Tomlinson.
'Goddamn, Doc, I didn't think we were ever going to catch you.' Pulling his horse up like Randolph Scott, but looking like Joe Cocker, Tomlinson was grinning as if they hadn't seen each other in a month; a reunion smile. 'I kept telling these cowboys we had to hurry—you know, like
Ford said, 'Now that you've caught us, you're going to have to turn right around and go back. Didn't Rivera give you my message?'
'Yeah, man; sure, he gave me the message. You said it was too dangerous. This Zacul dude was better organized than you thought and I had to stick around and play baseball with the general. Some message. You coulda told me personally, you know.'
'I can't take responsibility for your safety, Tomlinson. I knew there would be some danger involved, but I didn't know how much until I talked to Juan. I'd appreciate it if you stayed here for a few days—or I can drop you off at the next town. You might be able to rent an old truck or something, but I'm not sure.'
Tomlinson was shaking his head, not accepting any of it. 'Bullshit, man. I'm going with you. This is the chance of a lifetime, and you think I'm going to miss it? My shot at being a bodhisattva. Besides, there's that kid to think about.'
'You have nothing to do with the boy.'
'Which just shows you don't know what bodhisattva means.'
'Right. And I don't want to know. '
'The kid and I are both caught up in a big dharma, man. You, too. None of this is accidental, Doc—'
'I don't want to hear any more of this stuff, damn it.'
'Most people fear death. Me, I'm tuned into the only one valid fear: missing life—'
'Tomlinson—'
'I'm just telling you how I feel. I'm going with you, Doc.'
'I'm telling you I can't be responsible for your safety.'
'Hey, whose asking you to be responsible? You want to know why you can't be responsible for me? I'll tell you why.'
Ford listened for a moment to what was to become another lesson in philosophy, then cut him off, saying 'Okay, okay.' He was getting back onto his horse.
Tomlinson said, 'I'm way past twenty-one and I can make my own decisions.'
'I said okay!'
'I knew you'd come around to my way of thinking, man.'
'Just no more of that ping-pong karma Buddhist talk. It gives me a—pain in the head. And don't say I didn't warn you if things get rough.'
Tomlinson kicked his horse up alongside Ford's. 'You know what I think about danger? I think if you're walking on thin ice anyway, why not dance?'
Ford said, 'Tell that to Zacul when we find him.'
They drove 150 miles over bad roads, down through the central plateau of Masagua with its grazing cattle, its solitary gauchos, then west toward volcanic peaks, which sat on the horizon like stalagmites piercing smoke-colored thunderheads near the edge of the sea. Beyond the volcanoes, Ford knew, was the lake, God's Eye.
They stopped once for a breakfast, then again in Utatlan, the only town of size between Masagua City and the Pacific. Utatlan had been founded by the Spaniards in the 1500s, and it still looked like something out of a postcard from Castellon with its whitewashed haciendas and donkeys pulling carts down red brick streets.
Ford said, 'Don't have far to go now, bubba.'
The streets were crowded and he was driving slowly, arm out the window, taking pleasure in the look of the town and its people. Women in traditional Mayan dress, bright skirts and embroidered blouses, balanced water jugs on their heads while men in mauve-striped pantaloons and white straw hats sat by fountains selling the wares they had brought down from the mountains. 'We can get some supper here, and I need to make a phone call. I guess we ought to think about spending the night, too. It'll be dark in a couple of hours.'
Tomlinson was looking at the small notebook he carried. He was reading, leafing through the pages, then comparing his notes with the map he had spread over his knees. He had been going over his notes for the last half hour.
Ford said, 'It may take me a while to get my call through. I have to call the States. You want to go ahead and find a place to eat?'
Tomlinson made no reply. He was reading, concentrating.
'Did you hear me? You want me to try and make my call, or do you want to order some food first?'
Tomlinson looked up suddenly, like he was surprised Ford was there. 'Hey, you know where we are?'
'Sure I know where we are. We're in Utatlan. It's an interesting little town, but watch your step. The people are clannish, and you're a gringo in a country about to have a revolution—don't forget it.'
'No, not that. Do you know where we
'What place? What are you talking about?'
'The fifteen hundreds, man. When Alvarado conquered the Kache and the Tlaxclen. He came from the north with his horsemen down through the central plain to a Mayan trading center built on the branching of two rivers. That river we came across was the Azul. And that river up there—' Tomlinson was pointing at a rocky riverbed ahead where green water flowed past women washing clothes on the bank. '—is called the Sol.' Ford translated without thinking: the River of Blue; River of the Sun.
Tomlinson said, 'This is the place where the Kache surrendered to Alvarado without a fight. This village, Utatlan. This is where the whole damn sad story began. Hey, pull over there by the river. I want to look at something.'
Ford waited in the vehicle while Tomlinson got out, and then Ford got out, too. While Tomlinson looked at his map and looked at the mountains beyond, Ford began to lob rocks into the river: small round rocks good for throwing, but his arm was sore after the game yesterday. 'See the valley way, way over there just below the clouds?' Tomlinson was pointing again.
'That must be the mountain pass where Alvarado made his forced march with the Kache. It was probably all jungle back then. Had to be a hell of a tough trip. Made them kill other Maya just so they could eat. That's the route they took when they went hunting for the Tlaxclen. The lake where you expect to find this Zacul character is just beyond those mountains, isn't it?'
'Right. About another twenty miles on the map. A heck of a lot farther by mountain road. '
'And that's the lake where the Tlaxclen priests lived?'
'So the story goes.'
Tomlinson was nodding, smiling, pleased with himself. 'See how it's all fitting, man? It's like some magnet is drawing us. Right down the path. Can't you feel it? Doc, I can close my eyes and hear the conquistadors' horses coming. I can hear their damn armor rattling. The Kache probably waded this river to get a closer look at this wild- looking Spaniard with long blond hair dressed in metal. Alvarado had to seem like someone from outer space to them, riding an animal they'd never even seen before. It's no wonder they thought he was a god. And they maybe stood right where we're standing now watching him and his little army coming with absolutely no idea in hell that the culture of a hundred generations would be destroyed within just a few weeks.' Tomlinson's eyes opened. 'There's something about these hills, man; something about this country. The jungle holds onto things. It absorbs events. Five hundred years is just a blink of the eye in country like this, and things echo for a long, long time. Go ahead. Try it. Close your eyes and listen.'
Ford said, 'I'll let you do the cosmic listening. I've got to make a phone call. '
'Suit yourself, man, but it's all still right here. A place like this, lost spirits linger.'
They drove toward the heart of the town, then parked and walked because the streets were narrow and filled with people and slow-moving carts. Thursday was market day in Utatlan, a big event for all of the people who lived in the surrounding mountains; a day of bartering and drinking. The main street dead-ended in a plaza bordered by shops and old stone buildings. In the center of the plaza was a small park with a fountain, a few trees, and several stela—standing stone slabs covered with Mayan hieroglyphics. Traders had set up their booths in the plaza, and everything was for sale: live chickens, goats, wild mountain fruit, hardware, bolts of handwoven cloth, baskets of herbs, coffee beans; all these smells blending with the smoke of small cooking fires and the sharp odor of
