Sastun: My Apprenticeship with a Maya Healer

His copper face was completely smooth and fully fleshed, devoid of
wrinkles. His dark eyes were lively. His hair was as black as coal. He sat on
the bed next to you. I felt the mattress sink. He put his arms around you and
kissed your face lovingly. He turned your face with both of his hands to
look directly at him. He hugged you and said, ‘I love you, Rosita.’ You
returned the caress and said, ‘I love you, Don Elijio.’ Then he turned to one
of the corners in the room and motioned with his hand. You followed his
gaze. There on a low stool sat little six-year-old Pedro. Pedro’s face
changed to Mario’s face; Mario’s face changed to Juanita’s; Juanita’s
changed to Vanessa’s. Don Elijio said, ‘Rosita, take the children as though
they are your own. Train them and teach them to help each other.’ He
squeezed your hand and disappeared.”
At breakfast, Jim announced that a call had come from San Antonio.
Don Elijio had passed away at 6:10 A.M. The hair on the back of my neck
stood up. Greg reached for my hand and said, “The dream, Rose, the
dream.” We gathered up our things, thanked Jim and Marguerite, and drove
down from the pine forest to the jungle, back to San Antonio.
Outside the entrance to Don Elijio’s house stood a crowd of weeping
villagers. Candles burned inside and a clutch of women sang Spanish
hymns. A great man was gone. We were told that his body had to be
transported back to San Ignacio hospital for an autopsy, embalming, and a
death certificate, so Greg wrapped Don Elijio in a sheet and laid him on a
blanket in the back of our truck. As we drove again over the potholed, dusty
road, I looked often into the back of the truck at his lifeless body in its
makeshift shroud. We left his body at the morgue with a painfully
indifferent attendant during a power outage with temperatures soaring to
one hundred degrees. Later, Greg and I returned to pick up his body and
drive it back to San Antonio for the traditional Belizean wake.
Word of Don Elijio’s death spread throughout Belize quickly. The
national radio station announced his passing several times daily. We, along
with several close friends, assisted his family with the arrangements for
what turned out to be a state funeral. Dr. Joseph Palacio of the University of
Belize called to say he would like to speak on behalf of the academic
community. Several government ministers said they would attend. TV
celebrities asked to be a part of the service, as well as officials from the
Peace Corps, the United States Embassy, the national police force, and local
radio stations. In a few frenzied days we prepared a three-page memorial