Sastun: My Apprenticeship with a Maya Healer

Doña María had married the widowed Tzib when he was sixty-five and
she was fifteen, over the objections of both families. But now, decades later,
she was the family member who watched over Don Elijio most closely.
Before Chinda died, the two women had made a pact: they would care for
each other’s husbands in the event one of them died.
So it was Doña María who lovingly laundered the clothing Chinda had
made Don Elijio before she had died. She stopped by twice a week to pick
up and drop off his laundry, bringing along treats of tamales and sweet
buns. In return, Don Elijio helped support her and Manuel.
After she folded the laundry and swept the floor, she sat down to chat.
Her husband, who never left the house, had a cold. Don Elijio immediately
set about filling her apron with Contribo, Duck Flower, vine, instructing her
how to prepare a special sun tea for the elderly.
“Everybody has a cold right now,” said Doña Rosa. “My husband and
my daughters are at home right now, sniffling and sneezing.”
“These are natural things,” said Don Elijio.
I concurred. “God willing, we never find a cure for the cold,” I said,
“because it is a way the body has of cleansing itself regularly. If we take it
away, more serious diseases will follow.”
“It’s good for all that gunk to come out of the body,” threw in Don
Elijio.
Doña Maria left for home, making a joke about her jealous husband in
his hammock. A few days later, Doña Rosa and I left together, worried
about how Don Elijio would fare alone. Not that he was entirely alone.
Angel, Isabel, and their eleven children were always around. Of all his
grandchildren, Angel was the one who took the most responsibility for his
grandfather.
Still, it was a tough few weeks for Don Elijio. The making of the
documentary was well timed. The film crew and I met up in San Ignacio
and headed out for San Antonio, where we found the old H’men in rare
form, ready to be a star.
I remember how he asked me to comb his hair and help him dress in
something appropriate. He was relaxed, charming, and powerful on camera,
as if he had done it a thousand times before.
When the revivalists pulled up stakes, his patients—as he had predicted
—came back one by one, sheepish looks on their faces. Even one of the