Chapter 57. Mannequins
Island of Boyuca. Bay of Honduras.
“It’s just a test,” Morse assured his friends. All seven stood side by side in the narrow crevice, with a wall of rock a foot from their faces, and another wall a foot from their backs. There was no exit on either side. They had been standing like this for over an hour, searching with their hands for any hidden compartments which might lead to a way out. They had found nothing.
“John, this doesn’t feel like a test,” said Bolinda, fighting back tears. “This feels like a tomb.”
Zach was also scared. “They wouldn’t just trap us in here, right, Dad? I mean, what would be the point? They could have killed us ten times already if that was what they wanted to do. This has to be another puzzle of some kind.”
“If I could just sit down,” said Skip. “This is worse than a bad acid trip. I need a cigarette.”
“How much oxygen do you think we have in here?” asked Bolinda. She didn’t feel short of breath, but there had to be only a limited supply of oxygen in here. She moved her feet up and down to give them circulation. Her feet were tired.
John Morse looked upwards, searching for a way out. Maybe they had to stand on each other’s shoulders or something. The ceiling of this narrow room was about twelve feet high. Morse looked towards the ceiling. He did not see any markings or cracks or anything pointing to an exit. Maybe it’s not up, but down, he thought. He took one of the torches and shined it down towards his feet. He noted that the floor, although it was a gray color, did not feel like it was made of stone. He slammed the floor of the chamber with his foot as hard as he could. It made a loud reverberating sound—the kind of sound that would not be made by slamming one’s foot down on a stone floor. It almost sounded like pounding on a hollow wooden door.
“I think I have something here,” said Morse. “I need everyone to get their feet off the ground. Try and wedge your back against the back wall and put your feet on the other wall, so you are not touching the ground.” Everyone looked at Morse like he was crazy, but anything was worth a shot. Everyone but John Morse climbed up on the walls, suspending themselves in mid-air above the floor. Morse then went to the far end of the chamber. Pressing his back against the wall at the end of the chamber, he pushed his feet outward on the ground. At first nothing happened, but then suddenly, there was movement in the floor, and the gray floor slid away from Morse, revealing stone rollers underneath the floor.
“Sweet!” yelled Drame. Morse looked up, smiling. Sitting down on the rollers, with his palms outstretched behind him, Morse used his legs to push the ground again. He continued to do this, as his son and friends strained their backs and legs holding themselves in the air between the rock walls. The pushing was now getting easier. Morse was on his knees on the rollers, pushing the sliding floor with his hands. Soon, he was kneeling directly beneath the other six, pushing the floor away from them. As he got near the end of the chamber, he gave the floor one last heave, and it slid out of sight under the rock, revealing a gaping hole in the floor big enough even for Mountain Man Pete. Everyone jumped down from the walls and peered into the hole.
“I never thought I would be so happy to see a scary black hole,” said Bolinda. “John, you’re going in my will for this one.”
“Frankly, I’d rather be in Skip’s will,” joked Morse. “Bolinda, would you like to do the honors? Ladies first.”
Bolinda happily jumped at the chance, and lowered herself into the hole, which led to sliding chute into the heart of the mountain. Bolinda landed with a crash onto a real stone floor this time, and her friends came tumbling after her moments later. They re-lit the torches. There, along a wall, was a stone bench. Bolinda was happy to see that. Her long standing marathon in the crevice had worn out her feet. She walked over to sit down on the bench for a minute, when Zach Morse screamed, “Stop! Don’t sit there!”
Everyone looked at Zach.
“Dad, don’t you remember the Xibalba story Ka’-an told us? The Hero Twins are offered the chance to sit down on a chair, but it turns out to be a cooking stove intended to burn them. I bet that was the point of the narrow room up there-- to get us tired of standing, so that we would sit down on the bench.” Zach went over to the stone bench, with Bolinda nervously looking on, and held his hand over the stone. It felt hot like a stove.
Zach spit on the bench and his spittle sizzled. Zach was right. Bolinda had narrowly avoided getting burned.
“Good one, Zach,” said Winston, rubbing Zach’s hair back and forth. “John, he’s a chip off the old block. Zach, I am glad to see you listen to your elders.”
