Sky People (24 page)

“I don’t know, Señora. Only the old ones know and they do not talk about it, at least not in front of me. I only know that it will be a big change.”

“Did your grandfather say it was going to be a big change?”

“Yes. He told my older brother not to go to the USA. He says that everyone should stay home. Mexico is safer than the USA. That is all, Señora. I know nothing else.”

When we returned to the car, I gave Diego $50 American dollars. His smile told me he was very pleased with his tip. “This will pay for my brother to go to school for a year,” he said smiling. I asked him if other tourists used his services. He said I was the seventh tourist this week but I was the most generous of all. “Another gringo gave me $20. Gringos are generous people. I like gringos.” When I asked him how long he had been sneaking people into the site, he said that he had only been there a few weeks. “For a while the villagers kept the site open, but then the government closed it. That’s when I took over. I come here every day and wait. Most people who come are too afraid to go into the site. They are afraid of the police and soldiers. Gringos don’t care. They are the bravest and then the French,” he said. I admired his entrepreneurship and wondered why the government could not use the resourcefulness of the local villagers to keep the site open. Even though it is off the beaten path, there are those individuals who seek out the more remote sites that are less touristy.

Before leaving Chinkultic, Diego, Benito, and I sat in the shade of a tree overlooking
Aqua Azul
, the blue water
cenote
. We were not anxious to say goodbye. Diego practiced words and sentences in English with me as we drank Cokes from my cooler and ate chicken sandwiches prepared by the hotel restaurant. Before I left the site, I gave Diego a bag of huckleberry taffy to share with the children of his village. He clutched it like a prized possession. “When you come back, Señora, bring me a copy of the book you write. I want to see my story and name in a book.” As we pulled out of the site, I looked through the rear window. Diego was standing amidst the dust waving at me with a smile I will never forget.

I
think of Diego often. Like he predicted, I have not made it back to Chinkultic, but I am currently planning a return trip to Mexico. Chinkultic and Diego are on my list. Today the site is open to the public. It may be harder to take Diego up on his offer to spend the night, but I will find out on my next trip to the Chiapas
.

A
ccounts of luminous orbs and beings suddenly appearing out of thin air are not new. There have been many reports of such phenomena during my travels. These incidents are most often described in concert with the appearance of UFOs
.

Luminous orbs are very familiar to indigenous peoples. Accounts of radiant orbs transforming into UFOs have been reported on many occasions. Reports of glowing orbs shapeshifting into star beings are fairly common among American Indian encounters; appearances of the brilliant dancing orbs during ceremonies have also been described. Hopi dancers are often visited by shimmering globes. The Cherokee claim luminous balls have been seen in their homeland since ancient times. The legend has it that the lights are the wives and mothers of warriors looking for their loved ones. The Shuar Indians in the Amazon report being visited by their ancestors who appear in the night skies as luminous white or blue spheres. The Shuar do not differentiate among ancestors or UFOs or themselves. They perceive them as the same; all ultimately are us
.

In this chapter, you will meet Rodrigo, an elderly Zapotec Indian, who told me a story of the luminous orbs that once visited the elders of his people
.

On my fourth day in San Cristóbal, Benito and I left early in the morning for the trip to Oaxaca City. It was a nine-hour, laborious drive to the infamous city, known more for the Zapatista
rebels and the violence that often came with the rebel movement. One night, as I sat in the inner courtyard of a small, boutique hotel in Oaxaca City, Mexico, an elderly man, who was the groundskeeper, sat down on a bench next to me. “I have seen you around several days, Señora. How long are you staying?”

“About ten days.”

“It’s good to take your time and enjoy our beautiful city.” His straight, black hair streaked with an occasional strand of white was pulled back into a small ponytail. His dark, rugged facial features reminded me of a 1950s Western movie star. As I tried in vain to recall the actor’s name, I watched my companion curiously. I had seen him around the hotel on many occasions during my stay. Had it not been for his dark blue jumpsuit, the uniform of the male hotel workers, I would have thought he owned the hotel. He seemed to be involved in every aspect of the management, yet I overheard him tell another guest that he was the gardener. “Thank you for choosing our hotel. We are small, but very proud of our service. If you ever need anything, just call for Rodrigo. I will take care of everything.”

