Belmopan – Chapter One

ONE

Dia uno (day one)

The small, clay figurine that emerged from the earth was a prize. Its small extended belly and protruding breasts denoted a female ready to give birth. Approximately three inches in height, she was stylized with a pointed head and enlarged hands that clasped her belly; her feet were tucked beneath her thighs and were slightly spread to expose enlarged genitalia. This was the first time in twelve hundred plus years that this little lady had looked to the sun, and what a glorious sun it was. Buried beneath, where she had slept, were a little clay dish and a bag filled with cutting utensils, flattened to look more like the rotting mulch that surrounded it than its original leather.

The dig assistant waved over the site supervisor, who in turn radioed the project director. Within a short period of time, they were all scrutinizing the little figurine and taking photos of the immediate area of excavation. A crowd of onlookers and associate workers began to mill about just beyond the grid pattern anticipating what the ground had released into their custody.

The heat of the day had reached its apex and with the excitement of the find, a call to break would be in the offering. Carefully collecting up the valuable pieces the director had released in a wooden box, Shawna walked gingerly from the grid; a small entourage of curious companions followed closely down the wooded path to the tented compound that housed the temporary lab and living quarters.

“Great find Shawna!” came the cries of her colleagues as they gathered around the tables to eat and drink their refreshments.

A little overwhelmed by the heat and the exhilaration of the discovery, she felt the need to be alone. Slipping inconspicuously from the crowd after returning her food tray, she left the small compound to find shade and cool in one of the numerous alcoves created by time’s assault on the limestone ruins. Close to the jungle, Shawna sat secluded, hidden in the base of one of the many temples that made up the unique core of the Mayan metropolis. She listened to the wind in the trees and the din of life that harbored itself within the dense jungle wall of vines and foliage. The loud clicking of beetle’s wings attended her to the aerial barrage of assorted insects that she had become aware of and now accustomed to. The curt cry of an allusive, large-billed, Toucan bird reminded her of the fact that, as she did today, a thousand years ago, a Toucan would have cried to another as they sat and looked to the jungle just beyond the metropolis that this once was. The mystery of these ruins and their vacation that had happened all so suddenly, gave rise to much speculation but little in true substance. She rubbed the thighs of her up-bent legs in a pensive gesture and closed her eyes to absorb the force of life that surrounded her.

 

Shawna’s mind drifted to a place in the north; a different land that had a history and culture far more immature than this, and yet whose roots began in this very place not so far distant. Her family had its early lineage in the pueblo district of the mid-west. Through rough times of invasion and famine, they chose to migrate along the Columbia River basin to finally settle on the Pacific Coast. She remembered her Aunt and Uncle who raised her and now reside near Neah Bay at the tip of the Olympic Peninsula; she missed them. Her work over the last year had been very stressful and physically draining. Moving residence and changing jobs several times to position herself in such a way as to be useful in the acquisition and transportation of the infamous ‘Pillars of the Moon’, jade bowl, were culprit. There was the passionate, short relationship with a Canadian photographer she had regretted to leave behind, whose help in procuring that same relic had been invaluable; it left an emotional bruise. She recounted the reasons for her speedy disappearance from the North. Initially, before her birth was the loss of an Uncle Daniel, in the thirties, while he was in pursuit of this very sacred Jade Bowl; then more recently, the beatings of several colleagues who had made clandestine inquiries as to its local; and now, just months ago with the near death of her dear friend Peter by being shot in the alley behind the Royal Museum in Victoria, British Columbia. She could lose no others. There were only a select few who knew the whereabouts of the bowl now, and Shawna’s invaluable role in its repatriation; this circumstance was to remain unchanged.

 

“Shawna,” echoed in her ears. “Are you OK?”

She looked up to see a handsomely dark, young man with a boyish face, of Mayan decent looking down to her, his lean frame silhouetted against the brightness beyond the alcove.

“Yeah,” she replied, shaking the sleep from her head. “I must have dozed off.”

“It’s very beautiful here isn’t it,” Edmundo sighed turning back toward the jungle beyond the perimeter? “When you did not return after lunch, some of the people got a little concerned. The Mayan gods have not had their appetites satisfied for a number of years now you know.”

Shawna gave a chuckle. “And how many young maidens have you personally saved from the clutches of these gods?”

“Not near enough,” he responded with a hearty laugh. “Come, we have to get back to the dig before the vultures descend and make a mess of things.”

