Ewan and I were at the procession before 5 am. It was progressing along the most important spot, in front of the mayor’s and city government offices. A sort of piñata had been hung from one of the arbours, and when the urna passed under it, ropes were pulled to open it up and scatter green confetti over the urna. A very nice touch.
As the urna turned eastward to return to the church, we left the procession and took up positions at the top of the church steps to watch it come up. By this time Andrés, my official photographer, had joined us, and got a wonderful photo of the urna ascending the church steps. Once it was inside, I took up another position in front of the monumento, so I could see the urna progress along the central axis of the church. The effect of the urna entering the church at dawn, with the light and volcano seen through the door (the church directly faces San Pedro volcano) was spectacular. At the middle of the nave, the urna turned around, an impressively stately maneuver, and then was brought up to the head of the church and finally set down after its 15 hour journey. Most traditionalists left the church at this point. For them, the transformation was now complete. The Maize is reborn and the world is remade. Some Catholics immediately began coming along side the urna to pray.
We noticed at this time that while San Juan Carajo returned to the church with the urna, Maria Andolor was not with them. Sara asked about this and found that Maria Andolor had gone to the cofradía Santiago Apostol, where it was being celebrated with a live band, (and from which it would be returned in procession in late afternoon, I later learned from Andrew). Sara was told that we would be welcomed and so we set out, asking directions. These got confusing at one point, but Ewan noticed the table on which Maria Andolor had been carried, sitting in the back yard of a house from which music blared. We figured this was the place and climbed through the yard, where we were ushered into the small cofradía room. We saw Maria Andolor set up next to Santiago (on his horse) on one end of the cofradía room, and San Nicolas set up in the group at the other end. Below San Nicolas was a mask of Rilaj Mam (Maximon) with his hat, scarf, and cigar. Andrew later explained that new masks are made for the Mam every year, and that a house that has hosted Cofradía Santa Cruz and the Mam gets to keep the mask. The rafters had the usual multicoloured hanging decorations along with balloons. In the next room the band was playing: a marimba, three saxophones, drum, and a singer with a metal rasp. The microphone was hooked up to speakers the size of volkswagons. Deafening.
In the cofradía room, we were told that pictures were fine if we made donations, and we also donated to the acquisition of liquor: brandy this time. I had a shot and I assume the others did also, but Ewan said they seemed to really like him and gave him four shots of the brandy. Partly this was because he was such a good sport about joining in the dancing. The dancing is male-male, male-female, female-female. Drunk men seem to particularly like dancing with other men. Ewan and I both had that privilege, as well as dancing with a pair of women. But even they in their politeness pointed out that I was hopeless and what I was doing could not be called dancing! Amen to that. After this polite rebuff I decided to go out of the room and watch the band. I noticed the Telinel we had visited the night before, sitting in the yard, still sadly in his cups and sharing his grief with those who would listen. He seemed so much less charismatic on the margins of this event than he had the night before as the centre of our attention.
It was now around noon, and some went off to lunch. Ewan, Andrés and I headed to Santa Cruz Cofradía, where Rilaj Mam is kept, and to see their other statues, including a Cristo Sepultado in a glass coffin. When we got there, we were shown a picture of the alcalde (the cofradía head) next to Rilaj Mam, and told that he would be resting in the loft for two days (every Santa Cruz Cofradía must have a loft built to house the Mam when he rests).
As we headed back to the plaza, we ran into Andrew. He advised me that he had arranged for us to go to the San Juan Cofradía later that day to see the Martin bundle danced. We would meet at 2:30 at a restaurant. We had about an hour and decided to hunt up another cofradía. I thought I might be able to find San José from the night before but couldn’t. We stopped an elderly gentleman and asked directions. He offered to take us to the Cofradía San Antonio for a small fee, and we accepted. The cofradía was located on the saddest street I have ever seen. The only men around were staggering drunk. One man was lying face down, unconscious, his body covered with flies. We did not know if he was alive. There was nothing we could do, and this street was not a place to hang around, so we entered the cofradía. The alcalde was not in, so there was no beer-drinking or dancing, but we made a donation and took some photographs of the statues and many relics that decorated the altar and the platform in front of it.
