Guruvir

As we walked down the dirt path that led into the pyramids, Doña Fela led the way, and with each step she bounced a little more, the edge of her dress jumping higher up her legs, her elbows lifting high, and she yelling for us to catch up with her. The air was warm, the sun was out, and there were few clouds in the sky, so the pyramids were in full view. Illuminated from above by the sun shining down it was midday, and as the dirt path turned to rock, a small stream appeared, cutting across the path. It was small enough that most people would not have considered it more than a puddle, but as Doña Fela passed by it, she bent her hands down and washed them in the water.

“You must always ask for permission to pass, otherwise the rocks won’t talk to you,” she said, and Clara and I followed her example. The water was warm, heated from the sun, and while all of the tourists rushed by with their cameras in hand, the three of us were bent by the ground asking for permission to pass.

As the path continued, the rocks became larger, and in a swift movement Doña Fela bent down, dropping her hand by her side and picking up a rock and said, “This is my rock,” and without even glancing at it, she placed it on top of her head.
Clara was walking and glancing at the ground, looking for her rock, and a moment later her arm dropped down, and she picked one up too.

She looked at hers and exclaimed “La muerte!” as she held it for Doña Fela to see and said, “Doña Fela, why do I always get that?”

“You have an obsession with it,” she said as she took her rock off her head.

“Oh, look how beautiful my little rock is,” she said as she stroked the side of with her thumb, “It’s going to be my guide.”
Doña Fela’s rock was black with white lines cutting across it. Two of them formed an angled cross.

“What do you want to tell me?” asked Doña Fela. She kept her gaze on the rock and nodded, “Ah, good good.”

I wanted to find a rock, but my arm wasn’t feeling the pull to drop down like theirs had. I kept scanning the rocks, there were hundreds of small rocks at my feet in assorted colors and shapes, but there was no pull. When the path was about to end I bent down and picked up an orange one that had caught my eye. I shut my fingers around it, and waited to see if it felt like anything.

The path ended and a well-manicured lawn opened out into the expanse between the first two pyramids. The pyramids were made from rectangular bricks, and reached about thirty feet into the air, flattening out at the top. Running directly up the middle were a set of wide steps. Doña Fela approached the first pyramid placed her rock back on top of her head, and then making sure she was aligned with the flight of steps, extended her arms out directly in front of her. She held the steps between her palms. She breathed in and closed her eyes – as though she was seeking some kind of charge from the pyramid.

Clara stood by her side and did the same, her slight frame shifting with her breath, and her short dark hair curling around her face, giving way to the lift in her shoulders as she breathed. I walked slowly to their side, and Doña Fela said, “Look, put your arms like this, and then,” and in she inhaled deeply again to show me how to do it. I extended my arms out aligning them with the pyramid, feeling nothing.

“I don’t feel anything,” I said.

Doña Fela told me to look at my rock and to see what it said, I turned it over in my hand and saw only a jumble of lines and contours. I shook my head.

“Go sit in front of that pyramid,” pointing to the pyramid across the way, “and wait for it to talk to you.”

I settled myself into the grass, removing my shoes and burying my toes under the grass, wondering how it was that things could talk to you, silently, with words or without them, how you could wait for this kind of thing to happen or even make it happen, because in the times it had happened, it had just happened, without warning, without explanation, and it had left just as quickly, making me doubt it.