FIRST NAME: MOE
AS TOLD BY MULUC

“Why not Moe?” Muluc wonders. He wants to be already over, a quick

flick, a check mark, a nod instead of a pause, then every new teacher’s

attempt at his name. Mispronounced “Moo Lick.” Repronounced “Moo Luck.”

Each year, the class learns again, how a cow digests its food by regurgitation.

Each year, the young poets catcall, “Cow Face. Moo Boy. Cud Cud.”

Once, at the east gate of the playground, they forced him to kneel

and drink from a muddy puddle. “Moo Lick. Moo Lick, “ they chant.

How he longs for a nickname, like “Red.” One can make one’s own

fate in a name’s image. Red: a football hero hoisted on shoulders,

blood pounds in his ears as they cheer, “!Hu’ uyub!” 53 times. Caught out,

Muluc trembles as he offers his palm to the ruler, Miss Dearheart.

THE NAMING OF MULUC

For a while I have been interested in the notion of the whole fragment.
Ann Lauterbach

FIRST NAME: MULUC
AS TOLD BY CHICHEN

Chichen names his first son for what Chichen wants him to become. Muluc: red bacab who held up one corner of sky at creation.
Muluc: who starts the new year. Chichen remembers welcoming
Muluc at the east gate of Piste. For Muluc, the villagers ground
53 grains of maize, perfumed it with incense, burned it on a brazier. For Muluc’s patron god Ahau, villagers shaped image breads made
of egg yolks, deer hearts, and ground chili peppers dissolved in
blood drawn from men’s ears. That’s how much Chichen cherishes
Muluc. That’s how much he wants for his son. Chichen trembles as he holds the infant Muluc, like an offering in his arms

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Copyright © 2007 Linden Ontjes

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