Previous: Chapter Eleven: Mérida
“I don’t believe it,” said Frances.
In the Perrera-Perez’s back yard lay a pair of shiny steel rails.
“Our tram only seats six,” explained S. Perrera-Perez as the couple rolled the vehicle out of its shelter. “There’s a one-peso tram that comes through on the hour, but the market will be closed by then: it’s to take all the workers home when the shops close.”
Feliz, MaryLiz, Jo, and Frances joined the Perrera-Perezes on the tram. After a thirty second wait for another tram to climb the hill past the little backyard station, the switch signal changed to green and the journey into town began.
MaryLiz looked between her feet at the ballast and sleepers whizzing past underneath as the tram rolled downhill.
A red light blinked on the dashboard. MaryLiz had an astronaut’s aversion to blinking red lights, and it showed.
“Regenerative braking,” came Gaby’s answer. “We’re storing energy for the trip back up.”
At the bottom of the hill, as the track leveled out, the tram automatically shunted into a siding to allow another tram to climb the main line in the other direction. Then they were off again, at a more leisurely pace along level grade.
Fifteen minutes later, the tram pulled into the Market Station. The Perrera-Perezes rented a rail stall for the little tram, and led the Ranchers down the stair to the market.
Gaby led the Ranchers among the narrow passageways between stalls to a brick-and-mortar building tucked down a side alley. A relative of Gaby’s, elderly, with Mayan features, was putting away a display table filled with used and new satellite phones.
Gaby spoke to them softly, in Spanish. Feliz could hear the words “gente pequeña” said by Gaby. The shop owner paused and turned to the ranchers.
“La gente pequeña. El bosque tiene muchos caminos…” The elder turned back to Gaby, and spoke more softly.
Gaby thanked the elder, who smiled to the visitors, and returned to closing shop.
Gaby asked Feliz, “You heard it? You want to tell them?”
Feliz said, “Yes. ‘The Little People. The forest has many paths.’ And there was a name, one I couldn’t make out. Hunpah?”
MaryLiz asked Gaby, “Do you know what that means?”
Gaby replied, “Si. Hunapuh. It means no one in Yucatán will stop us from going where we’re going.”
The ride back to the Perrera-Perezes took much longer than on the way down. The couple were proud to point out its hand-built features, from the satellite-grade solar panels on its awning to upcycled electric wheelchair motors geared to every driving wheel. Gaby also told the incredulous Rocket Ranchers the origins of the miraculous system of light rail threaded throughout the inhabited parts of Yucatán.
At the end of the 20th century, narrow gaugue rail built to exploit the land, and the plantation labor, of the Peninula, fell into ruin. Rights of way and repair contracts were abandoned by their nominal corporate owners, and forgotten by the Meican government, which had other things on its mind.
Most the old rail was stripped for salvage, some of the track beds were repurposed as walking trails for tourists. There were historical markers, for each plantation, all invisible against high grass.
Even after a century, however, hundreds of kilometers of rail, from the old plantations, remained, crisscrossed here and there with the modern rail ring surrounding the peninsula. Some of the network remained in semi-commercial passenger and light cargo service operated by local village concerns.
As to what the government of Yucatán thought of the lost source of tax revenue and safety regulator’s nightmare operating under their noses, little was said.
And then there were those occasional under-the-table shipments of fresh track ballast occasionally delivered to remote villages in the middle of the night….
“So,” said Gaby, as the tram pulled into their backyard siding. “The name Feliz said he couldn’t make out.”
“Hunpoo?” asked Feliz.
“Hunahpu”, said Gaby. “It’s Mayan.”
“And where is it?”, asked Frances. “In the forest, presumably?”
“It’s not a place,” said Gaby, “But it is in the forest. Hunahpuh is an old railway, a very old one, and we all have a ticket to ride.”