When the day came, they left the village very early, before dawn, Jose Chuc was already at the door with mule loaded down.

Jacinto could hardly eat, he felt his heart beating hard in his chest. The night had seemed endless, he hardly had slept at all thinking about the trip

and the place he would see many times, he had heard the adults talking about the big lagoor of Bak´halal, with many colors of water and of how clean and clear it was. He had heard how the grandfathers of his parents had fought in the Great War against the tsuuloob, of the fort that was nearly destroyed and how it took the white people a long time to recover it. That and many tales of the old ones were passing through his imagination.

He picked up his pack, his bag and his "chuuj" and his newly sharpened machete and put them on the mule as his father had told him to.

The morning was partly cloudy the sun hadn’t clearly visible in first light of dawn until they were half a leagues from Tok´tuunich. The dew on the leaves dampened their pants and shirts from time to time.

The whole forest was music to his ears the "chichimbakal " the "x-kook" the "tsuulsay" the " chakts´fits´ib" let their gay and varied chirps be heard. Gradually the jungle was full of them; the "chachalacas" started their noisy chatter. Their gabbing sometimes surprised from a few meters away.

When the first rays of the sun began to filter through the branches of the trees, the path was becoming less clean, often they had to jump over a small trunk or cut some branches with their machetes: it had been a while now since they left behind the path or cut-offs that led to the milpas of the town. The quick and firm pace took them through the jungle, the tree were thick, Ramon trees " pukthes" " ja´abino´ob", "chacche", "zapotes", "moras" "rowood","granadillos". palms inter mixed with some dominating the others. The mosquitoes didn’t bother them much although they didn’t leave the mules in peace. Jacinto didn’t feel tired. his body was as light as a feather in the wind. The cool morning air caressed his face and arms and only after chopping away some branches with his machete did he begin to feel a little hot and sweaty.

His feet automatically adjusted to the irregularities of the rocky terrain, Jose Chuc went ahead of the mule and behind her, Jacinto brought up the rear. The only baggage that each one carried was a small "sabucan" hanging from his shoulder. In his right hand, Jose carried his shut gun, although he frequently changed it to his left hand and rested it on his shoulder. When the sun had gone a third of its course they had covered almost three leagues.

José Chuc was alert in his path and watched the trees. He was almost five "mecates" ahead and told Jacinto to catch up. The first "K’aambul" o "Tu ul", that appeared would be their lunch, soon, a shot; Jacinto hurried to catch up and caught sight of his godfather disappear into the long grass, in a moment he came out with a "K’aambul" and put it "jiich" over the mule and said:

-Jacinto, I know you’re tired, but we have to go as far as possible before the sun gets hot, then we will rest, we’ll clean the "Kaambul" and we’ll make it in "piib", it will be our meal for today.

Godfather – answered Jacinto – I’m not tired, if you want we can go on.

Well- replied José – we’ll rest further on ahead, if I’m not wrong we are near a cenote, there we’ll cool off, drink water and eat, and in the afternoon we can have a bath. We have to rest to be ready because the days travel is long. It is almost 40 leagues to Rio Hondo and it will take us counting the layover in the villages that we pass along the way.

Jacinto-asked-how many times have you gone to Belize? Is the lagoon of Bak’halal pretty? Is it true that in Belize there are people black as night and some of them are giants?

José was pushing 50, but not a gray hair or a wrinkled gave away his age, he was short like his blood brothers and had the strength of a young man. This was his fifth trip to the South. His first has been when he was just twelve along with his parents and his brothers.

Afterward, his father, worn out by so many struggles with the white men had decided to abandon the land of his ancestors and migrate beyond the Great River to where the tsulo’ob wouldn’t attack them.

Many of his companions had done it and some had come back to tell them about the security and peace to work and live in. His brothers had fallen one by one the terrible encounters of the "caste war". José Cruz’s father only wanted peace and quiet and bread for his children. The previous trip had let him learn the paths of the jungle and avoid contact with the white me who exploited the lumber and chicle. Only diseases, mainly the ke’el had slowed them down . His blood brothers, those who had accepted the dealings with the "white men" and had intermixed with them paid a high toll to the gonorrhea, not a few of them had the permanent scar of the "chicle-tree fly". The money they received at the end of the season was spent in getting drunk and smoking marijuana at Payo Obispo. Jose knew about it and he feared and hated it and avoided them. Jose was thinking about this and many other things as he tied the kambul to his mule. He could guess the emotions and feelings of his godson, he reminded him of this first trip with his father and mother and sister and brothers, he, Jose Cruz, might be visiting them for the last time.

