Xibalbá :: Hero, by Felicia Zamora
Inspired by the K’ichie’ Maya book of creation, the Popol Vuh & it’s six houses of torture in Xibalbá.
Cast (In order of appearance)
Hunahpú
K’ichie’ Maya god. Son of One Hunahpú & Blood Moon, twin brother to Xbalanqué,
grandson to Xmucané.
Xbalanqué
K’ichie’ Maya god. Son of One Hunahpú & Blood Moon, twin brother to Hunahpú,
grandson to Xmucané.
The Scribe
Unnamed K’iche’ Maya writer of the Popol Vuh, somewhere between 1554-1558. Original
transcription was most likely in hieroglyphs. Original version has been lost or destroyed.
The Dark
Presence of the darkness inside the House of Dark.
Fireflies
Chorus of fireflies speaking as one voice.
Knives
Known as All Sharp Things. A chorus of all-things-sharp-as-knives speaking as one voice.
Ants
Chorus of ants speaking as one voice.
Jaguar Queen
Head of the Jaguar pack in the House of Jaguars.
Maize Woman
Presence of a future human yet to be created in the third iteration by the gods Hurakán
(Heart of Sky), Bearer, Begetter, Xpiyacóc (Grandfather), & Xmucané (Grandmother). This
future presence possesses unlimited sight into the universe before the gods dull humans’
omniscience out of fear. All humans are descendants of Maize People, originally made from
yellow & white corn.
{Scene One: In the House of Dark}
Hunahpú: Did you see Seven Death’s face? What genius to first send Mosquito to bite
the Lords. Now we know all the Xibalbán’s names. Their power weakens.
Xbalanqué: I see nothing, Brother. Brother? I worry of this house. This dark. Our survival
lies in our thoughts thinking. I hold in my hand the torch. What of the cigars?
Hunahpú: Yes, I have them here. Two cigars. Hmmm. By dawn, Brother, we may neither
burn nor use. How do we see without light? Protect ourselves without vision?
[feet shuffling, breath]
The Scribe: Having not burned on the stone slab, or fallen for the Lord’s tricks, the Hero
Twins advance to the first trial house. Here they sit in darkness, pondering…
Hunahpú: Who said that? Did you watch us not fooled by hot stones? Brother? Brother,
did you hear the voice among us? We have blowguns. We harm, if forced.
[feet swirl in a circle, arms outstretch, waiving in various directions]
The Scribe: Whoa, whoa, whoa. You can hear me? Not possible. Not possible. Thousands
of years from now, thousands. Long after this moment, long after creation.
Xbalanqué: Curious. You say years from now. What is now? Creation of what? What are “hero
twins”? My brother & I are twins. Are you captured, too, in this darkness?
[shaking of cave walls, ceiling & floor, then a bellowy moan]
The Dark: Captured? How dare you! One Death places you into my aura, my sheer guts
& immediately you think you’re the distressed one? Ridiculous. Ungrateful.
Hunahpú: Say you voices, we wish not to fight you. The Lords summoned us to Xibalbá
to play the great ballgame. We have blowguns. We wish not to use them.
[Hunahpù kneels with blowgun in this mouth, aiming in all directions]
The Scribe: I have no darkness speaking in my tellings. No me speaking to the Twins. None
of this. What will the elders say? What timelines deviate by my hand?
The Dark: Scribe, your hands made from maize. Your hands only after Hurakán makes
them so. I dwelled before there was dwelling. Tell them how you know this.
Xbalanqué: Please, dear voices, I am Xbalanqué, here with my brother Hunahpú. We mean
no disrespect. We seek only the dawn. Only a route out of Xibalbá.
The Scribe: Too much, too much, I’ve said too much. Heard too much. I must lay down.
The gods have spoken to me & now I am vessel, now I scar with foresight.
The Dark: What etches in you, you do not understand, Scribe. Run away if you must. I
do not hold you, that is Time’s work. Do you brothers praise dawn over me?
