#chichen itza

By María del Sur

Curious and excited tourists fanned themselves with whatever they had at hand: a fan, a brochure, a notebook; anything that could alleviate the sweltering journey through the famous ruins.

Dr. Maryam Harper moved frantically with her camera between the bare columns of "The Temple of the Warriors," trying to capture its intricate iconography with professional precision. Something about her suggested a worried interest that contrasted with the relaxed demeanor of the other visitors.

The woman stopped for a moment to wipe her sweaty forehead with the back of her wrist; the sunlight bounced off the white stones, causing a blinding glare. She barely noticed the presence of a tall, sturdy man with blonde hair standing in front of her, looking in her direction. She quickly turned around to continue, ignoring the distraction.

"Miss, your scarf," a voice called out from behind in clear, resonant American English.

The woman turned around and, placing her hand over her forehead like a visor, saw the man's figure clearly. He was handsome and well-built, with broad shoulders, crystal-blue eyes, and a perfectly groomed beard that contrasted with his sweat-soaked cotton shirt. Maryam briefly glanced down at the silk scarf he held in his hand. But his magnetic presence captivated her to the point where she couldn't stop looking into his eyes.

"Thank you... I..." she murmured with a slight tremor.

Maryam, her foreign tone weakened, tried to hide her impression and the strange jolt she felt in her stomach.

"Are you Australian?" he asked, curious about her different accent.

"That’s right, from Melbourne," she replied with a friendly smile.

"Oh, I've been there," the man commented, his piercing gaze still making an impact. "My grandfather is Australian."

"I see... actually, Melbourne has changed a bit since..." Maryam explained, then stopped.

All cities change over time, but the only great change in her life was the absence of her husband, Alistair Finch, an eminent doctor of anthropology who had died last summer from a sudden heart attack. Maryam then remembered that this was literally her first expedition without her mentor and spouse, and the realization overwhelmed her.

Suddenly, she felt dizzy.

"Are you alright?" the man asked, leaning his head toward her with concern.

Maryam nodded, somewhat dazed.

"By the way, my name is Richard. Richard Campbell."

"Maryam Harper," she answered, recovering herself.

"So... what brings you from so far away? Just tourism?" Richard asked as a waiter with a prominent nose uncapped a cold glass bottle.

"No, I’m an archaeologist. I’m based in Mérida for a research project."

"Now I understand why you look so serious and professional," he observed.

Maryam’s expression hardened. "My husband and I were on the trail of a mystery for many years and... after he passed away, a year ago, I promised to continue the search."

"I’m sorry about your husband," he apologized.

Maryam shook her head as if wanting to move past the subject. She took a drink from the foaming glass and immediately changed the conversation: "What about you? Are you married?"

The question slightly unsettled Richard, who arched his eyebrows. "Ah... well... I’m in the middle of a divorce."

"I’m sorry," Maryam offered quickly.

"Yeah... well... I needed a vacation from the stress, and from business, too."

"Mmm... business. Sounds intriguing..." the archaeologist commented, opening her deep brown eyes wide. To Richard, they were enchanting, as were her exquisite lips painted in crimson red.

"Oh, nothing intriguing," Richard replied, puffing out his chest with a hint of pride. "I have some affairs in Boston. My wife... ex-wife," he corrected himself, "is the owner of almost an entire empire she inherited from her father."

Maryam lit a cigarette. "And you are..."

"Yes, the Hayes' pet," the man admitted with a certain frustration in his gaze.

He drank the last sip of beer remaining in his glass and then blurted out: "Hey, in case I don't see you again and you need anything, I’ll leave you my personal card with my hotel phone number. I’m staying at the Ritz in Cancun."

Rummaging through his pocket, Richard pulled out a white card and added the additional details with a pen. He then handed it to his companion.

"Thank you," Maryam said, tucking the card into her bag with a feminine and elegant gesture.

"Ah... by the way. What is this mystery you’re looking for... some hidden mummy?" Richard asked with a mix of humor and ignorance.

Maryam didn't laugh. She simply exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke. "It’s a state secret," she explained seriously. "And... the Mayans didn't have mummies."

"Uh... I’m sorry... I..." he interrupted, feeling embarrassed by his clumsiness.

"It’s alright. I’m after a supposed hidden chamber in the restricted area of Chichén Itzá. It would contain information regarding Mayan contact with extraterrestrials."

"Now *that* sounds like a state secret..." Richard murmured with a touch of humor.

Maryam checked her watch. It was almost six o'clock, and the sun was setting. "I must get back to the hotel; I’m exhausted," she excused herself.

"Yes... I should get going too. I have... about a two-hour drive to Cancun."

Both stood up and shook hands, their eyes never leaving each other's.

"A pleasure, Dr. Harper."

"Likewise, Mr. Campbell."

As the Pyramid of Kukulcán began to cast its shadow over the grass, the visitors started to leave the grounds. Maryam and Richard had sealed a strange, invisible pact during that sunset, under the watchful gaze of the ancestral gods.

The ancient harmonies.

Mayan architecture with alignment to the moon. Chichen Itza.