“I am very happy here at the hotel. My room is wonderful. The food is great and I love your city, the ancient sites, and the chocolate,” I said, emphasizing the word
chocolate
. A smile crossed his face at the mention of chocolate.

“Oh
sí
, the chocolate. This is the city of chocolate.”

“The city smells of chocolate. Too much temptation.” The elderly man slapped his knees and laughed, shaking his head.

“It is true. Women love chocolate,” he said.

“I am no exception,” I replied. He smiled and winked as if I had shared a special secret with him.

“Have you come for the ancient sites or the chocolate?” he teased.

“I have come to see the ancient sites, and to talk to people about ancient legends of Star People and Sky Gods—and for the chocolate.”

“Ah, the Star People. We have many stories. May I ask, where have you visited?” he asked.

“I spent two days at Monte Alban, and one day at Mitla and Yagul. I went to see the tree at Tule. I have been visiting some of the outlying villages.”

“Most people come and go and see nothing. There is power here if you are open to it.”

“I feel the spirituality. It is everywhere.”

“Very interesting. We will talk again.” He stood and walked away. I caught a waiter’s attention, ordered a bottle of water, and moved to a table in the corner of the hotel plaza. I watched as the elderly man wandered the area removing dead flowers and leaves from the carpet-like lawn area. After he finished, he moved toward my table.

“Tomorrow—with your approval, of course—I will take you to the place that sells the best chocolate in all of Oaxaca City,” he said.

“Thank you. I would love to go with you.”

“And tonight, if you would like to join me for dinner, I can tell you about the star travelers,” he said. “Shall I pick you up at 7?” he asked.

“Seven is perfect.”

Promptly at 7 p.m., a knock came on the door of my room. I opened it and Rodrigo stood there, dressed in black dress pants and a white short-sleeved shirt that was a common attire of men in the city. His hair appeared as though he had just visited a barber. “Have you eaten at the Casa Oaxaca Restaurant?” he asked.

“No. I haven’t had a chance yet.”

“Good. I have reserved a rooftop table for privacy. It offers a wonderful view of the Santo Domingo Church. I think you will enjoy it. And we will be able to talk there.”

We walked arm-in-arm a few blocks to the restaurant. The city was alive with vendors and people of all ages. The women nodded and the men slightly bowed as we made our way along the streets. Everyone, even children, stepped aside and cleared the sidewalk as we passed by. There did not appear to be anyone
who did not know my companion nor held him in reverence. “I think I am in the presence of royalty,” I said.

Rodrigo smiled and whispered. “Your suspicions might have been true before the Spanish, but today I am an ordinary man of no consequence.”

“I find that hard to believe,” I said, but Rodrigo offered no response.

Once we were settled at the only table on the west side of the roof, I enjoyed the view as Rodrigo placed our order.

“I hope you do not mind, Señora. There is a special five-course dinner here that is their specialty. I inquired about the meal tonight and ordered for both of us.”

“It is fine. I trust your judgment. Rodrigo, if you do not mind, may I asked you, how old are you?” He waited, as a waiter appeared with a small bowl of fried
chapulines
, fried grasshoppers seasoned with chili and lime.

“I was ninety-one my last birthday,” he said, as he picked up the bowl and offered the edible insects to me. I placed a spoonful on my plate and picked up one and ate. “It is well-known in Oaxaca City that if you eat
chapulines
, you will always return,” he said with a smile. “I feel very guilty right now,” Rodrigo said. “I ordered these
chapulines
on purpose. The Zapotec say, anyone who eats
chapulines
will return to Oaxaca City. It is destiny.” He picked up his Crevasse and toasted me. “Here’s to many dinners like tonight with the amazing Americano,” he said, winking at me. I knew at that moment he did not feel guilty at all, but I did not voice my suspicion. Instead, I tried to keep him focused on his story.

