Sky People (11 page)

In the darkness I saw a faint light ahead. As we approached, it appeared as a glowing purplish light. At first, I thought someone was in front of us, but when the light divided into several smaller orbs, I realized that it was not another lantern.

“Son las luces de los ancestros,”
Teodoro whispered as he surveyed the area. He said the lights were the old ones—the ancestors. I thought about the unexplained lights that appeared at ceremonies at home. The elders said that they were the spirits of the ancestors.

Once Teodoro was sure that we were alone, he guided me up the steps of a temple at the center of the plaza. There, in the pitch-black darkness, he doused his lantern and leaned back to relax.

“Ahora, debemos esperar,”
he told me quietly. “Now we must wait,” he said. I leaned back and looked upward toward the heavens. Overhead the a three-quarter moon traveled across the sky. The intolerable white heat of the day turned into a cool, dark black mystery set with millions of tiny stars. Under these flashing jewels, the night critters came. Bats dipped and swirled overhead while, below, various unknown creatures scurried among the ancient buildings. Neither of us spoke for the next three hours.

When I felt myself dosing off, it happened. “They are here,” Teodoro whispered. Then I saw them. Small balls of light flickered around the ancient plaza and playfully danced back and forth. As I sat there transfixed by the scene unfolding in front of me, one light broke off from its gliding antics and moved in front
of me. The other lights floated into formation behind him. They hovered there, and then disappeared on the night air.
“Usted es una de nosotros,”
Teodoro said. “You are one of us.”

I sat speechless, thinking about what I had seen. While I was lost in thought, dawn came and sunlight flooded the plaza. Suddenly a large, circular, rotating wheel-like craft appeared overhead. I watched speechless as the revolving wheel disappeared toward the east, and the sun appeared in its saffron glory. I squinted my eyes and looked in the direction of the sun, but the craft was gone. The morning mist lifted, revealing the ancient city, but there was no further sign of the flying, gyrating wheel that hovered, just momentarily, over the spot where the balls of light appeared. I looked at Teodoro. He said it was time to go. I followed him blindly, retracing our steps through the jungle but excited and unsure about what had just happened.

“Teodoro, did you see the spacecraft—the UFO?” I asked.

“Sí
. The old ones, the ancestors come from the sky. It has been a long time since we saw them. Our priest said you had the power to bring them back to us.”

“Teodoro, I have no power. I am a university professor.”

“The priest said your visit will restore balance. It had to be a woman from
el norte
who was unselfish, kind, and good. You are that woman.”

“I’m not sure I’m the one the shaman prophesized,” I said.

“Oh sí. You are the one. If not, why did the old ones come?”

“Le gustaría regresar esta noche al sitio?”
Teodoro asked me if I wanted to return to the site again at midnight. When I told him I was leaving within the hour, I saw his surprise. I explained that a driver was coming for me. When we reached Copán Ruinas, he bowed and shook my hand. “Thank you, Señora. The ancestors have returned because of you. Now my village will prosperous (sic) again.”

I walked back to the hotel alone. It was already hot. I imagined the sun a monster swallowing the sky. There were no clouds in the sky, just the white-hot blaze that made me sweat from every pore in my body. I wanted to lock myself in my room, take
a cold shower, and write about what I had seen, but when I reached the hotel, Joaquín approached me. Dressed in his black jacket and cowboy hat, he opened his coat, revealing a Montana State University Bobcats t-shirt.

“I wear in your honor, Señora,” he said. “Remember I told you about Johnny de Montana who gave away his clothes to the people? He gave me this t-shirt. When you told me you were from the University of Montana, I wore for you.” I did not correct him. It was not the first time that Montana State and the University of Montana were regarded as one. Although the Cats and the Grizzlies might not approve, the two universities were regularly confused outside the state.

“I have a t-shirt like that one at home,” I declared as he walked me to the main counter of the hotel.

