Rethinking Refuse: A History of Maya Trash by Sarah E. Newman B.A. Yale University 2007 M.A. Brown University 2011 A Dissertation Submitted in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy in the Department of Anthropology at Brown University Providence, RI 2015 © Copyright 2015 by Sarah E. Newman This dissertation by Sarah E. Newman is accepted in its present form by the Department of Anthropology as satisfying the dissertation requirement for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy Date __________________ _________________________ Dr. Stephen D. Houston, Advisor Recommended to the Graduate Council Date __________________ _________________________ Dr. John F. Cherry, Reader Date __________________ _________________________ Dr. Andrew K. Scherer, Reader Date __________________ _________________________ Dr. Scott R. Hutson, Reader Date __________________ _________________________ Dr. Christina T. Halperin, Reader Approved by the Graduate Council Date __________________ _________________________ Dr. Peter M. Weber, Dean of the Graduate School iii Sarah Newman Brown University, Department of Anthropology Box 1921, Providence, Rhode Island 02912 sarah_newman@brown.edu (203) 676-0714 Date & Place of Birth: August 29, 1986 (Reno, Nevada) EDUCATIONAL BACKGROUND Brown University, Ph.D. in Anthropology 2011-2015 Dissertation: Rethinking Refuse: A History of Maya Trash Committee: Dr. Stephen Houston (chair, Anthropology); Dr. John Cherry (Archaeology) Dr. Andrew Scherer (Anthropology); Dr. Scott Hutson (Anthropology, U. of Kentucky); Dr. Christina Halperin (Anthropology, U. of Montreal) Brown University, M.A. in Anthropology 2009-2011 Thesis: The Last Supper: The Role of Ceramic Serving Vessels in Ancient Maya Mortuary Practice Yale University, B.A. in Archaeological Studies 2003-2007 Awarded with Honors and with Distinction in Major Winner of the Michael D. Coe Prize RESEARCH/FIELD EXPERIENCE Co-Director (with Thomas Garrison), 2014 Native Diver Relocation Project, Hollywood Park Race Track, Inglewood, CA Project Faunal Analyst, Busiljá-Chocoljá Archaeological Project, 2013-present Directors: Charles Golden and Andrew Scherer Project Faunal Analyst & Archaeologist, 2009-present El Zotz Archaeological Project, Petén, Guatemala Directors: Stephen D. Houston and Edwin Román (Phase I), Thomas Garrison and Edwin Román (Phase II) Maritime Archaeologist, 2007-2009 National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration Maritime Heritage Program Thunder Bay National Marine Sanctuary and Underwater Preserve, Alpena, MI Field School in Nautical Archaeology, 2006-2007 East Carolina Maritime Studies Program, Two Rivers, WI Directors: Bradley Rogers and David Stewart Field School in Art History and Museum Practices, 2006 University of New Mexico, Copán, Honduras Director: Jennifer von Schwerin Field School in Archaeological Method and Theory, 2006-2007 Yale University, Henry Whitfield House, Guilford, CT Directors: Marcello Canuto and Thomas Tartaron iv TEACHING EXPERIENCE Brown University Instructor “The Human Skeleton” (Introduction to Human Osteology) Spring 2015 Teaching Assistant “The Human Skeleton” Spring 2011, 2012 “Culture and Human Behavior” (Introduction to Anthropology) Fall 2011 “Foragers, Farmers, Feasts, and Famine” (Anthropology of Food) Fall 2010 University of Southern California Field Instructor “Maya Resilience” (Summer Field Course in Guatemala) 2014 “Field Methods in Maya Archaeology” (Summer Field School in Guatemala) 2013, 2014 Guest Lecturer “Humans and Ancient