Portals to the Vision Serpent

Published in

ILLUMINATION Book Chapters

13 min readJan 9, 2022

Interior and cover design: Kubera Book Design. Cover art: ©2013 Carla Woody.

Chapter Fifteen

Six weeks passed. Sybilla was fixing lunch for PJ when the phone rang. A gruff male voice on the other end said, “Sybilla Johns?”

The line crackled and sounded far away. “Yes?” she said.

“This is Davis Mitchell and I hear you want to speak to me.” No friendly tone there.

Sybilla felt her knees go a bit watery. She sat down abruptly at the kitchen table. “Yes, Mr. Mitchell. I do.”

No response but static in the line. He’s not going to make this easy, Sybilla realized. My next few words will make or break this contact.

“Yes, indeed. I am a journalist for Thrive magazine. I don’t know if you’ve heard of it?”

“No.”

She gave him some background on the publication to show it wasn’t built on fluff but invested in serious environmental issues supported by the funds and integrity of its editor, then went on to essentially repeat her letter proposing to tie in logging with any effect on the Hach Winik themselves.

“That’s all well and good. But what makes you think I should talk to you?” Mitchell growled.

Sybilla took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “Well, Mr. Mitchell. I’ve read your book, and I believe you cared very much about that land and those people. Am I right that you became quite friendly with the elder you wrote about?”

“Perhaps.”

Sybilla realized she had to tell him something that would hook him into tolerating her questions, some personal angle from her. To herself, she had played down the potential that Gabe’s people may be in that region, or Gabe himself. But such things suppressed during the day often came out at night. Increasingly when she awoke in the morning, she would fleetingly remember portions of dreams where he played a part — and she would feel the ache of loss, which she quickly tossed off. So she didn’t even consider this admission. Instinctively, she knew such a divulgence would drive Mitchell away: an abandoned woman on a sentimental search. No, she had to come from another place entirely.

“A Native midwife from Guatemala helped birth my son. We became good friends,” she said. Sybilla went on to relate how, through Flora’s stories, she had come to care about what happened to places and people who were intertwined to nature in their traditional beliefs and physical survival.

“So, my research led me to your book, and then to the complicity between the Mexican government and logging companies, and the negative impact I would imagine is happening to the Hach Winik themselves. I also know that US consumers are benefiting by this travesty called fair trade. I want to expose all this and my editor is firmly behind me. I believe you hold a key to reporting it accurately,” she finished.

Silence stretched, then a short answer. “I’ll get back to you.”

An abrupt click on the line. Sybilla held the phone away from her ear, looking at it incredulously. Acidic is an understatement, she thought, remembering Diego’s comment about Mitchell. Nothing to do now but wait. And Mitchell did keep her waiting.

Ten days later the telephone ringing at her bedside woke her up. She groped for the phone. “Hello?”

“Come to El Paraiso near the Palenque ruins. Be there in two weeks.” The caller’s words were slightly slurred.

“Where…” she flipped on the light and sat up. Click. The line went dead. Sybilla looked at the clock, nearly midnight. She muttered under her breath. Piece of work. But she scribbled down the site Mitchell had given her, no need to determine the caller. She’d recognized the gravely voice. Elation spread. This is it!

She was up half the night excitedly making a list of all she needed to do to get ready. And then her shoulders dropped with a realization. What am I going to do with PJ?

Sybilla dreaded asking Sonya Whitehead to take PJ while she flew off to Mexico. Who knew where else she’d end up or how long it would take. Increasingly, she’d had to ask the favor since Flora had gone home. Sonya lived only a block away, far enough that she hadn’t been privy to the strange goings-on in their backyard when Gabe was still around. They’d met one day when Sybilla and PJ took a morning walk and Sonya was gardening in her front yard. She readily disclosed her background, a recently retired elementary schoolteacher who was divorced and lived alone, her children grown. With a sunny smile and softly lined face, she had a pleasant, nurturing countenance not unlike Flora’s. PJ took to her right away, and she claimed to enjoy PJ’s company.

Sybilla led an insular life mostly composed of PJ and her writing assignments. Her limited outside contacts consisted of the gallery owner who represented her photography, fellow Thrive employees and her editor. None of them were suitable childcare candidates. Nor would she even consider asking them. Work and parenting PJ left little time to develop friendships in Mother Lode, and she hadn’t made the effort. So she was left to prevail upon Sonya’s kindness. The next morning after getting the all clear on the trip from Jay, she called her.

“I’m so sorry to ask you to do this,” Sybilla explained her childcare dilemma and the writing assignment.

“Don’t you worry! I have that extra bedroom. PJ and I will have a good time. Besides, what an exotic adventure! Just imagine. It sounds like the movies,” Sonya simpered.

“Well, if you’re sure it’s not too much trouble,” Sybilla could hear the longing in the older women’s voice.

