Even though you're hungry, you decide not to eat any of the food, you just cannot reconcile yourself to the idea of cannibalism. You do take some of the juice that's offered; it tastes a lot like pineapple juice, but that isn't what it is. As you sip it, you watch the people around you. At various times, some of them appear to be going into almost trance-like states, but nothing else is happening. You can hear a couple sitting near you talking, they are explaining to a small child with them that the spirits of the goddesses of the deer--the Mixcoacihuatl--entered the bodies of the deer-women as they were dying, or, as they put it, as they were "giving their service." Therefore, they tell the child, she is not eating the flesh of the women who died, but rather the flesh of the goddesses themselves, who died along with the women, and that she is communing with those goddesses by eating the food. That concept--eating the flesh of the deity to commune with him or her--is certainly not unfamiliar to you and you nod, but otherwise you pay little attention. Patiently, you wait; it doesn't seem as if anything else is going to happen until after the cannibal feast is concluded.

As the meal is ending, something new begins happening; all eyes turn to the doorway, and two people come in and walk through the crowd in stately procession. One, a woman, is heavily dressed in colorful garments that appeared to made primarily of paper. On her arm she carries a large basket. The other, a man, is dressed in a fur garment much like a kilt. He wears a feathered headdress and he carries a full-sized bow, some arrows, and an empty basket. His body has been painted, from head to foot and including his face, with narrow vertical white stripes. Around his eyes and mouth are black circles. Slowly, these two make their way up to the stage.

"We greet the Lord Mixcoatl and the Lady Yeuatlicue!" cries the black-painted man on the stage. "We bid you welcome!"

Moving slowly, with measured steps, the couple climb onto the stage and stand facing the audience. The black-painted man steps up behind Mixcoatl, cuts off a lock of his hair, and hands it to him. Once that has been done, the two of them move to the fire and crouch beside it. The man puts his bow, his arrows, and his basket into it, along with the cut hair; finally his beautiful headdress goes in, the feathers crisping in the flames. When he has burnt everything he has except for his kilt, Yeuatlicue begins putting her things into the fire. She takes various weaving implements from her basket and tosses them in; a spindle whorl, a spinning frame, some unspun cotton, some thread. Then she starts taking off her beautiful paper costume and putting it in the fire, piece by piece, continuing until she is wearing only a little cotton skirt. Finally, the couple stands up and removes their last garments; in unison they cast them into the fire and turn to face the audience. Both of them are absolutely perfect physical specimens. They stand there for a moment; then Yeuatlicue turns away and walks toward the stone with the carvings on it. She kneels down and holds her head close to the rock; Mixcoatl steps up beside her, lifts her long black hair, and winds it up around his left hand.

Then he extends his right hand, palm up, and one of the priests lays a fresh obsidian knife in it. He does not leave it there; he merely touches it to Mixcoatl's palm. He takes it away and steps up on the other side of Yeuatlicue. Kneeling quietly, she glances from one to the other. The priest holds the knife up high, for everyone to see, and there is another pause, another sense of anticipation--after which Mixcoatl strikes Yeuatlicue's head sideways against the stone--gently, not nearly hard enough to really hurt her--four times. Releasing her hair, he steps away. The priest takes his place, winding up her hair and pulling her head back.

With a deliberate motion, the priest slips the obsidian knife under her chin and lays the edge against her throat. She remains still, and he draws it across, very lightly, very delicately--too lightly, it seems, to cut her skin. But, when you look again, you can see that the blade has sunk in deep, almost halfway through her neck. She trembles and blinks her eyes rapidly, her mouth slightly open. The priest guides her head toward the rock, and a red flood from her throat washes over it, covering it, running onto the stage. With obvious effort, she keeps herself up on her hands and knees as long as possible, letting her life's blood soak the carved stone. When her strength finally fails her, when she sags against the rock, the priest who still holds her thick black hair supports her. He holds her there as she blinks, as the pupils of her eyes expand, as she struggles to breathe but cannot. Finally she becomes still, and the flow of blood from her throat slows suddenly.

The black-painted man examines the girl; when the blood has almost stopped flowing, he cuts into her neck again, and now he keeps cutting until her head comes free in his hand. Allowing her body to fall limply to the floor, he hands the head to the Mixcoatl impersonator, who holds it up by the hair, as if it were a trophy.

In formal tones, "Mixcoatl" begins addressing the audience, telling them the story of the Teotl Mixcoatl, Xiuhnel, and Mimich, of the two-headed deer that turned into two women, and of the woman who was called Chimalma. After the story was finished, Mixcoatl, still carrying his trophy, walks to the altar stone, sits down on it, and places Yeuatlicue's severed head in his lap. The black-painted man comes to stand beside him and holds the bloody knife up for all to see. Mixcoatl leans back and four priests catch his wrists and ankles; they stretch him over the stone, being careful to ensure that the head remains balanced on his body--as he's tipped over, the man holding the knife moves the head up to his belly, turning it so it's facing him, as if she's to witness his sacrifice. A fifth priest holds his head and pulls it back.

And the first priest stabs his knife into the man's chest, driving the blade in deeply. Mixcoatl grunts as the priest cuts downward, then twists the knife; you can hear it grating against his ribs. The knife is then pulled out, and the priest thrusts his hand into the welling blood. Mixcoatl groans a little as the priest twists his hand, tearing the heart loose, and groans again as it's wrenched from his chest. He lives long enough to turn his head, to see his bloody heart lifted on high.

But he doesn't last long enough to see it burned atop the stone where Yeuatlicue was bled. No one moves or speaks as the heart is consumed by the fire; the aroma of burning blood and flesh wafts through the Teocallis.

At last, the drummers cease their rhythm, and one of the black-painted men steps forth with a formal-sounding announcement to the effect that the ceremony of Quecholli has ended. You must leave; you must go elsewhere now.