“Well, if I can’t sit on the bench,” said Bolinda. “Let me sit on the ground for a minute. My feet are killing me.” She collapsed on the ground, weary from her several brushes with death. The group agreed to take a ten minute break. After resting and having some water, the group got up again, and headed down a passageway to the right of the stone bench. They wound along the passageway, shining their torches and flashlight ahead into the dark. As they walked down the path, Skip Drame, who was in the lead, noticed that there were ten spears stacked along the wall.
“Check these out,” said Drame. He picked up two of the spears and then handed the rest to the others. Drame walked another fifty feet and saw light ahead. When he got to an opening to another large underground chamber, Drame gasped, and leaped back, pointing his fingers at what he saw in the room, and motioning with a finger to his lips to be quiet. Each member of the group took turns peeking around the corner to look into the room. The room was fairly dark, with only the brief flicker of light from a few torches set against the far wall. Spread out across the dark room were sixteen large natives, each one wielding a weapon. Strangely, none of the natives moved, and were frozen in a menacing stance, like wax statues. One native had an open mouth and held a machete over his head with his right hand, as if he were ready to strike. Another held a spear, ready to thrust. A third had a notched arrow in a stretched bow, ready to shoot. All were in some kind of attack position, but none moved. The light from the torches danced over the natives’ angry faces, making the macabre scene even more frightening. Across the room was another cave opening. It appeared that the object was to get across the room without being killed by the natives.
“Zach, this is just like the Xibalba story,” whispered John Morse. “Some of those are probably mannequins and some are probably real men. If we can just avoid the real natives, we will be fine. But I am guessing that if we mistake a real man for a mannequin, we will pay the price.”
“All we need are those magic mosquitoes,” whispered Zach.
Drame motioned for everyone to go back down the corridor so they could talk. When they had traveled out of earshot, they puzzled over a battle plan. Winston spoke first.
“They have given us ten spears. There are sixteen men in there. So my guess is that eight are real, and eight are fake. We have ten spears. If we throw a spear at a real native, we will presumably take him out of action if our aim is good. If we hit a mannequin, the spear will sink into the mannequin, assuming it is made of wax. If it is made of something else, the spear will bounce off. Either way, we will have wasted a spear.”
“Did anyone spot a way to tell the real ones from the fake ones?” asked Morse.
There was silence, and several members of the group shook their heads. Morse continued.
“Well, if we cannot tell which is real and which is fake, then assuming the law of averages, we are just as likely to guess right as guess wrong. So the greatest likelihood is that we will hit five real men and five mannequins, leaving three real men to kill us. And seeing as we are not trained spear throwers, there is also the additional possibility that we will miss and not hit anything with a spear. Each miss means another native who can kill us. If we leave any of the natives with a spear, they will most likely kill one or more of us, since they are probably trained to use their weapons. So we need a way to expose each of the natives as being real, so we do not waste a single spear.” Mountain Man Pete thought about that.
“I think I know how to do that,” said Pete. “My flashlight. I doubt they have ever seen one before. If we shine it in their eyes, they might blink. Or at the very least, their pupils should react. If they blink, or if their pupils react, then they get hit with a spear.”
“OK, here’s a thought,” said Zach. “What if all of our theories are wrong, and the second they see us, all of them come running at us with weapons? What do we do then?”
“If that happens, we retreat into the corridor, where it is narrow,” said Pete. “That will force them to come at us one by one, and we use our spears to protect us.”
“Swell,” sighed Zach, unconvinced of the wisdom of the plan.
Pete led the group back down the corridor and quietly entered the room. None of the natives moved. Pete pulled out his flashlight and shined it at the first native’s eyes. There was no reaction. It was probably a mannequin. Holding a spear in one hand and a flashlight in the other, Pete cautiously crept toward the second figure. There was no reaction from any of the men in the room. Pete suddenly realized that they may not have to throw the spears after all. They may be able to strike at close range. Pete turned off the flashlight and then, standing only a few feet away, shined his flashlight at the native’s right eye. There was no blink, but even in the dim light, Pete saw the native’s pupil constrict, getting smaller. In a flash of movement, Pete stabbed the native in the gut with the spear. Blood poured out of the wound, and the speechless native fell to the ground, mortally wounded. Skip walked over and handed a spear to Pete. Drame held a spear in his own hand. Zach recoiled, worried about Pete’s violence. Pete walked to the next figure, a tall native with a spear held high over his head. He shined the light in the native’s eye, and the pupil got smaller. Pete started to thrust, but the native sprang into action, blocking the thrust. But Drame was ready, and speared the native in the back with his own spear. Two natives and two spears down. Eight to go. The next native was crouched behind a large stone, holding a bow and arrow. Pete tried to shine the light but the angle wasn’t right because the figure was too far behind the stone. We can’t take any chances, thought Drame. Drame dove over the stone and impaled the figure with his spear. Unfortunately, the figure was made of wax and the spear wedged into the mannequin. Their first wasted spear.
