Gods of Jade and Shadow - Silvia Moreno-Garcia Page 0,63
sleep, as if an unseen force is weighing them down. The night hag, the dead man crawling. The nightmare that rides mortals. Except he was wide awake.
This sensation lasted hardly a minute, but the dread of the touch sent Martín’s heart pounding with terror, and when it subsided he fell to his knees.
Vucub-Kamé smiled at Martín, and he spoke sweetly, like the worm whispers to a man in his coffin.
“Do not be too upset, Martín. I favor you, even if you reek of cheap pulque and discontent. We have, after all, much in common, both of us having to deal with the most obnoxious relatives possible. When this is over I believe we will be good friends, like your grandfather and I were friends. Fate has brought us together. Thank her for this nicety.”
“Yes, my lord,” Martín rasped, rubbing his throat and bowing his head.
The god held out his hand and the dice jumped back onto his palm. The map dissipated, rising like the smoke of an extinguished candle. Then the god stepped back into the shadows from which he’d emerged, blending with them, his white cape and white clothing and pale hair sinking into darkness.
Martín continued to rub his neck, and he threw his head back, chuckling, because he could already hear the flapping of wings announcing the arrival of Vucub-Kamé’s gigantic owl. The god wasted no time. What the hell. It was not as if Martín had anything important to do. He could sleep off his binge drinking in Baja California as efficiently as in Mexico City. Though at this point he had sobered up considerably.
“Casiopea, if I ever see you again…oh, dear God, I better not see you again,” he muttered.
All this had started because of her. She had opened the stupid box, she had made a god rise from his prison, and now it was her stubborn refusal that was condemning Martín to sink into the paths of Xibalba. Not fifty times a bitch, a hundred.
Mortals believe gods to be omnipotent and ever-knowing. The truth is more slippery; their limitations are multiple, kaleidoscopic, and idiosyncratic. Gods cannot rudely move mortals like one moves a piece across a game board. To obtain what they wish gods may utilize messengers, they may threaten, they may flatter, and they may reward. A god may cause storms to wreck the seaside and mortals, in return, may raise their hands and place offerings at the god’s temple in an effort to stop the hurricane that whips the land. They may pray and bleed themselves with maguey thorns. However, they could also feel free to ignore the god’s weather magic, they could blame the rain or lack of it on chance or bad luck, without forging the connection between the deity and the event.
A god can make the volcanos boil and cook alive the villagers who have made their abodes near its cone, but what good is that? If gods destroyed all humans, there would be no adoration and no sacrifice, which is the fresh wood that replenishes a fire.
Vucub-Kamé had limitations and he had ways to counter them. He could not visit the mortal realm in the daytime and he could only wander it for a limited amount of time at night. But he had his owls, his powers of foretelling, and his alliances. Although he could be rejected, he seldom was.
Casiopea’s refusal, then, struck him as somewhat novel, even amusing. As he drifted into Xtabay’s room, brushing past the billowing curtains, he was actually in a pleasant state of mind. There would be another chance to address the girl. Twice and even thrice she might turn from him, for three is the number that marks women’s hetzmek. He was not vexed like Martín was vexed. He knew himself in control of the story.
“You honor me with your presence,” Xtabay said, bowing her head and kneeling before him, bejeweled as always.
What an entirely lovely and spiteful creature she was, her mortal beginnings forgotten, the imprint of a shell in the sand long erased. Vucub-Kamé held out his hand, indicating she could rise, and Xtabay did, an artful smile across her face.
“I gather my brother has visited you,” he said, unable to sense the dormant essence of Hun-Kamé, which Xtabay had until now kept locked in a box. In its corner, Xtabay’s green parrot sat in its cage and hid its head under its wing, as if shielding itself from the god.