“Ok!” Shawna chimed, reaching for his outstretched hand. “I’ve grown weary of waiting upon the gods for the few measly morsels they cast our way.”

“Patience Shawna, they have waited over a thousand years for appeasement, let’s not tempt them any further.”

Edmundo was an assistant to the site supervisor. His knowledge of local history, as well as being able to speak Mayan, was an asset to the operation in many ways. His youth and vitality were thankful in comparison to the often austerity and sobriety of the other residents at hand. Not only was he in a position to learn but often teach as well. He took pleasure in being able to hone his English language skills as a dig assistant during the summers, and in the cooler season as a tour guide for the Belize Tourist Board. He would often unleash his flamboyant orations describing sacrificial mutilations with glee on the unsuspecting tourists that came to visit the many Mayan ruins.

 

As they returned through the open plaza, the surroundings were deafly quiet as if a switch had been flicked. They stopped for a moment to search and listen to the adjacent jungle- total silence. Looking toward each other in quandary, they continued to walk toward the distant compound. A gust of wind shook the treetops while a Howler monkey began to expound his distress for infringement of its territory. Weary of the experience, they both grimaced, acknowledging the monkey’s concern and burst into a run. Clearing the plaza through the ball court, they followed along the path through the center passed the spectator compound; the resonance of the jungle began to increase and the silences dwindle.

It was two in the afternoon and time enough to put several more hours in at the temple’s upper court. Great mounds of rubble lay either side of the cleared pathway leading to the excavation area sheltering the clearing from the encroaching jungle. A large water reservoir lay off to the right nearly hidden by trees and vines that bathed in the open sun light close to the ravine’s edge. Black ABS pipes ran along the length of the walkway, to and fro from the compound and the excavation area, delivering the much-needed water for the washing of soil and bodies alike. It was only a short distance between the two, but very secluded with the density of the jungle between. Radios were supplied to team leaders in case of emergency, but to date there had never been any call to use them apart from the usual chatter of ‘break time’, ‘more water please’ and ‘what’s for supper?’

Shawna and Edmundo had become good friends over the last weeks. Her arrival from Belmopan with the Director of Antiquities for all of Belize had left an impression with the other co-workers that had set her apart from the rest of them. Edmundo was impressed with no thing and found Shawna’s cool and mature demeanor a catalyst to his pranks and practicality. Frequently, they would banter back and forth in one-upmanship leaving the rest of the work team in flux as to their comrade status. Wherever Shawna was working, Edmundo was always a short distance away and helping her out whenever he could. Their warm friendship had developed with no contrivance, but Shawna had always remained slightly distant. He felt slighted by the chasm but understood, like the gods, that the best things usually come around of their own doing in the end.

There were only a few others working closely beside them in the grid area. It was rewarding work but for the most part painstakingly slow; every spoonful of soil being scraped away from the carved stone floors and walls was then immediately scrutinized should any abnormality be found in its consistency.

An hour had passed with little success to crown the earlier achievement when the skies began to darken with rain clouds that crept along the mountain range, unimpeded from the sea. Within minutes, the wind began to pick up and surrounded the site as if a force of its own identity was making claim to the majesty and grandeur beneath the rubble.

“Come on Shawna,” Edmundo cried. “We had better head back.”

“I’ll be right with you. I have several more inches to clear. Don’t worry,” she said with a wave, “two minutes!”

A phone call from his sister at the ministry a half hour earlier, concerned Edmundo; he wanted to return it before the reception completely collapsed with the approaching storm. A doctor who said he had come all the way from Canada to find a Ms. Shawna Brooks, working one of the sites, asked for information. Edmundo had told her to find out more information on this fellow and he would get back to her.

Edmundo waved an ‘I give up’ at the sky and slowly descended down to the foot of the wide stone stairway with the others. With an armful of picks, garden spades and brushes, he slowly followed down the path when all of a sudden, ‘Crackkk!’ He turned just in time to see a continuous bolt of lightning hit the

pinnacle of the temple and what he thought to be the outline of a man just below the bold petroglyphs on the next tier.

“What in the heck?” he objected out-loud. “What is he doing up there? All staff apart from,” he stopped in mid thought.

Fear gripped him. All he could think of was Shawna. Dropping the tools there on the path, he bolted back to the base of the stairs and started to scream after Shawna. With no reply through the increasing droplets of rain, he raced up the stairs to the plateau and the work area. Shawna was nowhere to be seen.

“Shawna!” he screamed again and again, but no answer.

