Cempasuchil

The afterworld is a very dark place. So much so, that its inhabitants begin to lose their sense of sight like species of salamanders who are born blind, eyes being useless for an existence beneath the surface of the earth.

But as often happens when one sense is lost, others become more pronounced, and surely the stench of death lingers for those who have gone on before us, sharpening their olfactory abilities.  

Part of the tradition of Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) in México is to spread the vibrant orange blooms of marigolds as a path to attract lost loved ones back to the altars that have been prepared to welcome them.

The dead are guided, not by the bright color, but by the aroma of the sacred flowers called "cempasuchil."

Xóchitl's large dark eyes peered out from behind the tall curtain of corn stalks. It was harvest season after a particularly wet summer, maturing into a welcome abundance. Everyone in the village who was tall enough to reach the ripe cobs was in the fields, gathering the crop to dry and grind, then store for the winter ahead.

Huitzilin was a few rows over, his tan torso glistening with sweat in the afternoon sun. She envied his ability to strip down to just a loincloth while she was required by modesty to keep on her huipil, the traditional woven tunic for women of her tribe. The shirt was made of cotton and fit loosely, but she was hot underneath.

She wasn't proposing that the men cover up more, though. Huitzilin had been her best friend since the beginning of her memories. Even at a young age when he'd gone off to learn how to fish and plant while she stayed at home weaving and cooking, their huts were neighbors and in the evenings they'd made board games out of pebbles and marbles, as well as running off for hide-and-seek in the dense forest. As they got older, they were separated by gender into different schools. But when the boys gathered to play ball games, Xóchitl was always on the sidelines cheering for Huitzilin, and they'd walk back to their huts afterwards, together.

Xóchitl's parents liked knowing the trustworthy boy accompanied their daughter. They were close to the family next door and had always hoped the children would eventually marry.

Recently, Xóchitl had felt something different stirring inside her when she saw Huitzilin. She couldn't explain why shyness sometimes suddenly filled her when he'd look at her, causing her to blush at the most inopportune times. She'd always been the one to tease him when he didn't remember some of the religious or history teachings that she found so simple, even though they never competed directly in their studies. But now, she found herself often at a loss for words in his presence.

Her mother caught her staring at Huitzilin through the maíz and gently chided her. "Your sack isn't very full, Ichpokatl," she said, using the term of endearment in the Nahuatl language. She noted the way her daughter's face flushed and smiled to herself. A wedding would be a welcome change to the routine of daily life.

Over the next few days the women were so busy processing the harvested corn that Xóchitl barely left the kitchen. Finally, early one evening, she was standing outside to get some fresh air when Huitzilin appeared.

"Hey, you," his smile caught her off guard and she forgot to reply.

He shook his head. "Too good to even talk to me these days, I see. Well, then, I'll just go in and see if dinner's ready at my house."

"No," she finally managed to get her mouth to function. "I just... Hi."

He laughed. He'd noticed the changes in her eyes and cheeks when he was near, mostly because he felt the same stirrings. "Want to go for a walk?"

Normally it would be considered improper for the two to go off alone, but Xóchitl called into her house. "Mamá, we've been working nonstop for days. Can I go for a walk with Huitzilin?"

Her mother's frame filled the doorway. She gave the young man a direct look. "Take care of her, understood?"

He nodded, understanding completely. "I will always take care of the beautiful flower that is Xóchitl."

The older woman, remembering the tender delicate yearnings of her own courtship, nodded. "Be back before dark."

The two youths fell into step together, entering the woods for the first time in ages, since they'd played games there as children. They walked in silence, both feeling a new electricity flowing between them.

When they were out of sight of the huts, Huitzilin tentatively reached over and took Xóchitl's hand. She felt a shock travel up her arm to her heart at the simple touch. "Oh!" she exclaimed, surprised.

Huitzilin started to pull away, afraid he'd upset her, but she squeezed, refusing to let go.

