"Another case!" – Nancy Drew
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"Another case!" – Nancy Drew |
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The Mystery of the Mayan Monument A Theresa Tent Mystery Story by Barry Stratemeyer Alger Keene Dixon Appleton Schoenborn Theresa Trent woke and stretched in the bed. The three-syllable song of the Resplendent Quetzal filled her ears. She rose and looked out the window of the rustic house in Puerto Puerco. The sky was azure, a term she had encountered recently in her voluminous reading, with white clouds dotting it in the distance. The ocean was a darker blue, soon to be dotted with white sails from the boats in the marina. The sun of the República de Guatemala was bright and bold. She knew that today would be another fine early spring day in paradise. Theresa did her ablutions, a term she had also recently learned, and pulled on a native red skirt (a corte) held up by a woven belt (a faja) and a traditional square-cut blouse (a huipil)). And, thus arrayed, she descended the stairs to breakfast. “Good morning, Hanna.” “Good morning, Miss Theresa,” said Hannah Gruen, the housekeeper. “You’re looking fine.” “I feel wonderful, Hanna. I only wish my father were here.” “He’ll be here directly, as soon as he finishes up his casework in New York City. You know, he’s defending Vito Corleone, that poor Italian olive oil merchant. “Yes, dad has such a big heart. What’s for breakfast?” “The full desayuno: eggs, tortillas, cheese, beans, and plantains. We also have bananas, papaya, mangoes, and avocado.” Theresa sat down and ate heartily. She had a full day ahead of her, and reasoned that a seventeen-year-old girl needed a big, healthy breakfast. At its conclusion, she thanked Hanna for the wonderful meal and hurried off to the village. *** Theresa saw a small boy as she entered the plaza, and gave him a wave and a smile. “Hola, Pepe! How are you?” “Muy bien, Se ñorita Theresa.” “Is school okay?” “Si. Ever since you started helping there. You bring supplies and help us with English.” “I like to help. Now, let’s walk over to the vendedor de frutas . I’ll buy you a nice, sweet jocote.” “Are you going to see Itzamna?” “Yes. We’re going to the ruins today.” After Theresa bought Pepe a piece of fruit, they parted. She walked to Itzamna’s shop on the other side of the plaza. The sign above the shop’s door said “Mayan Souvenirs—R ecuerdos Mayas.” She went inside and, as usual, found the store filled with both authentic and created souvenirs. There was native basketry, cloth, and beadwork, but what usually attracted tourists was the vast inventory of statuettes of Mayan gods and temples. A young man, about twenty-two years old, sat behind the counter. He was cracking nuts with a stone. “Hi, Theresa. Want some macadamia nuts?” “Good morning Itzamna. No, I just had a big breakfast. “They’re really good. The trees came from the Valhalla Experimental Station. We may be a small country, but we’re #10 in the world in nut production.” “Jeepers, that’s a beautiful nutcracker!” “Yes, it’s Mayan whistle figure from the Copan area of Honduras. It’s a dwarf with hands held in his lap, wearing a fancy headdress and ear ornaments. It’s a copy, of course.” Itzamna continued cracking nuts, filling a small bag. He paused a moment and looked through the window at the harbor. “Oh, oh.” “What?” “Did you see the sloop in the harbor? “No.” She looked. “Oh, you mean the black sailing vessel?” “Si, that is la balandra Juan B, the vessel of Captain Knievel. That means we’ll soon have a visitor.” Itzamna wasn’t mistaken. In less the five minutes, a man entered the shop. He was portly, with a florid complexion, wearing a white suit and straw hat, which he did not remove. He smoked a big black cigar. “Well, little Itzamna. How do you do?” Itzamna winced. “Muy bien, gracias, Captain Knievel. How do you do?” “I am satisfactory. I am searching for artifacts.” “Yes, I would expect so, Captain. Please meet Theresa Trent, from the Estados Unidos, like you.” Knievel presented a business card. “I am Übel Knievel. I have a license to buy artifacts for the national museum. I pay many quetzals.” “I’m pleased to meet you, sir. I’m sorry my father is out of the country at the moment, but he should return soon.” “Who is your father?” “Oh, I doubt that you’ve heard of him. He’s Carson Trent, an