“You know my life is just too tame these days. You go on. But I expect the full story when you return,” she said. “That will be the exchange. I can at least live vicariously through you!”

They made arrangements for Sybilla to deliver PJ to her door in twelve days’ time with a full complement of clothing to last him a couple of weeks if needed. When she tentatively broke the news to PJ about going out of town, she thought he’d fuss. Instead he clapped his hands, jumping up and down, to learn he’d be staying with Sonya. It gave Sybilla pause.

She would stay in the city a day prior to flying out. Jay intended to hold an in-depth meeting with her and Javier, who would accompany her, to flesh out known plans and anticipate problems. In the meantime, she compiled notes to take with her, got her photography equipment in order and began to pack. Looking at her closet she wondered what to take. What will March in the Mexican rainforest be like? Hiking boots and long pants for sure, shirts that covered her arms, rain gear, too. She thought about malaria shots and decided against it since she’d heard how ill they make you. She went out and bought bug repellant, the strongest kind you’d want in the jungle, and mosquito netting just in case.

Javier was equally as exhilarated. They spent hours on the phone in preparation. Villahermosa, the capital of the State of Tabasco, was the closest international airport to Palenque. They’d scrutinized a map and determined they could probably drive from there to their destination in a few hours, assuming they didn’t run into trouble. With some concern she read about the Zapatistas, the Indigenous revolutionary group who led an uprising against the Mexican government the previous year. The government had been merciless, massacring many of them. Their origins were in the very jungle where they hoped to go! But reports were that they’d been unsuccessful and had gone into hiding. Who knew? Maybe this trip will produce more than we dreamed if we run across them, too, Sybilla thrilled.

Then two days prior to her departure to Thrive’s offices she got a late-night phone call.

“I’m so sorry!” It was Sonya, her voice quavering.

“Sonya, what is it?” Sybilla asked.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I have to go to Tennessee! I can’t take care of PJ! My mother fell and broke her hip. She’s in the hospital. It’s serious. She’s nearly eighty and I’m going to have to go take care of her!” A sob broke loose.

“Is she going to be okay?”

“They don’t know. She’s pretty frail. But I’ll need to be there for however long it takes.”

“You go! Of course, no worries here,” Sybilla soothed. “I have someone else I can leave PJ with.”

They said their goodbyes and Sybilla put the phone down slowly. The trouble is I don’t have someone. Sybilla sighed. Now what? I’m going to lose my chance. Dejected, she went outside and sank into her usual lawn chair and raised her gaze to the stars then waited for clarity to be delivered. After an hour, she got up silently and went to bed, looking in on PJ along the way.

Early the next morning, she made a phone call. Having made the arrangements she intended, she telephoned Jay. He was in a meeting so she left a message asking him to call her back. Close to noon they spoke.

“What’s up?” he said.

“I’ve had some complications here at home. Would it be alright if we had our meeting tomorrow by speakerphone instead of me coming in? That would help a lot.”

“Anything I need to know about?”

“Nothing I can’t handle, Jay.”

“Okay. Call in at ten, and we’ll have the meeting that way. We’ll let Javier know. You’ll just meet him the next morning at the airport?”

“Yes, that would work great.”

“You’ve got it. Sybilla, I’m depending on you. Whatever you’re able to find out down there, make it count. This is your story. This exposé could make your career as a photojournalist. And it would give Thrive a proud name alongside yours,” he gave her those parting words and hung up.

I know, Sybilla whispered to the dial tone. She returned the phone to its cradle and went to stare fixedly out the backdoor at nothing, assessing once again. Yes, better to be forgiven than get permission ahead. She returned to her final preparations for departure.

Sybilla rushed to the departure gate as quickly as she could, balancing everything. She was arriving purposefully late, just prior to scheduled boarding. She spotted Javier up ahead waiting for her, loaded down with his carry-on bags, glancing at his watch. Peering down the hall, he spotted her. The nervous look on his face turned to one of shock. She smiled in acknowledgment from afar and tugged at PJ’s hand, “Come on. We have to hurry!”

The airline agent was already calling for boarding as they arrived. Javier threw her a questioning look and sat down on his haunches in front of PJ, “Now, who are you?”

“I’m PJ,“ PJ said, taking in the bustling travelers jockeying toward the flight door with curiosity.

“Glad to meet you. I’m Javier,” Javier shook his hand and then said to Sybilla, “Can we talk over there a minute?”

“Sure. PJ you stay right here with our bags. We’ll be right back.”

“Sorry to be blunt, Sybilla, but what are you doing here with your child?” Javier’s eyebrows knitted in open exasperation.

“Look, I know this may be a little unusual. But I didn’t have anything else to do with him! It was either bring him along or not go at all. And I’m not giving up this chance!”

“What did Mr. Turner say?”

“He doesn’t know.”

“He’s not going to like this, you know. Liability and who knows what other problems coming.”

“I’m not going to tell him until we return. I need your promise that you won’t either.”

