Under the Jaguar Sun Read Free Page B

seen the very things we had just finished telling him we had seen.
    â€œAnd today we went to Monte Albân,” I quickly informed him, raising my voice. “The stairways, the reliefs, the sacrificial altars...”
    Salustiano put his hand to his mouth, then waved it in midair—a gesture that, for him, meant an emotion too great to be expressed in words. He began by furnishing us archeological and ethnographical details I would have very much liked to hear sentence by sentence, but they were lost in the reverberations of the feast. From his gestures and the scattered words I managed to catch
(“Sangre ... obsidiana ... divinidad solar”
), I realized he was talking about the human sacrifices and was speaking with a mixture of awed participation and sacred horror—an attitude distinguished from that of our crude guide by a greater awareness of the cultural implications.
    Quicker than I, Olivia managed to follow Salustiano’s speech better, and now she spoke up, to ask him something. I realized she was repeating the question she had asked Alonso that afternoon: “What the vultures didn’t carry off—what happened to that, afterward?”
    Salustiano’s eyes flashed knowing sparks at Olivia, and I also grasped then the purpose behind her question, especially as Salustiano assumed his confidential, abettor’s tone. It seemed that, precisely because they were softer, his words now overcame more easily the barrier of sound that separated us.
    â€œWho knows? The priests ... This was also a part of the rite—I mean among the Aztecs, the people we know better. But even about them, not much is known. These were secret ceremonies. Yes, the ritual meal ... The priest assumed the functions of the god, and so the victim, divine food...”
    Was this Olivia’s aim? To make him admit this? She insisted further, “But how did it take place? The meal...”
    â€œAs I say, there are only some suppositions. It seems that the princes, the warriors also joined in. The victim was already part of the god, transmitting divine strength.” At this point, Salustiano changed his tone and became proud, dramatic, carried away. “Only the warrior who had captured the sacrificed prisoner could not touch his flesh. He remained apart, weeping.”
    Olivia still didn’t seem satisfied. “But this flesh—in order to eat it ... The way it was cooked, the sacred cuisine, the seasoning—is anything known about that?”
    Salustiano became thoughtful. The banqueting ladies had redoubled their noise, and now Salustiano seemed to become hypersensitive to their sounds; he tapped his ear with one finger, signalling that he couldn’t go on in all that racket. “Yes, there must have been some rules. Of course, that food couldn’t be consumed without a special ceremony ... the due honor ... the respect for the sacrificed, who were brave youths ... respect for the gods ... flesh that couldn’t be eaten just for the sake of eating, like any ordinary food. And the flavor...”
    â€œThey say it isn’t good to eat?”
    â€œA strange flavor, they say.”
    â€œIt must have required seasoning—strong stuff.”
    â€œPerhaps that flavor had to be hidden. All other flavors had to be brought together, to hide that flavor.”
    And Olivia asked, “But the priests ... About the cooking of it—they didn’t leave any instructions? Didn’t hand down anything?”
    Salustiano shook his head. “A mystery. Their life was shrouded in mystery.”
    And Olivia—Olivia now seemed to be prompting him. “Perhaps that flavor emerged, all the same—even through the other flavors.”
    Salustiano put his fingers to his lips, as if to filter what he was saying. “It was a sacred cuisine. It had to celebrate the harmony of the elements achieved through sacrifice—a terrible harmony, flaming, incandescent...” He