Etiquette for the End of the World

chapter 5

Post, Post, Post-Modern Mealtime Mores



You are probably still feeling disoriented, to one degree or another, because everyday life has become so strange. You may be searching around your memory for comforting customs of genteel civilization you can follow to help you feel more normal. The trouble is, things are a lot different now; the old rule book is gone. (The old rule book has been devoured by wild animals or a gang of paper-eaters, or has been burned for fuel.) You certainly can’t expect anyone to care whether you pour tea from the right or the left. On the other hand, this is not the time to think to yourself, Hey, all hell’s broken loose; if everyone is running around marauding, why should I pay attention to my table manners? Because, believe it or not, mealtime etiquette is still extremely important, lest we become wild animals ourselves.



Way Beyond Artichokes: How to Eat Without “Traditional” Utensils:

If you are lucky enough to still own any silverware, you are probably using it for digging, building, or trading. (Tablespoons also make fairly passable mirrors.) No worries: there are many world cultures that historically did not use knives, spoons, and forks—for example, the Ethiopians (remember going to those trendy restaurants and eating with our fingers?). But the best model is Asia. Chopsticks are the simplest and yet the most sophisticated of utensils. You can make them out of almost anything. You may decide upon tree twigs as the best raw material. When using tree twigs, peel bark off on at least the bottom half. (If you have the time, it’s more elegant to peel and sand the whole twig.) The well-appointed post-2012 household has pre-peeled twigs by the ready. *Note: If you are in an area where there are no more trees, you may use pencils (lead removed), old pens, or even dried animal bones. However, do not try to use two knives as chopsticks. This can result in injury to the mouth, and also just looks horribly common while you’re doing it.



Staying Safe and Saving Face:

When you find yourself a guest at someone else’s table, staying safe and being polite can be a tricky combo. Not everyone is going to be well-educated about which foods are healthy and which foods are poisonous due to contamination or lack of proper preserving agents or methods. When in doubt, unless you are literally starving to death (in which case, see page __), it’s best to politely refuse the item offered, with a sincere-sounding “Thank you so much, but I have a medical condition that prohibits my being able to enjoy [the food in question].” (No one has to know that your “medical condition” is in actuality your own common sense.)



Cannibalism: Yes or No?:

More than ever before, we all need to go with the flow, do as the natives do, adjust to the current status quo. We can get used to just about anything. People used to marry their sisters, in primitive days, because they needed to propagate the species … so when someone serves you meat, and you suspect it may not actually be pork, just remember a few basic rules of behavior—



“Tess! Lunch is ready on the patio!” Harriet called up.

Tess closed her laptop, wondering if she might be going too far with the cannibalism section. And why put the idea into people’s heads? Then she caught herself and almost laughed out loud. What was she thinking? She often forgot that this book was not going to be read by any actual 2012 survivalists—that no one was really going to be following her advice. Man, talk about getting into character.

When she got out to the patio, it was sunny and Eden-esque as usual, except Harriet was already fighting with Will.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, Harriet,” Will was saying with irritation. “But this is why we are going to see the monarch butterflies. While we still can. While they are still here.”

“Butterflies? What butterflies?” Tess asked cheerfully, trying to break the prevailing combative mood.

Will got up to greet her, kissing her on both cheeks; Margie smiled and blew her a kiss from across the large round glass table. Tess already felt she and Margie were related, that they were family, since they had both been Harriet’s assistant. Will pulled out the empty chair for Tess, next to Harriet’s wheelchair. The table was set, complete with fresh flowers, and there was already a basket of fresh bread in the center as well as a tall pitcher of papaya juice, a bottle of mineral water, and an ice bucket containing a bottle of wine.

“It’s the peak season,” he said. “It’s when millions and millions of monarchs migrate south and many of them descend on this one area, a butterfly reserve. It’s one of the most fantastic sights in nature. Next week is the Festival Cultural de la Mariposa Monarca. Have you ever seen trees bending down with the weight of several thousand butterflies?”

Tess felt her eyes widen, trying to picture this. “Can’t say that I have.”

“Tess, why don’t you come with us?” said Margie. “I don’t know what you have planned while you were here, but … we’re also going to see our Mayan friend Alejandro on the way.”

“He’s authentic, Tess. I’m sure Wayne Orbus would approve.” Will laughed, but Harriet just pursed her lips and took a sip of wine.

“It sounds fabulous, really, but I was going to try to get down to Palenque. I want to see the palace, and the Temple of the Inscriptions, and the ball-game court, and I read about these big rectangular pools where the calendar priests would look at the reflections of the stars—“

“Tess, Palenque is fifteen hours away,” protested Will.

“And that’s if you’re driving,” put in Margie.

Harriet nodded. “For once I agree with you, Will. It’s too far to go alone. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her!”