We then headed to the Pescador restaurant to meet Andrew and the other students who would be coming with us: Erin, Tina, Maria Louisa and Rhett. Diego Chavez was there and stopped to say hello. He told me that he had been up all night with the urna procession and then had just 2 hours sleep before he was called upon to go to a nearby low peak called Cerro de Oro, to participate in ceremonies. He explained that the heavy rain on Thursday would have required cancellation of the urna procession if it came on Friday, so many traditionalist priests had gone to do ceremonies in four caves to ask that the rains be held back. Indeed they were, and the procession of course came off beautifully, so they needed to go back on Saturday to give appropriate thanks in other caves.
Andrew then came and had a coffee, after which we went to San Juan Cofradía. This was a very special invitation. The cofradía houses the Martín bundle, perhaps the most sacred and powerful object in Santiago Atitlán. We might call Martín a deity, and one who pre-exists the saints and creation. During his ceremony, doors and windows must be fastened shut, as his power unleashed could destroy the world. The cofradía was beautifully clean: trash was carefully placed in a bag hanging on the wall, from which Andrew noted it must be ceremonially disposed of. The altar contained the famous statue of San Juan Bautista holding his sheep attribute, but the sheep is painted with spots to turn it into a jaguar, since Martín is, among other things, a patron of the hunt. At the other end of the room is the table containing the deer heads and skins for the deer dance in which the hunt is a metaphor for the destruction of the Martín-as-Sun before his re-creation. Behind the altar statues was a black oilcloth, behind which Andrew suspected was a colonial period religious painting. On the platform in front were arranged the bundle of Martín on the right, and one of the Maria’s on the left. The persons there could not say which Maria. The problem is that the alcalde of the cofradía was sick in bed, and the Nab’eysil, the celibate priest who embodies Martín, had died and had not yet been replaced. Another priest would carry out the ceremony.
The Martín bundle is an elaborate green cloth containing (perhaps among other things), shirts of previous Nab’eysils. Normally the Nab’eysil puts one of these on for dancing the Martín out of his chest, remaking the world, being reborn as the Maize, and returning the bundle to the chest. Andrew suspects that the shirts may go back to colonial times. The Maria bundle is a tiny fancy cushion to witch are attached three porcelain angel heads. Each of the bundles has a carved chest, with Martin’s on the left, and Maria’s suspended from the ceiling at the right. On the altar next to San Juan is a small glass case holding Yaxper, a female deity whose statue was probably originally a porcelain archangel but now dressed in Atiteco women’s clothing.
When the doors and windows were closed, each of us was given a lit candle. Formerly this would be the only light, but a florescent light was now turned on so all could be seen clearly. The leading priest danced the Martin bundle while his assistant danced behind with a small carved animal. Music was provided by a tape deck as well as the alcalde’s wife (the Tixel) playing a slit gong. After the dance all of us payed homage by kissing the Martín bundle and the animal, then they were returned to Martín’s chest. Then the leading priest danced the Maria bundle while his assistant carried two crosses. A young man entered at this point and took over the slit gong for this dance. We kissed the bundles and crosses and then they were returned to the Maria chest. Then the doors and windows were opened and we relaxed with the usual beer drinking ritual and dance.
It was now after 5 pm, so we took our leave of the cofradía and then of Andrew, collected our luggage, and made our way to the wharf for the lake crossing back to Panajachel. On the way we followed Andrew’s instructions and stopped in at a shop on “Gringo Alley” to see the pre-Hispanic pottery and figurines for sale. Then a calm lake crossing, looking for the hotel, finding it and also finding a big problem. The owner had mistakenly written down that we were coming on Sunday rather than Saturday and did not have enough rooms. So most of us ended up sharing beds.
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