Journey to Xibalba: A Life in Archaeology

2: The House of Portals: FLAAR Project

v฀฀ 33฀฀ v Chapter Two THE HOUSE OF PORTALS FLAAR Project Dr. Michael Coe I suppose I was somewhat naive. I just kept thinking of Michael Coe’s The Maya, and what I could do as an artist for his next publication. So I called Yale. The secretary at Yale, who filtered all his calls, informed me that Dr. Coe was on sabbatical leave and would not be back until the following year. She kindly asked if I wanted to leave a message. What do you say to a request that will take a year to get a response? I thanked her for her time and politely asked for her to tell Dr. Coe when he returned that Professor Don Patterson had called from the Instituto Allende in Mexico. The word Mexico did the trick. She actually gasped, and within seconds I had Dr. Michael Coe’s home telephone number. I have often imagined the scene in the doctor’s home that day. He was certainly not expecting a telephone call from me. He was probably sitting at his desk in a room full of books in front of his typewriter with his Maya Scribe manuscript scattered in piles before him. His reputation cast a huge shadow over the material on his desk, up the bookshelves, and on the outer edge of the ceiling. And at that moment it filtered even through the telephone wires. I was one nerve short of panic. I was finding it difficult even to breathe as I introduced myself and offered my services. His momentary silence after I had finished was terrifying . Later I thought he was probably thinking of firing his secretary; instead, he politely informed me that he already had four artists working for him. 34฀฀ v฀฀ CHAPTER TWO Not to be completely rejected, I bluffed: “I have ten artists at my disposal and could produce 4,000 man-hours of work per month.” “Wow!” he exclaimed. “I have an idea. Why don’t you call Nicholas Helmuth at the Foundation for Latin American Anthropological Research (FLAAR) in Guatemala City? I talk with him often, and I’ll tell him that you might call. I am sure he can use your services,” he added. I endured a few moments of excited silence as Dr. Coe looked for the telephone number for FLAAR. After he gave me the information he said, “If you decide to go to Guatemala and work with Nicholas, why don’t you send me a resume with samples of your work from there?” There it was. I was on the verge of changing my own life and those of a few others like my wife and six-month-old baby girl. Now all I had to do was convince ten artists to go to Guatemala, my wife that we should go, and the administration of the Instituto Allende to help. Easy. Foundation for Latin American Anthropological Research The Guatemalan ambassador to Mexico was most interested in our small group, especially in my Australian student, Morley Grainger, who handled his obvious flirtations with excellent diplomatic skills. Because of this, the formalities went smoothly, and in less than an hour all of our visas had been stamped in our passports. The courteous and flirtatious ambassador even suggested, since he would be in Guatemala during the Christmas holidays, that we contact him when we arrived in Guatemala City. He gave me his professional card and Morley his home phone number, in case of emergencies. A month later, just after Christmas of 1975, there we were—Marisela, our daughter Jessica, her nanny, Tere, and I—buried in luggage and seemingly a mile away from the Avianca ticket booth. I couldn’t believe the amount of luggage my wife had packed. We stood in line in the Mexico City international airport waist-deep in boxes, suitcases, and a motley assortment of other equipment that Marisela thought we would need. We would only be in Guatemala for TheHouseofPortals(FLAARProject)฀฀ v฀฀ 35 three months, but it appeared to me that she thought we were never coming back. I kept thinking that all we lacked were fifteen porters to carry our supplies on their heads in order to make this a real safari. We arrived at the airport in Guatemala City around 10 p.m., but we had so many bags that by the time the aduana (customs) had gone through them it was midnight. There...