“But you still do business.” Ross Ed saluted with his bottle.

The man smiled. “Enough, and it is getting better every month. They drink my beer and cat my food and some days my wife and daughters cannot make tortillas fast enough. Life is good, eh, señor?”

Ross glanced under the table. “It’s interesting, anyway.”

“Besides touristas we get archaeologists, oilmen, scientists, and surfers. You would be surprised, my friends, at the number of people who come this way.”

“Your beer’s very good,” Ross Ed told him. “I hope your tamales, burritos, and frijoles are its equal.”

The proprietor wagged a finger at him. “I know your accent, señor. You are from Texas, yes?” Ross nodded and the man smiled. “Then you are almost a Mexican.”

“And you’re almost a Texan.”

“I will make sure the food is hot enough for you.”

“I’d appreciate that. I like it hot … so long as there’s enough cold beer.”

While they waited for their food he and Caroline watched children brown as nuts roll hoops up and down the dusty street. Occasionally a donkey cart would trundle past, and less often, an old car or truck held together with bailing wire and prayers. The village was still sleepy, but like so much of southern Mexico, in the process of waking up.

There would be a telephone, he surmised. They’d make it safely back to Texas yet.

“Hey, haven’t you kids got anything else to do? Vamos!’ He sat up in his chair and waved at a couple of teenagers who were leaning on the railing and staring. When he started to rise, they fled. Had they noticed Jed? He couldn’t be sure.

They were nearly through with their excellent meal when two of the three teens Ross had chased off returned. Three men accompanied them; lean, intense, no-nonsense-looking fellows. Two of them had weapons slung over their shoulders. M-16s, Ross noted even as he doubted they were used for hunting monkeys.

“Maybe they’re just coming in for a drink.”

“I don’t like guns,” Caroline announced.

“Then you wouldn’t feel at home in Texas. Let’s just ignore them.”

This proved difficult to do when the new arrivals entered the patio via the swinging gate, turned sharply to their left, and marched straight up to the Americans’ table. One of the teens immediately started jabbering away in a mixture of Spanish and a language Ross didn’t recognize. As he rambled he pointed not at the Texan or his companion, but under their table.

“I don’t like it,” Ross whispered. “What do they want?”

“I’ll get the owner.” She started to rise.

Her effort was premature. Having taking note of the confrontation, the proprietor was already on is way over. Slinging the towel he’d been carrying over his shoulder, he engaged the newcomers in conversation. As they talked looks and fingers ‹occasionally flew in the travelers’ direction.

“Whatever happens, at least we got to eat.” The big man drained the last of his iced Corona.

“They keep looking under the table.” Caroline did her best to ignore the debate taking place behind her. “Maybe they want Jed for some reason.”

“Well, the army couldn’t have him, Hollywood couldn’t have him, not even the Culakhan could have him.” He sat up straighter in his chair, emphasizing his size. “And if I have anything to say about it, no bunch of farmers is gonna get him, either.”

“Is there some trouble, Señor Santos?” Caroline asked the owner. She was relieved to see that the men showed no inclination to remove their rifles from their shoulders.

The proprietor looked apologetic. “It is the little creature you carry with you.”

“What, Jed?” Ross tried to make himself look surprised and intimidating all at once.

“So that is its name.” Santos nodded at the man. “They believe it is a reincarnation of the god Azalotl. They are Mayan, you see. Many of them here still believe in the old ways.”

“Aza who?” Caroline made a face.

“One of the more powerful major deities responsible for prosperity,” the cantina owner explained. “These men belong to a group that is in rebellion against the government. Myself, I happen to believe they have many legitimate complaints, but I do not support armed revolt.” He lowered his voice. “Revolution is bad for the tourist business. However, we all have respect for one another. In a village in the middle of the jungle, that is necessary.”

“Jed is not an ancient Mayan god,” Ross Ed explained patiently. “He’s an alien. A dead alien.”

The proprietor looked resigned. “Nevertheless, that is what they believe. They feel that if they have Azalotl with them, they will have good luck in their fight against the government.” His gaze narrowed slightly. “They want to buy him from you.”

“Aza … I mean, Jed’s not for sale.”

“You are a big man, but you are not armed that I can see. I warn you to go carefully with these people. They have used these guns, and they will use them again for what they believe in.”

Even though he knew he could longer rely on the diminutive alien to turn bullets as he once had or otherwise protect him, the Texan crossed his arms over his chest in a gesture he hoped was universally recognizable. “I’m not selling Jed, and that’s final. You can tell ’em that.”

Looking distinctly unhappy, the cantina owner proceeded to translate. As Ross and Caroline waited nervously the men caucused among themselves. Ross noted that the two young teens were included in the conversation.

As soon as they finished, several rifles were raised in the travelers’ direction. These were held casually, but there was no mistaking the intent. The proprietor explained.

“They admire your determination and fully understand why you would not wish to be separated from so powerful a deity.”

Ross Ed relaxed a little. “That’s more like it.”

“So if you will not sell the little creature, you will have to go with them.”

“Go with…?”

Caroline did her best to forestall his instinctive reaction. “Let’s not push it, Ross Ed. I’d rather see the rain forest than get shot. Thanks to the Culakhan, Jed can’t protect us anymore. It won’t take them long to see that he’s no god, that he’s just a harmless corpse, and then they’ll let us go. If they meant us harm they’d just shoot us now.”

“Since Jed doesn’t seem inclined to comment,” Ross said as he peered under the table at their studiously silent companion, “I expect he doesn’t perceive any direct threat. Maybe it doesn’t matter so long as we remain in the general vicinity. Right, Jed?” While the proprietor gave him a strange look, Ross smiled blankly and waited for a reply. When none was forthcoming, he sighed and moved on.

“I’d rather stay here and drink Coronas, but it looks like we’re going to take a tour of the jungle. I suppose it’s a good idea to keep moving, so long as we don’t get caught up in a local revolution.”

She smiled ruefully. “Looks like it’s too late for that.” She turned to the anxious proprietor. “Okay, tell them we’ll go with them, but ask if there’s anyone among them who speaks English. I’m afraid our Spanish is kind of rusty and it would be nice to be able to talk to our ‘hosts.’”

Nodding understandingly, the owner conveyed the query. When he turned back he was beaming. ‘key say there is one at their camp who speaks even better English than you who would be pleased to translate.”

“Another Harvard-trained revolutionary,” she speculated under her breath. Louder she said, ‘That’ll do.”

Ross Ed reached beneath the table and swung Jed back up onto his back. The guerrillas watched his every move intently. “Doesn’t look like we have much choice.”

Caroline was more confident. “I’ll be all right, you’ll see. It’ll just take them a day or two to realize their mistake. If their leaders are more educated, they’ll see it immediately and let us go. This is local politics and doesn’t involve us. Besides, they aren’t vicious. Look at their faces: don’t they look kindly?”

“Look at their guns: don’t they look lethal?”

An elderly, bearded man with a scrape slung over his right shoulder came running toward the cantina. He was shouting and trying to steady the machete that bounced against his arm.