El Cenote

“I feel stuck here,” Madison said with a shrug. He leaned his tailbone against the kitchen counter. Beside his hips, his hands gripped the blue and yellow Mexican tile. His shoulders hunched. Despite the kitchen’s whirling ceiling fan and his short pants and short sleeves, he was hot. Street vendor shouts, taxi honks, and engine noise intruded from the street beyond the barred windows. They were in the center of town, just off the plaza central. They had been enjoying the AirBnB apartment's creative, colonial flavor. Mexican folk art leapt out from every nook and permeated every detail. Sections of the plastered walls of the kitchen and living room had been denuded in stylized swaths to expose the ancient masonry underneath. Old was made new.

“Yes, but what emotions are you feeling?” Alyssa took a half-step closer. “I’m not sure what to do to help. How was your brother?” His stillness held her at arm’s length.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I guess I’m shocked. Is that an emotion? I’ve been ready for this news, but not this news. It’s absolutely horrible… and we’re here right now.”

“I know,” Alyssa said. “But there’s nothing we could have done there that would have changed this random bad luck. Two more days and we’re home. We could look at changing tickets, but it will probably be an arm and a leg. There’s not much to do. She was prepared. Luckily, she was alone.” She lightly touched Madison’s hand. 

“When did she fall asleep?” he asked, glancing towards the bedroom. 

“Shortly before you answered the phone call. What do you want to tell them?”

“Probably not how. But Acacia knows that she’s been fighting cancer. I think she’ll understand some. It might scare her from wanting to be in a car. Caleb probably won’t remember her. He’ll see pictures.” He shook his head. “Fuck,” he said. 

“I know,” Alyssa said. She felt his hand squeeze the counter’s edge.

“Cochinita Pibil! Tortas! Tacos!” rang through the kitchen. The vendor must have shouted just as he passed under the window.

“Why are we here with our kids when they could have had more moments? I feel guilty.”

“It could have been a year or more, Madison. This was an accident. There was no predicting it.”

“I can’t talk to them. I’ll fall apart.”

“We don’t need to tell them yet. When you want.”

“Even if I don’t, I’ll fall apart. I can see her face in theirs,” he took his hand out from under hers. He walked to the slatted, barred kitchen windows and pulled the wrought iron lever that closed them. Below, the cobbled, colonial street was humming with humanity. 

“Do you want to take a walk to process? They’ll sleep for a couple of hours. This heat knocks them out.” Alyssa leaned her lower back into the Mexican tile counter behind her and gripped the tile’s edge, just as Madison had. The garrafón, a five gallon jug of drinking water perched on a circular end table, burped a bubble. The circular end table’s red ceramic top bore a crude Mayan calendar. The air bubble made a single glugging sound. 

“I’ll be swallowed alive in all these people. That’s not what I need,” Madison said, pulling the sheer curtains across the kitchen windows. 

It was midday and the light was perfect, but Alyssa didn’t stop him. “Try the cenote,” she said. “When I went solo over nap time yesterday, it was peaceful. It could be social if you wanted, but you can also just do your own thing. The cenote is beautiful. It could be a good place to soak in your feelings.”

He shook his head and made a face.

“I didn’t intend a pun there. Sorry.” She held on tight to the blue and yellow tile. “But I’m serious, it’s a wild, natural experience given that you’re right in town. Take the whole afternoon. I’ll be fine by myself until you’re back.” 

“It’s down Calle 44?”

“Yes, briefly. Then right on Calle 37. It’s only about ten minutes walking. Zaci is the name. It really is surprising.” 

He walked through the AirBnB’s archway dividing the small kitchen and living room. A mural of a ceiba tree dominated the main wall. The tree’s roots, which shot across the bottom of the wall in all directions and reached up like octopus tentacles, held a skull on one side of the trunk and a conquistador’s helmet on the other side. Obsidian spears and metal swords protruded from behind the trunk. An eagle spread its wings through the ceiba’s canopy. Madison kicked his sandals right side up beside the entryway. “I might do that. What’s the entry?”

“I think it was like setenta pesos. Really cheap for how cool it is. These cenotes feel mystical.”

“You sure you don’t mind? I think a walk would be good. I’m wound up.” He didn’t put his sandals on. He walked back under the archway and crossed the kitchen to its far side. He entered their bedroom and grabbed his small backpack. “Swim trunks? Towel?”

“Yep. Bring water,” she said, then added, “If you want. There’s a restaurant there too.”

Back in front of the entryway door, he wiggled his sandals on. “Thanks. I’ll be back.”

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you too,” he said.

He shut the door behind him and went down a steep staircase and down a hallway. Stepping through an inward opening door, Madison entered right into the bustle of the city’s centro. They chose the AirBnB for its convenient locale. Though Mexico’s sidewalks are disorderly, they could walk to most of the city’s colonial landmarks with their stroller with relative ease. 

