regimentation. These principles were the backbone of a proud people.
La Venta had developed an extensive trade network. Floats came and went from La Venta's swampy shores nearly every hour. He saw his beliefs reflected in the faces of the poor, honored chiefs, analytical mathematicians, far-seeing astronomers, and even the young shaman who accompanied him today. These fledgling priests hoped one day to be in Koro's position. He secretly wondered if, when they took his place, they would be so secretly conflicted as he.
*
Koro had begun that long, strange day walking along a dark tunnel. Its dank odor was the scent of earth. It was a familiar trip across the Great Plaza. Koro turned his face up to the cool wetness of the morning. He stood reverently above the misty grass of the competition field. The Great Plaza was strangely quiet and empty. The morning mist that was as blinding as fog provided blessed clarity, too.
Koro had a sudden, bright and clear vision of his childhood companion, now a great athlete. Cetot was victorious yet humble, his eyes alight with the honor he had earned. Before this Cetot of today, beneath him and in shadow, his child form romped. Shining brown hair danced as he turned to Koro and pressed his finger to his lips.
“Ssshhh,” he cautioned softly, “I know where we can hide!” Boy-Cetot leapt behind his adult counterpart, cocoa eyes brimming mirth as he peeked from between the muscular athlete's legs.
Koro had known since his nomination was announced that Cetot would be the one to emerge victorious today. It could be no other. Cetot in his glory would challenge truly Koro's fortitude, his faith, and his strength. The privacy afforded by the early morning mist allowed Koro the exquisite pain of truth. All his life he had wished to be Cetot. Cetot was not only strong and beautiful, but also faithful and trusting of the gods and his fate. Bitter irony tightened the priest's throat. His vision beyond seeing made his palms ache and his shoulders stoop under its weight.
*
It was hot, bright, full day when Koro relaxed in the shady comfort of the Great Chief's peristyle box watching Cetot conquer all comers.
The masses viewed the battles from one far end of the Great Plaza or the other, spreading their clothes on the ground, sweltering in relentless, humid sunlight.
Koro reveled in the cool. He sipped his drink and ate of sweet fruits.
Competition was sacrament, and Koro heard the admiration of the crowd as the lone victor, Cetot, approached the box of the Great Chief.
The awe Koro felt coloring his own countenance was apparent on the face of the Great Chief seated beside him. Though he knew it was unseemly, Koro felt pride for Cetot and dismay for himself. Cetot knelt before the box and the Great Chief. His broad, brown shoulders glistened, framing the curls of his lowered head. As Cetot turned to go, he winked at his old friend. Koro raised his glass, but the cool of the shade turned chill, and he feared the end of the day when he would be envoy to Xipe Totec for the messenger.
*
From high atop the flat-roofed Aldoritorio pyramid, Koro's eyes glazed as he stared at the majestic field of the Great Plaza where hours earlier Cetot had triumphed above all others. Koro's gaze dropped to the thousands of faces without names below him. They had migrated quickly from the Great Plaza, hoping for a close place along the ground where perhaps a bit of Cetot's glory might reach them. Brown hands unwrapped maize blankets and shared bits of fish and foul. Coca leaves were passed slowly among the crowd. Brown faces filled with white teeth chewed. Eyes glazed and lighted again.
Koro raised his eyes again and stared across La Venta through the warm, tropical mist that slowly began to regain its hold on the island. Through the line of Koro's vision, Cetot's heavy jade collar twinkled and flashed. It left light trails along a fluid rainbow. Cetot's lithe, writhing body danced and played through shafts of warm western light. Koro tried to imagine for the millionth time since he was a child what it would be like to be Cetot, and for the first time he found the imagining terrifying. Koro thought that if he were Chief (another nearly impossible imagining) he would make La Venta different somehow. The thought gave him comfort even though, as it did, he realized it was sacrilegious on more counts than he could score. As long as Xipe Totec controlled their fates, there could be no alternative realities, regardless of who might be Great Chief or who might be Highest Priest.
Koro watched Cetot drift about through tilted slits. Koro let his heavy head fall back. His neck lay between his shoulder blades. It felt good. Cetot was grand. Cetot danced. Cetot was happy with his fate. He had fought hard for it. Koro determined that he would perform his role with as much joy and conviction as Cetot deserved. From the shell beside him, Koro tore a blossom from its stem and chewed it slowly, praying for fortitude.
Cetot's long brown feet were rhythmic, merry. Mirth rippled through his cocoa eyes. He hummed, giggled, went round and round. His sun-reaching arms limply laxed to the sky. Koro saw Cetot seeming to hang gracefully from a rope, dangling just above the ground.
