The time there was not limited to serious writing. We went horseback riding across the fields of henequén, whose fiber, like that of sisal, was traditionally used for rope and twine. Sometimes, we would relax in hammocks on the wide terrace of the casa principal. Often, we would travel out into the campo on the hacienda's narrow-gauge railway, on a flat-topped rail car pulled by a mule, called a plataforma.
Riding an hacienda plataforma.
The author's son on the right, the hacienda driver on the left, the mule in front.
We had no electricity, so evenings were short and mornings early. We had a huipíl-clad Maya maid, Bicha, who, along with a thin, old, lame Maya gentleman, Lázaro, helped us to provision ourselves on a close to starvation diet. We were sometimes very sick from the polluted water of the well, which had unwisely been dug right next to the horse corral. We boiled the water conscientiously, but Moctezuma exacted considerable revenge despite our efforts.
Stressful life at the Hacienda Kambul!
The author's son on the hacienda terrace; in the foreground their pet dog, a Mexican Maltese, named Mona, whose namesake appears in When the Owl Cries.
It was hard to leave Kambul behind despite the weight we'd lost. But my father had completed When the Owl Cries in the most appropriate setting for a book that seeks to recreate hacienda life, and we shared many happy memories of our outings and leisurely hours there.
REVIEWS OF THE BOOK