Hach ki’imak in wóol in wilikech/My Heart is glad to see you

Hach ki’imak in wóol in wilikech
My Heart is glad to see you
By: Arno J. Argueta

The beast awoke when the dart was shot. Of course, this was not just any beast; some said that it was a god of an ancient people, that these people were abducted by another god. The struggle was to see the one who of two gods was more patient, if one waited on the return of his peoples or if other allowed these to leave.
Ki’imak and Wóol stood there. They continued debating; waiting for the right moment but it was not yet known who would shoot the blowpipe. Ki’imak had a better shot, but Wóol had more sagacity. Ki’imak thought he could not do it, or even worse, that he would do it. The fear came because, according to the legend, the millenary beast would stand up and attack them thinking the other god had come to make him desist of his enterprise. What if it did attack them? Ki’imak , the shrewd one would jump onto the beast and fight it while Wóol took a second shot. And what if it was not a beast, but just another animal? What if it was a beast, the incarnation of a thinking being? A god of mythology? A millenary god? No. It is impossible. Mythology, as the word itself explains is just that, mythology and nothing else. Right. Right? Ki’imak asked Wóol who had the beast on sight. Ki’imak waved his hand and provoked the shot of the dart. The sight was ready; it was just a matter of blowing and inserting dart inside the animal. But the sweat could be felt in his hands, could be seen in his forehead. His back was now a sea with straights, canals, capes and ports, the sweat abounded. The incomprehensible mumbling of the birds and the sound of the wind could be heard far away. Suddenly, a sound, a hum, the blow. Involuntarily Wóol blew on it while Ki’imak waved his hand. Both, immobilized, waited the return of the god. Jade axe and knife on tight grip, they awaited the result. The beast turned in the floor. The dart fell to the ground; it did not penetrate the thick skin of the millenary beast. As they saw their effort touch the dusty ground the beast stood up. It walked to them, the brute force of the animal, the instincts. While their hearts stopped, the benign glory of the animal shone in its majesty. The head full of glory; the extremities stretched and compressed. One, two, one, two. And it stopped. The beast stopped before them, like if it knew their hearts were not evil, like if it knew that ingenuity flowed with every heartbeat. Like if it was human, more than human. Like if it could feel their hearts, not their expressions. Like if it was a god and not an animal.
What if they were right? What if it was not only a beast?
They were immobilized while the beast took their weapons and saw them straight to their eyes. Almost floating, they moved to the beast’s previous resting place. Like a mother who takes their children to bed, softly the beast led them and set them in the predetermined place, and sleepwalking; they obeyed. The beast’s hands, the potent claws caressed their dark hair. And setting them, the animal blew on their ears. Their eyes closed while the beast transformed into what it originally was. He changed into what he was before, when the god the myth talks about got tired of waiting. This servant had fulfilled his millennial duty and now others took his job, to wait, wait eternally.
There lay the two beasts, unkempt and asleep, in front of the little cavern. Meanwhile, the hunters survey. From above, from the sides, the hunters are near. But these are different. They have no connection with the earth. These hunters have no blowguns, jade knifes or axes, like they once did. A perturbing sound awakes them, while a second one incrusts into their ears. The pure and benign blood runs yellow, the color of maize. Two drops fall at the same time. The two beasts turn around to each other. Having seen their eyes one last time, both return to their original shape, like Tepeu y Gucumatz, the creators of the men of maize, had wished them be, long time ago.