[The Scribe exits left as The Dark swirls around the brothers]
Xbalanqué: We praise the living. If darkness lives & dawn lives, then we do praise you,
equally. We praise deception in life’s name, paths to creation, paths to rebirth.
The Dark: Ah, so you do seek One Hunahpú. Your father is dead, brothers. To not accept
his fate is to not accept the way of things. The Scribe knows what fate unveils.
Xbalanqué: We are deviation. We long to see Blood Moon again, see above. To defeat One
Death, these Nine Lords of Night, we need guidance from long long dwellers.
The Dark: You who-do-not-accept. You who-deviate. You who-are-guest. What do you
offer me to guide you through my house? To defeat the Lords of Xibalbá?
Xbalanqué: We offer to release you into sky, to reunite with your expansive darkness. Here,
we insert stars into your body to remind all of The Dark’s tremendous power.
[Hunahpú gets up from the floor, pulls his shoulders back]
Hunahpú: Yes, we promise to speak of you often, with soft & honoring tones. I will not
fear you again. I devote my life to ensure others not fear you. This is so.
The Dark: I understand. I guide you brothers tonight. I call upon all swarms inside my
body: Leave these two brothers be. I, The Dark, declare this. Be you shall.
[sounds of hundreds of small wings beating emerges]
Fireflies: May we speak now. Yes we may. We here too in Dark. Thank you, Dark, you
give us body of you to illuminate. We carry light in our abdomens. Yes, we do.
The Dark: Brothers, place macaw feathers atop your torch. Fireflies, now orbit the torch
& cigars until morning. These will fool One Death & Seven Death. In me, rest.
[the Brothers lay on the ground surrounded by the light of fireflies]
{Scene Two: In the House of Knives}
Xbalanqué: All razor. All horn. All spike, Brother. Even the stalactites & stalagmites may
slice our throats, abdomens, kneecaps. How these houses make me worry.
[the Brothers look all around the second house]
Knives: Slice. Slice. Slice. We yearn to dissect your ballplayer loins, pierce your skulls
& zip sharpness through bone. Slice. Slice. Slice. Xibalbáns do not play nice.
[sounds of thousands of scissors opening & closing]
Hunahpú: Indeed, their ball retracted daggers. The Lords fail to deceive us. We played
with our ball & lost on purpose. Now we must bring the Lords flowers pedals.
Knives: Slice. Slice. Slice. Xibalbáns do not play nice. Let us cut you, dice you. Let us
end your suffering. Wouldn’t you rather feed us? Our need? Slice. Slice. Slice.
[sounds of thousands of scissors opening & closing]
Ants: Cup your ears. All Sharp Things rant on & on & on about their need. Oh, our
need this. Oh, our need that. What about us ants? What of our colony’s need?
Knives: Quiet antsssss. Slice. Slice. Slice. Our blades too large for your antennae, ocelli,
alitrunks. Scurry now, lest blood rain upon your spines. Slice. Slice. Slice.
Xbalanqué: We honor you, All Sharp Things. Unto eternity, we give you all flesh of all
animals. All animals yours. Accept this gift. Be still tonight. Be still. Be still.
Knives: Yes. Yes. We still our slice slice slice. This gift pleeeasssses us. We still tonight.
Do you hear that ants? All animals ours. Yessssssss. Animals to slice slice slice.
[all movement stops, a hush; ants crawl up the legs & torsos of each brother]
[Knives sleep, all whispers begin]
Hunahpú: Shhhhh, small ones. All Sharp Things knows you are insects, knows how
Hurakán gave you exoskeletons, gave you tiny statures to elude this gift.
Ants: Season after season we endure the sounds of slicing. You bring us quiet. You
bring us peace. Let us lend you our legs, our strength in community tonight.
Xbalanqué: With your stealth, enter One Death’s garden to cut four gourdes of flowers.
