I know he has already heard me tell this tale, and he does not believe. He would rather play with his friends.
Maybe if I tell him a few more times, he will come to believe.
I can only hope; but what do I know?
I tell him of Hunab Ku, the god of gods, the creator of the Maya. I tell him that Hunab Ku rebuilt the world three times after three deluges, which poured from the mouth of a sky serpent—some say from the mouth of Kukulkan, god of the sun, the oceans, the earth, and the sky.
I tell my young grandson, who grows bored at my tales, that Kukulkan built the first world and the second world. He did this so that the third world would be ready for the People of the Earth, the Maya.
I tell him of the folly of the Maya, of their arrogance, of the decadent ways and human sacrifices, and the foretelling of the white man. I tell him of the end of the third world, of the destruction of our ancestors.
My grandson smiles. He believes I am just a lonely old man who tells grand tales.
I know the truth, and I know the future. I tell him that the fourth world belongs to the white man; but the fourth world is not going to be here for much longer.
The ancient gods decreed this.
The fourth world must suffer under a deluge to make way for the New World. If the white men do not accept the changes, Kukulkan will destroy them.
Above all things, the gods will build the New World.
The gods will return from the stars, and they will need a better world in which to make their homes.
The time is coming soon.
“How soon?” my grandson asks patiently, humoring his old grandfather.
“You will see the end of the fourth world in your lifetime,” I tell him. “And you will see the coming of the fifth world. I do not know if I will see it. I am getting too old.”
“Not so old, Grandfather,” he says to me.