Margie turned to Tess with clear, calm eyes. “Tess, I know what you’re thinking, about the ruins, you’re thinking you are going to have some Big Spiritual Experience there. We have watched so many people we know come here with the same idea. We were like that too. But it’s just filled with other Americans, all wandering around with cameras trying to have the same Big Spiritual Experience.

“Listen, after the butterflies, we’re going to Mexico City for a meeting Will has about his next project. The National Museum of Anthropology has wonderful Mayan artifacts. Half the exhibits in the Maya Hall are actually from Palenque. It’s one of the best museums in the world. You really should see it, if you’ve never been. Why don’t you come, Tess?”

Will hooked an arm through hers and pretended to pull her. “Yes, come with us, please. You can keep Margie from picking on me.”

Margie ignored him. “We’re staying with Alejandro in Morelia overnight. He won’t mind another person.”

“Absolutely,” Will agreed.

As she ate her lunch of chilaquiles and scrambled eggs and listened to Harriet, Margie, and Will talking about places they had been in Mexico over the years, she started picturing the long dusty, bumpy bus ride to Palenque all by herself, trying to navigate her way around without knowing the language … . She had already had her return flight arranged to leave from Mexico City, so ending up there would work perfectly. (Margie was planning on accompanying Harriet back to the States for a long overdue visit in a few weeks.) Tess loved the idea of being driven through the country by people who really knew it. What could be a better way to see Mexico? And so Tess decided that one butterfly reserve, one authentic Maya, and two personal guides beat one spectacular Mayan ruin.



***



During the twenty-four hours before Tess left Ajijic, Harriet vacillated between relief that Tess was not going off by herself on a bus and worry that another of her ex-assistants was getting mixed up with Chilam Balam. She also was worried about their traveling south on Highway 15, which she said was the route used by dangerous drug traffickers. “For heaven’s sake, we’re not hitchhiking, Harriet,” Margie assured her.

As usual, Harriet channeled most of her anxiety into health issues, her favorite worry-subject. “Mexico City, Tess, has one of the highest pollen counts. Won’t you suffer terribly? You know, it’s a higher altitude, you might not react well … .” The way she talked about it, Tess could tell that Harriet felt she herself could have an attack—by osmosis, or psychic connection—even though she would be miles away. Tess told Harriet if she needed her to stay she would not go.

“No, I told you you did not have to babysit me. I’ve got Ana and Carlos. Go, have fun. At least you won’t be by yourself.” Then she pointed at Will and Margie with a straight strong arm, index finger out. “You two take care of her or I swear I will cause an international incident—and you know I can. Tess, you must email me every day, please!” But Harriet had talked to Margie enough during the couple’s stay in Ajijic to feel certain they were not going to whisk Tess off into any dangerous cults.

About an hour out of the Lake Chapala area, however, on the road to Morelia, Will turned to Margie and said, “So, should we tell her?”

“I don’t know, should we?”

“I think we have to.”

Tess sat up a little straighter in the backseat of the car.

“You know, Tess, I didn’t want to mention this back in Ajijic. I did not want to get Harriet going,” said Margie. “But one of the reasons we are going to be living in Mexico at least until after December is the crystal skulls.”

Margie turned around and gazed into Tess’s stupefied face. “Have you heard of them?” She smiled. “Yes, I see you have. It’s true most people think we’re insane. But what else is new? The location of many of the skulls is kept very secret. The people who care for them don’t want them falling into the wrong hands. These skulls come from another planet, originally. And the beings who brought them are returning to Earth next December.”

Tess blinked. Could she be hearing right?

Will looked at her in the rearview mirror. “Maybe you have come across it in your research for the WOOSH guide, but Monument Six at the Mayan site of Tortuguero distinctly refers to the ‘Descent of the Nine Foot Tree God’ on December 21, 2012.”

Glancing out the side window at the trees whizzing by them, Margie added, as matter-of-fact as if she were talking about what they were going to have for dinner, “We’ve been promised a private viewing of one of the skulls, and we are looking forward to being able to communicate with the extraterrestrials who are referred to in many of the Mayan texts. Supposedly it works almost like a video screen, and you can see into the past as well as the future.”

Oh. My. God. What the hell is this?! Just when Tess had been starting to relax, thinking she was on solid ground, Margie and Will proved to be completely out of their minds. And they seemed so normal! A wave of alarm surged through her body, and she felt herself, once more, down the rabbit hole. (She was almost starting to feel at home down there.) Aloud she stammered, rather incoherently, “What … you say that … I’m sorry, what?” She instinctively glanced at the car door. They were going pretty slowly, due to the bad road with its frequent dips and speed bumps. It might not be that hard to jump out. But where would she go? She was not quite sure how far she was from a major town.