These treasures ensure our lives in the morning. We indebt to you, dear ants.
[Ants bow & exit right while the brothers sit back-to-back in wait]
{Scene Three: In the House of Cold}
Hunahpú: I tire of this torture, Brother. I tire. Tied game after tied game. Now this
forsaken, frost-filled tundra. How the hail pummels us. How our jaws chatter.
[the Brothers hear brush strokes & a sigh]
The Scribe: Here I am, again. Transcribing, then here in the House of Cold. I am past
doubt. I give into gods-called-me-here-to-witness-before-creation thing. I give.
Hunahpú: Give what? You’re an odd god. Last time you left too soon for us to even see
you. Now, we’re all stuck here in the freeze & chill. We need a solution fast.
Xbalanqué: I don’t think…sorry what was your name? Did the darkness say, Scribe? I don’t
think this being a god, Brother. Dark said maize filled. What does that mean?
The Scribe: I don’t remember my name. The Spanish empire invades & these monsters
burn our rituals, our drawings, our almanacs & calendars. My name…
[Scribe’s voice trails off as they walk slowly to stage left, rubbing hands]
Xbalanqué: Did these Spanish steal your name? We did not summon you. Another god
might be bending skies for you to step through. How are you maize-filled?
Hunahpú: Xbalanqué, my ears will be too frozen to hear soon. What do we do? Let this
be while we escape from what seeks to kill us. My ears. Please. My ears.
[Scribe turns to face the brothers, eyebrows softly furrow]
The Scribe: Don’t you both know? You conjure fire. See over there, the stumps of trees,
they make good containers for flint & spark. This is how you defeat the cold.
[Hunahpú drops to his knees, waving hands magically at the trunks]
Hunahpú: Yes! Yes! The spark. Now the flame! The warmth, Brother, the warmth
awakens my icy knuckles, my icy lungs. This being saved us! Scribe saved us!
The Scribe: Scribe? That’s not my name. I cannot remember my name. But I know I didn’t
save you, you saved you. That’s what the elders say, their voices. It must be so.
[Xbalanqué walks over to Scribe, puts his hands on Scribe’s shoulders]
Xbalanqué: Truly, to lose a name is to lose Heart of Sky, to lose which way the Wind
approaches. We shall name you Warmer of Bones, Child of Hurakán.
[Scribe collapses into Xbalanqué’s chest]
{Scene Four: In the House of Jaguars}
[jaguars encircle Hunahpú & Xbalanqué, a jeweled jaguar lumbers forward]
Jaguar Queen: Here, again, One Death shoves food into our den. What say you? Do you seek
being devoured, Brothers? Do you see our fangs & not quiver? Not shake?
[Hunahpú places hands behind back while Xbalanqué kneels]
Xbalanqué: We know you, O Obligate Carnivore, O Hunter in Waters & Shores, O Great
Jaguar Queen of Xibalbá. We enter your house, bearing gifts. Bearing flesh.
Jaguar Queen: Gifts? Are you not the gift to shred, to tear? I smell your sweat & ripe stench
of blood, of bone. Show me what our claws possibly desire more than you.
[Queen begins to pace in a semicircle in front of the Brothers]
Xbalanqué: A queen deserves more than our stringy bones, tired muscles. Show Queen
our offerings, our heaps, Hunahpú. Show alms of bellies, thighs, plump skulls.
[Hunahpú brings his hands to his chest & piles of dead animals appear]
Hunahpú: For you, Queen, marsh deer, capybara, collard peccary, agouti, & caimans too.
Even turtle to begin your meal. Accept our feast & in return, we live the night.
[Jaguar Queen roars, swiveling her head to keep the advancing hoard back]
Jaguar Queen: You surprise me, Brothers. No fools are you. My pack accepts these bodies in
your place. Cunning are you. I, too, surprise you with a gift, for your troubles.