Pete and Drame, disappointed, walked over to the next figure. He was bent at the knees, wielding a large knife. Winston tossed Drame another spear. As Pete faced the figure with the knife, directly behind his back was a tall muscular second figure, with a raised ax. He couldn’t look at both figures at the same time. Drame decided to go back-to-back with Pete, each one wielding a spear. Pete shined the flashlight at the shorter figure with the knife. He didn’t make out any changes in the figure’s eye. Drame, standing behind him, was looking at the tall muscular native’s face, trying to glean something showing his humanity. Suddenly, in the dim flickering light, he thought he saw an evil smile curl on the lips of the figure with the raised ax.
“Look out!” he cried. The ax came flying down, barely missing Pete and Drame. Pete swung his burly elbow into the native’s cheek, and the native went toppling over. Drame tried to finish the job with his spear, but the native swung and knocked the spear out of Drame’s hand. Turning, the native raised the ax again over Drame’s head to kill him. Just then, a spear came flying through the air into the native’s neck. Bolinda’s spear had been on target. With a spurt of blood, the native went down.
“Thanks,” said Drame. “I owe you one. Nice shot.”
In the middle of the room was a figure wielding a large stick with a blade on either end. The figure had a large mask over his head, so the flashlight was not going to work. Drame didn’t waste any time. Grabbing a spear from John Morse, he stabbed the figure in the midsection. Another mannequin. He tried to get the spear out but it wouldn’t budge. They had successfully killed three natives and wasted two spears on mannequins. They had five spears left. And five real natives. There were two figures standing tall, next to each other. Each one held a knife, with arms crossed, looking stoic. Both figures had their eyes closed. Drame hesitated this time. His last two guesses had proved wrong and they did not have a single spear to spare. Drame and Pete decided to pass on these two for now. Pete and Drame continued to walk near the exit, where two figures with raised spears, and a figure in the middle with a blowgun, blocked the path. Pete shined the light into the eye of the native with the blowgun. The pupil contracted. Pete tried to swing the spear, but the native blew the poisonous dart from his blowgun quickly, stabbing Pete in the neck. Pete grabbed for his neck and dropped the flashlight. Drame stabbed the native with the blowgun in the chest, but just then, the two natives with their eyes closed who had been previously passed over rushed Drame from behind. Zach Morse and Charlie Winston ran towards the natives and heaved their spears. Each one impaled the natives in the back, sending them crumpling to the ground. Zach picked up the flashlight and quickly shined it on the two figures who had been on either side of the native with the blowgun. Both were fake.
Bolinda rushed over to the ground to care for Pete. His eyes were rolling in his head and he was having a seizure. His mouth began foaming. For several moments, his entire body shook with tremors, and then it went rigid and silent. Bolinda felt for a pulse. Bolinda looked up forlornly at the others. Their friend Mountain Man Pete was gone. Drame was upset. Pete was a very dear friend to him. They all quickly realized, however, that they were not out of the woods yet. There were five figures which they had not yet encountered. Two of the five were real natives, and they had two spears left. Drame went up to the first figure, which was crouched low on the ground with a knife in its teeth. Drame tried to shine the flashlight, but the battery was dying and the light was very dim. He couldn’t tell for sure. He looked at the native an inch from his face. He was furious that Pete had been killed. Then he yelled “Boo!” and the native pounced on Drame, putting the knife to his throat. Drame managed to roll and kick the native over him. Drame picked up his spear and turned into a wild savage himself, lunging at the native and smashing him with the spear until the native was backed into a wall. The native threw his spear and hit Drame in the shoulder. Drame, momentarily stunned by the wound, then drilled the spear straight through the native’s windpipe and into the wall. The native, with his hands to his neck, fell down dead.
