Gods of Jade and Shadow(28)

“Truly? I was beginning to doubt it.”

“I would not wish you as my enemy.”

“Swear to return my property and I will consider you blameless.”

Although Casiopea had been awed by Hun-Kamé when he appeared before her, and although she had been frightened too, she had not understood the whole extent of him. It was only watching the gods speak that she realized the weather god was intimidated, and she began to wonder about Hun-Kamé’s nature and his might.

Death, she walked next to Death, and Death wore the face of a man. So she spoke to Death like a man, raised her voice to him, she might even defy him, but of course he was no man. She’d seen drawings of Death in dusty books. It was depicted as a skeleton, its vertebra exposed, black spots on its body symbolizing corruption. That Death and Hun-Kamé seemed entirely different from each other, but now she realized they could be the same.

She glimpsed, for the very first time, the naked skull beneath the flesh. And if a god feared Death, should she not fear him too, rather than share oranges and conversation with him?

“I swear by air and water, and by the earth and fire too, if need be. Let me go and I’ll hand it over,” Juan said.

The frost now covered his whole chest and had worked itself up to his neck, turning his voice into a whisper, but Hun-Kamé spoke a word and the ice crystals melted off, though a chill infected the air.

He loosened the rope around the Mam’s hands and the god, in turn, reached into his pocket and took out a wooden box, inlaid with iridescent mother of pearl. Hun-Kamé opened it. In it lay a human ear, perfectly preserved. Hun-Kamé pressed it against his head, cupping it in place, and when he drew away his hand the missing ear was attached to his flesh, as if it had not been cut off.

Hun-Kamé inclined his head at the other god, gracious.

“I will assume you remain my beloved cousin, then,” Juan said, rubbing his hands together, “and that I may be allowed to leave now.”

“Go. Enjoy the night.”

The Mam nodded, but now that the frost had melted he quirked a mischievous eyebrow at them.

“I might enjoy the night better if I’d had a chance to taste the sweetness of your pretty girl. Would you not let her dance with me?” the god asked, turning his sly eyes toward Casiopea. “How I love mortal women, you know that, and since we are friends again, it would be a nice gesture to grant me this one to warm me up. I think we both agree I could use some warming up after—”

“Oh, I’ll slap you twice if you even think it,” she declared.

“I like a good slap now and then. Come here,” he said, holding his palm upward and crooking his finger at her.

The death god stood stiff as a spear, and his hand fell upon Casiopea’s shoulder. “Look elsewhere for diversions,” Hun-Kamé said drily. “And apologize to the lady for being crude tonight.”

“How prickly you are! I was trying to be friendly, but instead I’ll be off, then. There is no point in offending Death and his handmaiden any further. My apologies, miss. Be well, cousin.”

The weather god took out a cigarette and he lit it, chuckling as he walked down the alley and disappeared from sight, heading back toward the music and the raucous crowds. The night grew warmer, again the ordinary tropical night of the port, and Hun-Kamé lifted his hand from her shoulder.

“Thank you,” she told him.

“You should not thank me for such small things,” he replied.

Casiopea supposed he was correct, since he needed her and if he had stood up for her, it was because she was valuable to him. Nevertheless she considered it a nice gesture. No one had ever defended her when Martín bothered her, and she could not help but to feel grateful and to look kindly at him. Thus, minutes after she thought she might want to fear him, be wary of him, she was again forgetting his true nature and seeing a man.

“Lady Tun, if you’ll come with me, we have work to do,” Hun-Kamé said, heading in the opposite direction from the one the Mam had taken.

“What kind of work?”

“Now that I have my ear back I can listen to the voices of the psychopomp and the dead. Let us find a proper crossroad.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You shall see,” he said.





They walked away from the downtown area, the crowds growing thinner until there were only a few people around them, then none. They walked for a long time. The white houses on each side of the street were silent as tombs. The silver in their costumes caught a ray of light here and there, like a stray spark.

They reached a crossroad. There were no more houses, not a single lonely shack on the side of the road, only the narrow path they’d been following. Casiopea glanced up at the stars, looking for Xaman Ek, which the Europeans called Polaris. This star was the symbol of the god with the monkey head, to whom the resin of the copal tree is offered at the side of the road. She wondered if he was as real as Hun-Kamé, and whether he truly had the head of an animal.

A moth flew by, and Hun-Kamé stretched out his hand, as if calling for it. The moth obeyed him, gently settling upon his palm, and he closed his fingers, crushing it. Had Hun-Kamé been mortal, he would have needed a more substantial sacrifice—a dog would have been suitable—to engage in this sorcery of the night. But since he was a god, and a god who had regained his lost ear and with it a smidgen of his magic, the moth sufficed.