Koro listened to the water. The ocean was a golden line in the mist.
Koro lifted another flower. Cetot danced by. As he leaned over Koro, Cetot opened his mouth gleefully, invitingly. His lips were full and pink, fading to the brown of his face around the edges. Koro popped the bloom toward Cetot's mouth. Cetot languidly dipped to receive it and swirled away. Koro watched long orange and violet leaves disappear between Cetot's smiling lips as he danced near again.
Koro lifted another stem and gazed intently, lovingly. He held the stem firmly as he nuzzled then bit the moist flower. As Cetot ate the flowers to enhance his joy, so Koro would eat to shore up his courage. He could feel the change on him already.
With the rhythm of the sea, his mind chanted, Cetot will dance until sunset.
*
Koro prayed and meditated until the sun tinted the blue ocean orange through the humid mist. The blazing orb teased then, hesitantly, began to dip behind violet mountains. Koro could see jagged black lines that were the mountains on the water. He ate again.
From his high, flat perch atop the Aldoritorio, Koro stared absently at the rich black soil of the generous ground of La Venta. Surrounded by powerful waters that came to rest in the Great Gulf, La Venta stood safely isolated, a little, swamp-edged, fertile island.
Across the Tonola River, Tres Zapotes glinted to the east, and San Lorenzo stood in deepening shadows of the south. Koro saw in the distance temple-pyramids and great plazas, palaces with sunken gardens and breezeways off long, green fields. The Olmec of these cities were in La Venta today. Tres Zapotes and San Lorenzo were quiet. Other gods must stand aside today. When planting time comes, Xipe Totec must be paramount. The messenger must represent the honor and reverence of these people.
Koro knew that when he and the two young shamans prepared to enter the tombs, San Lorenzo would shine in the morning light just the way Tres Zapotes did in the evening. Long shadows would secret the areas behind basalt pillars. The picture would be transposed.
Morning light though, thought Koro, is promising, new. Evening light is thick with fatigue.
In the immediate distance Koro spied government officials, urban planners, curators of cultural development and the arts, sculptors, philosophers, mathematicians and astronomers making their way toward the Aldoritorio through Patio de Los Altares. These people he knew well.
The mathematicians and astronomers would stand closest to the roof of the pyramid, only one tier away. This place of honor was reserved for such essential men who recorded exactly the correct times to celebrate rainmaking and harvesting. They even calculated the right hours for birth, death, illness and civic celebrations. These scientists precisely timed crop cycles. Without them, the Olmec might offer a sacrifice to Xipe Totec before he was willing to accept it. Xipe Totec would not entertain an untimely messenger. Their approach signaled that the time to begin was upon them.
As the prestigious newcomers neared, the crowd parted to make way and left in their wake crude, handmade gifts that would enhance the sacrifice to come—wood, clay, bone, or stone amulets.
Even these civic leaders, whose skills were considered great gifts, carried multi-colored jade and basalt sculptures and carvings. Every gift, great and small, would go with Cetot because it was impossible to see which were truly of value. Which objects were laden with love and sacrifice was known only in the heart of the giver.
*
Hereditary Olmec chiefs appeared from beneath the circular platforms that made the palace garden peristyle. The hereditary chiefs and the Great Chief were the final arrivals. The procession was precisely timed to the calculations of the mathematicians and astronomers. Koro watched them slowly work their way through the Great Plaza. Once they arrived to share the platform of the Aldoritorio pyramid, there could be neither hesitation nor any unnecessary speed. Koro's heart began to pound. When he was sure no one would see his outstretched hand shaking uncontrollably, he reached again into the shell and ate two more blossoms.
The chiefs' approach signaled a subtle movement and subdued sound. The considerable crowd flowed back into itself yet again and further this time, leaving a wider and more respectful way. It was a seemingly impossible event. The masses were a human sea that ebbed and then flowed to fill the space again after the chiefs had passed.
Cetot was dancing, crawling. His strong limbs arched. He was the mighty jaguar. The whites of his eyes were stark against his brown and red skin.
Koro stood and faced the colors of the cooling evening. He raised his arms to the sky and the shiny green arm-hands of his ceremonial robe fell to his elbows. As he finished his prayer he lowered his arms and two apprentice shamans, Ipa and Cetsa, stepped behind him and removed the sparkling garment.
“Xipe Totec, Our-Lord-who-was-Flayed, hear your humble servant. See and receive this willing and joyful sacrifice.”
