Free Caribbean by James A. Michener

sixteen-year-old to make a journey of any distance, and to make one of protest to the faltering power of Mayapán would be preposterous. It was obligatory that she find some man older than herself to serve as head of her expedition; she might be the most capable woman in all of Yucatán, but tradition insisted that for her to make such a journey, she must have a man to lead her.
    She spent the next two days discussing the situation with Bolón, reviewing and discarding candidates: “Too frightened. If a fox jumped, he’d cry for help.” “Too stupid. I’d never be able to explain.” “Too indebted to the rulers, whoever they might be at any time.” Irritated by her inability to visualize a trustworthy man, she fell silent. Just then, as they sat quietly under a tree near the temple, she saw, picking his way among the flowers, the answer to her needs: her aged uncle Ah Nic (Ah indicating
male
)—a minor priest at the Cozumel temple who had few interests in life save for his love of flowers and his tender concern for orphaned children. A man who minced when he walked and smiled when things went poorly, he was easily dismissed by better men but tolerated by them for his gentleness. Ah Nic’s going would occasion no comment, so as he moved toward her she called “Uncle! Please, I need your help,” and when she outlined her plan to approach the authorities at Mayapán, he said quietly: “If you are willing to waste your time going to that powerless place, I will accompany you. But first I think we should show your son a real monument—Chichén Itzá.”
    At the mention of this once-great city she drew back, for it had been believed in her family that when the alien invaders from the west established their new religion there, they destroyed much of the greatness of the Maya people. “It’s a harsh place,” she said. But her uncle remained firm: “Its gods are cruel, its temples sublime,” and with these words the old man struck a responsive chord, and she turned to her son: “When I was a girl your age, Bolón, my grandfather took meon a journey to see Chichén Itzá, and when I saw the deep well into which they threw young girls to appease the gods, I was terrified.”
    “Then why would you go back?” her son asked, and she explained: “But I also saw greatness, and long after the hideous gods retreated from my dreams, I remembered the noble temples and the beautiful courts. You are entitled to see them, Bolón, so that you’ll know what greatness is.”
    So, in the dark of night, without a light to guide them lest it attract attention, the three gathered the clothes and goods they would require: the good cotton tunics Ix Zubin had woven and sewed, the extra pair of boots shod with heavy skins, the rain covers made from tightly woven reeds and slender lianas, and most important, the three types of money they would need for the purchase of food along the way: jade, gold and cacao beans.
    Ix Zubin produced from various hidden places the bits of green jade she had sequestered through the years; some of them, she knew, belonged to the temple, not to her, but she justified what amounted to theft by telling Bolón: “Your father and I worked for this jade. It’s only proper.” Bolón had gathered up wealth of a radically different kind, and in this case he was certainly entitled to it, for he spread before her the precious cacao beans, each one worth a meal, that the Maya used for money. It was, perhaps, the most interesting kind of coinage used anywhere in the world, for after it had passed as currency for a year or two, it finally gravitated into the hands of some man already wealthy who ground up the beans to make the delicious chocolate drink which Maya people craved. Bolón, treasuring the bag in which he had accumulated such beans by doing small jobs for important families, assured his mother: “This takes us there and back.” Both Ix Zubin and Bolón were surprised when Ah Nic brought forth a small