“By the way, Doctora, your driver is waiting for you.” He motioned for a man wearing a white cowboy hat and jeans to come forward. The driver wore a broad smile with the whitest teeth I had ever seen. His straight black hair touched the collar of his white, starched, short-sleeved shirt. He bowed slightly as he was introduced. He smelled of cinnamon. “This is Mateo Huerta Ríos. He is the best driver and guide in all of Honduras and Guatemala. I would trust my sister with him; my mother, too. He will take good care of you in Guatemala. In fact, he is Honduran by birth, but he lives in Guatemala. He also speaks perfect English. He is smart, just like the Doctora.” I held out my hand and greeted the stranger I had chosen via e-mails and telephone calls to be my guide, teacher, and driver for the next two weeks.

“I am pleased to meet you, Mateo.” He smiled and bowed slightly. He was different than what I had imagined. Though he could have passed for much younger except for the sprinkling of white hairs around his ears, he assured me that he held a master’s degree in anthropology and history and that he had been born the year that John Kennedy was elected president. His degrees had given him the opportunity to be a headmaster and teacher at one of the secondary schools in Guatemala. During the summers and holidays he drove tourists to earn extra income. He had two children who were married and two
at the university. He expected to be a grandfather before the new year. Wearing a white cowboy hat and Western boots, he stood close to 6 feet tall. His broad shoulders placed strain on the white short-sleeved shirt, making him appear more like a working cowboy than an intellectual. I chose him for his knowledge about Stephens and Catherwood and their journey through Guatemala and Honduras, and for his admitted multiple encounters with UFOs. I had talked with him on the phone, and after several e-mails I decided he was the perfect driver for me on my expedition; he was more than pleased to be my escort.

“It is my pleasure, Doctora.”

I excused myself and walked quickly to my room, packed my last items, took one last look around, and rolled my luggage toward the main desk. I placed my remaining lempiras and 20 American dollars in an envelope and asked that it be given to the housekeeper. As I turned to follow Mateo to the van, Joaquín held out his arms and pulled me toward him, planting kisses on both my cheeks.

“The next time you return, you will be our most honored guest.”

“Thank you, Joaquín. I will return.” I took one more look around and saw the housekeeper, half-hidden by a large palm tree. She smiled approvingly in my direction. I waved to her. As I left the hotel, I saw Teodoro standing in the entrance of a building across the street. I paused for a moment and then climbed into the van. As we pulled away from the curb, Teodoro yelled,
“Usted es una de nosotros.”
(“You are one of us.”) I rolled down the window and called to him,
“Regresare pronto.”
He understood; I planned to return soon.

As Mateo left the city limits, he casually asked, “Did you see a UFO last night, Señora? There were reports on TV this morning about a UFO. They said it appeared in the sky and disappeared in the direction of Copán.”

I
did not reply to Mateo’s question. I wanted to savor the encounter I shared with Teodoro at Copán. At the moment, I needed to keep my thoughts of UFOs to myself. Later, I regretted my decision
.

With Stephens in Guatemala City searching for governmental officials, Catherwood spent three weeks drawing the ruins of Copán before falling victim to the malaria-carrying mosquitoes. After a brief respite from his illness, he set out to meet up with Stephens in Guatemala City. On his way, Catherwood met a man who told him about ruins hidden in the woods near a place known as Quiriguá, known today at Utatlan. Even though he was sick, Catherwood could not resist and set out for the mysterious city. He stayed there just long enough to make drawings of two
stelae
(carved stone slab monuments), which turned out to be among the largest built by the Maya. On Christmas Day 1839, Catherwood arrived in Guatemala City and met up with Stephens.

For the next several weeks they traveled through thickly forested mountains, stopping at every small village to inquire about ancient ruins. Leaving Copán, I followed the path of Stephens and
Catherwood with my driver, Mateo. Like Buddy, I had contracted with him in a similar fashion, via e-mails and telephone interviews. Using Guatemala City as a base, we retraced Stephens and Catherwood’s steps stopping at the villages they had visited and locating the sites where they stopped. Unlike the hardships the two Maya explorers endured, I found the trip to be quite comfortable and enjoyable. After nearly two weeks of visiting ancient sites and collecting stories about UFO encounters, we drove toward the Mexican border and overnighted in the village of Chichicastenango.