He opened his eyes and stared beyond the thick groves of rubber trees to the black silhouettes of the massive basalt heads mired in the swampy gulf beach. Boats bounced gently on their moorings. The shores were as quiet now as they would ever be.
Koro allowed himself a deep, cleansing breath before he turned toward the stone altar. The images of priests like himself, who had served in this very ceremony, were carved into the rounded sides of the altar. Koro knew that after today, his likeness would be added. Each of the priest images wore an elaborate headdress like the one he felt Ipa and Cetsa pressing onto his own head now. Like the shaman etched on the altar, he too was naked but for the cascading ceremonial headdress. His brown skin pressed toward the dying sun.
On the stone altar, shallow dishes of blue-gray and green held aromatic, fine powders and clear, thick oils. The large, ceremonial adze lay on a virginal white plate, its handle carved blue-gray jade, its blade clean, oiled and supremely sharp. All implements had been polished bright and clear for the ceremony.
Koro prayed the trek down and down through the muraled corridors inside the pyramid would be good. He turned his attention to the messenger.
In Cetot's eye, Koro saw the Jaguar. The fierce animal lived in Cetot's body. The mighty jaguar-man crawled across the altar.
In a brief flashing, Koro saw the strength of the jaguar fading in Cetot's eyes. He was afraid. Cetot instinctively crept closer to the comfort of his childhood playmate. Though it defied his every desire, Koro reassured his friend with a gentle smile. He slowly waved a perfect orange and purple blossom before Cetot's eyes. The dilated pupils followed the flower. Koro held it out to him and Cetot gently but swiftly snapped it up between his white teeth. Cetot chewed and gazed at the vivid sun colors. The orange and blue water soothed him.
Helpers went to Cetot and gently lifted him from the altar and to his feet. Cetot smiled at them. They led Cetot to the bath. Koro followed.
Koro washed the body of his friend with care. He saw the places where Cetot's body faded from deep red-brown to the color of soft sand. Koro washed Cetot's face. He bathed Cetot's eyes and saw the fine lines that were his laughter. Koro suddenly saw the boy beckoning him to hide and heard his childish laughter. Koro found himself again caught in Cetot's gaze. Cetot's deep brown orbs were hidden and shadowed by hugely dilated pupils, his expression open, peaceful. He was beautiful, grand. When the bath was finished, Koro gently patted Cetot dry. He lightly touched the strong muscles of Cetot's thighs and stroked the roundness of his back, the ridged, flat, hardness of his stomach.
When Cetot was dry and clean, Koro stood back. He raised his arms in prayer while two young priests stepped forward and anointed Cetot. Oil was rubbed into his skin from head to toe. Four hands spread the oil everywhere: into Cetot's nostrils, under his arms, along his anus and behind his scrotum, even on the bottoms of his feet. Finally, Cetot's head, shoulders, nipples, belly, genitals, thighs and feet were anointed again in prayer.
Koro prayed to Xipe Totec—Our-Lord-who-was-Flayed—that fertility grace the land.
“See your messenger. He is coming to tell of our great and worthy sacrifice. He is witness and will give testimony to the reverence and obedience of your people.”
Cetot was lifted to face the dying sky, carried by a dozen hands, including those of the Great Chief, to the round, black basalt laying-place.
As the Great Chief bent low to thank Cetot, young Cetsa whispered to Koro, “Should he be bound?” Koro felt as much as heard the question. It was a silent whisper of air against his neck. Koro shook his head. Cetot was the greatest of messengers—he would remain still.
When the Great Chief stepped back, Koro quietly lifted the sharp, Jade-handled adze from its resting place. It flashed in the western light.
Koro took his eyes from Cetot not once as he approached. Cetot lay over the round rock, powerful legs spread, brown arms splayed. Koro saw the stretched nodule of Cetot's masculine neck, and the soft movement of his nostrils as he breathed evenly.
Koro placed his fingers against Cetot's chest, running them solidly along the bony stretch between the muscles of his chest. Cetot was still, his brave heart beating evenly beneath Koro's fingers, his breath even and measured. Koro checked his own breathing, consciously slowing his rapid heart. To be right and true for his friend, Koro knew he must be still inside.
Koro replaced his fingers with the diamond point of the adze and traced the same path. A fine line of berry-dark blood rose along Cetot's chest. Koro looked to Cetot's neck. There was no motion. He breathed quietly. Cetot was grand.
Koro retraced the same path with the curved tip of the adze applying true pressure. Blood welled against the shining blade. Koro pushed harder. He sliced first to the left, then to the right. He felt the resistant bone of Cetot's sternum.
