Path of the Jaguar (14 page)

"Lennea has a lecture to prepare for tomorrow." Wesley, acting distracted, glanced at his watch. "If I'm going to get to Merida before noon, Paco, we had better get started."

Lennea watched him gather up his notebooks and without another word, start away. Alone, Lennea faced the unspoken accusation in Joseph's dark eyes, eyes that had still not left her face.

The closeness, the deep attraction, from the night of the dinner party had vanished. She saw Joseph through Delores' eyes, someone to be distrusted and feared. With a stab of uneasiness, she heard the sound of Wesley and Frank's leaving. "I must go," she said quickly. As she walked away, she felt the black gleam of his eyes upon her back.

Delores had jilted Joseph. And he had threatened her life. Lennea knew Joseph was close behind her as she hurried down the hill where she had parked the jeep. His footsteps made no sound. She felt subtly endangered, just as she had that night in the jungle when she knew someone was stalking her.

"I'll probably be there," she replied evasively. For an instant she felt that she, like Delores, was jilting him for Wesley Hern.

The tightness of his lips, his narrowed eyes, frightened her. Anger, carefully controlled, made his voice dangerous. "You were going to the Sound and Light Show with me."

The mask of civility had fallen away, revealing outrage. Fury curled his mouth, tightened the hard muscles of his jutting features. His eyes, no longer opaque, seemed hot enough to sear her skin.

For a moment Lennea believed she was seeing the real Joseph Darrigo, stripped of all disguise and pretension, the man who had confronted Delores at the airport! She could no longer blame Delores for running away!

* * * * *

Chapter Eleven

Lennea's fingers trembled slightly as she laid the thick sheaf of notes before her on the podium. As always, she had over-prepared. She suspected that her lecture this afternoon would suffer from the fact. No doubt, it would lack that spark of brilliance possessed by those who depended upon the inspiration of the moment.

Wesley, of course, was such a speaker. Though his lectures were often confused and rambling, from time to time flashes of sheer genius appeared, jumping out of nowhere, like gems from Emerson's Essays.

Lennea had little trust in instant inspiration. The one time she had relied upon it, she had suffered the acute embarrassment of an empty, foolish silence. The remembrance of past failure brought a queasy feeling to her stomach.

She glanced again at her papers, feeling a sinking sensation, a little panic, at the contents of her presentation. Dry as chalk. But adequate, she defended herself. Even good. Hadn't she had sat up half the night reviewing her notes on Classic Maya civilization? If the audience missed Wesley's genius, at least they would not be deprived of fact. The young university students, safely settled along the back wall, were dark and serious. Maybe she was missing the giggling girls, the bored doodlers, back at the University of New Mexico. Many of the people here were older, white heads scattered throughout the huge room. Mr. Guerrero sat ready with notebook and pen. Near him, she spotted Carlos Alfonso, the police inspector. He slouched lazily in his chair, those hard, lizard's eyes watching her as she straightened the notes.

Lennea tried to cover her nervousness. She answered someone's inquiry about Dr. Hern. The man, wearing thick glasses, reacted with disappointment, complaining loudly to his companions over Wesley's absence.

Goldie entered with Frank and waved at Lennea as if she were proud to have her as a main speaker. They took a seat in the direct center beside the Guerreros. She saw Sid in the front row, testing the pen he had taken from his pocket. He caught her eyes and nodded. Somehow, his presence, so close, was comforting.

Time to begin. She couldn't wait any longer. Once more, she searched faces for Joseph, telling herself that she was not disappointed that he hadn't bothered to attend her lecture.

"I'm very sorry to tell you that Dr. Hern is not going to be present today. I'm Lennea Andrews, his assistant, and he has asked me to speak in his place. I would like our talk here today to be very informal. Any time you feel like asking a question or making a remark, please do so."

She could sense a certain loss of interest when they realized Wesley wasn't going to show up. She knew that it was his name that had drawn the crowd. The town buzzed with his projects; the title of his soon to be published book was upon everyone's lips. Lennea took a deep breath, prepared to begin her speech. The huge wooden doors to the lecture hall slid open once more. Joseph, looking handsome in a maroon shirt and dark trousers entered and made his way through the desks to a vacant chair in front. She was suddenly angered by his lateness, unnerved by the intent way his dark eyes were riveted to her face. She wished he had not shown up at all. His presence made her throat dry, her heart beat a little faster.

She smiled stiffly at the audience and began, "The Classic Maya society was made up of rigid class structure. Today we are going to explore in depth each class and through this exploration, I hope, arrive at a much wider view of the Maya people, their thoughts—religious, political, their concepts of self and duty."

Lennea's gaze wandered to Joseph, subconsciously seeking approval. The slightly dissatisfied look upon his face did nothing to boost her confidence.

"First, let's explore the peasant class—the ordinary people, the farmers and the builders. The great inscriptions and paintings found upon the walls of the temples rarely focus upon the activities of the common man, yet it was this class who formed the very backbone of the Maya civilization."

As Lennea went on to describe the design of the typical Maya dwelling, she could sense a restlessness in the audience. She was taken by surprise when Joseph boldly interrupted her lecture. "First question," he said, his eyes holding her captive.

"As I've just mentioned, most of the average men were farmers. They planted maize. Farming then was a tremendous job. Usually they set fire to underbrush and sowed seeds in the ashes. The average woman would get up at three in the morning and prepare a breakfast of maize, tortilla, beans and atole."

