Bubba And The Mayans
Gods and Monsters

Gods and Monsters

None of us slept well with the exception of Dingo. He had the benefit of the after effect of the drugged darts in his system. We awoke not long after the sun began to rise. We were brought a simple breakfast and then taken before the chief of the tribe.

We had dug through our belongings and scrounged up a couple of gifts to give to the chief and the medicine man, if one should appear. Mikimo had a delicately made Chirillion necklace with a small amulet she had noticed Tekzerat. She said it had little value to her. We wrapped the amulet with one of the patches full of microbes. They were designed to dissolve if someone who touched them did not already have the microbes in their system. We could handle them freely, but they would dissolve on contact with the skin of the chief.

Dingo happened to have an unopened bottle of Osned’s own special brew that contained just a hint of poison and snake blood.

I took half a step forward and offered the necklace to the chief. The amulet had a translucent stone in the center of it. In certain light it looked like waves moving across the ocean.

As we had hoped, the chief looked at it momentarily, running his fingers along the amulet. He motioned to a woman who stepped forward and he laid it in her hands. She too rubbed the amulet as several women crowded around her to look at it. It was passed around several times.

Bubba stepped up beside me and offered the bottle of liquor. The chief looked at it for several moments but did not reach for it.

“What is this?” He asked looking towards me. I searched my mind for a Spanish word that might translate into something he would understand.

“Chicha del veneno gigante bar.” I said after a few moments, stumbling over the words hesitantly.

“Veneno!” a shorter man yelled as he pulled the bottle from Bubba.

“You try to give us poison?” the chief asked.

“No,” I answered shaking my head. “Chicha.” I lifted my hand in a drinking motion.

“Let the god drink the poison,” the chief said as he pointed towards Bubba.

Bubba pulled the cork from the bottle and gave it a fair swig. He recorked it and handed it to me.

“You drink too,” the smaller man said as he pointed at me.

I usually did not start the morning with alcohol, but I did not seem to have much of a choice. I too took a drink and then offered it to the chief.

He handed it to the smaller man, who sniffed it suspiciously, then took a small drink. After the alcohol filtered its way across his tongue and down his throat, he gave a slight smile. He stuck the cork back in the bottle and handed it off to someone. We had covered the bottle with several microbe patches too.

“Why do you offer gifts?” the chief asked.

I had been counting off seconds in my head while the gifts were perused and thought the microbes in the chief might have begun to work. At least I hoped so as I began speaking in English.

“What kind of god would not bring at least a small token to his people? We wanted to thank you for bringing us safely through the jungle to your home. You have fed us and given us a place to rest.

The shock on the chief’s face was all the evidence I needed that the microbes were working.

“You said you did not speak our language.”

“I still do not.” I answered humbly. “The god has given some of you the ability to understand mine.”

“You’re going to get us all killed.” I heard Arlo whisper from just behind my left shoulder.

“I’ve never gotten us killed before.” I said quietly in return.

“First time for everything,” Dingo editorialized.

“Does anyone else understand this man?” The chief asked as he looked around. Several people nodded affirmatively.

“Why did you not do this last night?” He asked directly of Bubba.

“Some magic takes time, even for a God.” I answered.

“Why does he not answer?” The small man asked, challenging Bubba.

“Do you expect a god to answer the questions of a mere man?” I returned quickly. Bubba was not quick with his wit, or most of his thoughts. The less he said the better off we all were. This was part of the plan we had worked out.

If they wanted to think Bubba was a god, we were going to do everything we could to convince them they were right.

“He has not proved he is a god,” the small man stated, although not boldly.

I smiled for a moment and waited. Several people were whispering about what they had just seen. Some were already convinced that Bubba was the god of their prophecy.

“Who is this man,” I asked as I pointed towards the smaller man, while meeting the chief’s eyes “does he speak for your tribe?”

“He is our Holy man. He interprets the signs from the gods. His name is Waziki. He will administer the test.”

“I am called Jack. My associates are Arlo and Dingo.” I indicated each of them. “Mikimo belongs to the god, Bubba.”

I could tell Mikimo was about to protest she belonged to anyone. She was very strong willed and an independent thinker. Her eyes met mine before she opened her mouth and after a second, she nodded slowly.

I could understand her anger. She had abandoned her father’s house because she did not want to be owned by anyone or forced into a marriage of convenience for the throne. I had just made her the concubine of a god.

“I’m sorry,” I mouthed silently in her direction.

“Did you say the god’s name is Bubba?” The chief asked incredulously. “That is no name for a god.”

