Death and Rebirth on Deerskin

Death and Rebirth on Deerskin

Looking to expand international commerce and tourism along the Yucatán’s north shore, the Mexican government proposed expanding Carreteras Federales 176. Currently running between Mérida and Tizimin, local civic and Indigenous leaders applauded President Claudia Scheinbaum’s proposal to expand the highway eastwards to Cancún.

As with every major project, initial survey work includes archaeological supervision. Several routes were proposed. The one that Henrique was following was nearly a straight line to the Cancún airport, skirting the northern edge of the village of Kantunilkín.

It was here that he found what should not be. While the surveyors took their measurements of the overgrazed cattle field, his trained eye noted a disturbance. He saw a slight rise in the plain and he asked the surveyors to move ahead while he checked out the site.

Henrique logged into the LIDAR survey files, the same files that his superiors swore on the graves of their dead ancestors showed no potential sites of historical importance on his route. Sure enough, at the full scale of the route, his screen showed nothing but mixed land use.

As he magnified the image and centered it on his location, he saw a small dark grain in the image that was beginning to pixelate — the possible sign of a buried ruin at his site.

Two days later, Henrique returned from the Mérida airport with his assistant, Nicolás, and his portable scanner. He had to guess that anything found by the LIDAR would have been post-Aztec and would not be too far underground.

Nicolás marked out the perimeter of a small square structure, with its base only three meters down. This find placed Henrique in a bind. It was getting close to hurricane season, and his window to do the research was short. He needed to determine what was below them, and it could not wait until January.

It had been a while since either office bound archaeologist was active on a dig site, but they quickly prepared to roll up their sleeves here. Obtaining the assistance of six archeology students from the nearby Universidad Autónoma de Yucatán, the group started excavations on the northern side of the perimeter.

Their hunch proved correct, as they found a petrified wooden lintel over a door-sized opening. Seventy centimeters later, they reached the ground level for the adobe brick structure. Carefully excavating the opening and adding precautionary bracing under the lintel, the professionals and students spent their last week at the site clearing the inside of the wall around the door.

“Señor Matalan,” a female voice excitedly called, “come here! You need to see this!”

She pointed to a tin panel with raised figures on the lintel. “When I tap this, it has a hollow sound.”

Cell phones recorded the find. With the wooden plugs holding the panel missing most of their sculpted heads, the panel was easy to remove without further damage. Inside, a small, hard covered book shape could be seen.

Henrique brought out a lined container to protect the book from further environmental contact. After extracting it from the cavity, he called the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, both to catalogue the find, and for their assistance to secure the site immediately. He also took a sliver of the lintel for carbon dating.

Returning to the Universidad in Mérida, Henrique was surrounded by his assistant and the dusty students, anticipating their chance to be the first to see history. Reminding them of the need for a clean room to examine what was likely to be a very fragile document, he first obtained permission to use one of the laboratory rooms for the examination, then asked everyone to return in two hours.

Lab coats from the Universidad will have to do for the students, Henrique thought, as he pulled out as many pairs of cotton gloves from his supplies as he could find. As he passed a Madre de Dios statuette, he stopped and said a prayer. He felt he needed help from all sources as he readied himself for the unveiling.

One long table was cleared of the beakers and chemicals cluttering the remainder in the room. The students’ proctor recorded the events, standing near them on one side, as Henrique and Nicolás stood opposite while Henrique lifted the lid on the travel container.

As he pulled the document out, the lighting revealed the grains on the leather cover, highlighted with the darkening with age. Looking from the side, he noted the thicker sheets as if folded. Before opening the cover, he turned the pages to the students.

“It is not a book, but something much older.” As he pointed the thicker sheets with his tweezers, he continued. “We have found a codex!”

As the students buzzed with excitement, “Señor Matalan” proceeded to carefully open the cover to reveal a diorama of activity around corn: planting, tilling, harvesting, celebrating, feasting, just to name a few. The style was unmistakable. This was an Aztec document, and based on the texture, this appeared to be drawn on stretched deerskin — the closest the Meso-Americans had to parchment prior to the Spanish Conquest.

He was as eager as the students to press forward, but the leather pages were fused. In all, he could count thirty folds — sixty pages. Henrique heard someone murmur, “A real life Codex Mendoza in front of us.” He couldn’t disagree, but he had to tell them, “We will have to wait for the conservators to do their magic. I do not want to risk damaging the contents by forcing the sheets apart.”

Nicolás asked to see the back cover. It was as plain as the front but as I turned it over, I noted that it would also open to the inside. “Looks like we get one more peek” as I slowly lifted the cover. The students were spellbound. I was stunned! Nicolás asked, “Is that a battle scene between Mictlantecuhtli and Xipe Totec?”

A scene between Death and Rebirth? I have a feeling this will take years to decipher.