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My introduction to Rey Komis on 10 November
1959 proved also to be my introduction to public life
in Zinacantan. It was Rey's wedding day—a wedding
in the grand style. He stood stiffly before the
house cross in his new sandals with broad-brimmed
black felt hat in hand, his head turbanned in a scarlet
cloth, his neck wrapped also in scarlet, with just the
pink pompoms of his neckerchief protruding at the
back. A white lacy shawl was drawn over a double
layer of long-sleeved white shirts. His short shorts
were encased in long shorts, and these in turn by
green velveteen breeches that reached below his
knees. His waist was encircled by a woolen sash, a
leather belt, and an embroidered cotton sash. A
rosary and a scapulary hung from his neck.
His bride, too, was nearly hidden from sight beneath
her woolen headdress, her shawl, her featherembroidered
huipil, her two white blouses, her red
sash, and her two blue skirts. From her neck hung a
rosary and a scapulary.
As a wedding guest I was told to don a ceremonial
robe, and to flourish a gourd rattle and a bouquet of
orange leaves while I danced more and more lurchingly,
until I fled in the dusk down submarine trails
where the trees waved to and fro like giant seaweed.
At last I reached the safety of Romin Teratol's home
with no memory of the fate of my companion,
Manvel K'obyox's benighted son, left crumpled in a
muddy ditch.
It wasn't until a few days later that I learned the
gossip. For five years Rey had been engaged; the
wedding preparations were proceeding in perfect
order. But five years is a long time to wait, and Rey
couldn't. His fiancee's family had left to cut firewood,
and she was at home alone. Rey slipped in to
pay a quick visit, but before his visit was over he
heard footsteps outside the door. He scrambled up
into the loft just before the family marched in. When
night fell, Rey's fiancee's sister, sleeping below, was
suddenly awakened by a shower of corn kernels. She
sounded the alarm. Rey's fiancee assured them it was
only a mouse, or maybe a rat, but his bed of planks
was too hard for poor Rey to keep stock still. They
lit a pine torch and poked it up toward the rafters.
Pink pompoms were discovered in the flickering
light. Someone ran to bring an uncle and the uncle's
flashlight. The white beam fell upon Rey, clad only
in his short shorts. But thinking quickly, Rey warned
the man he was armed and had better not be pro-
Rey Komis
363
voked to violence. After a hurried consultation, the
family filed out, locking the door behind them. The
next morning when they peeked in, Rey was found
slumbering on the floor, wrapped in borrowed
blankets. To court he went, accompanied by the men
who were his bridal petitioners. When asked by the
magistrate if he had touched his fiancee, Rey assured
the magistrate he had. His fiancee admitted it, too.
Rey added that he had met her three times before in
the woods. Her younger sisters confessed that twice
she had "dropped" premature babies at the market in
San Cristobal. The sentence: two weeks of hard
labor to be followed, after emotions had cooled, by a
wedding.
Some months later Rey tried to tell me "The
Adventures of Peter." Romin Teratol had intimated
that Rey only told tales when the cane liquor was
running in his veins, but this time Rey was awash,
and his words foundered in his throat. The next
morning, Romin bought a half pint and took it to
Rey. Romin called out, and from the black void,
behind the heavy oaken bars, came a quavering
reply. In front of the jail a constable was huddled
before a fire, weaving a palm strip for a new hat.
Romin asked him if his friend Rey could have a bit
of cane liquor to chase away his hangover. "Well,
not a liter!" Laughter. "No, only a half pint." The
constable nodded. Romin called into the void, chains
clanked, a chalk white hand stretched out of the
black woolen blanket to receive the bottle. Threequarters
of the fiery liquid was gulped down in a
long gurgle, while the rest was left to be shared by
two constables, Romin, me, and an idle bystander.
The constables recounted how Rey had ended his
spree the night before by a visit to his mother's
house, where he had grabbed her by the hair and
pulled her about. When the constables arrived to
make their arrest, Rey ripped off his shirt and
resisted so fiercely that it took three constables to
drag him screaming half-naked through the streets to
jail. Eleven years later I enlisted Romin's help in
locating Rey to see if he would tell me a few tales.
Though now in his late thirties, with no religious
post to his name, nor any prospects of becoming an
elder, he, like his father, is known for his racy wit.
He had entertained Romin Teratol with many tales
when they were working on the roads together.
After searching high and low, we found Rey in a