Rivera held up one finger as if asking her for a little more time, then looked at Ford. "Women," he said; one of those flat declarations that, even in formal Spanish, communicated a matter beyond control.
Ford switched off the light; switching from one world to another. "A new wife, General?" He stepped away from the water and walked until he was beside Rivera.
"Ah, Marion, you should not make sport of me. I have only one true wife, the mother of my children, the woman I love. But out here in the jungle one must find comfort where one can. This girl who waits for me in the tent—" He nudged Ford, whispering like a confession. "—she makes demands of me. Unrealistic demands. Then has a way of smiling when I cannot fulfill her every whim that makes me furious. I have threatened to send her back to her parents in Masagua City. Many times I have threatened this, and I am not a man who makes threats lightly." He lowered his voice even more. "But in some strange way her smile makes me even more determined to please her. Is that not odd? She makes demands of me and sometimes even presumes to tell me how to run my army. There is a demon in that little girl, I tell you. A demon, and she is bossy, too. So many times I have had to remind her who is the general and who is the simple village girl. Even then she just smiles. Yet I let her stay."
Ford said "Women" in the way it was always said—not sure he meant it; not so sure he didn't.
"What man of the world does not know it?" Rivera looked at Ford, shaking his head as if the burden of this unknowable thing was understood now that they had shared it. "But you, you are still not married, Marion?"
"No, not yet. Perhaps one day. I would like to have a child."
"Do you know why I think you have never married? I think it is because your heart belongs to one you cannot have." A statement that would have sounded sappy in English, but which came off as fatherly in Spanish.
"My heart belongs to one I cannot have?" As if the whole idea were too dramatic to be taken seriously.
"It would not be so surprising if you had listened closely to the gossip when you lived here. There was much talk about Pilar Balserio, my friend. No, do not give me that evil look. It was not that kind of talk. It was the talk people make when they admire a person. It was well known that she ran the government for a time. People loved her for the good things she did; for her kindness and her wisdom. Even though her husband forced her into seclusion, the talk continued. It was said she went to live in the convent across from the Presidential Palace. It was said she went there not because of her husband, but because she had fallen in love with a foreigner, a gringo, a man with hair the color of Quetzalcoatl's."
Ford said, "You never seemed like the superstitious type to me, Juan. Nor a man who gives credence to Mayan legends."
"I am not superstitious. Nor have I ever believed someone from outside our country will come to save us—but I am a Maya. I am a student of our culture, as is Pilar Balserio. The old stories are important even if they are not true. I remember that she spent many months doing research at a Mayan site by a lake in the mountains." Rivera was smiling. "You only recently mentioned the name of that lake; the lake near which you feel Zacul has his camp. Yes, Eye of God, that is the lake's name. She lived on the lake at about the same time you and I first met. Remember? It was before your government sent you to work in Masagua City, and you lived on the shore of the lake in that thatched cabana, the one with the stone cooking place and the dock where we drank beer. You said you were there to study the sharks."
"I was studying the sharks."
"You also fell in love with Pilar Balserio. No, do not deny it. I felt very dense when I heard the rumors later. When you two were together those few times, I saw no sign of love in your faces. Usually a man can tell. Even when the woman is married."
"That was a long time ago, Juan."
"Yes. But with a woman such as that, the heart scars but it does not heal. It makes me sad, thinking of your predicament. For you, of course, there has been no other woman."
Ford was chuckling. "You are a romantic, Juan. All of you Latins are romantics. Even you Maya Latins. There have been plenty of other women. "
"Women for the body, yes, but maybe not for the heart. Not a woman who makes you furious with her smile like my little demon Teresa who waits for me in the tent. Not a woman, Marion, you will let stay."
"You're getting nosy in your old age."
"Is it that I am nosy or because I am right that you evade the question?"
"I have no reason to evade anything. If you really have to know, there was one. A woman in Florida. An artist. She is as pretty as Pilar and almost as intelligent. A woman to share children with."
"Your Spanish is too good for you to make an error in tense. You said there was a woman."
"Perhaps there still is. I'm not sure. Not yet."
"If you are unsure, then you must try and speak with Pilar while you are here. You must not let the opportunity pass. We are men together, and I tell you to do this thing. Such opportunities are rare. It is possible that you may never get a chance to speak with her again."
"I've checked with the people I once worked with, and no one knows where she is."
"You did not check with me."
Ford wasn't sure he wanted to pursue it, but he felt the old longing and he heard himself say, "I would be interested in anything you might know. There are reasons I need to speak with Pilar; reasons that have nothing to do with love."
Rivera's head was bobbing, nodding, saying I-told-you-so with his expression. "I thought you would be interested. First let me explain that I cannot tell you how it is I know the things I know. Let's just say I've heard it from the people of the mountains. They are my people and have no reason to lie to Juan. It was from these people I heard that, in the weeks after you left, Pilar went once again to that lake in the mountains to continue her investigations. You knew that there was supposedly once a great Mayan temple built on a hill above that lake?"
"Yes," said Ford, "I knew."
"And there was a great ceremonial calendar that, in some way, was lost. A very valuable artifact. It was covered with emeralds."
"I have also heard of the calendar. "
"I have been told that Pilar went back to look for this calendar—not because of the value of the emeralds, but because it played some important role in the ceremonies of our people, a thing called the Ritual of the Lake. She made certain discoveries on that lake, but if she found the calendar I cannot say. She had a camp there with workers, but the camp was attacked by robbers and Pilar was badly beaten by these men."
Ford took a deep breath, held it, then released the air slowly. "Robbers," he said, but he was thinking of Zacul.
"They stole things. They killed some of Pilar s people and they beat her. I've heard they beat her quite badly. Nuns found her and took her to a convent to heal, and there she remains. Or so I have heard."
"Then she may be dead for all you know."
"Do not get angry at me, old friend. I am only the messenger and it is not an easy thing to tell. Rivera shrugged. "Is she dead? I think not. I have heard rumors of nuns, nuns from that convent, traveling the country and talking to the people. They have been telling people what happened to Pilar. They have been telling the people that they must do a certain thing. They have been telling the people they must come to that lake in the mountains on a certain night in June, the night of the summer solstice. The nuns even sent an emissary to the village below, Isla de Verde, to tell these few people. Perhaps that is how I eame to know."