Old Antonio lights up his tobacco and his gaze. He speaks as if he were reading, inside himself, the book that some call history, or the past, or the previous, or the earlier, or the earliest.
Because there are books that cannot be looked at. It is only possible to listen to them, and in this way to keep them.
“Before geographies were born, when calendars were not yet born, the word was there to give an account of what walked and not. No borders, no races, no flags, no tastes, no tastes, no preferences, no languages, not who above, not who below.”
They all listen to Old Antonio. Some of them bring him a cup of coffee and he goes to the stove, not because it is cold, but because it is his way. And in listening to him, they read him. Just with glances, they take note in their collective heart.
“To look at the past we must learn to look at tomorrow. And the other way around. If not, sight is lost in the present, as if nothing came before, as if nothing came after.
Old Antonio rereads what his heart heard when there was not yet time:
“Memory was, it existed. They saw; instantly their gaze rose. They saw everything, they knew the whole world; when they looked, at the same instant their sight looked around, they saw everything, in the vault of the sky, on the surface of the earth. They saw everything hidden without moving. When they looked at the world, they also saw everything in it. Their knowledge was vast. Their thinking went beyond wood, stone, lakes, seas, mountains, valleys.
Truly, men who [were] to be loved: Warlock of Enveloping, Witch of the Night, Loot Keeper, Witch of the Moon.
They were then questioned by Those of Construction, Those of Formation. “What do you think of your being, do you not see, do you not hear? Your language, your walk, are they not good? Look then and see the world, if the mountains, the valleys do not appear: see in order to instruct yourselves,” they were told.
At once they saw the whole world, and then they gave thanks to the Builders, to the Teachers. “Indeed twice thank you, thrice thank you. We were born, we had a mouth, we had a face, we speak, we hear, we meditate, we move: we know well, we know far, near. We see the great, the small, in heaven, on earth: thanks [we give] to you! We were born, O Those of that which is Built, Those of that which is Formed: we exist, O our grandmother, O our grandfather,” they said, giving thanks for their construction, for their formation.
They finished knowing everything, looking at the four corners, at the four angles, in the sky, on earth.
Those of the Constructed. Those of the Formed, did not listen to this with pleasure.
“It is not good what our Constructed, our Formed say. They know everything, the great, the small,” they said.
So, The Procreators, the Begetters held council.
“How shall we now deal with them? Now that their eyes reach but a short distance! That they only see a very little of the face of the earth! It is not right what they say! Are they not only called Built, Formed? They will be as gods, if they do not beget, [if] they do not propagate, when germination happens, when the dawn exists; alone, they do not multiply. Let that be. Only let us undo a little what we wished them to be: it is not right what we say. Would they be equal to those who have made them, to those whose science extends far, to those who see all things?” was said by the Spirits of Heaven, Giant Master [Lightning], Lightning Footprint, Lightning Splendor, Dominators. Mighty Ones of Heaven. Procreators. Begetters. Ancient Secret, Ancient Concealer, Builder, Shapers.
Thus they spoke when they remade the being of their construction, of their formation.
Then the eyes [of the four] were petrified by the Spirits of heaven, which veiled them like breath upon the face of a mirror; the eyes were troubled; they saw nothing but the near, only this was clear.
Thus was lost the Wisdom and all the Science of the four men, their beginnings, their start.
Thus they were first built, they were first formed, our grandfathers, our fathers, by the Spirits of Heaven, the Spirits of Earth.”
— (Popol Vuh. The Book of the Council. Anonymous. Translator: Miguel Ángel Asturias and J. M. González de Mendoza. Editorial Losada).
Old Antonio is silent. They keep the note and the look they save. Ixmucané, the Votán with nagua, guards and waits.
A girl opens her eyes as if a door were opening. The older woman repeats what her heart dictates: “Resistance and Rebellion. Fuck the pyramid”.
Above a new moon and below a mountain of age understand and nod. It is seen that they know something, because only they smile.
It is not raining yet and the earth is just like that, as if waiting…
From the mountains of the Mexican Southeast.
The Captain
Mexico, May 2025
(Four years ago, at this time, a mountain turned ship entered the Atlantic Ocean. It carried in its womb Squadron 421. The Mountain sailed, just like that, as if awaiting an encounter. An encounter? In August? The first half?)
Original text published at Enlace Zapatista on May 28th, 2025.
Translated by Schools for Chiapas.