The Falling Woman by Pat Murphy Read Free Book Online

walked past a low wall and a crumbling fragment of an archway. "The old church," my mother said.
    "The Spanish built it with Indian labor and the Mayan temple stones."
    She spoke in fragments: short bursts of information, a verbal shorthand that eliminated the little words that slow a sentence down. Her way of speaking seemed to match her general attitude; she seemed to be overflowing with the willingness to act, to start new projects, to finish up old ones, to clear jungles and build pyramids. She was a head shorter than me, but I had to work to match her pace.
    "Just found an interesting possibility over there," she said, gesturing vaguely. "Underground chamber, I think. We'll start working on that Monday."
    The sun reflected off the rocks and I was grateful for my sunglasses. The sky was an uninterrupted blue; no clouds, no hope of shade. Even the jungle did not look cool: the trees looked thirsty and worn. The path was flanked by mounds of rubble from which trees sprouted.
    "You'll need a hat," my mother said, glancing at me. "Keep the sun off, or you'll end up with a stroke.
    You can pick one up in the market."
    I nodded quickly, aware that this was the first time she had acknowledged that I would be staying for a time. At the hut, Tony had made suggestions as to where I would stay, what I could do. My mother had simply agreed.
    "I didn't know that it would be this hot," I said.
    "Sometimes it's not," she said. "Sometimes it's hotter." She flashed me a quick smile, so quick that when it was gone I could scarcely believe I had seen it at all. "When the rains come, it gets stickier, but stays just as hot." She lifted off her hat and ran a hand back through her hair without hesitating or breaking stride.
    I had seen pictures of the ruins at Chichén Itzá, Copán, and Palenque: great crumbling heaps of blocky stones, nearly hidden beneath tropical bromeliads and drooping vines; massive pyramids and sculpted facades; tremendous stone heads that glowered from the lush vegetation. I had expected gloom and mystery, the promise of secrets. Here, the sun was too bright for secrets. I could see no pyramids.
    At the end of the path we followed, a small building constructed of sand-colored stone stood atop a low platform. The building was a box with a flat roof. On top of the box was another smaller box. On top of that, a third box. Like a stack of three building blocks: big, medium, and small. Except for the roof, the building looked like a child's drawing of a house: a neat flat wall with a dark rectangle for the door, two square windows.
    "... Temple of the Seven Dolls," my mother was saying. "Only building that's been reconstructed. We're working on some of the outlying temples over that way." Another vague wave of her hand toward the setting sun.
    I followed her up the steps of the Temple of the Seven Dolls. Two pigeons flew away as we approached the top. "You'll see some bees," my mother said. "They have a hive in one of the beams."
    We reached the top. My mother sat down on the top step on one side of the open door where the building shaded her from the sun. "Take a rest," she suggested. I hesitated for a moment, wondering if this were some kind of test. Maybe I should want to explore the building before I rested. Maybe I should ask questions, not just sit.
    I sat on the other side of the doorway and looked out in the direction of camp.
    My mother lifted a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, tapped one out, and offered me the pack. I shook my head and she set it on the steps beside her.
    "Bad habit, I know," she said, lighting the cigarette and leaning back against the side of the door. "Tony's been trying to get me to quit for the last five years." She shrugged. "At my age, it doesn't seem worth it."

    Chapter Three: Elizabeth
    O n the steps of the Temple of the Seven Dolls, an elderly diviner was casting the mixes, the sacred red beans that told the future. His customer was a merchant, a sharp-faced man whose arms and face