The Girl from Chimel Read online

  All this happened when I was a little girl in Chimel…

  My family cultivated honey. We had six or eight huge honeycombs in the trees, which produced lots and lots of honey. For Holy Week, we would fill up a number of little jars and walk through Chimel giving them away. We’d knock on the doors and say, “Ma’am, we’re bringing you a jar of honey.”

  Our neighbors were very happy, because giving honey away is like giving a bouquet of flowers. It’s also like saying something nice or paying someone a compliment or doing a favor. It makes people sweet… It’s like giving someone a warm hug.

  People want honey. We all want honey.

  This happened when I was a little girl in Chimel…

  During the rainy season, we would go into the woods to look for mushrooms. Afterward, Mamá would fry them up with garlic, achiote, apazote or parsley. They were so good you couldn’t stop eating them. The only drawback was that picking mushrooms was hard work.

  We’d go barefoot with our hair in long braids, like all Maya girls. Since the ground was wet, and there were lots of thorns in the dense mountain forests, any cut on our feet would get infected. As my mother knew herbal secrets, she would wrap our feet in certain leaves so that they’d heal. We’d have to wait for the sun to come out and dry the ground and dry our feet. That’s why the other kids would laugh at us and shout, “Splintered feet, splintered feet, splintered feet!” They would also get “splintered feet” since they too walked about barefoot.

  The reward for all this sacrifice was eating those delicious mushrooms. The little mushroom umbrellas would open in the brush, under the trees, damp from so much rain. Some mushrooms were poisonous, while others were sacred. We knew which were sacred, and we wouldn’t even touch them. On the other hand, we would pick those that looked like little men walking around with open umbrellas, and eat them with hot tortillas cooked on the griddle above the open fire.

  When I was a little girl in Chimel…

  Grandfather told us old stories. Mamá would cure our wounds. We’d eat blackberries with brown sugar and give away small jars of honey. Rivers would reflect the sky like a glass snake. The plants were green and abundant and honeycombs were full of bees. The rivers, the swamps, the fields, all of them were full of frogs, toads, crabs and snakes — when I was a little girl in Chimel.

  The Curse of the Bees

  My family cultivated honey. Honeycombs, brimming with bees, hung from the trees outside, and from them we would get the honey.

  At first we had a big tree trunk full of honey. A queen bee in charge of the other bees was in this trunk. When there were too many bees or when there were two queen bees, we would split the swarm and place one of the queen bees and her workers in another honeycomb and hang it from a tree.

  Once a queen bee escaped from the honeycomb and got inside our house. We shooed her out and tried to get her to go back to her honeycomb and her hive. But she didn’t want to go, and she flew up into the trees. The other bees followed her like a flying black stain, ripping off the leaves with the buzzing of wings.

  The next day, the bees from another honeycomb flew off. And then another one. And another one. All the bees were flying off as if they were a squadron of tiny planes. We tried to stop them by making lots of noise with our pickaxes, machetes, kitchen pots and shovels — anything that could make a racket. That’s all we could do to keep them from flying off.

  But they paid us no mind. Off they went, drawing an irregular pattern in the sky. Mamá then burned a substance we call pom, which we use to ward off evil spirits. Since bees are sacred, their escape could lead to an evil curse. And that’s just what happened. But I’m not going to talk about that now. Maybe later.

  The Story of the River That Changed Its Course

  When I was a little girl, a river flowed through Chimel. It wasn’t very big, but you could bathe in it, and the women would wash clothes on its large smooth rocks, which resembled giant turtle shells. The women would wash, laugh and talk.

  To reach the river, you had to cross a coffee field by going down a narrow little path just wide enough for one person. The coffee field was quite dark because tall trees cast their shadows over it. It was a green darkness full of smells. Sometimes we’d eat the red coffee berries, which had a deliciously sweet taste. Then we’d go down a slope, and the river would appear before our eyes.

  The river was crystal clear, like a sheet of cellophane, with the soft gurgle of water. My favorite thing was to jump from stone to stone. The river was miraculous — so much water flowing on and on! It was a gift of nature.

  It had lots of little fish, minnows, really. The big fish stayed in deeper water. The river came down from the high mountains, always surrounded by clouds. It ran through the village and continued till it flowed into the ocean. We never saw the ocean. Papá said that it was huge, as huge as the sky. But I couldn’t imagine it.

  The little stones in the river were of many colors — orange, green, jet-black, white, amber and yellow. I loved watching them through the lens of the water. I’d put my hand into the water and it would look very big. I would pick up a stone and realize it was tiny. My brothers and I would splash one another until we were completed soaked. Then we’d bathe.

  Grandma would say, “You can play in the water as long as you like. But at noon, don’t look into the water, especially to the bottom. Your reflection will turn into the shadow of a rooster’s face with a greenish blue serpent’s tail. And don’t stay alone on the river bank because Ajaw, our Maker and Creator, drinks and bathes in the waters of the river.”

  We learned to swim in the river’s coves. Sometimes the current would stop, as if it had gone off on a stroll and was resting near the shore. We would dive off the stones and swim to the river’s edge. I remember that we were very happy back then.