Walking over to where she had last been, her tools lay scattered as if dropped, a Macaw feather lay floating in the water that had accumulated in the hollowed area. Down the slope away from the temple, the strings of the grid pattern stretched toward the jungle. In the increasing wash of the rain, the footprints and the scrapes in the loose soil by the edge of the dig began to melt away. Racing down the side of the elevated tell in the slippery mud, Edmundo slid feet first into the foliage and denseness that lay beyond. Stunned, he lay on his back, buried to his waist in tangled underbrush, looking up to the droplets that danced and eddied before his eyes, he began to lament. Defeated, he lay in terror, someone had taken Shawna.

It seemed to take hours before the police came. With the cloud cover of the ensuing storm and the quick setting of the sun, by six, it had been almost impossible to start a search. Several small groups, headed by Edmundo and a few radioed lead men, made short forays into the jungle but were turned back by the swarms of mosquitoes in the newly damp undergrowth. Discouraged and distraught, they returned with only trace evidence of the escape route. By seven o’clock several Gazelle helicopters from the British contingency, doing maneuvers at the Corozal Training Area, aided in the search, but by eleven o’clock ground operations were called off until the morning, the spotters in the Gazelles would continue with their night vision goggles. It would be doubtful, after the slow drizzle through the night, that there would be any trace left by Shawna’s

abductors. The British were able to set up a ten-mile perimeter around the site, with the ‘Jungle Jedi’ heading up the reconnaissance, but gave few guarantees of success. A small group of men, traveling light would be fast and almost impossible to trace along the ravines and dense foliage of this mountainous area. There was always a possibility of a chance sighting, and with that, hope.

“But why would anyone wish to kidnap Shawna?” came the question at the meeting in the tented cafeteria.

“At this time we can only guess and hope for the best,” replied the director of the camp, half sitting on the lead table at the front. “I have made a call to the Ministry in Belmopan, for direction and have had the Belize Defense Force called up. I have decided to suspend operations till we have some idea of what has happened.

“When is the full moon?” questioned Edmundo, straining to look at the large display board outlining the daily proceedings.

“Why do you ask?” petitioned an assistant sitting close by. The room became silent.

“There was a feather at the abduction site; the same kind that adorned the ceremonial headdresses of the priests long ago.”

“Are you insinuating she was abducted for some ritual to be held at the full moon?”

“I certainly hope not. But the feather was placed there for a reason, a calling card.”

“Thank you for your insight Edmund” came the call from the director, “but I think we shall wait until we hear from the Ministry.”

With that the director left the for-front and went to sit with several of the British officers to one side.

“By the time he gets answers to the questions that may or may not help, Shawna could be dead,” Edmundo whispered to several of his colleagues close by. “I’m outta here.”

Grabbing his field radio and a few belongings from his quarters, he loaded his small, blue pickup truck and headed away from the compound. The question foremost on his mind, ‘who was this fellow from Canada and what did he want with Shawna’?

 

Abducted

Miles away, along a jungle path lit only by small hand-held lamps, five men traveled at lightning speed. Bundled and slung from a long pole straddling between two men running tandem was a body almost unrecognizable but for locks of black hair that fell from the loosened wrap around her head. Shawna was exhausted from the continual pounding and swaying of the pole being jostled around. Every half hour, a change of couriers was in order and a quick moment of relief from the bindings at her wrists and ankles that lashed her to the pole. Her kidneys ached from the wide swath of cloth that had suspended initially from the center of the pole, covering her hips but had now worked its way to her waistline. She desperately needed to relieve herself but that seemed to be of no concern for her captors. Unable to control the urge any longer, her insides let go and the warm fluid filled her dangling posterior and the wrappings that bound her. Taking no notice of her mumblings of discomfort and the smell, the journeymen continued as if there was no purpose but to run and run and run.

With the sun beginning to rise, and after a severe pounding in which she rose and sank from consciousness, Shawna began to hear the mumblings of a man speaking in a mixture of Spanish and another language. She was able to recognize a number of words and piece together that there was a helicopter buzzing around. Shawna was not certain but got the impression they were to

change direction. She barely understood the meaning but recognized the word ‘auto’. Throwing her recklessly down to the ground, they began to unleash her bindings, careful not to expose her face. Ripping the short pants from her body, not bothering with her now torn undergarments, one of the men dowsed her with cold water in an attempt to wash the lingering stench. Unsure of their intentions, in fear she fought to keep her legs together as not to expose her nakedness. With brute strength they pulled her thighs apart and dowsed her once again, washing the urine from her body. To her astonishment they wrapped her tight with new linen and threw her into the back of a waiting vehicle; she could only presume it was a van. Her body fell asleep but her mind, though exhausted, raced at the probabilities of her abduction. It all came back to one thing, she knew something that they needed to know; it all added up to the Jade Bowl.

