The most spectacular part of the Semana Santa celebration at Santiago Atitlán, as elsewhere probably, is the procession of the urna carrying the image of Christo Sepultado over the alfombra (sawdust carpet) around the ritual circuit. In this circuit it passes “shrines” at the four corners, and in so-doing remakes the world by re-instating its spatial order. The urna (coffin and platform) is quite heavy, so that even though over sixty young men (in their late teens) were packed together to carry it, they seemed to struggle. Every minute or so the urna would slip down the shoulders of carriers on one side and have to be hoisted back up. The strain was obvious and that added to the power of the process. Also the fact that it lasts about 15 hours. The families of the young men pay for the privilege of carrying the urna, and although one team could probably survive the ordeal, there are so many who want to undergo this rite of manhood that two teams are assembled, and a change is made in the middle of the night. The carriers include members of traditionalist as well as Catholic families, and probably Evangelicals as well. The ritual is an example of the symbiotic collaboration of traditionalist and Catholic that is required to pull off this five day event.
As the church was packed for the mass, I did not try to get inside to see the image of Christ removed form the cross and placed in the urna’s coffin. Instead Ewan and I followed Allen Christenson’s suggestion and climbed the platform of the cross in the church plaza for a direct view of the urna leaving the church, descending the stairs, and crossing the plaza. We were packed in with many Atitecos, mostly women and children, who had also come early for a good view. Among us were bags of excess sawdust from the alfombra across the plaza.
By 3:45 we could see the urna in the doorway of the church. How long it had taken to move the few meters from its original position to the door I can’t say. The descent of the church steps was swift, but then began the incredibly slow progress of forward and backward motion. As the urna cleared the church steps also, the steps were occupied by the men with the giant candles who had been carefully tending them at the sides of the nave since their lighting in early morning. The effect of the brilliantly decorated urn and brightly dressed carriers against the candle covered steps is spectacularly beautiful. Also, the whole route of the procession is dotted with arbours hung with evergreen and some of the fruit brought from the coast to decorate the monumento. And some of these arbours help frame this view. Added to the event was the band that had been playing on the porch of the church since the previous day, but was now moving along with the urna. In front of the Urna stood a group of ritualists including two, dressed as Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea who bury Christ, and who were responsible for reading or chanting from a book. One of the two was soused. And finally, as the urna passed, turning the carpet designs into just a swirl of colour, children ran in behind and scooped up the coloured sawdust.
Within the next hour, the urna’s companions, the statues of Maria Andolor and San Juan Carajo, had also appeared in the church door and slowly descended the steps. At about 4:55, Rilaj Mam entered into the crowd from his chapel to the north of the processional. He took his place between the urna and Maria Andolor but just stood there without dancing. After less than half an hour, (the urna moving only about 3 meters), the Mam turned around once and dashed ahead of the urna, descending the plaza steps, and running all the way back to his home in Cofradía Santa Cruz.
This was “una verguenza” ( a shame) because Rilaj Mam is supposed to either confront or accompany the urna for the whole time it is in the church plaza (until about 8 pm). In terms of Maya agricultural symbolism, the reborn Maize represented by the Christ-as-Maize is now able to defeat the Lord of the Underworld (Rilaj Mam) before he re-creates the cosmos. So it was not a good thing that Rilaj Mam deserted the field without putting up any resistance or even honouring the Christ-as-Maize by accompanying him. Andrew explained the problem to me. The man who carries Rilaj Mam is called the Telinel. A person usually becomes Telinel for a year. But this year, three Telinels had been selected and had to resign. The man who carried him today was not a Telinel, but only a man in the cofradía who had to take his place and was not spiritually prepared for the burden. The result was both predictable and shameful. Andrew suggested that the interpretation Atitecos would apply was that Rilaj Mam knew the carrier was not spiritually qualified and gave him a hard time, so that he could not bear to continue. More on this later.
Once the procession passed the cross platform (about two hours after it had appeared in the church door), I decided to walk around a bit and check on the progress of the alfombras. The last two sections had very complicated pre-Hispanic motifs and I was anxious to see how they were coming along. I ran into Andrew who was with Diego Chavez, son of the artist Nicolas Chavez at whose designs I was looking. On the day before I had asked about seeing Maria Castelyan, the female counterpart to Rilaj Mam, who I had not been able to identify from photographs of Cofradía Santa Cruz that Allen had sent me. Andrew had explained that she was not now in Cofradía Santa Cruz, but was being held back by the last Telinel to resign the post. I had told Andrew that I was anxious to see here, and now that he was with Diego Chavez he said it would be a good time.