-Your questions are many and the trip is long- answered Jose, and started off his march, followed by his mule and godson. Jose felt his legs slightly tired when the irregularities of the path or a fallen tree made him jump over. His firm and rhythmic pace showed that he was used to long hikes. He walked to and from the milpa everyday. Jacinto felt tired from the hike too and although he was strong and long walks were also a routine, his resistance was not as that of his godfather’s. However his desire to advance more and more didn’t let him ask for rest. They had walked more than a league from the place they had killed the pheasant. Many animals had been in their line of fire: the t’ul, the t’suuk, the tzo, the chachalacas, the tsuutsuyo’ob, the sakpakalo’ob and even a yu’uk that ran like a lightning after its surprise.

Jose hadn’t shot them because he only killed for food. The shouts of the sarahuatos and the chirps of the K’oocha’ob and the k’ili’ob, the strident noises of the baach that sounded the alarm for the rest of the jungle dwellers. Everything was like music for Jacinto.

Jose stopped for an instant at the foot of a tree, a "pi’ich", so broad that its branches covered more than a mecate. He recognized it by the mark in its trunk. He drew his machete, and going into the vegetation, chopping the branches, he said to Jacinto.Two mecates to the North, we will find the cenote, hang on tight to the mule, so that it doesn't get her rope twisted up in the bushes.

As they got closer the smell of fresh grass and the humidity stimulated their desire to drink water, they descended until they were in sight of a cenote that had traces of a centuries old cut stone stairway. One part still had its dome and ancient stalagmites pending from it. The Big ceiba tree around the cenote giving shade where their ancestor had quenched their thirst, it was there that Jacinto and Jose drank.

Is this the only cenote ? –asked Jacinto-

No to the east going toward the sea there are three more, towards the South we will not find anymore cenotes like this we will find the great lagoon of Bak’halal, but we won’t be without water because the land is rich in lagoons and water holes. The stone were cut by the old ones and not far from these waters there are "kuuyo’ob" and big stone buildings that they had abandoned before the tsu’uloob came, but these places are sacred and the spirits that inhabit them, the "aluxo’ob" live in them.

Jacinto listened to his godfather’s words with great respect. Something that he couldn’t understand makes him afraid, as if the inheritance of his blood, remembered the splendor of his ancestors.

José Chuc’s words took him out of his deep thoughts –gather woods to make a fire, while I unload the mule–

When Jacinto returned, the mules had been unloaded, and the feathers of the pheasant were scattered around; carefully he put the dry wood between three rocks, his godfather gave him a "jirich-hoop" his grandfather was skillful to light a fire with a flint- stone. Soon the dry leaves were burning, and with the vigor blowing of Jacinto the wood caught fire. José cut sticks, assembled quickly a tripod and a grill. In a few more minutes, patiently both of them turned the different parts of the pheasant over and heated their tortillas. It was a tasty meal, spiced with salt and chile.

Livening the bonfire with a lot of wood, they made their "beds" a few feet away.

Not only would the fire take away the cold of the night, but also it would keep the animals away.

-I was your age- José started to talk – when I traveled these roads; - then I was more or less as old as you are now. My grandfather was killed in X-hotoosuuk, when the people from Zaci took and burned our village in revenge because they had been expelled so many times. My father, swore, as did the others, to avenge the death of his people and from then on there was no rest for us. I remember the long walks and the long months when only the old people and the handicapped, women and children worked in the milpa. My father was almost always with us to cut down the milpa. Twice he was wounded by bullets, and only God knows why he didn't die; only his faiths and the herbs of the "J’men" sustained him. There were many years of struggle, there were few families that hadn’t lost all the men who could use a machete and a rifle. My father, as did many others, convinced them that the struggle was useless. Hungry and unarmed, were abandoning the town which they had won with their blood. We thought that on the other side of the Bak’halal lagoon, beyond the river, we could live and work in peace. They were many that traveled this road and many that never made it to their destination. My father made it, and since then he has lived there.He pointed his finger to the south. Jacinto was listening silently and respectfully; his lips didn’t open, not even once to interrupt the story of his godfather until he paused, José Chuc, asked Jacinto again,- Is it true that the land where we are going doesn’t belong to us and the tsu’uloob have blue eyes and hair like the sun?-Is it true?- insisted Jacinto- and that black people work for them?. . . and our people who live there. . . are they like us?.-

José thought about his answer, slowly he began his story again,

–You know that where we are going is called Belize, also British Honduras, but any name that they called it will not make us forget that it is the land of our ancestors, even beyond the three big rivers that go from west to east. To where we could never go – He pointed to the southwest horizon – the land belonged to the ancient Mayas and we are their descendants.

