The day I disappeared… «On Mayan Time» (A True Story)

ON MAYAN TIME

Alright… So I rarely write about myself. Yet, at times, I do find myself writing bits and pieces of my experiences, i.e. fragments my life. Believe me I try not to as I am not my most important subject. But I am a poet…that paints and writes…who opens himself to the mysteries of the universe. Therefore, I have to recognise that some strange things have happened to me and some are worth mentioning. This is one of them, for sure. And what I am about to tell you happened in the general area of the world where most of my other strange things have also occurred, that being the jungles, mountains, lakes and rivers of Central America.

The incident in question took place on the day I was re-deployed to a security detail for a small expedition of archaeologists from a US uni (the name I cannot mention). They were accompanying their colleagues from the Universidad de San Carlos de Guatemala, to the Petén region of the country to…supposedly…recover some Mayan artefacts. Our journey would take us to a small island in the middle of a huge lake in the vicinity of Flores, the capital city of the Petén region.

The Department of El Petén, is in the northern extreme of Guatemala and in those years it was mostly jungle. I have not been there lately but I believe it has not changed much. The Petén borders on the Mexican states of Campeche, Izabal and Alta Verapaz on the west, and on the east with the country of Belize, which was…at the time…still British Honduras, a colony of the UK. It is important to state that at the time Guatemala claimed the colony as theirs and many thought the dispute would end up in a war. In other words tensions were high between the two countries.

We left our base, located close to the grounds of La Aurora, Guatemala’s international airport, at exactly 0700 hours. We arrived at exactly 0830 hours to Flores. From the LZ we walked to the shore of the lake. The original inhabitants called the lake Noh Petén, and the current ones Lake Petén Itzá and it was a truly beautiful area, I hope it still is. It’s a tropical jungle/rain forest, very hot and very green, and the lake is rather a large one.

In the morning sunshine one could see the large island not too far from the shore. The scientists had went for breakfast at a small bar nearby and they asked me, quite politely, if I could watch their gear. So I sat on the dock to wait looking at the serene, black waters of the lake. The easterly breeze moved the water rhythmically towards my shore hypnotically and I felt transported. It was amazing.

My peaceful, meditative state was suddenly broken by something that hit the water, as if someone had tossed in a large stone which caused ripples to rush towards the dock, but I did not see what it was. I immediately popped back to my professional hyper vigilant self. Then I heard children singing. I got up and walked a few metres towards what looked like an old army field hospital tent. Strange I thought, I had not noticed that when we were arriving to the dock, and believe me, I notice every detail everywhere. But it was there now and I could hear children inside singing, so I decided to approach and investigate. I stood just in front of the tent’s opening and peeked in but I could not see anything. I thought it was because having been in the searing sun for so long, my eyes had not adapted to the darkness inside the tent. In any event, I took a step inside.

There was no one inside. I scanned the empty tent wondering where the hell were the children. I went back outside, looked at my new Texas Instruments digital watch and to my surprise, shock and incredulity, I saw it said 1230 hours. But where had the time gone? I rushed back to the dock to look for the scientists. No one was there. At that very instant the sky turned black and a violent rain storm began. The bright sunny day turned to night and the rain fell so hard I could not see anything in front of me. I just stood in the pouring rain trying to find my bearings.

I thought about accessing the shelter of the field tent, but I could no longer see it. And then, as quickly as the storm, that seemed like the end of the world, had begun, it stopped. In mere seconds the skies cleared and the searing sun returned to its majestic place in the sky, right on top of me. My watch was not wrong, it was, most certainly, the middle of the day. And I noticed I was completely dry.

At that instant I heard one of the American scientists calling me and demanding, in a rather angry manner, where the hell had I been. I was still trying to put my head together but I tried to tell him that I had been right here, at the dock, guarding the equipment. I began to explain that I had heard children singing from the old army field tent over…

“Over where? What field tent? There is no field tent anywhere around here! We’re the only ones here,” the lead scientist was now annoyed and shouting. “This is a restricted area. No civilians allowed! What the hell is up with you abandoning your post?”

The others had arrived. “We looked all over for you, for four hours!” Said one of the Guatemalans. «Where were you?»

The only thing I could reply was, “Wait…” Because he was right, this was a restricted, militarised area. I remembered we had gone through a Guatemalan Army checkpoint, and when I looked towards where the tent had been there was nothing there. Feeling uncomfortable and confused, I managed to compose myself and calmly replied, “I don’t know sir.”

They were right to be outraged. This was a dangerous area that was continually being cleared off by the Guatemalan Army because communist guerrilla insurgents…quite the problem at the time…had been crossing through here en route to towns and villages deeper in the jungle. I knew all of that as well as I knew never to never abandon my post. But I had not abandoned it. This all happened just a few footsteps away from the equipment but I could not explain it.

And I still cannot explain it. The sound of something hitting the water, the missing time, the children’s voices, the sudden rain and the military tent. For me it will remain a mystery. It was one of those strange things that happen, I reckon, in certain parts of the world for the which there is no rational explanation. Not that I ever look for rational explanations, hell, I am a poet…

C.2025, Francisco Bravo Cabrera – 05/09 MAR 2025 – Valencia, España