The next day we continued our journey and drove to Quetzaltenango, a large Maya city. Catherwood was so intrigued by the city that he took the time to make a panoramic water-color of the scene. Leaving Quetzaltenango, we headed for Huehuetenango, where we stayed overnight. That was the destination where I would meet my driver, Emiliano, who would take me to Mexico. Mateo was not licensed to drive “tourists” into Mexico, so I contracted with Emiliano to drive me there. Arriving a day late, I was having second thoughts about my choice. When he introduced himself, my fears were not allayed, although during our drive to San Cristóbal, he proved to be an entertaining companion.

The next day, I said goodbye to Mateo, and with my new driver, Emiliano, I crossed into Mexico at La Mesilla. La Mesilla was much different than Stephens’s crossing. It was a town of hundreds of shanties with Indians peddling their wares along the way. Trash covered the streets, and people and cars were everywhere. It was a depressing sight and one not easily forgotten. Stephens took a more direct route into Mexico, arriving in Comitan by traveling over mountain ranges that exceeded 10,000 feet. From there he made his way to Palenque. I, on the other hand, decided to take a road less traveled and took a side trip to San Cristóbal de las Casas, Mexico, where a number of stories about Sky People and aliens had been reported. Once I was in San Cristóbal, Emiliano returned to Guatemala.

Although I had left Guatemala behind, a part of me stayed there. Unlike the people of Honduras, who were less forthcoming about their encounters, I met individuals who shared their stories despite their misgivings. In Guatemala, my driver, Mateo, who shared my interest in UFOs, was able to connect me with interesting individuals with stories to tell. I have included the most memorable in this section.

R
eligiously, Roman Catholicism dominates Mesoamerica today, as it has for centuries. Protestant Christianity is the next largest, distinguishable religious group. These numbers have increased in the last one hundred years due to the influence of Pentecostal Christianity in particular. It has been suggested that the Indians of Mesoamerica are drawn to the Pentecostal churches because of the similarity between Pentecostal spiritual healing and traditional supernatural curing that invokes the aid of divine elements or entities. Although the modern-day Catholic Church shows far more tolerance for Maya spiritual practices, the Pentecostal faith healing and appeal to superstitions are making inroads into the spirituality of the Maya people
.

In this chapter you will meet a young man who came under the influence of a Pentecostal group, bringing about a significant change in his life and his worldview
.

I met Mateo for breakfast in the lobby at 6 a.m. the morning after arriving in Guatemala. We arrived late in the evening in Guatemala City and checked into the small boutique hotel with six suites. Mateo had made the reservations at the hotel, and, as I learned later, it was owned by his brother, Hernando. Because of our late arrival, I had not taken the time to look around the hotel. Following an early dinner in my room and a luxurious bath in the “largest bathtub in Guatemala,” according to my host, I fell asleep within minutes. As I sat at the breakfast table the next morning, I was struck by my surroundings, which I had not noticed the night before.

The hotel was infused with a subtle, sumptuous, colonial elegance. The panoramic terrace and bougainvillea-draped veranda and fresh flowers on the Guatemalan textile tables were a feast for the eyes. Four waiters approached our table. One young man flamboyantly placed a linen napkin on my lap; another placed a bottle of water in front of me, bowed, and backed away from the table; a third brought butter, which was molded into small chickens; and the fourth brought a pot of coffee to the table.

“Whatever you want to eat, whether breakfast, lunch, or dinner, they will make for you,” Mateo said. “There are no menus. The hotel management prides itself on catering to the special traveler and is prepared to make any dish their guests might want.” He poured coffee into two cups and passed one to me while I retrieved my notebook from my bag. “For us, a meal should be an experience. So time is not an issue. It takes longer to prepare custom meals, but the end result is pleasurable. You get good food and good companionship.”

I put away my notebook, looked at Mateo fleetingly, and took a sip of the black Guatemalan coffee. At that moment, I was still tired from the night before and was not interested in discussing food preparation. All I wanted was black coffee, toast, and fruit, so that the two of us could proceed with planning my itinerary. Mateo must have noticed my indifference, because he countered by turning his attention to me. “How did you sleep, Doctora?” he asked.