Smoke and Mirrors

This afterlife pressed hot, humid, and overgrown, with who knew what kinds of animals crawling on the sandy ground and insects the size of humans.  Distinct bouquets of jasmine and honeysuckle infused the air.  Somewhere through the low clouds and the thick mist the sun stained the sky a lemon yellow.  

Rose turned to the jaguar to speak, but of all things, he was singing.

“In Mexico the god appears; thy banner is unfolded in all directions, and no one weeps.  I, the god, have returned again, I have turned again to the place of abundance of blood-sacrifices; there when the day grows old, I am beheld as a god.  Thy work is that of a noble magician; truly thou hast made thyself to be of our flesh; thou hast made thyself, and who dare affront thee?  Truly he who affronts me does not find himself well with me; my fathers took by the head the tigers and the serpents.  In Tlalocan, in the verdant house, they play at ball, they cast the reeds.  Go forth, go forth to where the clouds are spread abundantly, where the thick mist makes the cloudy house of Tlalocan.  There with strong voice I rise up and cry aloud.  Go ye forth to seek me, seek for the words which I have said, as I rise, a terrible one, and cry aloud.  After four years they shall go forth, not to be known, not to be numbered, they shall descend to the beautiful house, to unite together and know the doctrine.  Go forth, go forth to where the clouds are spread abundantly, where the thick mist makes the cloudy house of Tlalocan.”

The jaguar looked at Rose and shrugged his shoulders.  “The Hymn of Tlalocan.  I thought it was appropriate.”

“Sure.”  Rose scanned the landscape again.  “So this is the afterlife?”

“It is one afterlife.  We called Tlalocan a paradise.”

“Paradise?”

“There is water.  There is abundance.  What more makes a paradise?”

Rose saw no point in arguing.  At that moment a flamboyant figure caught her attention.  He wore a headdress of bright plumes that fell down his back and something like onesie pajamas made of jaguar fur.  Peeking out from a frame of fur and feathers, hollow black eyes contrasted with his chalk-white grinning face.  He did some kind of strange dance, a mix of hopping and skipping and kicking, until he heard a rustle in the leaves.

A familiar figure came out of the forest.  Copal’s shoulders had gone limp and his eyes watered.  Like everything else in this place, Rose noted, then brushed aside the thought.    

“I greet you, Princie,” the figure in the jaguar suit proclaimed.

Copal took a moment to examine the character before him.  “Do I know you?  I was told only to come to the sandy hill beyond the western trees at this time.”

“You know me well, though you do not know me at all.  I have been around you always and yet you have never acknowledged me.  You have lit incense in my name and for my blessing, but you have never known me as more than a cloud of an idea.”

“You are not Lord Tlaloc.”

“And I am grateful,” the figure declared.  “If I had to herd you depressing dead I think I would trade my immortality for one good lightning strike to my skull.”

“You still have not told me who you are.”

The figure groaned in disbelief.  “Look at me, will you?  Jaguar.  Feathers.  I think it is obvious enough.”

Copal stepped back, his watery eyes widening.  “Smoking Mirror!”

“Give the man a cacao bean.”  

“What are you doing here?  And what else do you want with me?  I am dead already.”

“Dead for the moment maybe,” Smoking Mirror chortled.  From somewhere in his jaguar suit he pulled out a rattle and began shaking it out of rhythm.  “And it is not what I want from you so much as how what I want can benefit you too.  Why do you look so miserable, my prince?”

Copal thought a cold wind blew through him.  What did he know about speaking to the gods?  What was acceptable and what was blasphemous?  “My lord Smoking Mirror,” he began, gathering his courage.  “I think it is only that I am miserable.  That is not your doing, of course.  I brought myself to my own sorrows.”

“You understand your situation well.”  Smoking Mirror paused for a few moments to study the prince.  “Yet you are in paradise.  It is a paradise of plague and suicides, I will admit, but it remains a paradise.”

Saying nothing, Copal lowered his eyes.  So much pain hung thick here in Tlalocan, but fortunate were those who came here rather than be cast into oblivion.  That had been the belief in Texcoco.  The prince himself had been wondering whether oblivion would be better for centuries.

Smoking Mirror laughed again.  “But of course you would rather be in the House of the Sun.  Your Jaguar Knight Citali has gone off to where you cannot follow.”

Copal had not expected the god to make any mention of his doomed love and anger rose within him.  “The House of the Sun is no place for me.  I was not so fortunate as to die in battle.”

“How certain are you that your Citali is there, Copal of Texcoco?  How do you know?”  Smoking Mirror shook his rattle at Copal.

“Where else would she be?”  Now anger twisted with anxiety.  “Citali is in the Eastern Paradise, with my father and my brother.  What have I done that you would torture me thus?”

“I intend no torture,” Smoking Mirror said.  “Indeed, I am offering you an opportunity.  A challenge.  Would you like to play a game?””

The living Copal would have stayed away from Smoking Mirror.  The lord of secrets and trickery could not be trusted.  In death, Copal had nothing to lose.  “What is the prize?”

Smoking Mirror’s smile held more menace than encouragement.  “Let us say you, back to life, with Citali.”

“Impossible!”

“You died, but Citali went on.  Her essence went back to earth for another mortal life.  And another.  And another.  The woman you knew as Citali has been many women since then, and the woman I will send you to knows nothing of your love in Texcoco.”

Copal dropped his hands to his sides in despair.  “Then what chance do I have?

“You do understand what you are risking here,” Smoking Mirror said with what might pass for concern in his voice.  “Yes, if you win her on her terms, you can take human form with her again.  But how likely is that?  Five hundred years have passed on earth.  It is not the Texcoco you left.  How can you hope to survive?”