Thick scarlet rivulets flowed down to and around Cetot's exposed neck. The rivers marked thick trails across his chest, behind his ears. The blood flowed and poured along the round rock and cascaded into shells lining the sides of the altar floor. They filled and overflowed.
Careful not to damage the fine incision that ran smoothly from nipple to nipple, Koro groped tenderly inside the wound and around the sternum. He felt the soft ribs bend aside just enough. Inside, Koro found and held Cetot's vigorously beating heart in his left hand. He allowed his long, thin fingers to caress the warm, pulsating thickness. Koro chanted and the young priests joined him in song as he carefully slipped the adze through Cetot's rib cage, closed his eyes and severed the arteries to Cetot's heart. Koro's eyelids fluttered maddeningly as he worked. At last Koro gripped and lifted the wildly resistant, wriggling muscle from Cetot's body. He wrestled with it, leaving his blade in Cetot's chest cavity. He freed the heart from the body cavity and held it in both his wet hands high over his head. He turned his face to the sky and allowed the blood to spatter against his face like fertile rain. He was grateful for the redness that painted and hid his true countenance.
The masses below roared tremendously as blood pumped and fanned from Cetot's chest. As the warm red droplets slapped against his face, Koro knew life-giving rain would come and fall on this land. Seeds would be planted with assurance of the message. The land would renew and the Olmec regenerate in abundance and glory. He had honored his friend and saved his people. Koro's place in legend and eternity was assured. He was suddenly drunk with his power and omnipotence.
Koro's body was rigid, every inch of him reaching to the sky with Cetot's still hot, vibrant heart in his hands. Koro's face and body were coated in hot, sticky blood. It dripped and fanned into his mouth and eyes. Cetot's life ran down Koro's arms, his chest. Thick scarlet rained over his erect penis and dripped from his scrotum. It flowed down his thighs. He stood in coagulating scarlet-brown.
When the blood-rain abated, Koro held Cetot's heart close to his face. Ipa and Cetsa stood near chanting to Xipe Totec and watching enviously as Koro took Cetot's heart in his two hands and began to eat. Koro was slow and methodical, but he bit into the muscle viciously, shaking his head to and fro as he ripped large portions away and chewed them slowly. He swallowed hard but well and was given his friend's blood to drink to help him along.
Cetot's heart lay in Koro's calm, sated belly when he turned to the body of his friend caked red-brown and cooling across the round altar.
Ipa and Cetsa brought water to again wash Cetot. This time it was poured over the body and the skin was massaged clean. Fresh water was poured into crevices and delicate pockets, through Cetot's tresses again and again, and finally the body was completely clean.
Koro's blue-gray, jade-handled adze remained in the water-filled cavity where Cetot's heart had been. Koro retrieved it and meticulously cleaned it in fresh water, then shined it with oil. He did this with a full and grateful heart, knowing his work had only begun. Koro stood quietly by and watched as the pale shell of the divine messenger was powdered.
Only when Ipa and Cetsa stepped back did Koro move closer to where Cetot lay. With a precise hand and a full heart, Koro prayed again as he began an incision beneath Cetot's left ear. The cut was thin and clean across Cetot's neck. Koro began another incision precisely at the point where his last incision ended, creating one flawless, fine cut. Koro circumnavigated the masculine ridge of Cetot's throat, that place from which his rich, full voice had come, and finished this line at the base of Cetot's right ear.
Koro moved around to kneel behind Cetot's head. Koro held the dead weight of Cetot's head in one hand and with the adze in the other made a clean, thin line around the base of Cetot's skull. This cut, too, ran from ear to ear. Koro laid Cetot's heavy head back against the round black stone and gazed at his friend's face. He smiled at Cetot's happy countenance. It was praying. Xipe Totec was pleased.
As Koro continued to flay the body of his friend, others worked to deglove Cetot's skin from its fleshy skull and tenuous workings. They removed the eyes and washed the skull and removed the brain and washed the skull again.
Koro tailored away Cetot's skin from his muscular frame. He cut halfway around Cetot's ankles and degloved the feet and toes. He made similar incisions around Cetot's wrists and removed his hands and fingers. It was fine, privileged and delicate work.
When Koro saw the shamans had completed their tasks, he nodded to them and they gingerly turned the body over.
Koro again approached the neck of Cetot. Cetot's head was gone. The severed spinal cord stood stiff away from the body. Koro made a steady incision around the base of Cetot's neck. He sliced a single neat seam down Cetot's back. While the shaman created eyelets in strategic places, Koro used strips of long gluteus muscle to make laces.