attorney from River Heights, New York.” Theresa thought Knievel started a little, and perhaps his face went a shade paler. Even at her young age, she was skilled in observing people. “Er, yes. Can’t say I’ve heard of him. Well, it would be pleasant to meet him, although my visit to Puerto Puerco is rather brief. “Now tell me, Itzamna, are there any new finds from the jungle? No, Señor. I just take the turistas to Tikal. Very well. Just keep me informed. As you know, I pay many quetzals.” With that statement, he turned and left the shop. “Well, Theresa, what did you think of Captain Knievel?” “What an unpleasant man! He gives Norteaméricanos a bad name. But he does have a license to buy antiquities for the museum. “Theresa, mijita, most of what he collects never sees the national museum. “You shouldn’t call me ‘mijita.’ I’m almost as old as you are. Anyway, what do you mean?” “It has not been proved, but the suspicion is that most of our artifacts end up in the hands of wealthy private collectors.” “You mean, Captain Knievel is a…, is a…? “Thief. Yes, un ladrón. Now, let us leave for Tikal.” “I’m ready.” “Good. I think today we will find something new and exciting.” *** Theresa and Itzamna walked toward the road to the ruins. As they passed the police station, a handsome officer (or so Theresa thought) stepped through the door. He was a perhaps forty, tall and athletic, with gray at his temples, and his giant mustache was noteworthy. “Hola, Coronel Acedo. Good morning! “Good morning, young people. Are you going to the ruins?” “Certainly. They are always a thrill to visit. Are you going to the plaza?” “No, I drive el coche de la policía to Puerto Barrios. I go to meet your father, Theresa. I have a telegram from him.” “Jeepers! What ship is he taking?” “No ship. He come on aeroplane.” “An aeroplane?” “Si. The Pan American World Airways flying boat. Now, you go and I go. Adios.” *** As the pair neared the end of their walk, the towering buildings of Tikal loomed out of the jungle canopy. They saw Temple I, the North Acropolis, and the Central Acropolis. They entered the main temple grounds. “Oh, Itzamna, it’s so beautiful! Can you feel the… spirits?” “Very much so. I am part of this.” “Your civilization is very old.” “I feel that I, too, am very old. The temple is a monument to Itzamna, the founder of Mayan culture.” “But that’s your name!” “Yes. I treasure it. Now come with me. I have a puzzle that perhaps you can solve.” They walked behind Temple I, and then into the jungle, about forty feet from the cleared area. No one followed them, as the tourist season had just started, and there were few sightseers. Only one pair of eyes watched. “Why, it’s as dense here as in the deepest jungle.” “True. Sometimes one doesn’t find something until he’s practically standing on top of it.” Oh, look! A small stele!” They encountered a granite column, perhaps eight feet tall and three feet wide. It was covered with Mayan script. “Yes, this is something special. I discovered it a few days ago. But that’s not all. I sense that it has an important message, but I cannot decipher it.” “I’ll study it for a minute or two.” At last, Theresa said, “Do you know these words?” “They aren’t words. I know that much.” “Well, do you know how to speak the language?” “Please, Theresa. I am Itzamna. Of course I can speak Mayan—Classic Mayan, or Ch'olti', if you will.” “Then read this stele phonetically, not as words or letters of the alphabet.” “Why?” “Because that’s what Benjamin Lee Whorf says we should do.” “Who?” “An American linguist. Now please read.” Itzamna began to carefully read the glyphs on the stele, his lips forming words as he went along. “Wait, wait!” I have something here.” “What?” “Ya'ab nohoch naats'. Roughly, that’s ‘much important big thing near.’” “Go on.” ”●●xaman.” “What’s that?” “Two times twenty, the standard Mayan unit. It means ’40 north.’” Nancy started laughing. “What?” “I get it. The carvings says ‘continued on next stele.’” With that, the young people carefully determined the direction of north and began to trek deeper into the jungle. The following pair of eyes receded into the foliage. *** “I see nothing, Itzamna.” “The jungle is like that. Again, it covers everything until you are practically standing on it.” He was right. At thirty-eight paces, they could see nothing. At forty paces, a stele, wrapped in vines, appeared. “Here it is.” “Can you read it?” Itzamna tried. “I don’t think so. Wait. I… xchúupal… okol. Teen girl enter. “I wonder what that means.” “Here’s an image of Akna, meaning ‘Our mother.’ See the spiked headdress and ear spools?” “Yes. Who’s Akna?” “Our goddess of fertility and childbirth. Also of the moon, medicine, and weaving.” “I’m a teenage girl. Let me take a look.” Theresa stepped up to the stele. “Now, Itzamna, please turn away. I have an idea. I’m a little embarrassed at what I’m going to try. He turned away. She pressed her bosom into the two indentations of Akna’s breasts. And pushed hard. There was a grinding sound and part of the stone image slid down, revealing an object inside. “Oh, Señorita! Amazing! How did you know to do that?” “Oh, you looked! Well, I took a course from Professor Henry Jones of Marshall College in the U.S. He’s a super archeologist. He could find the Ark of the Covenant or the Holy Grail if he wanted to.” “Well, let us see what we have here.” He reached into the niche and removed a shiny yellow round object. It was about six inches in diameter, heavy, and encrusted with green and black stones. He studied it and exclaimed: “¡Madre de Dios! This is importante!” “What is? It looks like a big gold cookie.” Yes! This must be the long-lost Stella d’Oro “A gold cookie?” “Si. Eso es oro, cariño. Gold, with jade and obsidian. This artifact is spoken of in legends but has never been found. The Spanish conquistadores wanted it very badly. Today, modern thieves want it even more badly. But it belongs to my people and they shall have it.” “Shall we continue searching?” “No, we need to go back to the village right away. We must study this and I must hide it. *** In Itzamna’s shop, he and Nancy began to study the medallion. “What do you see, Itzamna? “The glyphs suggest that other secrets are available, and it points to various locations. I can’t tell whether the writing refers to shrines, treasures, or secrets of astronomy.” “Maybe they all could be found.” Two figures entered the shop, blocking out almost all the light from the doorway. “Give me the object.” Itzamna was cool. “Oh, Captain Knievel, how nice of you to visit. What object?” “The one in your hands. It’s valuable.” “You’re mistaken. This is a worthless trinket. I sell lots of them to the tourists.” “That isn’t what my friend here says. He saw you find it.” Itzamna studied the man. “Oh, Juan Camazotz. I should have figured. Theresa, you know the captain. His friend here is Camazotz, which is also the Mayan name for the death bat.” “That’s quite enough. Give me the object. It is worth one million dollars. That is, 7,786,500 queztals.” “There is one thing first.” Iztamna stared hard at Camazotz. He then raised his hand and spread out his thumb and little finger, until it resembled the head of a cobra. He pointed the index and second fingers toward his eyes. Then he quickly rotated his hand and thrust his hand toward Camazotz. Camazotz froze. He then turned and ran from the shop. “What was that?” “Oh, nothing, Captain. I simply cursed him forever. He will be useful to you for a few hours, and then he will die in despair.” “It remains that I must have that object. Hand it over.” “Certainly. Take it. Then I’ll have you arrested. "I doubt it, little Iztamna. This gun says that you will come with me. Act natural and youse won’t get hurt. I mean act naturally and you won’t get hurt.” *** The two captives and their two captors left the shop and walked through the plaza. As they passed Cantina de Buen Ron, the bar, the man in front waved. “Hey, Itz, what’s happening?” “Uh, nothing special, Cheech. Just going to look at a sailboat.” “Come by for a drink later?” “Sure. Set me up for a couple of Mayan cócteles. You know rum, coffee liqueur, and pineapple juice.” Knievel spat out a hoarse whisper. “Shut up. Keep moving.” They left the plaza and took the street to the marina. *** On the sailboat’s deck, Theresa spoke. “So what’s your brilliant plan, Captain Knievel?” “It’s simple. You and little Iztamna have a date with the sharks in the big bay. This trip is my final one; I won’t be back. And you won’t be missed… until it’s too late.” “People will notice we came here.” “And they’ll think you went back to the ruins. Now, Juan, shove off!” Theresa tried to hide her growing alarm. She looked in all directions