[from the shadows steps out Scribe]
The Scribe: I return here, in the gaps, as gap. I return, Brothers, for the gods that bring me
here seem to not finish with me. I arrived before you, my fate up to the Queen.
[Xbalanqué runs to embrace Scribe]
Xbalanqué: Child of Hurakán! You live still! We thought you may have traveled forward,
back to your writing. Jaguar Queen, you are magnanimous. We praise you.
[Xbalanqué & Hunahpú bow & the jaguars descend upon the animal stack]
[the three-step aside as Scribe whispers to the brothers]
The Scribe: I thought myself dead, Brothers. I thought I will die in the past before my own
birth. How I live in the story I write. That must mean something. Must?
Xbalanqué: Even as gods, we cannot foretell our own end. Who said Time flutters in
linearity? Time forms concentric rings that overlap & overlap & overlap.
The Scribe: I tell you this now, Brothers, your plan works. Soon the ears of the Lords of
Xibalbá press to this house’s door. They think the gnawing of bones be yours.
Hunahpú: Then let us burst their hearts in the morning! Tonight, they believe us jaguar
meat. Thus we plan & plot. Child of Hurakán, meet us after tomorrow’s game.
Xbalanqué: Yes, Child, stay close but hidden. Join us in Fire House, we’ll protect you. After
the Lord’s defeat, we’ll bring you to Blood Moon, she’ll know what to do.
[the three sat on the floor, making plans into the night]
{Scene Five: In the House of Fire}
[Scribe sits on a rock & looks up to see a woman next to him]
The Scribe: Who are you? I, I am not meant to be here. I am thousands of years too early.
Named my not-name by gods in Xibalbá. I am lost. Where are the Brothers?
Maize Woman: I am your mother. First woman formed by Hurakán & the begetters, ground
by Xmucané. I am yellow corn. I am white corn. I am all vision.
The Scribe: My mother? I do not remember my mother’s name, or father’s name. All I
remember is transcribing our beliefs. Are you here to help the Brothers?
[Maize Woman bends down to touch Scribe’s knee]
Maize Woman: The Brothers play the ballgame still. I am here for you. You must return to
write, return with past & future in your muscles. Return with lost memory.
The Scribe: I am no god. I transcribe quickly. Our people die by the hands of destroyers
from across the ocean who trick us, torture us. In writing our text, I fell here.
Maize Woman: Together. Our gods bring us here. We are their lineage. We must remain. In
the Bat House, let one bat take one head. Lords must think the Brother dead.
The Scribe: Let? How am I—an I not yet conceived—to make the past happen? I am but
one nameless person. I am but one hand now living our creation. I am lost.
[Maize Woman leaps up and begins to circle Scribe]
Maize Woman: You are our history. As am I. The Brothers might name you, Recoverer of
Gods. To ensure Maize Woman lives. Our people need you. Never lost.
The Scribe: First Woman, I am scared of my forgetting. In the versions, the elders tell, I do
not exist. You do not exist. In the land of gods & demons, who are we?
Maize Woman: Gods & demons will always test. One Death licks lips for the Brother’s blood.
Their blood paves our way, our future sky. We are memory, folding time.
[Maize Woman takes Scribe’s hand, they begin to twirl, chanting together]
Maize Woman
& The Scribe: We are memory folding time. We are memory folding time. We are memory
folding time. We are memory folding time. We are memory folding time…
{Scene Six: In the House of Bats}
Hunahpú: Only one more house! Bats? Do One Death & Seven Death really think bats
can stop us now? Not while we stay safe inside this one enlarged blowgun.
[Inside the blowgun, Scribe chants to himself softly, rocking forward & back]
The Scribe: We are memory folding time. We are memory folding time. We are memory
folding time. I am memory folding time. I am memory. I am folding. I fold.
[Xbalanqué approaches Scribe smiling, placing his face close to Scribe’s chest]
Xbalanqué: You cast spells, Child. Magic seeds inside you, I see all the amber, turquoise,
guava colors swirling in your heart. Where did you learn to conjure? Incantate?
