Gods of Jade and Shadow - Silvia Moreno-Garcia Page 0,12

with him. He simply catalogued this conversation as another mark against his cousin’s character and went to bed without regrets. If she wanted to martyr herself while the rest of the household enjoyed a day of merriment, let her be.

It was T’hó before the Spaniards stumbled upon the city—once glorious, then ruined, as all earthly things must be ruined—and named it Mérida. The vast sisal plantations made the hacendados rich, and great houses rose to mark the size of their owners’ fortunes, replacing mud-splattered streets with macadam and public lighting. The upper-class citizens of Mérida claimed the city was as fine as Paris and patterned Paseo Montejo after the Champs-Élysées. Since Europe was considered the cradle of sophistication, the best clothing stores in Mérida sold French fashions and British boots, and ladies said words like charmant to demonstrate the quality of their imported tutors. Italian architects were hired to erect the abodes of the wealthy. Parisian milliners and dressmakers made the rounds of the city once a year to promote the latest styles.

Despite the revolution, the “divine caste” endured. Perhaps no more Yaquis were being deported from Sonora, forced to work the sisal fields; perhaps no more Korean workers were lured with promises of fast profits and ended as indentured servants; perhaps the price of henequen had fallen, and perhaps the machinery had gone silent at many plantations, but money never leaves the grasp of the rich easily. Fortunes shifted, and several of the prominent Porfirian families had married into up-and-coming dynasties; others had to make do with slightly less. Mérida was changing, but Mérida was still a city where the moneyed, pale, upper-crust citizens dined on delicacies, and the poor went hungry. At the same time, a country in flux is a country padded with opportunities.

Casiopea tried to remind herself of this, that here was her chance to see the city of Mérida. Not under the circumstances she had imagined, but a chance nevertheless.

Mérida was busy, its streets bustling with people. Everyone walked quickly. She had little time to take in the dignified buildings. It was all a blur of color and noise, and sometimes clashing styles, which testified to the tastes of the nouveau riche who had built the city: Moorish, Spanish, quasi-rococo. She wished to grip the god’s hand and ask him to pause to look at the black automobiles parked in a neat row, but did not dare.

They passed the city hall, with its clock tower. They crossed the town square that served as the beating heart of Mérida. They went around the cathedral, which had been built using stones from Mayan temples. She wondered if Hun-Kamé would be displeased by the sight of the building, but he did not even glance at it, and soon they were walking down side streets, farther from the crowds and the noise, leaving downtown behind.

Hun-Kamé stopped before a two-story building, painted green, restrained and proper in its appearance. Above its heavy wooden door there was a stone carving, a hunter with a bow aiming at the heavens.

“Where are we?” she asked, feeling out of breath. Her feet hurt and her forehead was beaded with sweat. They had not eaten nor traded words during their trip. She was more exhausted than alarmed at this point.

“Loray’s home. He is a foreigner, a demon, and thus may prove useful.”

“A demon?” she said, adjusting her shawl. It was filthy with the dust from the road. “Is it safe to see him?”

“As I said, he is a foreigner and so he acts as a neutral party. He will not have any allegiance to my brother,” he replied.

“Are you certain he is home? Perhaps we ought to return later.”

Hun-Kamé placed a hand against the door, and it opened. “We enter now.”

Casiopea did not move. He walked ahead a few paces and, noticing she was not following him, turned his head.

“Do not sell him your soul and you’ll be fine,” he said laconically.

“That sounds simple,” she replied, with a tad of a bite to the words.

“It is,” he said, either not registering the sarcasm in her voice or not caring.

Casiopea took a deep breath and stepped inside.

They went down a wide hallway, the floor decorated with orange Ticul stone, the walls painted yellow. It led into a courtyard, a vine-entangled tree rising in a corner and a fountain gurgling at its side. They walked into a vast living room. White couches, black lacquered furniture. Two floor-to-ceiling mirrors with ebony frames. White flowers upon a