At last Cetot was stripped of his skin. Koro gazed at the beautiful muscles that had shaped and shone through beneath the lithe, live body he had watched grow to a magnificent athlete. Cetot's trials were ended. His own were yet to truly begin.
Koro stood in front of the altar, his back to the body of Cetot, facing the crimson-dappled throngs below. It was so quiet he could close his eyes and believe he was in his tomb.
The shaman came around with the completed suit. Koro opened his eyes and murmured traditional worship as, with help, he stepped into the legs of Cetot's skin. Cetot's thighs covered Koro's. Cetot's penis hung over Koro's. The inside skin of Cetot's belly slipped warm and wet against and over Koro's. Cetot's arm-sleeves were slipped over Koro's. Koro's chest and shoulders accepted the wet weight of those of his friend. Behind him Ipa laced the skin of Cetot's back around and over Koro's. The flesh slipped wetly around him.
Cetsa slipped the head of Cetot over Koro's head. Blood caked along the inside of Cetot's scalp became fluid again in the warm environs. The young shaman sewed the flesh of the head closed and then stitched it to the body of the suit.
Koro prayed through Cetot's slightly open, smiling mouth and he breathed through Cetot's nostrils. Cetot's eyes were empty until Koro looked through them. He was surprised and pleased that he could see so clearly. At the periphery of his vision hung Cetot's rich, dark curls.
The two priests reverently led Koro to the round basalt rock. It looked blacker now that Cetot had been willingly slain across it. As he stepped up Koro laid his hands, now two at the end of each arm, on the shoulders of his assistants. He looked through Cetot's eyes and saw his feet, now numbering four, step upon the warm, wet, black basalt.
The crowd remained silent. Koro assumed the position he would remain in for the night. He sat cross-legged on the round surface. Beneath the wetness of the black rock, Koro could sense the deeper heat of the day and the residual vibration that was the life force of Cetot.
The round, slippery rock was precarious, and Koro raised his right knee for balance. Cetot's skull, clean, green-white and blind was placed in his left hand. He cradled its weight against his forearm.
He turned Cetot's face and his own to the deep, indescribable night-blue sky that followed hard on sunset. Through Cetot's eyes Koro saw early stars and a nearly translucent moon.
Koro was a jumble of exhaustion, grief, elation, and gratitude. He knew his charge was to imitate Xipe Totec, a fine god, but he didn't know how to do it. He was relieved that Cetot's brave, eternally elated face hid his own unsure countenance. As darkness fell and the chill of the ocean came round again, Koro was insulated by his lost friend's fine skin. Cetot's heart rested snugly, peacefully in Koro's stomach.
He did not hear the people leave, but he knew they were gone. The great and small had returned to the comfort of their dwellings. Though he didn't hear them either, he knew Ipa and Cetsa sat at a discreet distance behind him. They would keep vigil with him through the night, praying silently until the sun rose. They would help Koro from Cetot's drying and curling skin, then replace it on the remains of its owner. They three would then carry Cetot through the great portico and into the deep chambers of the Aldoritorio.
Far below the place where Koro sat inside Cetot's skin-suit, a magnificent cruciform burial chamber awaited the finest of messengers. Koro had pored over every detail of the design and arrangement of this tomb. He commissioned the finest planner. The floors and walls were intricately patterned, serpentine mosaics—jaguars and beautiful serving girls and Xipe Totec were depicted. Glyph-prayer bordered the ceiling and floor. Hematite mirrors, figurines carved of jade and pristine incensario urns lined the walls. The ceiling was a huge mural of the orange and purple flowers Cetot had ingested to send him to Xipe Totec. Around the sarcophagus rested jaguar figurines and conch shells. The shells were filled to overflowing with necessities and gifts for the gods Cetot would meet in the after-world. After Cetot was safely interred, the fantastic room would be packed, no matter how tightly, with the many gifts the Olmec had brought to the Aldoritorio.
Koro was not afraid that his failure to truly imitate the king god Xipe Totec Our-Lord-Who-Was-Flayed would taint this sacrifice. Cetot had been grand. As Cetot's heart began to move through the belly and bowels of the priest, Koro felt awake, brightly alive and strangely comforted by the spirit of Cetot.
In this way, Koro the priest thought from inside the messenger's skin, I am truly gifted. This night I am sheltered by my only true friend, the great messenger Cetot.
As the hours passed Cetot's once vibrant skin began to stiffen, but the mask of Cetot's face through which Koro breathed remained soft, moist and brightly smiling. Only his eyes beneath the messenger's lids would have betrayed the Highest Priest of the Olmec.
All that long night the stars moved and blurred through Koro's hidden tears.