October 11, 1912–Mérida, Yucatán, Mexico

“DROPS OF BLOOD splattered his face as the king’s twirling became more frenzied. Yet, the young Mayan warrior, clad only in a ceremonial loincloth below a torso adorned with brightly-colored body-paint honoring the Lords of Death on this festival of the Rising Sun, stood motionless, his bare back pressed against the cool stone pillar of the pyramid temple, mesmerized by the ceremony. Soon, he knew, the Vision Serpent would come to his King, the Great Jaguar Paw, insuring the success of the harvests for another year…”

The young woman, sitting at the rough-hewn three-legged wooden table stopped writing, laid down her fountain pen, and wiped perspiration from her upper lip with the back of her hand. From her vantage point on the small balcony, she could see directly down onto the square below, where a burro slowly pulled a two-wheeled cart over the uneven, cobblestone street. In the center of the square, several wizened Mayan women sat cross-legged on woven blankets, punctuating their shared conversation by swatting at buzzing flies. In front of them, the fruits of their labor were carefully displayed, waiting for the housewives and cooks from the town to come shopping for the night’s dinner. As Elsa continued to gaze at the familiar scene for a few more seconds, she twisted her long, blond mass of hair into a loose bun, securing it with a pencil, before turning her attention back to her work. Glancing repeatedly at the thick sheaf of handwritten notes to her left, she continued to write for another hour, until the still air became too stifling, prompting her retreat into the relative coolness of her darkened room. After her eyes had adjusted to the dim light, Elsa hauled her four heavy leather travel cases from the closet and began to pack her clothing, journals, camera equipment, and the many fascinating Mayan artifacts she had been collecting for the past five months.

Elsa stopped for a moment to look around the room, smiling with an earned satisfaction. Tomorrow she would begin her journey home. With a little luck and inspiration, she thought, saying a quick prayer under her breath, by the time my ship from New York reaches Hamburg in late November, my written dissertation will be completed, and I can make my oral presentation to the doctoral committee before the end of the year. She couldn’t wait to erase the smug looks from the faces of her anthropology professors and male classmates who had said that a woman could never withstand the deprivations and hardships she would have to endure in field research. Not only had she proven them wrong with her trek through the Yucatán, but also, she thought, a grin lighting her face, the legend I discovered—of the female Mayan twins—will be the basis for my own personal manifesto—insuring my success in the halls of academia.

“Fraulein Doktor Elsa Schellenberg,” she said out loud. I like the sound of that, thought Elsa, as she returned to her packing.