“You were telling me about yourself. I asked you about your age.”

“Ah yes. I am ninety-one, and I think I will live ninety-one more years and become a legend,” he said with a broad smile. “I am very strong and healthy.” I looked at the man who sat across from me. His demeanor reminded me of a man at least forty years younger. A self-described Zapotec Indian, he spoke English with a slight accent.

“What is your secret to a long life?” I asked.

“I drink only on Saturday night. I eat fruit every day. I use only the plants of the people for medicine. I walk miles every day doing my duties. I dance with young women, and I flirt sometimes, too.” I smiled inwardly as he casually flirted with me.

“I think you have had a lot of practice dancing and flirting.”

“True. I have never been married, though. I dedicated myself to the hotel and the people who raised me.”

“Please, tell me about yourself,” I said.

“When I was twelve my mama died,” he began. “My father found another woman almost immediately. There was no time to grieve. She married my father the day after my mother was buried. I was unhappy. So sad. My father’s new wife did not want me around. I had two younger brothers and she liked them, but not me. The hotel owner was a distant relative of my mother. I turned to him and he gave me a home. I grew up here. The hotel has been my home ever since those days. I have my own room, good food, and a little pocket money, but I am richer than the richest man in this valley. I was fortunate enough to grow up in a time when there were still wise men among the people. They have all passed now, but they were my teachers. They taught me about the old ways and I was a good student. I wanted to know everything about our ancestors. I was lucky to live in their presence.”

“Did they tell you about the Star People?” I asked.

“The Star Travelers walked this land—this very place—when I was a boy. The elders communicated with them.”

“Can you tell me about that?”

“Have you ever seen the orbs that appear in the sky?”

“Yes. I have seen them.”

“We regard the orbs as our ancestors,” he said. “They appear in the night skies as luminous white spheres. Sometimes they are blue or light purple, but always luminous. If you watch the skies at night and you see the orbs, you know it is your ancestor trying to reach out to you.”

“What is the difference between the orbs and UFOs?” I asked.

“There is no difference. Sometimes the orbs become flying craft. Sometimes they take human form. It depends on their mission.”

“What kind of mission?”

“At one time, they came to us as helpers and teachers. They possessed all the knowledge of the great mystery. Now they come only as observers or to collect medicinal plants. Many of the plants that we use as medicine were planted by the Star Travelers to help us. They grow better here than on their home planet.”

“Have you ever communicated with the Star Travelers?”

“Only as a young man when the old men were living. The old men were their friends. They would come down from the skies during the ceremonies. But they have not communicated for a very long time. I think they are very disappointed in the road we walk.” He paused as the waitress served a black bean soup seasoned with aniseed. “There is a place in the mountains, a cave, where some say they still come. They rest there and walk the mountains like the old days. I have never seen them, but then I do not go to the mountains anymore. Not since the old ones went away.”

“Do you believe the Zapotec came from the stars?” I asked.

“No, Señora. We came from the caves. We are the rock people.” He paused as the waiter served a chicken mole. “This restaurant makes the best mole in Oaxaca,” Rodrigo said. “There are so many moles in the Chiapas, but the black mole is the best.

“What are the ingredients?” I asked.

“There are about thirty ingredients. I am not sure I know all of them. I know they use several types of chili peppers, chocolate, cinnamon, tomatillos, tomatoes, cloves, and nuts.”

“It is delicious.”

“I made a good choice then.”

“Yes. A very good choice.” We ate in silence for a few moments and then Rodrigo continued.

“The Star Travelers came from the sky. We were mutual friends in the cosmos. They helped us and we helped them. The
wise men say that in the old days, some of them married our women and took them away to the stars, but the women chose to go with them. They were not taken against their will. The Star People never stayed on Earth. They visited. We called them ancestors because they are older than us. They were not our relatives. They were the ancestors. Their civilization was older. They had more knowledge. Therefore we respected them for that knowledge.”

“Let me clarify. The ancestors are not your relatives, correct?”