Then, just when Tess was wondering if her heart would ever start beating again, Will and Margie burst out laughing.

“I’m so sorry, Tess, we should not have done that to you!” Margie said.

“Yes,” Will chuckled, “I think Mexican living has permanently warped our sense of humor.”

Margie turned all the way around in her seat so she could talk to Tess. “The truth is, Will has landed this completely weird project to depict several of these skulls. He got it partially because of his end-of-the-world series, and partially because of our contacts among the Maya.”

“Just call me the Indiana Jones of visual arts,” Will sang out, taking a turn a little too sharply, causing Margie to grab onto her headrest.

“Will! Watch it, please!” They went on to explain that Will had indeed been commissioned by an organization of Mayan “priests” to witness whatever phenomena were purported to be happening with the skulls, and then portray the images artistically, for the edification of the rest of the world. But, while Will said he “did not totally reject the remote possibility” that one of these skulls could produce some kind of effect in the hands of the right Mayan shaman, they were taking the whole project with many, many grains of salt. In fact they both thought it was pretty crazy. It had just been too lucrative and interesting a commission for him to turn down. Tess felt dizzy, but laughed weakly. Will smiled as he steered the car onto an exit ramp. “It’s going to be my first work of sculpture and painting combined. The whole thing is going to be so totally out there, I’m hoping to create a media frenzy.” He looked over to grin at Margie, who turned back around in her seat, refastened her seat belt, and leaned her head back on the headrest in a gesture of weary tolerance. But Tess couldn’t help noticing she also rested her hand on his, atop the stick shift.

When they arrived in Morelia, Tess was nervous but excited to meet their friend, whom they referred to as “Tata” (which was Mayan for “grandfather”). “Not to be confused with ‘La Tuta,’ who is the head of a quasi-religious drug cartel active in the area.” Will smiled, but Tess was determined not to let him scare her again. “The only bad thing about this trip is that we are going to be here for such a short time, and there are so many things to see in this town. At least we can show you the cathedral lit up at night.”



As it turned out Tata Alejandro was not only Mayan, but a well-respected Mayan elder, or spiritual guide. His full name was Alejandro Dan Rios Sha and he was staying in Morelia while he was giving a series of lectures at the Universidad Michoacana. He was a tiny old man with a wrinkly, friendly face, dressed in an ordinary navy blue cotton shirt and khakis (Tess had somehow expected him to be dressed in beads and feathers). The four of them had tequila, tacos and enchiladas placeras, and outrageously delicious guacamole at a small restaurant frequented by a lot of students. Alejandro spoke mostly in Spanish with Will and Margie, so Tess spent her time observing the other diners—laughing groups of young people arriving, greeting one another, moving chairs to let more people into their groups. They could almost have been Columbia students at one of the hangouts on Broadway back home.

Occasionally Margie would translate some of Tata Alejandro’s conversation for her: “He says that the recent Michoacan violence—you know, the drug cartels—is just another sign of the coming of the Fifth Age.” … “He’s talking about the ancient wise ones from the Pleiades, who will return again on what he calls Day Zero.” … “He says a period of turmoil will be followed by harmony, and a realignment of the human mind.” Funnily enough, Tess accepted all this as she never would have if she were in New York. She didn’t believe any of it, but neither did it particularly weird her out. She listened to the ideas that resonated with her, and let those parts of it in: “loving respect for all beings, in preparation for the coming period of transition,” “new dawn,” and “world renewal.” Hey, that sounded okay to her. And Alejandro had the kindest, most twinkly eyes she had ever seen.

When they went back to Alejandro’s apartment after dinner, Tess was taken aback at how plain it was, but Will explained that it was borrowed, just for the time he was teaching in Morelia. The place did have a musty, faintly pine-like smell, which Margie told her was copal, an incense often used in Mayan rituals.

Tess slept surprisingly well on a rather uncomfortable couch in the living room, and the next day she felt unexpectedly buoyant. Alejandro took her hands in his sandpapery ones upon their parting and said to her in English, “You must to be awake, be hearing—and so important—to be active, for the time to come. When the computer crash, you must to reset computer. The world shift that comes is a … correction; it is to reset balance between masculine and feminine.” Then he smiled and tapped her sharply on the top of the head with two fingers, which made her feel like giggling. “You go see butterflies now. You fly with them. You be transformed!”

Once they arrived at the Sierra Chincua butterfly reserve in Angangueo, Tess knew she had made the right decision coming with Will and Margie. She would not have given up the experience for anything. The monarch butterflies reminded her of Hitchcock’s The Birds, except it was the Disney version. It was unearthly, magical, supernatural; the butterflies blanketed the ground and completely covered any small patches of vegetation that lined the paths. They did indeed hang from the leaves of the trees, bending the limbs, so that all you could see was the flickering vibration of orange, like sparkling orange water. They would take off in waves, as if they were moving on cue to music. And when they moved off a tree en masse, it was if the tree had come to life like some creature in a fairy tale. You could hear their wings, there were so many of them. When they bumped you, it was like being tickled by angels.

