His second favorite way to pass the time when it was slow was to hide in the tiny spaces flanking the entrance to the cenote, watching the foreigners as they made the awkward decent into the cave. Their footing was always unsure and if they were a couple, the man always led the way, holding onto his female partner’s hand proudly. Filiberto would scurry along unseen beside them, making little noise. He loved to watch the faces of these foreigners as they changed from mild concern as to what they’d gotten themselves into this time to complete and unabashed awe. The cenote had that affect on everyone who saw it, including locals. It made Filiberto swell with his own type of pride, for this was his home. This was a magical place that he had been chosen to protect.
Even to his village elders, the formation of the cenotes of the Yucatan peninsula was a mystery. Too many years back for his mind to comprehend rationally, sinkholes had formed across the flat land. They provided the only freshwater available to his ancestors, so around them great cities were formed. And Filiberto knew, although he’d only seen one other, that Cenote Dzitnup must have been the most splendid of them all. Cave-like, its grand inner space, to his mind about the size of the moon if it fell to Earth, was interrupted by the beautifully grotesque stalactites that hung liberally from its ceiling. A single arm-width-sized, circular hole at the top provided the only natural light. During the daytime that light was all that was necessary to illuminate the haunting greenish-blue water, so clear you could have seen to the bottom if there had been one. Filiberto described the color as similar to the useless blind eye of his grandmother’s mangy dog when sunshine hit it just right.
The young boy’s job, which he took as seriously as if he were his father collecting admission just outside, was to provide small inner tubes to those too frightened to wade out into the icy pool unaided. He didn’t understand their trepidation, for in addition to the tubes, four large long ropes fanned out in separate directions across the top of the water connecting to the back wall of the cave. He didn’t like the ropes. They took away from the natural beauty. But, it was important for the family’s livelihood, his father had told him, that nothing be left to chance. Foreigners were a fickle people and if word got out that Dzitnup was a dangerous place to visit, there would be no money for food. Filiberto understood this and respected his father’s claim. As much as he pined to see the cenote as it was when first discovered, he also wanted to eat.
Filiberto policed his domain with kindly importance. He wasn’t like his siblings, who didn’t much appreciate the fortunateness of having such a natural wonder near their village. His sister, who sat outside at the mouth of the entrance selling Dzitnup postcards, would often leave them unattended in the sun, causing the pictures to fade until the color of the water turned a false gray. And his brother, a year his junior, was worst of all. While Filiberto was intrigued by the tourists who came from all over the globe just to visit his special cave, Fernando despised them all with their odd languages and overt wealth.
Every automobile that entered the parking lot was fair game for Fernando’s unrelenting appeal to “watch your car?” Never mind that usually there was only one or two cars ever there at one time, or that the only people in the area were members of his family, so that if anything bad did happen, it wouldn’t be hard to figure out who had done it. Upon exiting the cenote, determined Fernando would follow after the foreigners with a glazed look in his eye, hand extended and calling out in a horrifyingly monotone voice of a TV zombie, “I watched your car. Five pesos. I watched your car.” Usually people would quickly hand over change just to get him to leave, but for the few that ignored him as they made their way back to the car, Fernando would cling to the driver’s side window repeating his mantra until they either gave in or sped away in fear. Filiberto knew this must ultimately be bad for business as well, but his father always seemed to find his youngest son’s routine amusing. Plus, it did bring in a few extra pesos, which were always desperately needed.
For most of his day, Filiberto wiped down the rocky pathway that led bathers into the water.