"What is atole?"

She felt her face burn. Everyone in the lecture hall sat listening. She had no choice but to answer him. "A hot drink obtained by dissolving a paste of maize in water, boiling it, and sweetening it with honey."

"No fermented fruits?" Sid inquired innocently from his seat in the front row. The laughter made her feel more at ease.

"No, but the Mayas also had a drink called "pulque", which is extracted from the maguey plant. Only the elders were allowed the privilege of drinking this beverage, which is the ancient equivalent of beer."

A round of laughter was followed by more questions. The discussion lightened her rather heavy lecture plan. With pleasure, she saw that several disinterested faces were beginning to brighten.

"I want to know about the women," Goldie remarked. "What did they do to make themselves beautiful?"

"The Maya women had a slightly different concept of beauty than we do today. For instance, it was considered highly fashionable to be cross-eyed. Often, a nodule of resin or a small bead was attached to a child's hair in such a way that it hung between the eyes, training the pupils to focus inward."

"How fascinating!" Goldie exclaimed. Her interest sparked Lennea's own. For a moment, she forgot her own nervousness and began to enjoy her audience.

"An infant's head was often tightly bound to wooden boards in order to flatten the forehead, which was another feature considered beautiful," Lennea continued. "The Mayas loved jewelry. Both men and women pierced their ears, lips, and even nostrils."

Lennea talked about the merchant class and went on to the elite, where her lecture, once more, began to bog down. Once again, faces seemed dull and blank as she fed them information from her notes, "The states were run by elite families who claimed to descend from the gods."

Her eyes sought Joseph, depending on him to come to her aid with more questions. But he only listened. Deep lines now cut between his eyes. Yet Lennea knew her information was sound and not widely enough known to be boring. What was she saying to make him look so critical? "The upper class was a large one. That class included scribes, whose duty was to plan hieroglyphic inscriptions to commemorate the deeds of the rulers. Sculptors, painters, and priests were members of the upper class. Together they advertised and held together society—using art and fear as a means of political propaganda."

Lennea glanced up from her paper to see Wesley slip into the room. All eyes, some admiring, some expectant, followed him as he drew toward the front, to stand quietly against the wall. He stood rigidly, not leaning or slumping, as he sometimes did. For a while he listened distractedly. Lennea tried for Wesley to improve her delivery. Only for him, because the rest of her audience was lost. Everyone else's attention Wesley Hern held captive.

Wesley suddenly took a step or two forward. In Lennea's mid-sentence, he interrupted. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to stop you, Lennea. I have an announcement that just won't wait."

Lennea felt a hot flush grow upon her cheeks. "I'm almost finished," she replied.

Slightly awed by her own boldness, Lennea glanced down with embarrassment at her notes. She felt Wesley's thin hand upon her shoulder, nudging her gently, yet firmly aside. "This is much too exciting, much too meaningful for everyone here. I must share it now!"

Lennea stood frozen beside the podium as the spotlight focused on Wesley, focused as if he had carefully timed his entrance to this purpose. "Friends—I have the most unbelievable—" he began to pace—"the most exciting news to bring you this afternoon. In my exploration around the area near the ruins of Chichen Itza, I've discovered what may be the greatest find of my career!"

The audience was still now, hushed, waiting for his revelation. "I've found a sacred pool. Untouched! Hidden for centuries. Filled with—what? Who dares to guess? Gold and jade, long-lost treasures of the past—"

His voice, above the stir of excitement, intensified. "I've just obtained permission to dive, to dredge. We're going to begin at once. And I invite you all to witness this wonderful occasion, this making of history—"

Commotion followed, drowning him out. Everyone clapped wildly. Following the applause, they stormed forth, bombarding Wesley with questions. Their unloosed exuberance reminded Lennea of fans at a football game. She half-expected them to lift Wesley to their shoulders and hold him high above them in the air.

Lennea remained by the podium, a speaker without listeners. Only Goldie seemed to notice Lennea was still in the room. Goldie happily called over to her. "Lennea, I enjoyed your talk so much. Especially the part about the women!"

My talk wasn't over, Lennea thought acidly.

Joseph was the only one still seated, arms folded, gazing down at the worn wooden floor. She now admitted to herself that she had wanted Joseph to be impressed with her lecture. She was slightly hurt by his disapproval.

He grinned at the idea, black eyes sparkling with humor. "At least there would have been some genuine feeling to that!" His dark eyes grew serious again. "You should have done something besides process dead facts!"

He rose and grasped her arm. "Don't you understand, Lennea? That's not enough. Not nearly enough!" Joseph's voice had risen. She wished desperately that he would shut up. From the corner of her eye she saw Wesley glance toward them.

Lennea started to walk away, but Joseph stood in her path. "You were on the verge of giving us something worthwhile, something real. Why did you block it out? For a moment, I thought you were beginning to show a real feeling for the essence, the very heart of the Mayan people. And then what did you do? You started rambling on about social structure and political propaganda!" His words were hurting, scathing.

"Where was the love, the understanding, the empathy?"

She could die, the fool he was making of her! Yet nothing she could say or do was likely to stop him. Joseph's talk, determined, passionate, rolled over her like heavy equipment. "Feeling comes first. Talk springs from feeling. Don't you see? A lecture is a desire to convey feeling!"