There were four figures left, one native, and one spear. All four were standing next to each other. John Morse gave the spear to Winston, and told him to get ready.
“Zach, may I borrow your shirt, please?” Zach, confused, took off his shirt and gave it to his father. John Morse went over to Pete and took off his shirt and tied it to Zach’s shirt. Then he took off Pete’s trousers and tied the trousers to the shirts.
“May I have the torch, please?” Morse asked Bolinda. Morse then ignited the clothing, and threw the fiery line of clothes at the feet of the four figures. And then they waited. Within a minute, three of the figures began to wilt and melt. The fourth figure, the real native, dove from the fire and tried to attack John Morse. As the native pinned Morse to the ground, he took a knife from his waist and raised it to cut Morse’s throat. Zach did a flying tackle on the native, knocking him off his father. Winston threw the spear and missed. The native picked up the spear which had been thrown at him and charged Winston. Drame, still bloody from his shoulder wound, in one last act of aggression, charged the native and knocked the native flying into the ball of flame engulfing the mannequins. The native, covered in fire, went screaming toward the exit, but collapsed before he could make it. All of the natives were dead.
The group went back over to Pete. They wanted to carry him to give him a proper burial, but he simply weighed too much, and Drame, with his shoulder wound, could not help carry him. Winston took off his shirt, and Bolinda wrapped his shoulder wound as best she could. Skip brushed off the wound and bent over Pete’s body. Skip Drame said a few kind words and a prayer for his friend, and they left through the cave exit.
As they walked out the cave exit, they were back in the sunshine. There was a fresh creek near the mouth of the cave, and a lush valley which wound along the banks of the creek. The party stopped to refill their canteens and get some good water to drink. They walked along the creek banks for a while, and then came upon a wooden bridge crossing the creek. Having had their bad experiences with bridges, they tested the bridge first to make sure it was stable, and it was. They crossed the creek and proceeded slightly uphill along a path. As they walked, there were some smiling native children standing along the path, who pointed toward the strangers. The children were very excited and began chanting, “Hunahpu! Xbalanque!”
As the group walked along the path, the sides of the path became crowded with islanders, both young and old. Evidently, no one had ever made it this far through the Trials of Xibalba. The crowd seemed friendly and appeared to be encouraging and cheering on the six weary travelers. The gravel path ended in a wide, circular gravel cul-de-sac of sorts. Around the edges of the circle were six small stone huts. Everyone in the group knew that these huts were the famous Six Houses of the Xibalba: Ak'ab Na (the Dark House), Sis Na (the Cold House), Balam Na (the Jaguar House), Sontz' Na (the Bat House), Ch'am Na (the Razor House) and K'ak Na (the Fire House).
The six Americans entered the middle of the circle and were surrounded by a large crowd. Charlie Winston looked at John Morse out of the corner of his eye.
“What do you think is going to happen now?” asked Winston under his breath.
Morse looked down the road they had came. Coming up the road was a Mayan chieftain.
“I think we are about to find out,” said Morse.
The elderly man was tall, maybe six feet, four inches, with broad shoulders. He had long gray hair to his shoulders, but no facial hair. He wore a green and gold striped, semicircular neckpiece, gold wrist and ankle bands, and a headpiece with brightly colored bird plumes. The chieftain, carrying a long wooden staff which was also topped with bright bird feathers, approached the group and began speaking slowly in the K’iche’ dialect. Ka’-an stepped forward to translate. Ka’-an turned to Morse and Winston.
“He wants to know if you are really Hunahpu and Xbalanque.”
“Tell him we are,” said Morse. Ka’-an nodded.
The chieftain looked at them for a moment, and then went to John Morse and grasped his forearm in a strange kind of handshake. Morse shook back and smiled. Winston did the same. The chieftain nodded, apparently satisfied. The chieftain walked over to Skip Drame, and saw that he had been injured. He inspected the wound with his finger. He looked at Drame briefly, and then called a young, bare-breasted native woman from the crowd, who came forward with a purple jug. The chieftain motioned Drame to lie down on the ground, and Drame obliged. The chieftain took Drame’s shirt and ripped it open, which initially frightened him. The chieftain motioned for Drame to relax, and then took the purple jug from the young woman. The chieftain took out a split coconut shell which contained a honey-colored gel. Then he poured water from the jug into the coconut shell. Mixing the two substances with his fingers, he gently rubbed the solution into Skip Drame’s wound. At first nothing happened. And then, miraculously, the wound began to close up and heal, eventually forming scar tissue. Skip Drame rolled his shoulder around, and it didn’t hurt very much. He squeezed his hand into a fist. It was incredible. The water had completely healed the wound.