His eyes shined with pride. The men who enslaved us gave the land to the English to exploit precious woods, lumber and the resin from the trees and the "ink", but for us it is the same land that we live in.

After a brief pause, he continued- the English are taller than we are and their eyes are blue or green, mostly. They have all the important jobs and they are the owners of all the land and everything and they live off the work of the other people.

There are many blacks. They are called that because their skin is blacker than you can imagine, they are tall, much taller than we are, they have very strange customs and speak a language that we don’t understand. But they are like us because they have to work hard and they are very poor and don’t have anything, but we are free and they aren’t. When they don’t obey the white man’s law, they get put in jail and are hanged in a thing called the gallows. It is not the same with us, and although the English helped us by selling us weapons when the grandfathers rebelled, it is also true that they won because they took over those lands. Besides we have somewhere to go if we aren’t happy. But the blacks don’t. They said their country is very far, so far that we can’t measure it in leagues, and it is on the other side of the ocean, where the sun rises. They can’t go back to their home, and they have accepted it.

Jose stopped telling his story for a few moments.

Our grandfathers and our fathers fought for our freedom, and even though they almost wiped us out, we are free, we have our chiefs and our laws; our priests teach us the religion of our ancestors. Never forget our customs, Jacinto, they are the customs of our fathers and our ancestors.

The darkness was complete, only the light of the bonfire broke it. The "Kookayo’ob" chirped in the blackness of the bush, the buzzing of a bat passing near interrupted the noises of the jungle. The strident cries of the "sarahuatos" and the roar of the tiger were overcome by the sleepiness of Jacinto. Soon he was fast asleep.

He slept so soundly that he didn’t notice that his godfather had fed the fire and removed the rest of the pheasant from the fire so it wouldn’t burn, and had laid down on the palm branches, with his machete ready and his gun shot loaded at his side in case of any emergency. Soon they were both soundly asleep. At dawn, they would continue their march to the south toward Belize.

Jacinto and his godfather’s second day’s walk was six leagues. From dawn, with the sun to their left, until the evening, when it set, the two moved rapidly ahead over the old path.

They only stopped at midday while the sun passed over head, so not to feel its rigor as intensely. A herd of wild pigs made them stop, while it crossed the path a little while before the end of their day. With a sure shot, Jose bagged a beautiful specimen for that night’s meal, they prepared parts of the meat to roast and salt. So they would be sure to have meat for the whole journey.

On the third day, they crossed the road from Chan Santa Cruz to the Bay of Ascención, detouring slightly to the west to avoid the Savannah whose high grass and swamps would make the march difficult, they continued to the South.

On the fifth day of their journey, they arrived to the surroundings of the lagoon of Bak halal , There Jose would decide whether to continue on foot or by canoe along the east shore of the great lagoon, always toward the South, to Rio Hondo, it was a two day journey avoiding the chicle swamps.

The rainy season was over and the bright sun shone in its splendor. Jose decided to continue on foot after spending the night on the outskirts of a small ranch where a family gave them hospitality

Jacinto’s .amazement was limitless. The immense lagoon with its calm, multicolored water: blue, green and sometimes white, filled his senses. They refreshed their bodies near its shore. Jacinto ventured only about a mecate since he wasn’t an experienced swimmer. Jose Chuc watched calmly, looking at the horizon, letting his thoughts drift back to the first time his eyes had seen this beauty. He knew that his ancestors had lived next to these waters. A silent witnesses, many "Kuuyo’ob" were scattered along its shores especially near the fort of Bak halal. That was their day of rest. At noon they filled themselves with tortillas, beans, scrambled eggs, without missing the beaten red chile.

They rested all afternoon and at night, when the sun went down, they ate "pibinal", atole made with fresh corn and "is-waaj". The supplies were prepared to continue the trip in the morning. That night, when the moon came out, Jacinto stayed at the edge of the lagoon for a long time letting his imagination wander freely into the past and the future.

The sixteen leagues of the road along the lagoon form North to South were covered in two long days. Jacinto looked at the fort of Bak halal from the top of a ramon tree, in a small hill at the edge of the lake.

He knew the story of how his ancestors had fought in the stone fort, the same one he was looking at, as if the years had not touched it.