“Well, he looks very different from your people too.” I pointed out. “A thousand years of intermingling Mayan blood with European, I guess. I do not think his parents knew he was supposed to fulfill a prophecy. His birth name is Bocephus.”

“Bocephus,” the chief rolled the name around a few times. He nodded to himself before looking around at his people. “We shall call him Bocephus until the ritual is completed. I am Chief Rugaru.”

“Very well chief,” I answered. “Bocephus,” I said, turning towards Bubba, “show them the sign.”

We had practiced this part. Bubba slowly unbuttoned his shirt and removed it. He turned away from the chief so the serpent tattoo covering his back could be observed by all.

“That means nothing.” Waziki said as he pointed to several men in the tribe. They all stepped forward and displayed a variety of snake tattoos.

“What kind of markings are you looking for then?” I wondered.

“The god must remove all of his clothes.”

Bubba looked at me nervously. He was a bit shy about being seen in anything less than jorts and a wife beater. He was wearing neither now.

All of us were decked out in khaki pants and tropical print shirts, with hiking boots and thick socks. Somehow, no one on the planets we had visited had produced self-cleaning clothes yet. Several species used disposable clothing. Others wore nothing at all.

Bubba was not a fan of those who wore nothing most of the time. He was particularly undisposed to do the same.

“If you will tell us what sign you are looking for, perhaps Bocephus, or Mikimo, could point us in the right direction. I think they might have the most intimate awareness.”

“We look for a group of marks that match the pattern of the stars of the great snake in the sky.” Waziki answered reluctantly.

“Ophiuchus?” Arlo asked him.

“I do not know this name.” Waziki replied.

“Ophiuchus is the Greek name for the serpent constellation. It was catalogued in the second century after Christ and looks like a man holding a snake. It also looks kind of like a letter “s,”” Arlo explained.

“Why in the world would you know that?” Dingo asked.

“I used to dream about going into space one day.” Arlo replied wistfully.

“Before you knew what it was like out there.” Dingo grumbled.

I had noticed the intense and inquisitive stares the last couple of comments had drawn from our audience. “Let’s discuss this some other time guys,” I said quietly. “Mikimo, do you know of anything like that?”

“On the outside of his left thigh he has freckles and marks that look like an “s.””

“Okay Bocephus,” I said meeting Bubba’s eyes. “It is time to drop the trousers. You are wearing underwear, aren’t you?”

He nodded. With resentment and quiet resolve, he undid his belt and unbuttoned his pants. After a hesitant second, he let them drop down to his ankles.

He was wearing red silk boxers with large yellow polka dots on them. The polka dots had smiley faces on them. I was a bit surprised by this. A few of the folks in the tribe were too. I heard a few gasps along with some “oohs” and “aahs.”

I shot a sharp look at Dingo. He had not figured out what to say yet, but I knew he was working on it. I made a cutting motion with my hand to stop him. Now was not the time for derisive comments. If we wanted these people to think Bubba was a god, we were going to have to give him a little respect.

Waziki bent down in front of Bubba and began to search his skin for the marks visually. He turned to a young boy in the crowd. “Go get the scroll,” he commanded. The boy scurried off.

He returned in a few minutes with an ancient looking rolled animal skin. He unrolled it and held it in his hands while Waziki studied it and the marks on Bubba’s thigh intensely.

He was reaching forward to touch Bubba’s leg. “I’m not sure you want to do that,” I warned while his fingers were mere inches away.

Waziki gave me a dirty look before pulling his hand back. After a second, he nodded thoughtfully. He turned to the scroll again, tracing the lines with his fingers and then turned back towards Bubba.

From where I stood, I could see they were not a perfect match, but they were pretty close. There were only three freckles, but there were scars from where he had caught some shrapnel at some point.

All of us were covered with enough small scars to make up just about any constellation you wanted to imagine.

Pareidolia is a brain trick that lets us humans see common patterns in random stuff. It is what your brain does when you see objects in the clouds like elephants or horses. The weird thing is though; once you see it you cannot unsee it. You cannot convince yourself it is not there.

Waziki did not want Bubba to have the marks. I knew that much just from watching him. The problem was that there was enough there to make him wonder.

Everyone waited for his judgement in silence.

After almost three minutes, which seemed like thirty Mikimo broke the silence.

“The similarity is obvious,” she said in exasperation.

“Yes, yes,” Waziki said in frustration. “These other marks are not natural though,” he said as he waived his hand around in the space between the scroll and Bubba’s leg. “And it is hard to see through the hair.”

Bubba’s legs were covered in a dark coarse hair that would need a weed wacker to trim it. I could understand a little bit of his frustration.

“If, and I emphasize if,” Arlo said calmly, “Bubba.”