[Scribe stops whispering, takes a deep breath]
The Scribe: Maize Woman. First Woman. She gives me courage to trust why I’m here. I
tell you, one of you must be beheaded. Thus begins the recovery of your father.
[the Brothers stop & look at each other]
The Scribe: I speak truth, Brothers. This must be so. I wish neither of you to lose a head.
I bring news of the horizon speaking as my memory wanes. O this news!
[Scribe begins to sob in her own hands]
Xbalanqué: Release yourself from sorrow, Child. Our magic holds even into what appears
death. Your prognostication allows us to outwit the Lords. Hear us now.
Hunahpú: Believe my brother. Xbalanqué is stronger in Xibalbá. Brother, you shall not
be headless. Resurrect me with all the powers of Blood Moon & Xmucané.
Xbalanqué: I will, Brother. See now, Child, Hunahpú’s head, his sacrifice shows us the
way. The Lords must believe one of us dead. Now, how to remove his head?
[the Brothers bop around the blowgun in excitement & Scribe begins to smile]
Hunahpú: Bats! Vampire bats. We’ll put them to use. I’ll stick my head out of the blowgun
to see when morning comes, then wait for their knive-snouts to take my head.
Xbalanqué: Yes! We’ll pretend this to be unexpected. I’ll find a squash. Put brains in it.
Place a top your neck so you can play the ballgame. What do you think, Child?
[the Brothers look around, they are alone]
[the Brothers search & question hurried, then slow, then face audience]
Xbalanqué & Hunahpú: Child? Child of Hurakán? Warmer of Bones? Where have you gone? Where?
Vanished? Vanished. Not vanished. Memory folding. Folding. Folding…
[curtain closes on the Brothers speaking in unison]
i This play-poem seeks to honor the ancient K’iche’ Maya creation text, the Popol Vuh, the history of its creation/transcription, and highlight through imaginative means the fierce importance and impact of this text to decedents of ancient Mesoamerica. The poem focuses on the moments in the Popol Vuh, where the Hero Twins, Hunahpú and Xbalanqué, face the trials of the six houses of torture as decreed by the Lords of Xibalbá, including the two primary gods, One Death and Seven Death. Names of gods, some house details, and sequences of events derive from various interpretations of the Popol Vuh, while human and biodiverse characters, time travel devices, relationships, and dialogues are all fictional and not part of the Popol Vuh translations in English. The play in couplets, emphasizes both the journey of Hunahpú and Xbalanqué in the Underworld, and also a ghost of the heroic couplet form. In researching, I read how many Mexican, Mexican Americans, and Latin Americans who learn about the Popol Vuh wish the creation text was more imbued in everyday knowledge. This poem attempts to extend conversations around the text, spark curiosity, and engage in imaginative memorying to resist colonization’s shadow of erasure.
Felicia Zamora is the author of six books of poetry including, Quotient (2022), I Always Carry My Bones, winner of the 2020 Iowa Poetry Prize (University of Iowa Press, 2021) and the 2022 Ohioana Book Award in Poetry, Body of Render, Benjamin Saltman Award winner (Red Hen Press, 2020), and Of Form & Gather, Andrés Montoya Poetry Prize winner (University of Notre Dame Press). She won the 2022 Loraine Williams Poetry Prize from The Georgia Review, a 2022 Tin House Next Book Residency, and a 2022 Ohio Arts Council Individual Excellence Award. Her poems appear or are forthcoming in Academy of American Poets Poem-A-Day, AGNI, Alaska Quarterly Review, The American Poetry Review, The Best American Poetry 2022, Boston Review, Ecotone, The Georgia Review, Guernica, Gulf Coast, The Iowa Review, The Kenyon Review, The Missouri Review, Orion, Poetry Magazine, The Nation, West Branch, and others. She is an associate professor of poetry at the University of Cincinnati and a poetry editor for the Colorado Review.