In the midst of this natural wonder, everything that was bad or negative in her life seemed to flutter away. There was only now; the only things that existed were the beautiful miracle of the monarchs, and the other human beings who were lucky enough to be there watching them alongside her. She could not remember when she had felt such a deep sense of contentment.



***



The Museo Nacional del Antropologia in Mexico City was huge. Tess wandered in awe through thousands of years of history, past the endless sculptures, murals, carvings, facades, and artifacts, keeping Margie and Will in sight. Margie and Will, her wonderful two new friends. After four days of traveling with them she felt she had known them forever.

I guess life really is what happens when you are making other plans, Tess thought, staring at a particularly scary sculpture of Quetzalcoatl, “the feathered serpent,” protruding from one side of the huge Teotihuacan Temple. She was starting to appreciate Margie’s philosophy that everything happens for a reason, and if you go with the flow, the flow will carry you where you need to be. She smiled to herself. She imagined what Ginny would say if she were to spout this belief to her: “Sure, just go with the flow, and you’ll soon find yourself down the drain.”

Tess trailed behind Margie and Will, trying to absorb the exhibits as they passed, but her feet were tired and her mind felt overfed. Finally they were in the Mexica Hall and Tess found herself gazing at the enormous Sun Stone. Tess had known that the Piedra del Sol was big, but the way it loomed over everything in this immense hall made it seem ominous. But she was aware that she’d probably been influenced by all the doomsday web sites and videos, which always seemed to be accompanied by the image of this stone.

“One of the things that drove me crazy about WOOSH,” Will said, his arms folded across his chest, “was their blind adherence to so many non-facts. This Sun Stone, while amazing, is, of course, only loosely connected to the Maya. It was used primarily for sacrifices to the sun god, by the Aztecs. The calendar around the edges was there really to tell them when it was time to have a sacrifice. And yes, of course, they inherited the knowledge for calendar keeping from the Maya and Olmec people, but the whole long count calendar—the 5,125-year one, the one associated with all the 2012 predictions—isn’t even depicted here.” Margie gave Will one of her long suffering looks that said he was talking too loudly, or too much, and turned away to look at some stone carvings inside a glass case. Will and Tess followed.



They had stopped outside the servicio des señoras for Margie, who’d had a beer at lunch, which was apparently unusual for her. (“Now I know why I don’t do that more often,” she had laughed). There were a few minor sculptures exhibited in between the ladies’ and men’s rooms. One of them was carved from green stone. Idly, Tess looked down at the plaque:



Jade Scarab Beetle, Mayan, circa AD 800. Probably used for ceremonial purpose. Scarabs utilize the power of the sun by rolling up their eggs in mud or dung. The hot sun bakes the little mud balls, essentially incubating the eggs. Thus, not only is the scarab a symbol of ingenuity, and of the power of the Sun, it is also symbolic of rebirthing into a new dawn of life.



“Wow, I did not know they even had beetles back then,” remarked Tess. Then she felt stupid. Of course they had beetles. What was everyone always saying about how insects were going to outlive humanity?

“You know who is completely and utterly obsessed with scarab beetles?” Will piped up right behind her. “The infamous Wayne Orbus.”

“What?” Tess said. “He is? Really?” It was hard to imagine the professorial bald Brit she had seen in the video being interested in beetles.

“Oh yeah,” Will said. “Big time. He’s got ’em all over the place. Raises them on his place in England. It’s totally creepy. I wish I had been able to take pictures of his compound the time I was there. It’s really out there. Like a James Bond movie … so many wild things, contraptions he’s invented … . But the beetles …” Will closed his eyes and shook his head. “He has been studying different kinds of beetles since his days at Oxford. That was part of why he got thrown out of there, or so the rumor went. His goddamn beetles kept getting loose.” Will motioned to Margie, who had just emerged from the ladies’ room.

“Wow. Huh.” Tess looked at Will in amazement and then turned back to stare into the square glass case. The oval green-colored stone beetle, about a foot high, was carved primitively but accurately. Embedded in a pedestal base so that it was standing up on its end, the scarab looked like a turtle, or even a miniature round human. She found it oddly threatening. Almost like it might start walking toward her.

A walking beetle. All at once a jolt went through her body as if she had touched a live electric wire with a wet finger. The book! The missing book that had contained the computer plague blueprints. It had been called something like The Wyoming Walking Beetle and Other Mending Tips. Wayne Orbus, counting on the world ending, obsessed with beetles … . But it had to just be a strange coincidence. Didn’t it?