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Field of Dreams; Fields of Reality
We all sigh. We are members of an unseen army, whether stuck in the
mud or telling our stories back at home. Don Samuel’s eyes twinkle.
“No traen cameras?” Of course we have cameras. Troop outside for
a group picture in the garden, autographed copies of the last pasto-
ral letter, all of us grinning. In the end, we forgot to ask for a bless-
ing, but it didn’t matter. Don Samuel gave us absolution, walked us
out of hopeless materialism and do-gooder desperation. He told us
we can tag along on the coattails of the esperanza, the hope of the in-
digenous. We have permission to companion them in the kingdom of
God; our salvation is that they are willing to include us.
A few days later, the Maya of Zinacantan celebrate the feast of San Se-
bastiano, a plucky convert who was murdered twice in early Christi-
anity. Wanting to be part of the action, we arrange for Roberto Men-
dez Mendez to pick us up and drive us to Zinacantan for the festival.
He parks the combi next to a market area resembling a giant Tzotzil-
neighborhood garage sale. We all get out, listening to the din of fire-
works that herald a new festival event.
We walk along the road, past the flamboyant sea of Zinacantecos,
women dressed in red and pink and purple. This year’s special fashion
statement is bigger-than-ever satin hair bows, chartreuse, turquoise,
magenta. Seated together, the women are more colorful than the fields
of carnations and chrysanthemums that the pueblo raises for export.
The women mingle quietly, talking, keeping track of the children. The
men, equally vibrant, walk proudly, fulfilling official offices. A new
round of fireworks is lit off from in front of the church. I jump, grab-
bing one of the students.
In front of us, the Jaguar reenactment is just beginning. Men dressed
as monkeys, men dressed in moss, men in black face, men in jungle
spots, parade by in procession. They move forward and backward,
dancing and chanting, figures from the Maya past. They are headed
toward Jaguar Rock, a little beyond the pueblo center, where they will
play out another scene in Mayan cosmology, celebrating the birth of
the world into its present configuration.
We follow slowly, pausing for peanuts and refrescos, down a path
between Zinacanteco greenhouses, to the field where people gather.