So off we went to the former Cofradía Santa Cruz, climbing up city streets and into narrower and narrower alleys, the last being less than a meter wide. Then across a rocky space and we were at his house (I didn’t find out his name, as Andrew simply addressed him as Telinel). By this time two other men were with us, so the five of us sat on the two benches in the tiny room with the sacred image. The Telinel’s wife sat on one of the benches, and a chair was brought for the Telinel to sit between us. Andrew is very careful to show respect for Atiteco traditions by following devotional procedures, so he carefully offered a devotion to Maria Castelyan. She is a reclining figure, about 50 centimeters long, with a similar mask to Rilaj Mam’s and also smoking a cigarette. I gather that like Rilaj Mam, her body is a framework to which the cloths and mask are attached. Sh reclined within a glass case on the top of a platform that filled the far wall of the narrow room, opposite the Telinel’s seat. The floor of the room was covered in pine needles, and the rafters also decorated.
As customary, I and others contributed some funds so that beer could be brought and ceremonially shared. The Telinel opened the beer bottles on the edge of the wood platform under Maria Castelyan, which caused some merriment. Then one of the men with us took the duty of pouring the beer. Only two glasses were used, which had to be shared. Persons were handed the glasses according to status and age. The Telinel and his wife were first, then Andrew and me. The Telinel offered some beer on the altar platform and to the earth on the pine needle-covered floor. Then all the others present are saluted and respond appropriately. Andrew also offered some beer to the earth. He first saluted the Telinel and his wife and then the others. At least part of the salute (the only part I learned) was basically “thank you” (matiox). I felt incredibly clumsy an ignorant but Andrew was encouraging.
The visit to this cofradía took more than an hour, during which the Telinel, speaking in Tzutujil, told his sad story about how he had had to resign his post. What I gather from Diego Chavez’s brief explanation in Spanish is that he had been accused of embezzling the funds donated to Rilaj Mam. It may have been others who did it, but he was blamed and had to resign. He was extremely sad, and as he had been drinking for a while before we came, he used our presence to unburden himself. Although I could not understand a word, I was struck by his oratorical style and paid close attention to his tone and gestures.
When the talk was over and the beer finished, we took our leave and walked back into the centre of town. We stopped into the Cofradía San José, which is very near the church. They were happy to have more guests. The band from the church and procession was there, and Andrew found that a young entrepreneur named Nicolas had hired and paid for the band, and that he had brought the band to this minor cofradía along with several previous telinels, considered heavyweights in Atiteco society. This was quite a coup and Nicolas was clearly a rising star on the Atiteco firmament. At this cofradía, some men were quite drunk. We saw this at other cofradías but in general when they get drunk they get friendly rather than violent. Very friendly. They like to dance in the cofradías, and many, including Andrew, danced to the band Nicolas had brought.
When we left the cofradía, we headed to the processional route to watch the progress of the urna. We crossed an intersection which, unlike the carpeted areas, was not roped off. The crowd was enormous, so there was not much room to maneuver for watching. I noticed from the identity of the carriers that at some point since I had left the urna at the edge of the church plaza, that it had turned around. This probably happened when it entered the processional route.
We watched the urna come into the intersection and then noted that the rope enclosing the next section of carpet, an uphill slope, was not lowered for them. Andrew found out that this was because officials had figured out appropriate times to enter each section, in order to make sure that the conclusion of the procession would come at dawn. The urna was early, and for a half hour it moved and swayed back and forth in the small intersection. We were right up next to the urna, which gave me a chance to understand more about its power. With its considerable weight and more than sixty carriers, it seems to have a mind of its own. A slight movement becomes magnified and it may course forward, backwards, or to the side for a good bit before the movement is counteracted. At one point it surged toward us and the crowd behind us, and we had to surge as well to avoid something serious. The urna and its carriers were just a couple of centimeters from my face before it surged to the other side. When the time was right, the rope was lowered and the urna began climbing the uphill slope.
It was about 9:30 pm and people were ready to eat. While Andrew and Diego headed to a restaurant, I went to the market to get some bananas, then returned to the hotel planning to rest, especially since my dental problem had worsened. My roommates were gone with the key, so I looked around on the streets for them, thinking they might also be getting something to eat or drink. I saw Diego Chavez checking out the progress of his father’s carpet designs. No luck, so I returned to the hotel. After a while, Maria Louisa came in, wanting to get another video tape, and took me back to where my roommates were watching the urna progression. They decided to come back as well (Maria Louisa stayed to film more). It was now after 11 and I set the alarm for 4:45 so that we could see the end of the procession and the return to the church at dawn.
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