Izamal

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Discovery

Five a.m. rolled around too quickly. I wanted to lay in my bed and replay in my mind that magical walk with Yaxche`, but I got up and got ready to go. There was pottery to load and a good ride to the town of Merida before I could even think about anything else. Brother Ignacio’s paper was still in my pocket. I pulled it out and read: Find Gustavo at the Zocalo. He always carries a large book. He will point you to your goal.

Several minutes later, I reached the pottery factory. Three men were already loading the large stake-bodied flatbed truck. A thick layer of straw had been placed on the floor to help cushion the pottery from the bumps we would encounter. The pottery was carefully stacked. I followed what the men were doing, and in an hour we had a very full load. There was a small space on one side, left for a couple of us to be able to ride along. “Vamanos, Muchachos!’ rang out in the early morning stillness. 

I had started to climb up the back end of that truck when I heard a familiar voice behind me: “I hope there’s room for one more.” Yaxche`! I turned and hugged her.

The driver, Pacal, an amiable type, sat watching us in his side mirror and blew the horn impatiently. “Let’s go before you two get stuck that way.” Laughter erupted from the cab of the truck. Red-faced, we both climbed in and found space to sit, our backs against the rails of the side of the bed.

It was a wonderful ride to Merida. Yaxche` sat close to me. I  was thrilled to see her, to lean into her, to smell her hair. We could have been anywhere; it didn’t matter. We were together. Can anything be better? It was there, with the wind blowing briskly as the truck sailed along that roadway, that she said, “I love you, Luca.”

And I, without hesitation, replied, “Yes, and I love you, too.”

Too soon, we arrived in Merida . After navigating a couple of turns we pulled up alongside an old warehouse. A man came out and told the driver where to back up. Then the work began. We formed a chain of handlers. The first picked up a piece and handed it to the second, who handed it to the third and so on, We got into a rhythm of motion. No one spoke. It was warm, and my hands became moist with sweat, but I took special care to not lose my grip on the fragile pieces. Soon we had a large pile of pottery on the ground.

“We didn’t even break one pot. I can’t believe it !” Pacal exclaimed. “Good job, Luca and Yaxche`. I have other business that will take us until mid-afternoon to complete,” Pacal announced. And to explain, he added, “Men get thirsty, and the mezcal calls us. My cousin works in a cantina on Calle 52 called Hernande’s.  That’s where we’ll be. So you two can walk around town for a while. Be careful not to get lost. Here is some lunch money. Be back here by 2:30, or you will be stuck in Merida!”

With a few hours before us, we walked out into the daily bustle of that old city. “Are you hungry, Yaxche`?” I asked.

“Yes, Luca. Let’s find a really good place,” she said. Following the flow of traffic took us right to the zocalo. We walked around the Plaza Grande, lingering in front of the shops and looking for the perfect place for lunch.

On the far side of the square, I caught a glimpse of a young man who approached every passer-by. I couldn’t hear his words, but I could tell he was trying to sell something. As we got closer it became clear that he was a tour guide. I made out  words like “Chichen-Itza” and “Best for the money” wafting on a gentle breeze. As we got even closer, I could see his handsome face, his ringlets of curly dark brown hair, and his ready smile. There was something pleasing about him; his manner gracious even when he could not make a sale. There, in his left hand, he held a large book.

“I’m looking for someone named Gustavo. Brother Ignacio sent me,” I said.

“I am Gustavo, son of Felipe Garcia, from Michoacan!”  I noticed the cunning eyes and I held out my hand. Gustavo looked me over and said, “Welcome to Merida. Any friend of Ignacio’s is very welcome here.” He squeezed my hand, too hard, as a demonstration of his machismo. And looking boldly at Yaxche`, he said, “And Merida gets prettier every day! Would you like to take a tour to las ruinas?”

She smiled politely and shot a quick glance in my direction before saying, “And, apparently, flattery is in no short supply here.”

Gustavo Garcia was indeed a flatterer. He seemed to know each person who passed his way. This was his town, and he enjoyed showing his knowledge.

“Gustavo, we are hungry and want to find a good restaurant. Any suggestions?” I asked.

“Oh, si, plenty of good places here. Follow me, best price in town.” Yaxche` and I rolled our eyes at each other. “Follow me!”

We followed our guide into the busy streets. He never stopped talking. “And here is where my friend works,” and “Watch out in there so you won’t be short-changed,” and  “A lovely family owns this shop,” etc. Soon we came upon a plain-fronted building, and Gustavo announced, “Now we will get some real Merida food and hospitality!”

We entered and were greeted by wonderfully complex smells of grilling food. An older man with a crisp white apron tied around his middle greeted us. “A table in the back, por favor,” Gustavo asked. “We have business.” As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I felt a bit apprehensive. After all, what did we really know of this character? “Please, senor, we would like to have three dinners especiales. Gracias, gracias,” Gustavo ordered for us. “You’re going to love this,” he promised. “Best in town.”

I excused myself and made my way to the bathroom. Gustavo wasted no time. “So, Yaxche`, why don’t you stay here in Merida with me?” He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. “It could be so good with you and me. Think about it.”

She ignored his advances. Instead, she said, “Gustavo, tell me about this book you carry.”

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