Javier’s frown deepened. “I don’t know. This isn’t a good idea. We don’t know what kind of conditions we’ll be going into. It could even be dangerous with the recent unrest down there.”

“Oh, everything will be fine,” Sybilla said breezily. “After all, there are children everywhere. And those problems down there have been laid to rest. Come on, let’s go.”

The agent was calling their row, and Sybilla made a dash back to PJ. “You’re going to love this, hon! Your very first time in an airplane!”

PJ beamed up at her, excitement dancing in his eyes. Sybilla adjusted the small backpack on PJ’s shoulders, gathered up the rest of their bags and joined the line to load. Glancing back at Javier, she sent him a reassuring smile that she didn’t feel. What are you doing? Have you lost your mind? The critical voice in her head chastised her, echoing Javier’s words. She pushed it aside to focus instead on the adventure that laid ahead, the resulting article and potential acceptance as a serious photojournalist — and all that could bring.

They found their row. Sybilla strapped PJ into the window seat, folding their jackets under him as a booster so he could better see. Wide-eyed he missed nothing, from the other passengers filing by to the movements of the airline workers outside loading bags. This was the first time he’d been out into the wider world to any extent. Sybilla patted his leg, “Now you just be quiet. Pretty soon we’ll lift off! Won’t that be fun?”

The plane ride was uneventful, and they’d been lucky enough to get a nonstop. PJ behaved well, apparently mesmerized by cloud castles and celestial beings he kept pointing out. When the plane descended in Villahermosa and all the lakes and green came into view, he squealed with delight. Such lush landscape was new to him. It’s all going to be okay, Sybilla told herself. He’s going to do okay.

Balmy air hit them when they stepped onto the tarmac. Sybilla felt her skin thirstily soak it up. Since it was still afternoon, she and Javier decided they had time to make it to their destination. Emerging from the airport Javier signaled a driver leaning against his taxi. After the men loaded the luggage into the small trunk, Sybilla and PJ scooted into the back seat as Javier and the driver exchanged information in the front. Javier turned around, “The driver says it’s about ninety minutes to Palenque. He’s never heard of El Paraiso.”

Sybilla was beat. All the tension and build-up over the last few days with things gone awry had taken their toll. She leaned back against the seat. Grateful the air conditioner was working in the high humidity, she closed her eyes to rest. PJ knocked out, too. She awoke to sounds of Javier and the driver carrying on a lively discussion, none of which she could understand. So instead Sybilla watched the passing rural landscape, increasingly green. Surprised to see all the stately Brahma cattle in the pastures, she noted the egrets that accompanied them, standing close by, some even perched on their backs. Curious, she thought. Periodically they passed through villages so small they were only designated as such by small signs that displayed their names. Young men stood by the road and held up bottles filled with a questionable cloudy liquid for sale. When they slowed down for speed bumps, children rushed up to the taxi brandishing soft drinks in plastic bottles or gigantic grapefruits. PJ had awakened by this time and waved excitedly to them.

Finally, they were coming into the outskirts of Palenque, some tiny open-air restaurants, a garage and, surprisingly, a Volkswagen dealer with a few cars in the showroom. Traffic increased. There were a number of people on the streets going about their business. The car veered off to the right at a traffic circle with a huge warrior’s head perched in the middle. Javier said over his shoulder, “He says if you go the other way it goes into the center of town. But the ruins are out this way.”

Traffic dissipated quickly, and they were once again out in the country. She noted the small beaten trail by the side of the road, and with the exception of the occasional rustic dwelling and the Brahma cows in the fields, there was little other reference to human inhabitants. They had been climbing slightly in elevation. Ahead, she saw emerald mountains. Cracking the window, she allowed cool moist air to caress her face, a stark contrast to the hot dust of Palenque. An exquisite shiver ran up and down her spine. She was galvanized, anticipating much more than she could have imagined. This is so right, she told herself.

The driver slowed, not sure where he was going. When Sybilla was researching ahead, she couldn’t find any reference to El Paraiso where Mitchell had directed her to go. So Jay told her to find a place as close to the ruins as she could. La Casa Mono popped up on the Internet and she liked the name: The Monkey House. A small hand- painted sign peeked out from the foliage. The vegetation had grown dense within a few miles from town even creeping out on the road. The driver turned the car onto the narrow lane that, within a few hundred yards, delivered them to some small bungalows and a tiny shack that acted as an office, almost hidden amongst the most majestic trees she’d ever seen.

©2013 Carla Woody. All rights reserved worldwide. No portion of this book, except for brief review, may be reproduced in any form without written permission of the publisher. Inquiries may be directed to: Kenosis Press, P.O. Box 10441, Prescott, Arizona 86304. Email: info@kenosis.net.

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Find links to all chapters as they are published in the Table of Contents below.

Table of Contents

Synopsis and Author’s Note

Preston

Sybilla