Jose didn’t want to go into the town of Bakhalal. So they went around it on the west side, going south one more day until they reached the Rio Hondo. Toward the East the Chac star guided them to a ranch near the lagoon of Waay-piix, Jose negotiated with the owner of a canoe, and he took them up river. On three occasions, they hid in the big three roots to let a small motor boat, that maintain the communication in the river, pass. Jacinto looked at them in amazement. The noise of their motor was a new sound to his ears. They overnight at the banks of the river during the day to rest and eat. At night, they would talk about the events of the journey, at the heat of the fire. Animals that Jacinto had never seen before received their names. What amazed him the most were the manatees. He was surprised by their size and their agility. More than once they discovered a tiger or a deer drinking at the water edge.

Flowers of shapes and sizes he had never seen delighted his senses, but what he admired the most was the majestic tranquility of the river, whose bottom was not visible. He was afraid to swim in it. Turtles and aquatic birds came out in each curve of the river. Jose didn’t have difficulties getting a deer, or pheasant, turkey or Jaleb, or pizote. Jacinto admired the abundance of animals. He had never imagined anything like this.
At dawn, they continued up river, toward the Southeast rowing vigorously.

It was past noon when they abandoned the canoe, hiding it among the tree roots, and tying it. They took the path that led to San Francisco.

A brief journey, Jose and Jacinto arrived at the village of San Francisco located a league South of Rio Hondo. When they arrived at the outskirts of the town, Jacinto tried to imagine that it would be different, however with the exception that the vegetation was a little higher, the jungle reminded him of his homelands.

On the paths near the town they found the first villagers returning from their work in the milpas.

His godfather exchange greetings with them asking them about his father. The first news was to his liking. Now he knew that his father was alive and in good health. Jacinto noticed his godfather’s happiness and rejoiced in it. It didn’t take them long to arrive at the threshold of the village and when he saw it, Jacinto understood that the inhabitants were his same people.

He observed the yard, the walls, the house of palm leaves, sticks and mud, and arriving at the center of the village, he was surprised to see the women talking around the well. They interrupted themselves briefly to answer the courteous greeting that Jose and Jacinto directed to them as they passed close to them.

With firm steps, both went toward one of the yards located on the west side of the square, surely, thought Jacinto, it would be Jose’s father’s house. The surprise caused by their arrival, was soon erased by the happy reception of the old man and his family. In the face of the old man whose eyes shone with tears of immense emotion was apparent, Jacinto was moved by this emotional escene and thought of his parents who were so far from there, at his home in Tok’tuunich. In a few minutes the women of the house entered in feverish activity. They prepared the meal, while one of he women milled the fresh nixtamal, with a hand mill stone.

In less than an hour, the visitors had been refreshed by a warm bath and were sitting around a small table in the kitchen accompanied by the old man. When the meal was served, they devoured it hungrily, the old man watched them calmly.

Don Felipe Chuc, over 80 years of age lived a quiet life in the town of San Francisco. The main trunk of the family had lived comfortably with one of his daughters, and his son-in-law and the young widow of one of his grandsons who he had put under his protection two years before because he was left alone with two small children. His many relatives, who at harvest time gave the old man corn, beans, and money to help him until next harvest, supported him. Don Felipe wasn’t completely inactive and in his yard he took good care of the animals, the fruit trees and his seedlings of tomatoes, chile and other crops. This didn’t just keep him busy, but it also helped him in the family income.

In his work mainly the young girl who had the bad luck to be widowed two years before helped him. A "four nostrils" snake had bitten her husband. Don Felipe was a member of the village council of San Francisco, he enjoyed the respect and affection of the others and his yard was a place of constant hospitality for travelers.

During dinner they talked about everything they had to talk about. Jacinto listened attentively, the only thing that distracted him was the young girl with her beauty, more than once their eyes met and she smiled sweetly and discreetly. He felt sympathy and pity for her when he know that he was a widow. After dinner they went to sit in the doorway of the house in front of the square sitting on chairs made of deer hide. A gentle breesze cooled the evening while the conversation continued without interruption between Don Felipe and Jacinto’s grandfather. Lola, the young ma’asewaal, served hot coffee in white jícaras. Jacinto felt a little tired, slumber was dominating him as the first star appeared in the sky. When he thought that he thought that he could not hold out any longer, his godfather got up to go in to sleep. He said good night to the old man and a few minutes later he was sleeping soundly in the back hut, which had been prepared for him. He slept as he hadn’t slept for a long time.