The dying man whose prayer service I went to a while back came up in our conversation during corn husking with the women one day. This was because an old lady was slowly making her way through the bush with her large walking stick towards his house (they just call him the old man by the way). Saturnina told me that he was not doing well; that he could no longer move or eat. I was very sad to hear this, but the next thing I was told shocked me almost right off my tem. “yeah, that’s his next wife you know?” What? Saturnina then explained that his first wife gave him ‘lone girls’ and so he took ‘one next wife’ and she gave him ‘lone boys.’ My mouth was literally open. I had some questions… were they both still alive? Yes, one is his neighbor and his first wife is the one who lives with him. Is this common? It used to be. Wow. The conversation then turned to whether or not we would want our husbands to take a ‘next wife’ it was a unanimous no.
The following day, as I was coloring with the two little girls on the veranda, we saw one little boy running to the old man’s house. I thought nothing of it. Then two girls followed by a teenage boy and a full grown woman in a ketchi dress all silently running to the house. By this point I am staring with my marker suspended in mid air…what is going on! Margarita runs over and asks one of the now steady stream of runners what was going on. “The old man has died!” Soon it seems the whole village is running to the house, cutting through yards, appearing from the bush, coming from all directions and of every age. I don’t know what to do, Greg just left to catch a bus into town and the adults of the house are all at one of the daughter’s houses. Finally, Lynette comes home; she runs over and confirms the death. I ask her what everyone is doing. She explained that they will go see the old man. She went over a little later with the kids and I accompanied her. It was at the same house only this time the hammock was tied up and the old man lay on just the boards of the bed, on top of a piece of cardboard. He had been dressed in a nice collared shirt and they pulled a blanket up to his chest. His head lay upon a large pillow and his face was draped with a blue hand towel. The mood inside was very somber. I noticed the ‘next wife’ sitting right by the door, one withered hand on her walking stick balanced between her feet looking around at each new arrival. She had no tears and did not go near her husband the entire time I was there. The first wife however, sat right next to the bed. Stifled sobs would issue from her ever so often. She was slouched over towards him, sometimes reaching out to him, it was heartbreaking. She too clutched her large walking stick and clearly depended upon it a great deal as her knuckles were white from gripping it so hard. Lynette left after a few minutes; people were just coming in and out. I deiced to stay. There were several women crying silently, one was recounting the final moments (from what I could gather in ketchi, something about all the people coming, how he was doing good). I saw several men cry also. The Alcalde and Chairman arrived after a while. The Alcalde pushed down on the old man’s chest, they both felt his exposed arm and then took off the cloth and everyone stared at his now lifeless face. There seemed to be an agreement that he was indeed dead and they then began to discuss how to move him. Lynette told me before we came over that they will take the body to the hospital where the police and the doctor have to sign off that it was a natural death and then they will bring him back and most likely have the funeral the following day. Following a large crowd I left so as not to be there when the old man was moved.
That night I heard saws and hammering until past 1 am making the casket. The funeral was held two days after he passed away. I woke up early and got dressed in my most modest dress and put on my tan sweater my mom sent me and went out of my house to tell them to please let me know when the funeral would begin. I went back inside put on two pairs of socks and bundled up in my hammock to read in the freezing cold until they called me. I heard some chimes and quickly ran outside to investigate. Saturnina told me they were just opening the church and that they would ring it again when the services started. At 8:30 the loud chimes started and they knocked on my door and explained that it was starting but that they would meet me there because they had to bathe and dress. Okay… I can do this. I walked somberly to the church…which is maybe 50 yards away from my house. Dobby ran up to me and walked with me a ways, tail wagging. I saw several of the kids from school and they all greeted me. I came into the church and found a seat in one of the pews next to an older woman who was the mother of one of my students. She welcomed me and we began singing ketchi songs. There was much looking around and the chapel began to fill up. There were two chairs in the middle of the rows facing each other, clearly where the coffin would be laid. We sang for about 45 minutes and then everyone started looking around and the pick-up truck could be seen slowly coming towards the church. The priest and the family emerged and they carried the coffin into the church. It was a beautiful coffin…mahogany with brass-like handles. Once they got it settled on the chairs they took off the lid and laid it to the side. The old man was wrapped in different colored blankets tightly from head to toe. Several people started sobbing. When his family laid a paper wreath at the foot with a homemade sign whishing their grandfather’s sole to rest in peace I teared up at once. Two plates lined with foil covered in flowers and leaves were also left at the foot of the casket. The church was packed. Children and dogs silently ran about, one little baby brushed by my leg and when I looked down I saw a 1 year old boy wobbling past me with only a mesh shirt on. I had never been to a catholic funeral and was surprised they do a whole mass. The priest was very good, it was all in ketchi but I understand a little of it. I kept on getting pats and pokes from the little kids around me, one preschool girl would shout during any lull in music or preaching, “shawn Kevina!” Which means miss kevina, at which point people would all look around at me. After the mass they took off the blanket covering his face and there was a rush of people to gaze upon the old man’s face once more. Babies and small children were lifted above the heads and there was a quiet murmuring and crying from the undulating mass of people. People were coming up taking pictures and video on their cell phones. Then they put the lid back on, walked around the casket one last time with the gourd of fire filling the room with the sweet (sunuk) smelling smoke and he was lifted out and set in the back of the pickup. We all slowly filed out of the church and the chimes began. I realized there was no bell at all but actually an old gear from a large machine which was being hit alternatively by a hammer and a piece of rod iron by one of the family members. We all filled the street and walked slowly to the cemetery which was about a 4th of a mile away. I was looming over all the other people and tried to just walk solemnly with my hands clasped in front of me. There were probably around 200 people in the procession. We then climbed up the muddy hill to his burial plot. There was much maneuvering as we all tried to find a spot around the gravesite which was surrounded by beautiful trees and foliage. They said a few more words and then began to lower down the casket with much yelling (and after almost tipping it over) they laid him to rest. I was startled by the loud crashing sound as they refilled the hole with the rock laden earth. It was done quickly and I walked back holding hands with Margarita and listening to the maya women talking about me. I am glad I got to see this and that I was allowed to participate. This 88 year old man, father to 10, husband to two, and great grandfather to many was clearly loved and will be missed I am sure.
