Perdedores en Juego de Pelota

(with apologies to Hemingway, and real Mayans)
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The rain fell as Nacon turned into the path that entered the great ball court. The limestone walls were damp and the sea wind tore across the field. Nacon stopped and picked up a head-sized rubber ball from the ground, bouncing it between his left hand and his right.

To the far left was the court storage hut. He watched as smoke bellowed from the top of the hut into the tempest above. Coconut palms swayed far over in the wind as he watched. It was the first of the winter hurricanes. As Nacon crossed the open field, the door of the storage hut opened and Chac came out. He stood on the steps looking out.

"Nacon," he called.
"Hey, Chac," Nacon said, coming toward the steps.
They stood together looking out across the country, down over the field, beyond the court, across brush and beaches to the ocean. The wind was lifting the waves. They could see the surf curl along Chichan Itza point.
"She's strong," Nacon said.
"Ix Chel is vengeful," Chac added. "Come on in."

Nacon went inside the hut. There was a fire burning in a pit in the center. The wind made it hiss. Chac shut the door.
"Pulque?" he said.
He handed Nacon a cup and poured from a ceramic bottle, then poured one for himself.
"All right?" he said.
"Good," said Nacon.
They sat in front of the fire and drank the pulque.

"It tastes like seaweed," Nacon said, and looked at the fire.
"That's the agave," Chac said.
"I thought it might have been the maize," Nacon said.
"It doesn't make any difference," Chac said.

"You ever had a twitch in your eyelid?" Nacon asked.
"No," said Chac.
"I've had it for two weeks now. I can't stop it," Nacon said
"It'll go away. Cut out the coca leaves," Chac said.

"What do you think of next week? The match?" Nacon asked.
"I'm introducing my new wall technique."
"That's not what I meant."
"Hand me that ball there," said Chac.
Nacon reached down to his left and handed him the rubber ball.
"This is a heavier ball. My father says they used to put skulls in the core to make them lighter," said Chac.
"I call bullshit," said Nacon.

Nacon reached down to the pulque bottle. He refilled his and poured more into the cup Chac held out.
"See, this ball has nice edges to it. Game ball is slicker. I'm going to take it high off the left wall and then let the momentum take it to the right, back and forth like, until there's more cuts in the rubber. Then you can really get that nice backspin," Chac professed.
"How many ringers have you had this year?" asked Nacon.
"Two, not counting practice," Chac said.
They sat and drank.

"This is the best time of year. Quetzalcoatl's time," Nacon said.
"I'd like to meet him," Chac said.
"Who wouldn't?"
"I mean, just to ask him the truth."
"What is it, two-thousand and twelve he's coming - ask him then."
"Isn't he supposed to be white? I don't buy it."
"Neither do I."
"Let's get drunk," Chac said.
"All right," Nacon agreed.
Chac filled the cups to the brim.

"What'll we drink to?" Nacon asked, holding up the cup.
"Let's drink to ball games," Chac said.
"All right," Nacon said. "Gentlemen, I give you ball games."
"Ringers," Chac said. "Everywhere."
"Balls," Nacon said. "That's what we drink to."
They drank the cups down.

"Now let's drink to Quetzalcoatl."
"And balls," Nacon punctuated.
Nacon poured out the pulque.
"Gentlemen," Chac said, "I give you Quetzalcoatl and balls."
"Exactly, gentlemen," Nacon said.
They drank. Chac filled up the cups.

"You ever think about that, balls? Why balls?" Nacon murmured.
"It's all about not thinking," said Chac. "Just let the ball be the ball and you be you."
They thought about this for a while.

"You were right to shut it down," Chac said.
"What do you mean?" asked Nacon.
"To quit playing ball this year," Chac said.
"I guess so," said Nacon.
"It was the only thing to do. If you hadn't, by now you'd be sacrificed."
Nacon said nothing.
"Once a man's sacrificed, he's gone," Chac went on. "Obviously."
Nacon said nothing.
"It was probably hard quitting just for a sprained ankle," Chac conceded, "But you can always come back next season."

"All right," said Nacon. "Let's get drunk."
"All right," Chac said. "Let's get really drunk."
"Let's get drunk and then go swimming in the hurricane," Nacon said.
He drank off his whole cup.

"Let's take the ball outside and practice. I'll just play with my left foot," Nacon said.
"All right."
"How do you feel?" Nacon asked.
"Edgy. Going to highlight my skiiiils." Chac was strapping on shoes.

They stepped out the door. The wind was annihilating.
"It's coming right off the ocean," Nacon shouted.

Chac threw the rubber ball out the door and followed it into the field, running and kicking. Nacon followed him down the steps and into the open. None of it was important now. The wind blew it out of his head. His eyelid stopped twitching. He might be able to play next week after all.

posted by ZHorton at 8:17 PM