The native’s eyes could have cut daggers through him when he spoke the common name. He felt it.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “What if Bocephus is not the one? Maybe he is close. What happens if the marks do not match up?”

“What do you mean?” Waziki asked bitterly. He stood to face Arlo. He was a good foot and a half shorter.

“If Bocephus is not the god reincarnate he could just be a sign. He could be the voice crying in the wilderness.”

“In the jungle,” Dingo remarked.

“What if he isn’t the one, but his presence means the time is close for the god to reappear?” Arlo asked.

Some gear clicked in Waziki’s head. I could see it in his eyes as they squinted for a moment. He smiled. “He has the marks!” Waziki called out loudly.

“I do?” Bubba asked with surprise.

I did not know what game Waziki was playing, but I suddenly realized that Bubba passing this first test might not have been the best thing.

“He has the mark of the great snake!” Waziki spoke again. “He has given us the gift of understanding his language.”

He looked around at the people as they nodded their agreement. “We have been blessed to replace this candidate to test as the reincarnation of Waxaklahun Ubah Kan!”

There were some grunts of approval.

“And tomorrow,” he paused to look over his shoulder at me for just a moment, “tomorrow he can prove that he is a god!”

Everyone began to cheer, yell, scream, and holler. Bubba pulled his pants up during all the commotion. He did not seem at all pleased with this turn of events. I was thinking something along the same lines.

The chief pulled out a phone and began making a call. I looked at him in amazement for a moment.

“You have cell phones?” I asked with surprise.

“We aren’t savages,” he answered dismissively. “This is a satellite phone. Cell phone coverage has not reached our part of the jungle yet.”

We were given the rest of the day to ourselves so Bubba could prepare himself for the test. Of course, they would not tell us what it was. Runners were sent to other local villages that did not have phones to inform their leaders that Bubba had the marks of the great snake. They would all be present for the test the next day.

I was tempted to have Danny boy drop a package with a couple thousand more microbe patches into the village, but I figured it would only make matters worse if something like that suddenly appeared.

After discussing it with Arlo we decided to do it in the midst of the predawn. The cloaking device on the shuttle would hide it from sight. I told Danny Boy to be especially vigilant about alarms as Osned had warned. We hoped the package could be transported into the hut we were in, although it might put a hole in the roof. We had never tried transporting anything inside a building before. It was all lines of sight for the most part.

As we were discussing this quietly, we heard a knock at the door. It seemed a bit odd, considering there were gaps all through the structure we were in.

Arlo opened the door and a young warrior walked in and came to stand before me. He looked nervous. He glanced at Bubba several times. Bubba and Mikimo were sitting quietly together against one wall talking about her sister and father.

“What can I do for you?” I asked.

He answered so softly that I could not hear him.

“I’m sorry, a little louder please,” I demanded lightly.

“We need to know how many virgins the god will require.”

“What would he need virgins for?” Arlo inquired.

The young man glanced quickly towards Bubba and Mikimo again.

“If he passes the test,” he said tentatively. “I mean when he passes,” he corrected quickly. “How many virgins does he want to be sacrificed?”

Bubba looked up at me aghast.

“We won’t be sacrificing any virgins.” I told him.

“But, if the gods have returned,” he said without finishing his thought.

“Then the god shall set the rules. Besides, it is not gods that have returned. It is only Bocephus. Or are there others?”

“Some say,” he started, but stopped abruptly, eyes downcast.

“Some say what?” Dingo prompted. Everyone’s attention had turned to his words.

“Some say the gods did not abandon us. They still sleep in the hidden places in the mountains and in caves far below the great cities.”

“Are these stories part of your legends? Are they a part of your history?” I wondered.

“Many have been passed down through time to us.”

“Are there any written records?” Arlo asked, intrigued.

“No,” he answered. “These are not stories to share with outsiders.”

“After Bocephus passes the test, then will you tell us?” I asked.

He nodded slowly, unsure of what to say or do.

I watched him for a moment. “Tell Chief Rugaru there should be a great feast, but the god does not require virgins to be sacrificed. That is an ancient custom from a time long past.”

I turned to look at Bubba. He nodded his head and waived a hand dismissively to tell me he was okay with that answer.

The young warrior took at as a sign he was to leave, which he did promptly.

“You know, this could all go south awfully quick,” Arlo warned quietly from his spot on the floor.

I nodded. “I’ve got a plan,” I answered as I made my way over to the group.

“Oh crap!” Dingo announced.

I looked around for some minor catastrophe but saw no pending disaster.

“What’s wrong?” I directed towards Dingo.

“Nothing,” He answered. “I just know what happens with some of your plans.”