for help. The day sailers were out beyond the breakwater, so the dock was practically deserted. Looking over the water, she saw a pair of gray shapes near the boat. Inspiration! Theresa began to ‘click’ loudly. “What’s that?” “Oh nothing, Captain. It’s called echolocation for finding food and determining ranges.” She continued, vocalizing louder than ever. “Shut up! Shut up! I can’t stand it!” “Too late, Captain.” By now, the water surrounding the sailboat was filled with dark gray shapes. “Juan Camazotz, I told you to shove off!” “We can’t shove off, Captain.” “WHAT?” “We’re surrounded by harbor porpoises. They’re pushing against the hull, and we can’t move.” “Get the rifle and shoot ‘em.” Theresa spoke. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” “Why?” “Because of Old Tom.” “Who’s that?” “You’ll see.” Theresa started a kind of high-pitched song, with pauses and clicks. In a few seconds, a large black and white creature surfaced. It answered back and began swimming rapidly toward the boat. Juan shouted. “Orca! Orca! ¡Mi dios! Viejo Tomás la ballena is coming!” “You coward! It’s just a fish.” Theresa said, “Cetacean, actually, and he weighs six tons.” Old Tom rammed the boat, knocking over everyone on deck. Juan shouted, “Captain, we’re taking on water!” Now in a rage, Knievel pointed his handgun in toward Itzamna and Theresa, but they had crawled behind crates on the deck. Again, Theresa needed to think and think fast. She spotted her favorite group of natives—the boat vendors. “¡Ayúdeme! ¡Ayúdeme! Help!” “Maria, Estrella, Blanca! Vendedores de los barcos. ¡Ayúdeme!” Eight shallow boats, filled with women selling vegetables and fish, paddled up quickly. “Qué, Theresa?” “¡Mis queridas amigas !” She pointed at Knievel “Un hombre malo. Muy peligroso. Usted lanzar peces y vegetales.” They immediately began throwing fish and vegetables at Knievel. The captain and Juan fell under the barrage. Their guns flew from their hands. “HAR! Mangoes won’t stop me.” The sound of sirens filled the air. Three police cars, with lights flashing, drove up the dock to the boat. Coronel Acedo and police officers carrying submachine guns leapt from the vehicles. “¡Policía! ¡Cesar! Halt!” *** Coronel Acedo stood on the deck with Theresa’s father, Carson Trent. Knievel and Juan were in handcuffs, and the colonel held the gold Mayan disk in his hands. Well, well, well, Captain Knievel. ¿Qué es esto? What have we here? Robbery? Kidnapping? Oh, and here are crates full of artifacts, which suggests theft of the property of the República de Guatemala. I am Übel Knievel, a citizen of the United States of America. You can’t hold me. Carson Trent spoke. “Actually, Coronel Acedo, that’s true, except that this man’s real name is Hans Dumm. He started as a street thug in New York. Now, he’s wanted for theft of antiquities in England, France, Italy, and the United States.” Knievel shot an evil look at Trent. Colonel Acedo said, “Captain Knievel, I do everything in my power to protect our ancient sacred places. You are my lawful prey. We will treat you fairly. I say ‘Aquí hay un pueblo digno’—we are a dignified people.” “I hate you and your little banana republic.” “You Yanqui de mierda! ¡Váyanse al carajo cien veces! Go to hell 100 times! Take him away, men. If he tries to escape, shoot him.” *** Back at the souvenir shop, Theresa asked, “How did you know where to find us?” Acedo answered, “Cheech the bartender told me about Itzamna wanting Mayan cocktails. Nobody drinks those, and besides, he’s allergic to pineapple juice. So I knew that—what is it you say?—‘something was up.’” Carson Trent remarked, “I’m so proud of you, Theresa. You’re so brave, but when did you learn to speak to porpoises and whales?” “Oh, dad! Don’t you remember when we were in St. Martinique? I call that experience ‘The Mystery of the Petulant Porpoise.’ I met our local porpoises and Old Tom while snorkeling.” Acedo asked, “Tell me, Itz, what will the Stella d’Oro tell us?” “I’ll soon be able to answer, as Theresa has taught me how to interpret the glyphs. Now, does anybody want a macademia nut?” Theresa responded, “Sure, have you got that copy of the artifact to crack them?” “Well, actually, mijita, it’s real, not a copy.” “But…” “Don’t worry. It’s lasted 6,000 years. It can crack a few nuts.”
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