Madison put his head down and started walking. The heat enshrouded him. Normally he enjoyed finding eye contact and greeting people. He liked engaging with folks on the street and exercising his Spanish. Right now, however, he couldn’t find any words, let alone in a second language. For a moment he had the urge to listen to one of his mother’s voicemails on his phone, but then he realized he’d left it behind. He’d been saving her voicemails in mild fear and acknowledgment of her precarious state. Regardless, he wasn’t ready. 

The cenote was indeed striking. He entered the property through the cobblestone parking lot. On the left, a giant palapa (a thatched roof gazebo) covered the restaurant’s open air tables. Straight ahead the earth fell away in a cylindrical hole seemingly bored out of the karst. He was swept up by the curious pairing of feelings of enormity and intimacy as he peered at the pit's lip. To the right sat a stone masonry puesto with a sign showing the cost of admission to the cenote. Yellow and orange life jackets hung from a fence to the right of the booth. Madison walked forward first. He wanted a better view into the hole. The limestone cliffs were ringed with vegetation. Mature trees dropped roots from the rim to the water from improbable heights. Was it fifty feet? A hundred feet? Their roots were taller than their trunks, and they were large trees. He could see people swimming in the deep blue water below. They were diminished from distance. He could imagine himself getting smaller as he descended into the earth’s viscera via the sketchy looking staircase that clung to one edge of the walls. The overhanging parts of the rock walls were textured with ribs and spikes. He felt compelled to enter. He turned and walked to the stone booth.

“Solo yo, no más.” With his admission paid, he changed into swim trunks in the vestuario. 

The entrance to the cenote was quieting. He had seen the wooden staircase that would take him to ledges at the water’s edge, but he had not seen where the staircases originated. To enter, a hole had been cut in the limestone bedrock behind the admission booth. Madison padded barefoot down a stone staircase into a cave. The cave’s low ceiling hung a few feet over his head. He paused to absorb his surroundings and let his eyes adjust. 

Two floor to ceiling stalactites created the appearance of columns in a mausoleum in the main chamber. On the far side, light leaked in from the cenote’s innards. A path led towards the light. The ceiling and floor were textured with the smooth spikes of stalactites and stalagmites and pocketed with hollows stretching to indefinable darkness. There was an odor, an aroma, like a scented candle. The walls looked just like melted candle wax, and he wondered if he was hallucinating the smell. 

He took a few steps forward. On the far side of one of the columns a collection of bowls and trays were arranged for an offering. Incense was burning in a clay bowl and the smoke was slithering up towards the low ceiling. A stone figurine sat atop a cien pesos note. Madison scanned the cave again for other humans. No one. He didn’t have any interest in the money, but he didn’t want to interrupt somebody’s ceremony. The smoke’s scent was intoxicating, and he took a few steps closer to stand nearer to its ascending whirls. He took slow deep breaths through his nose and rolled his shoulders and neck back. He felt lucky to have this moment alone to let go of the tension roiling within him. 

A sound like a body of tiny bone xylophones striking inharmonious notes broke Madison’s reverie and forced him to suck air through his teeth and involuntarily spin to face the noise. An enormous owl, leaning against the other column in a restful pose, slowly spread one wing. Madison’s eyes ballooned to grab more light. It was nearly his height. It was brown, striped, painted, adorned with beads, and a belt. It was a man, a Mayan man, in a surreal owl costume. The man was nearly naked. Dangling from the belt was a decorative loin cloth. His body, legs, arms, and face were painted in gray and white feather patterns. His eyes were bolded with black paint so his white sclera popped. His ankles were wrapped with real feathers and with beads that looked like tree nuts. Humongous wings constructed from real feathers were attached to his arms. He must have been holding a handle of sorts that gave him graceful control of the wings’ tips. Madison could see this as the man continued to dramatically open one wing in slow motion. Atop his human head was a massive owl head. Round eyes as big as tea saucers stared unblinkingly at Madison. Two tall tufts gave the owl catlike ears. Madison exhaled and tried to smile. 

“Me asustó (you frightened me),” he said. 

“Excuse me,” the owl said. 

“I like the smell,” Madison said.

“It’s copal,” said the owl. 

“¿Copal?”

“Yes, from the tree. It’s traditional. La sangre del árbol.” 

Madison stood quietly taking in the owl and the smell. The man straightened his body. His feathers quivered. He lifted his left leg an inch and gyrated it in a momentary shiver. The tree nut beads made the bone xylophone sound again. 

“I see,” Madison nodded his head. 

“Would you like me to perform a Mayan ceremony for you?” the owl asked. 

Madison hesitated. 

“It’s for donation only.”

“No se. I’m in a weird headspace.”

“¿Qué?” The owl did not follow Madison’s use of this idiom. 