"I've missed you," Xóchitl said, keeping her eyes on the path, not daring to look at him, but holding his hand firmly.

In the ancient Aztec language, the words for "I miss you" literally are translated, "My heart has been searching for you."

Huitzilin replied, "My heart has been searching for you for my whole life, and then I realized you were here all along."

He stopped walking and pulled her to him in a hug.

"I want to marry you. I've known since we were little but I always was sure you'd stick out your tongue and say, "No," so I was too scared to tell you. But recently, I've seen something different in your eyes and I've been hoping. I know the choice is ultimately up to our parents, but I also know your mom trusts me or you wouldn't be here right now."

Xóchitl snuggled into his warm body in the cool forest air. She inhaled his scent, which mingled with the rich smell of the autumn earth. Birds sang and a gentle breeze made the leaves whisper above the young couple.

"We could ask Tonatiuh to bless our love," she raised her face to look up at him, invoking the Sun god, who surely would be able to convince their parents if there were any doubts.

Huitzilin leaned his face down. She could feel his breath on her nose. Her whole body tingled as his lips touched hers. The kiss was gentle and sweet, awakening new sensations in her nipples, her chest, between her legs.

"Huitzilin...." he'd never heard her say his name in the husky, stilted way it came out now. She pulled away and said reluctantly, "We should get back. They will be expecting us soon." But she didn't move.

They continued to savor the sweet embrace as his lips traced her eyes, her cheeks, back to her mouth again. His hands properly stayed clasped at the small of her back, and he made an effort not to press his growing erection into her, concentrating all his emotion into the kisses on her warm, reddening face.

Finally, aware of the fading daylight, they separated except for their fingers intertwined as they walked quickly back to their homes, with the promise to return the next day in the afternoon to make an offering to Tonatiuh.

Xóchitl's mother noticed her slipping away to pick flowers the next afternoon. She didn't say a word, though, smiling to herself as her now-of-age daughter disappeared into the shadows of the trees, and thinking of the beauty of young love.

They met at the very top of the mountain, as close to the sun as they could climb, both bearing fresh blooms. "Dear Tonatiuh, I offer you the most beautiful gift I could find as a humble offering to ask your blessing on our love." Huitzilin turned to Xóchitl. "Although you are the sweetest flower of all." She blushed, laying her gift on top of those he had already placed on a makeshift altar of rocks that he'd built before she'd joined him.

All she managed to say was, "Please, dear god of the sun."

As they rushed back toward their respective tasks in the village, they stopped to steal another quick kiss, both buzzing with that unmatched high of being in love.

As many days as they were able, they repeated the trip to visit Tonatiuh. They always took advantage of the opportunity to share kisses, never indulging in anything more, but their curious lips learned the taste of each other as their bodies pressed close. Their longing to become one grew with each passing day.

The parents of the two households were aware of the couple's not-so-secret trysts, and had been discussing plans for their union. Everyone was happy to think that soon they'd be more than neighbors: They'd be family.

They planned a special meal together to make the announcement. Xóchitl knew something big was in the works when they began preparing food for the feast, and she suspected it had to do with her marrying Huitzilin. But she was too embarrassed to ask her mother and just set to work more industriously than ever, wanting every detail to be perfect.

But the day they had planned for their celebration, dark rumblings thundered across their tribe like a sudden summer storm. A war was breaking out across their territories.

Seemingly in sync with the news, the two families gathered under one roof to the sound of heavy rain drumming above. The sun god was nowhere to be seen as Huitzilin's father made a much different announcement than the one that they had planned.

His son would be going off to fight in the battle.

Xóchitl couldn't control her reaction. She ran sobbing from the house, not stopping until she reached the highest point on the hill.

Huitzilin found her there, soaked and collapsed on the ground by the altar he'd made, all their flowers washed away in the torrent of falling water.

"It's okay, my Love," he picked her up easily in his arms. "Tonatiuh won't forget us."

"But where is he now?" she cried out angrily. "It's not fair!"

