Ice Shock(39)

“People here aren’t allowed to fall in love?”

Vigores answers drily, “Romantic love can be dangerous. It can drive people to do … questionable things. And a good match doesn’t require it.”

“That is harsh, man!”

Vigores nods, sadly. There’s a long pause. “It can be, yes.”

“So what happened to them?”

“It happened that one day Kan’ek descended into the Depths. This time, he didn’t reappear, even weeks later. Eventually a search party went out for him. They found Kan’ek deep within the labyrinth, sitting beside a phosphorescent pool. The minerals in the water glowed a faint pink—the only light Kan’ek had seen for weeks.”

“I don’t get it; how had he stayed alive?”

“No one ‘got it.’ He wasn’t starving, not even thirsty. Nor had he written a single poem. No one had the faintest idea how he’d stayed alive—or sane, for that matter. He returned to the city quite happily, seemed pleased to be reunited with his friends and sisters. Upon his return, the difference was there for everyone to see. Well, to be more accurate, for the women to see.”

“What happened to them?”

“Not to them. To Kan’ek. There was something about him that was instantly irresistible to women. The men noticed nothing. But the women—apart from his sisters—all swore he smelled different. Like gardenias on a hot summer’s day. Young or old, they couldn’t get enough of him. Mariana was the most affected of all. She was like a woman possessed. They had to be married within the week, despite their youth. And that other young man—the one she thought she loved—she dropped him like a stone.”

I consider this. “So what became of Kan’ek and Mariana?”

“What else—they married, had children. Normality resumed. Not only did Kan’ek change his smell, but he forgot about poetry, started working hard, like everyone else. Under the pressure of all that rock in the tunnels, the poems had seeped out of him, he claimed. Like apple juice pressed from the fruit. All that remained was the scent of gardenias. It continued to seep out of him for a few more years, and then that was that. He was ordinary again. No different from the rest of us.”

Listening to Vigores, I recall the smell of gardenias—hot and sickly, how drowsy it makes you feel. His voice is almost hypnotic. It takes me back to the gardenia petals in the pool at the Hotel Delfin when I first met my sister, Camila. Tears well up in my eyes. I brush them away quickly, hoping that Vigores won’t notice the change in my breathing.

So quietly that I can barely make it out, Vigores murmurs, “It gets easier, Josh.”

I’m still wondering that he means when I notice Benicio out of the corner of my eye, hovering.

“It’s all right, Benicio,” Vigores murmurs. “You can take him back to Montoyo now. I just wanted to talk to the boy, before …”

And his voice trails off. We wait politely, but it doesn’t look like he’s going to say anything else.

Before what?

Benicio asks, “Do you need help getting back to your apartments, Blanco?”

“No thank you, Benicio,” Vigores says, clearing his throat. “I have other plans today.”

As we walk away, Benicio mutters to me, “He’s the weirdest guy. But brilliant! I haven’t seen him once since you were last here, you know that? He’s sure taken a special interest in you. What did you talk about?”

“He told me some story about a guy named Kan’ek, who was lost in the Depths …”

Benicio frowns. “Oh yeah. Everyone knows that story. Those Depths are pretty strange. Some crazy stuff happens down there.”

“So that’s not the only bizarre thing?”

He rolls his eyes. “No way! Believe me, man, there is a lot more.”





BLOG ENTRY: EK NAAB … SO WEIRD




Did I mention yet how weird Ek Naab is? Well, it’s the oddest. For a start, there’s the way it looks.

Imagine you’re in a room furnished by IKEA. Plain, minimalist furniture. A simple, modern kitchen. Sure, there are Mexican touches—sisal-weave bags, hammocks, colorful paintings on the walls. These are bits of flavor, though—no more.

You stick your head out of a window. You’re still indoors. The apartment block across from yours is just several feet from your window. You look down the alleyway and it’s like being in an old medieval city, if medieval cities were built from concrete, glass, and ceramic tiles. Buildings are packed tightly, teeming around narrow, winding lanes. Every now and then you come across a small plaza. There might be a little café, and at least a park bench or two. Flowers hang from baskets; trees sprout from pots that line the alleys and plazas. Then you might come to a little canal, or a fountain.