“I’m feeling strange. My mother just passed away. I just found out.” It felt good to say it out loud. Wearing a life jacket and swim trunks in a dim cave made it easier. He could tell the owl. 

“Lo siento mucho (I’m very sorry). Was she sick?” The man continued to move his wings with slow precision as he brought the open wing back and covered his body with it and the other. His wings moved as slowly as their careful conversation.

“She was sick. She had cancer. But she was killed in a car accident. The cancer didn’t get her,” Madison looked the owl in its startlingly white eyes. 

“Are you here to commune with her?” the man asked. “Mayab believe that the cenotes are one of the ways to gain entry to the underworld.” 

“I hope she’s not going down to the underworld. But it’s nice to imagine that she’s near,” both men were trying not to offend the others’ spiritual sensibilities. 

“To descend is not necessarily permanent. We ascend as well. Death is not necessarily permanent. We are born and die endlessly. No es muerte, está muerte.” The owl’s use of está instead of es emphasized the idea of death as a condition, not a permanent state. 

Madison nodded. Watching the owl man speak solemnly to him about death was beginning to feel like a hallucination. He felt buried under his feelings. He’d walked to the cenote in a trance, now he was experiencing this strange daydream. The owl stared at him patiently. 

“I can see her face in my childrens’ faces,” Madison said again, this time to the owl. 

“Have you been to the main plaza?” The owl extended its left wing behind it to indicate the direction of the plaza, albeit below ground. 

“We have. We’re actually staying in a building beside the plaza,” Madison answered. He wondered if the owl was changing the subject. 

“Perfecto. Then you’re staying in a building made from an ancient Mayan pyramid,” he brought his wing back to his chest. 

A swimmer’s happy yelp and the sound of a splash traveled through the cave. 

Madison raised his eyebrows to indicate he didn’t know this fact. “¿De verdad?” 

“The central plaza was the site of a Mayan pyramid. When the Spaniards built the church and the surrounding buildings, they deconstructed it and used the stones.”

“Interesting,” Madison said. “We can see those stones in the apartment we’ve rented. The wall’s structure is visible.”

“That’s clever of the owners.” The owl paused, then continued. “You know, the stones lived in the ground before they became a pyramid. They’re limestone, and they lived in the sea before they became land. They are made from the shells of millions of animals that lived their own lives first. The stones will have many more lives.” The owl’s white eyes swept over the ceiling of the limestone cave. 

Madison nodded. “Thank you,” he said. “I like that.”

They stood in silence for a minute. The incense swirled.

“Do you want to take a picture?” the man asked. His arms went up in right angles and his wings expanded to fill Madison’s vision. The man squatted while raising his heels and lifting onto tiptoes. The bone xylophone sounds tinkled around him again. He looked ferocious. 

“Tristamente, no tengo mi celular. (Sadly, I don’t have my phone.) Pero gracias,” Madison said. “Pero, no lo necesito. (But I don’t need it.) Tengo un recuerdo aquí. (I have a memory here.)” He touched his temple. The costume was overwhelming. 

The two men wished one another well, and Madison descended through the cave’s exit to the cenote’s wall. He walked down the skewed stairs to the ledges at the water’s edge. With his lifejacket on, he threw himself in and let himself float on his back. Sunlight reflected off the blue water and danced on the cliff walls like lace curtains blowing in a breeze. Muted conversations in multiple languages babbled around him. His ears were submerged. The water lapped at the edges of his eyes, his hairline, and his chin. He allowed himself to weep. 

On the way out of the cenote, the owl was gone. Madison stopped in the cave for several solitary minutes. He peered into the dark corners to be sure the man wasn’t hiding again. The smell of the copal incense lingered, but he was gone. 

Madison stepped into the full sunlight and Yucatán heat as he reemerged from the stone staircase. He didn’t feel quite as blanketed by the heat. The water had revived him. He walked home with his head up.

He let himself back into the apartment quietly. Alyssa was on the couch typing on her laptop. She gently shushed him with her eyes and whispered, “They’re still sleeping. This heat.” She kept her eyes on him. “How was it?” she asked. 

“It was a good idea. Thank you,” he said.

Madison slipped his sandals off as quietly as possible. Standing beside the mural of the ceiba tree and the swaths of exposed masonry, he touched his hand to the old stones. Quietly, he crossed the room to Alyssa. He paused and touched the back of her neck. He didn’t avoid her eyes. He continued to the bedroom door, and with the owl’s steady grace, opened it noiselessly. He went to his children’s bedside and looked for his mother’s face. 

He would reascend. He would share his news with his children. He would tell them the story of the pyramid and the apartment’s walls. He would return home to bury his mom. Nacemos y morimos sin cesar (we are born and die endlessly), he thought, hearing the owl’s voice in his head, and he was comforted.