John Morse, seeing the miraculous healing power of the water from the jug, eyed the purple water jug like a child opening Christmas presents. The Fountain of Youth really existed! He looked to Winston, who was nodding, thinking the same thing. Morse wanted to ask the chieftain if he could take some of the water, but before he could speak, the chieftain spoke again for several minutes.
Ka’-an said, “The chief says there are two more tests before it can be shown for certain that you are Hunahpu and Xbalanque. We must survive one night in the six houses. Each one of us will be selected to spend the night in one of the six houses. In the morning, if we are still alive, then we must face The Oven. That is the final test. If we can survive that, then there will be no doubt you are Hunahpu and Xbalanque. He didn’t say, but I am guessing that if we make it that far, it is going to be very good for us. They are all doing a lot of smiling now. Many of the people in the crowd believe that you are the Mayan Hero Twins, and they are excited. The chieftain did say, though, that he does not understand why you look so different if you are twins.”
“How do we decide who stays in which house?” asked Morse.
“He is going to have you draw straws. Each straw has a painted symbol on the bottom, for one of the six houses.”
“Is there any way he will agree to just letting us leave the island now?” asked Morse.
“Definitely not. I get the impression that if you don’t follow through with the last tests, we will all be killed. Look over there.” Off to the right, at least fifty warriors had walked up, brandishing weapons. They did not look as happy as the rest of the crowd.
“So be it,” said Morse. “We have survived this far.” Morse turned to the group. “Just remember, no matter how frightening this seems, there is always a way out. This is a test of wits and courage, nothing more. Don’t let fear get the better of you. Think and don’t panic, and we can all get out of this.”
The chieftain walked up and held the wooden “straws” in his large fist. Zach picked first. He picked the symbol for the Cold House. John Morse seemed relieved for his son. Of the six houses, that one did not seem as bad as the rest. Morse saw that his son had no shirt, and he immediately regretted taking his shirt back in the cave. Zach would be very cold without a shirt. John Morse quickly took off his own shirt and gave it to his son. Charlie Winston did the same. Zach put on both shirts. Zach was not very thrilled with the choice. He was a California kid, and he did not like the cold.
Ka’-an picked next. He chose the Bat House. Bolinda was the third up. She picked the Jaguar House. When she saw her straw, Bolinda fell to the ground and burst out crying, shaking her head back and forth.
“I don’t want to die,” she sobbed. Charlie Winston knelt down to comfort her.
“Jaguars are not known to kill humans,” he whispered. “Whatever you do, do not run when you see them. If you do that, it will trigger an instinct that you are prey. Stay still. And don’t look them in the eye. They see that as aggressive behavior. If they should try and attack you, raise your hands and scream and try to seem big and large, and they will probably back off.”
“How could you possibly know what to do if a jaguar attacks? Did you work at a zoo?”
“I read a book about a lion tamer. But it is probably the same as a jaguar.”
“Your turn, Charlie,” said Ka’-an.
Winston selected a wooden straw. The Razor House. He did not like the sound of that. Drame was next and picked the Dark House. Drame looked relieved. That left one straw for John Morse—the Fire House. John Morse eyed the straw grimly.
The chieftain led Drame to the Dark House, and then said something else.
Ka’-an said, “He says the each house has a small hole in the roof which lets you see the sky. That way you will know when it is dawn. When the sun rises, the doors will be opened.”
The chieftain ushered Drame inside the Dark House and locked the door. Zach was next. When it was Bolinda’s turn, she started screaming “No” and refused to go. The chieftain looked angry and yelled “Balam Na!” Several warriors came through the crowd and grabbed Bolinda and threw her forcefully into the Jaguar House. The chief locked the door. The other members went willingly into their respective houses and the doors were locked. The Trial of the Houses had just begun.