“What do you want with me?” she screamed, frustrated and sore from bouncing on the metal floor of the truck. “You cowards, do you not have the guts to show your faces?”

It was best she saw none of the faces, for if she had, they could have killed her. Their mandate was obviously of pickup and delivery, for if it had not been, with her beauty, she would have experienced greater humility and indignity.

A crashing blow to the side of her head brought numbness and darkness. The next moment she regained consciousness, she was lying on a grass woven cot, still wrapped in the linens she had been incarcerated; her face was exposed and bloody. She could barely move and could only stare at the network of timbers supporting the grass thatch roof; she guessed it was mid morning. What seemed like an hour passed and she heard little apart from the rustlings of mice intent on procuring residence, or food in these fine dry quarters. She gently tugged at the bindings at her wrists trying to loosen them; the shuffle of feet on the threshold of the door warned her of a coming visitor. Bracing herself for what was to appear in the doorway, she covered her face as best she could. The wooden plank door swung open and a small brown woman, carrying a washbasin and a towel, strode to the side of the bed. Placing the furnishings down on the side table, a tree stump, the slight woman looked toward a plastic bucket in the corner. Shawna

wondered at the response in light of the state of her incarceration and how she was to use the facility in her bound condition. Meek and very gentle, the woman began to wash the residue from Shawna’s face.  It became obvious that she was a true Mayan native and could communicate no English with Shawna. Rather forlorn, the native woman continued the task of wiping her body and unraveling the linens that restricted Shawna’s movement. At last, the remains of the traveling ordeal lay in the bottom of the clay basin along with a soiled pile of linen by the door. The little woman placed her hands on either side of Shawna’s face in tender embrace and smiled a girlish, toothless grin. Retreating back through the doorway, she left Shawna sitting on the side of the cot, near naked with only her torn undergarments covering her lap. With the clanging of the bolt on the exterior of the door, Shawna got to her feet and peered after the little woman through the spaces between the bamboo poles that made up the walls of the hut. It was no surprise to see a guard, sitting in a green plastic lawn chair not ten feet away, intent on following the servant lady with his eyes. She disappeared into a distant hut while he returned to puffing on his cigarette and cleaning the rifle that lay across his lap. Barely able to run her abraded fingers through her fine black hair, Shawna resigned herself back to the cot to rest her disfigured, swollen ankles and sore wrists.  Retrieving the linens piled by the door, she lay back down and began to empty the pent-up emotion she held inside. She slid into fitful sleep.

She did not move or wake until dusk when the door opened and the little lady scurried in closely followed by the guard who had been sitting across the path. Without taking his eyes from Shawna, he sauntered over to the corner and sat on a make-shift chair of logs and grass. The smell of his stale sweat permeated the room and made Shawna feel sick to her stomach. Trying to cover herself from his gaze, she pulled the torn linens up tight under her chin. The Mayan woman carried a tray of tortillas, fresh tomatoes and a small bottle of drinking water. Overcome with hunger, Shawna began to gorge herself on the food till every crumb and seed was gone. Briskly wiping her chin with her forearm, she placed the tray on the small stump and watched as the guard’s eyes darted over the naked areas of her body. A toothless grin came to his face. He started to laugh and got up to approach her. Shawna braced herself for his advance by positioning

herself to kick. The little lady jumped to her feet and rushed to put herself between Shawna and the belligerent man. Angrily, he pushed her away to the corner and advanced to Shawna, but once again the Mayan woman intervened to Shawna’s’ safety. Perturbed, the man twice her size, tried to push the little woman aside when all of a sudden she let her shawl fall away to expose herself to him. He grabbed her by the throat and followed as he threw her out of the wooden door before him. The door slammed shut and bounced several times under the force. The latch popped up and had not secured itself. Realizing the circumstance, Shawna eased herself from the bed and crept over to the door to ease it open. The guard had chosen to remain close to the hut and forced the Mayan to the ground. He grunted as he groped and tried to enter her. She sobbed and stifled her screams as his weight came down on her. Shawna, gripped with fear and anger, dare not scream but slipped from the door and finding a piece of log crept up behind his prone frame and struck as hard as she could. The log gave a hollow thunk as it hit his head. He gave a sigh and toppled to the side. The little lady gathered herself as best she could and staggered toward the jungle motioning Shawna to follow. As Shawna looked back toward the small compound, she could see several men sitting by a fire unaware of what had taken place.

