“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.
Breathlessly, he conversed in restive, low tones with the armed men. Then he looked up at the two Americans.
“There is no time. You must come with us now, please.”
“We’re pretty tired,” Ross told him. “We’ve been walking for a long time and we’ve had a couple of pretty tough days.”
“I am sorry. We will slow down as soon as we are safely beyond the town limits.” He nodded back the way he’d come. “Government patrol.”
Santos was all but wringing his hands. “Please, my friends, I have tried to help you. Do what you will, but do it somewhere away from my cantina.”
Ross Ed and Caroline were escorted across the street and through a park overgrown with weeds and encroaching jungle vegetation. Half-naked children giggled as they played on a few sorry pieces of homemade playground equipment. Used tires had been employed inventively and were much in evidence.
Behind them, they could hear the cantina owner calling a farewell. “When you are all tired of fighting, please come back! I am always open for good customers!”
The old man grumbled. “Santos takes money from both sides. He is neither a revolutionary not an oppressor, but a businessman. He is not to be trusted.” A grin appeared on the grizzled face. “But his pollo molé is wonderful.”
The park was separated from true rain forest by a small stream, which they crossed as silently as possible. On the far side a narrow trail presented itself. This led uphill into dense jungle.
The teens had vanished into the verdure. In their absence the four men maintained a wary watch, their dark brown eyes flicking constantly over trees, bushes, and openings. They no longer held their weapons casually.