  The river ran through the village. But when hard times came, when the war began and the villagers had to hide out in the mountains, something magical and unbelievable happened. The river disappeared. It had been so scared by what it had seen in the village during the bad times that it went below the mountain and came out on the other side. And now the river doesn’t flow through Chimel.

  Together with the villagers, it hid on the other side of the mountain. I would like it to come back. But since a great act of wickedness made it escape, only a great act of kindness can make it come back. Very often I ask myself, what act of kindness could do that? And who would do it?

  The Sacred Mountain

  Chimel is at the foot of a mountain. The village rests against the mountain as if it were a pillow. Whenever I looked up at it, I felt safe. My parents and grandparents told me that it had a soul — a mountain spirit. Since we often climbed it, we’d talk to the spirit before heading out. Nature nourishes us, and for this reason we must respect it.

  I loved going up the mountain path, covered with damp leaves. Bit by bit we were in a forest full of very dark green trees and lots of plants and flowers. Fir trees with green needles like Christmas bangles abounded. There were also blackberries, strawberries and raspberries. We’d eat as many as we could and throw the rest into a basket.

  I remember all the plum trees. They were very tall. The plum is a delicious oval fruit with a large seed. What most people don’t know is that you can eat the leaves of the plum tree. They’re not as sweet, but they’re very tasty and can make your mouth water.

  The birds sang from the trees’ tallest branches. The tukur or k’urpup, the owl, slept up there. It resembled a wise man — the grandfather of all birds. Sparrows flickered like fleas from branch to branch. Every once in a while a nightingale sang. The swallows would come and go, depending on the season. But there’s one bird you saw everywhere — the sanate, which imitates the songs of other birds. It’s not an evil bird, though it eats the newly planted corn kernels. We consider it a friend, because it’s everywhere. Bird song was the music of my childhood.
/>   When we reached the top of the mountain, we’d take out a jug of fresh water and eat tortillas with black beans, guacamole or green peppers. The altitude and fresh air made us very hungry. If there was no fog at the very top, you could see all the valleys and rivers. The plains resembled a yellow, green or red-colored cloth, depending on what had been planted. And off in the distance, like ships sailing between the clouds, you could see the huge Sierra Madre mountain range, with the tips of its volcanoes pointing up to the sky.

  When I Was a Girl

  That’s what my life was like when I was a girl in Chimel. I remember it was a life of peace and harmony. We lived in tune with nature. The river bathed and entertained us. The birds filled our mornings with song. The animals fed us and gave us company. The mountains protected us, and the sacred earth gave us the fruits of its womb.

  We lived in peace with our village neighbors. The church was full of worshipers. The women would cover their heads, and the men would take off their hats. When we had no priest, my father and other parishioners would read the word of God.

  Our grandparents taught us that the faith and religion bequeathed to us by our ancestors are not in conflict with any other faith or religion in the world. Whenever we enter any temple, we need to respect it with the deepest reverence, because it is a house of prayer.

  Our Maya spiritual guides, the Chuch qajaw, conducted our services with pom and ancient village prayers. The men helped with the chores in the fields. The women gave food and advice to one another. An elder caressing a head was like a cup of honey in the heart.

  Our parents and grandparents showered us with love. This was the most important thing. The love of our relatives and neighbors was given to us and we would return this love. When there were fights, all the villagers participated in determining who was right and who was wrong. And peace was re-established in the village.

  My name is Li Mi’n, and I am like a clear and peaceful day — a Sunday — with my heart full of sunlight, happiness in my smile and hope in my head. I long for the days of my childhood — to have a mountain to protect me, a river to refresh me, birds to sing to me.

  But I would like everyone, not just me, to have these things. I want the world to be as I remember Chimel.

  When I was a girl in Chimel.

  GLOSSARY

  achiote: red paste derived from the seed of the bija tree

  Ajaw: Maya god

  altenxa: herb that cures stomachache

  apazote: tropical herb with a strong scent

  chilacayote: vegetable that grows on a climbing vine; its leaves may be used for healing purposes

  chipilín: herb used as a medicine or in cooking

  chiquimula: goldfinch

  Chuch qajaw: spiritual leaders or priests

  domingo: Sunday

  duende: goblin, elf or imp

  huipil: woven blouse

  k’a q’eyes: cure for viruses such as the common cold or the flu

  K’iche’: language spoken by the K’iche’ branch of the Maya in Guatemala

  k’urpup: owl

  Mi’n: Sunday

  nahual: animal spirit, companion

  ocote: pitchy wood from the pine tree

  panela: pure crystallized sugar from sugar cane

  pom: incense

  Popul Vuh: sacred book of the Maya, one of the oldest books in the Americas

  sanate: mockingbird

  saq ixog: cure for a range of stomach ailments

  sik’aj: cure for stomach worms

  Toj: day when debts are paid in the Maya calendar

  tukur: owl

  xew xew: cure for headaches and eye strain

  Xib’ab’a: the Maya underworld

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