Shawna’s feet ached as she dashed behind the women, trying to keep up. The linen that wrapped her body was little protection against the branches that lashed and tore at her as she fled into the dark. There was very little light left from the day, and beneath the canopy of the forest, it was darker still. After a while, the Mayan began to slow and Shawna was able to keep up. They scurried through the underbrush as best they could until the little women stopped and turned to find shelter in the tall foliage near a tree. Signing Shawna over to her side, they both cuddled close under the palms and the dampness of a Mayan shawl. With their backs to a tree and clutching each other in their arms, they fell asleep.

The cry of a Toucan woke Shawna from a sound sleep. The little lady was not awake yet and was cold to the touch. Her eyes fell to the pale yellow skin of the hands of her savior and the blood soaked shawl that had kept her warm

through the night. Her little angel had hemorrhaged and had bled as they raced through the night to find shelter and safety. Shawna sat motionless, cradling the near lifeless body as if to subdue the call of death and nurture this frail body to strength. Panicking from the circumstance, the only response she could muster was to sing childhood native songs she remembered from her childhood and stroke the short bobbed hair of the little lady. The hum of the jungle slowly became louder and louder till she could bare it no longer. She began to sob uncontrollably.

She sat unmoving for what seemed an eternity till she heard the low voices of men through the din of her surroundings. A bolt of fear ran through her. Controlling the urge to run, she sat motionless, peering between the leaves of the hovel in the underbrush. A Howler monkey gave a loud cry from the tree above and the men turned to gaze into the treetops. A short Mayan looking man at the rear of the troop gazed up and then down to the base of the tree. Breathless, Shawna stared back at him and tried to reassure herself that she was not visible. The men, satisfied that the Howler was alarmed at their intrusion and nothing else, continued along the cluttered trail out of sight through its density.

Shawna remained cradling the woman for a short while to assure the men would not return. Slowly, placing her on the ground, she wrapped the shawl around the woman’s body leaving her child like face exposed to the early morning sun.  She eased herself from the hiding place. High up in the tree, the monkey began to stir. Not wanting to disturb the belligerent pongid, she stopped to peer in the direction of the patrol.

‘Thunk!’

Shawna felt a sharp pain in her arm. She looked at a small, feather endowed thorn protruding from her skin. Glancing up to the monkey, she wondered what he had thrown to violate her in this way. Feeling dizzy from her upward gaze, she sat down on the ground to catch her balance. Before her, in the underbrush not to far distant, a slight, scantily clad Mayan stood with a long, thin

pole resting on his foot. Beside him, the Mayan, she had seen at the rear of the patrol, looked on in quiet.

Shawna never completely lost consciousness, but slowly lost control of her body. Drifting in and out of a daze, she listened as the two men crawled in the underbrush to inspect the little woman. She then felt the grasping of their hands as they dragged her to the enclosure shared by the woman. They left; she slept.

By mid afternoon, the men had returned, accompanied by several women. Lamenting when they saw the little lady, they cuddled her and cried. Persuading Shawna to rise with tea, they comforted her and gently stroked her face. The men lifted Shawna out of the enclosure and began to pour more of the same fluid into her mouth. Barely able to hold it in, she swallowed as best she could, spilling half of it down her chin. They seated her against the tree opposite to where the women prepared the little lady with wrappings and went back to give them a hand. Within twenty minutes, Shawna began to get feeling back in her legs; the men lifted the little Mayan woman in a large shawl and prepared to carry her from the site. The women helped Shawna to her feet and together they slowly trod their way up and out of the small ravine area where they had been hiding; the Howler monkey remained silent through the whole process.

It was almost dusk when they arrived at a small village by a river’s edge. The dogs were the first to greet the small troop while the chickens and pigs were less inquisitive and disappeared from view. The elders of the village were quick to come forward and met the travelers with embrace. Children came to the doorways of the small grass huts but were kept from advancing to the procession. The men continued to carry the Mayan woman through the village to one of the far huts. Shawna could only speculate that this was the woman’s village. An old woman, supposedly the mother, began to weep as she followed and closed the door behind. Shawna was taken to a different hut along with several other women who helped her to clean and dress. The rest of the men gathered in the center of the small community clearing and then disappeared into the forest.