"He's there, behind the clouds. I know you can't see him, but he's watching over us. I'm sure of it."

She let her head rest on his shoulder while he carried her home.

"You be safe, young man," the older woman said as he left, with a sadness in her voice that she could not hide. "We all love you around here."

That was the last time they saw Huitzilin, his long uncut hair clinging to his face, dripping wet with rain and tears, Xóchitl in his arms.

Word travelled quickly back that he had been killed early in the battle.

Xóchitl's mother tried to soften the news, but she watched helplessly, her heart breaking, as her daughter collapsed silently onto the floor and refused to move for hours. Eventually, she stood up in a stupor and wandered off when no one was looking.

Her feet knew the way and she found herself once again at the place where she and Huitzilin had confessed their undying devotion before the most powerful god of the sky.

"Tonatiuh!" The word escaped her throat in a desperate, anguished scream, echoing off the nearby peaks and returning to her ears as if to taunt her.

She felt completely alone.

"I was a fool to believe throwing a few flowers on the ground could make our dream come true." She said out loud to no one.

The day was dark and melancholy, heavy clouds pressing down on the sky, fitting for the news she'd received. But as she lay there looking down, she felt a warmth touch her skin. She looked up to see a blue streak in the sky with the sun peeking through where the grayness had parted.

She could have sworn she heard a voice whisper her name.

"Hello? Is someone there?"

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as she looked around, but there was nobody within sight of the large clearing.

Behind her, a buzzing sound made her turn her head. A hummingbird hovered in the air, then playfully circled around her as if trying to get her attention.

Her heart still aching, she wasn't in the mood for games. The little creature disappeared into the woods, but then reappeared, carrying a tiny flower in its beak. It stopped in front of her and dropped the bright gift into her lap.

"Huitzilin?" She held her breath, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. The Aztecs believed the feisty little birds housed the souls of warriors fallen in battle, but this was happening too fast for Xóchitl to comprehend.

"My love, is that you? But I want to hug you and kiss you! How can I be with you like this?"

She looked up to the heavens, at earth's star barely visible among the clouds. She yelled at Tonatiuh, "What kind of cruel god sends my love to me like this? I'll never be with him like before!"

The sun god was not omnipotent. He could not undo death, or reverse time.

But he shone his powerful light onto the shattered lover.

Xóchitl began to tingle with an overwhelming warmth that radiated from her chest, to her feet, her hands, her face. A peace like she'd never felt before filled her as all the colors of the rainbow swirled around her softly. She closed her eyes and let herself fall as if into a dream.

Tonatiuh smiled down from the heavens onto his creation as she was transformed into a new, beautiful, aromatic flower, round and golden, fashioned after himself.

In her new form, Xóchitl could feel the hummingbird's long beak gently enter the folds of her petals, sipping the nectar that his caresses made drip and flow from her center.

He flitted about, drinking deeply of her over and over, then perched on a leaf of her stem. A breeze seemed to stir her petals in something like a sigh. Knowing he was close, knowing she had been reunited with him, being able to feel him, was enough.

The next year, when the curtain between the afterworld and the living parted on the Day of the Dead, Huitzilin's spirit flew on the wings of a tiny bird to again find his precious flower that Tonatiuh named "cempasuchil" for its many petals. She'd been waiting for him, guiding him to her with the fragrant aroma of her nectar. He tasted her as he entered and filled her, remembering the feel of her lips on the mountain path not so long ago.

As the years went by, her seeds spread throughout the forest and the fields. The living recognized that the spirits of their ancestors could find their way back home, much like Huitzilin had found his way back to Xóchitl, through the strong scent of the special flower. They began cultivating and gathering the cempasuchil to spread as a path to the altars they built to welcome their loved ones home on that magical night, when the veil between the two worlds was lifted.

To this day, it is said to be good luck when a hummingbird visits a family's altar, a reminder of how even death cannot extinguish the love that lives on forever between human souls.