Environments” Spring 2014 “Scientific Analysis for Archaeologists” Spring 2013, 2014 University of Texas at Austin Visiting Scholar Study Abroad Program in Guatemala Spring 2014 “The Archaeology of Ancient Mesoamerica” “The Colonial Encounter” “Sacred Landscapes of the Pre-Columbian World” “Ancient Maya Writing and History” Certificates Harriet W. Sheridan Center, Brown University, Sheridan Teaching Certificate I FELLOWSHIPS, GRANTS, & AWARDS Dolores Zohrab Liebmann Fund Graduate Fellowship ($18,000) 2014 John Carter Brown Library J.M. Stuart Dissertation Fellowship ($22,500) 2014 Center for Latin American and Caribbean Studies, Brown University Craig M. Cogut Dissertation Fellowship ($11,250) Declined Brown University Graduate School Dissertation Completion Fellowship ($22,500) Declined U.S. State Department Fulbright IIE Research/Study Grant to Guatemala ($18,500) 2013 Wenner-Gren Foundation Dissertation Fieldwork Grant ($11,150) 2013 Osmundsen Initiative Award ($5,000) 2013 Brown University Graduate School Incentive Program for Doctoral Students ($8,375) 2013 v University of Texas at Austin Scholar-in-Residence, Casa Herrera (Antigua, Guatemala) 2013 Department of Art and Art History National Science Foundation Doctoral Dissertation Improvement Grant, BCS 1240737 ($16,821) 2012 Brown University Office of International Affairs Travel Award ($750) 2012 Brown University Department of Anthropology Summer Research Funds (Total Awarded: $2,984) 2010, 2011 Archaeological Institute of America Jane C. Waldbaum Scholarship ($1,000) 2010 Tinker Foundation Summer Research and Travel in Latin America ($1,000) 2010 Cooperative Institute for Limnology and Ecosystems Research Great Lakes Summer Fellows Program (Total Awarded: $10,000) 2007, 2008 Toyota Motor Sales, U.S.A., Inc. Toyota Community Scholar (Total Awarded: $20,000) 2003-2007 BOOKS Temple of the Night Sun: A Royal Tomb at El Diablo, Guatemala. (Forthcoming). Second author with Stephen Houston, Edwin Román, and Thomas Garrison. Precolumbia Mesoweb Press, San Francisco (Currently proofing). PEER-REVIEWED ARTICLES Applications of Reflectance Transformation Imaging (RTI) to the Study of Bone Surface Modifications. (2015). Journal of Archaeological Science 53:536-549. Local Water Resource Variability and Oxygen Isotopic Reconstructions of Mobility: A Case Study from the Maya Area. (In press). Third author with Andrew Scherer and Alyce de Carteret. Journal of Archaeological Science: Reports. Corrected proof available online. Tunnel Vision: Documenting Excavations in Three Dimensions with LiDAR Technology. Tenth author with Thomas G. Garrison et al. (Under review). Advances in Archaeological Practice (submitted March 1, 2015). Sharks in the Jungle: Real and Imagined Sea Monsters of the Maya. (In prep). To be submitted to Antiquity in April 2015. REFEREED BOOK CONTRIBUTIONS “Outfitting a Ruler.” (Forthcoming). First author with Stephen Houston, Thomas Garrison, and Edwin Román. In Temple of the Night Sun: A Royal Tomb at El Diablo, Guatemala. Precolumbia Mesoweb Press, San Francisco (Currently proofing). vi “A Tomb and its Setting.” (Forthcoming). Second author with Stephen Houston, Thomas Garrison, and Edwin Román. In Temple of the Night Sun: A Royal Tomb at El Diablo, Guatemala. Precolumbia Mesoweb Press, San Francisco (Currently proofing). “A Temple over Time.” (Forthcoming). Second author with Stephen Houston, Edwin Román, and Nicholas Carter. In Temple of the Night Sun: A Royal Tomb at El Diablo, Guatemala. Precolumbia Mesoweb Press, San Francisco (Currently proofing). “Death Comes to the King.” (Forthcoming). Second author with Stephen Houston, Edwin Román, and Thomas Garrison. In Temple of the Night Sun: A Royal Tomb at El Diablo, Guatemala. Precolumbia Mesoweb Press, San Francisco (Currently proofing). “Repasts, Rubbish, and Raw Materials: The Uses and Reuses of Animals at El Zotz.” (In press). In An Inconstant Landscape: Archaeological Investigations at El Zotz, edited by T.G. Garrison and S.D. Houston. University of Colorado Press, Boulder. “Determining Termination: The Terminal Classic at El Zotz.” (In press). First author with Nicholas Carter and Jóse Luis Garrido López. In An Inconstant Landscape: Archaeological Investigations at El Zotz, edited by T.G. Garrison and S.D. Houston. University of Colorado Press, Boulder. “Power on the Periphery: The Late Classic Period at El Zotz.” (In press). Second author with Nicholas Carter, Yeny Gútierrez Castillo, and Kate Blankenship. In An Inconstant Landscape: Archaeological Investigations at El Zotz, edited by T.G. Garrison and S.D. Houston. University of Colorado Press, Boulder NON-REFEREED ARTICLES Bestias fétidas y flores fragrantes: el olor en el Clásico maya [Fetid Beasts and Fragrant Flowers: Smell among the Classic Maya]. (2015). Second author with Stephen Houston. Arqueología Mexicana. NON-REFEREED BOOK CONTRIBUTIONS (FIRST AUTHOR) “Nuevas formas de ver lo antiguo: Técnicas para sacar imagines de los artefactos.” (In press). In XXVIII Simposio de Investigaciones Arqueológicas en Guatemala, 2014. Museo Nacional de Arqueología y Etnología, Guatemala City. “Animales Como Artefactos: El Uso Ritual de Los Restos de Fauna por Los Antiguos Mayas.” (2013). In XXVI Simposio de Investigaciones Arqueológicas en Guatemala, 2012, edited by B. Arroyo and L. Méndez Salinas, pp. 587-596. Museo Nacional de Arqueología y Etnología, Guatemala City. “Los Procesos Palaciegos: La Acrópolis de El Zotz .” (2012). With Stephen Houston, Jose Luis Garrido, Elizabeth Marroquín, Juan Carlos Meléndez, Elsa Dámaris Menéndez, Griselda Perez Robles, and Ewa Czapiewska. In XXV Simposio de Investigaciones Arqueológicas en Guatemala, 2011, edited by B. Arroyo, L. Paíz Aragon, and H. Mejía, pp. 965-975. Museo Nacional de Arqueología y Etnología, Guatemala City. vii NON-REFEREED BOOK CONTRIBUTIONS (OTHER) “Analysis of Samples Excavated from a Royal Tomb in El Zotz: Applications of Materials Science Characterization Techniques in Archaeology.” (2013). Fifth author with Kristina A. Cheung, Nuoya Xie, Zhaoying Yao, Stephen Houston, Edwin Román, Thomas Garrison, Christian Fischer, Vanessa Muros, Sergey Prikhodko, and Ioanna Kakoulli. In Archaeological Chemistry VIII, edited by R. Armitage et. al., pp. 397-418. American Chemical Society, Washington, DC. “Arte y Monumentalidad en el Valle de la Buenavista: Arquitectura Sagrada de la Corte Real de El Zotz.” (2013). Fifth author with Edwin Román, Thomas Garrison, Stephen Houston, Jose Luis Garrido, James Doyle, Alyce de Carteret, Rony Piedrasanta, Yeny Gutiérrez, and Joel Lopez. In XXVI Simposio de Investigaciones Arqueológicas en Guatemala, 2012, edited by B. Arroyo and L. Méndez Salinas, pp. 720-736. Museo Nacional de Arqueología y Etnología, Guatemala City. “Entre conchas y océanos: analizando los artifactos malacológicos procedentes del Entierro 9 de El Zotz, Peten, Guatemala.” (2013). Fifth author with Yeny Myshell Gutiérrez Castillo, Stephen Houston, Edwin Román, Thomas Garrison, and Catherine Magee. In XXVI Simposio de Investigaciones Arqueológicas en Guatemala, 2012, edited by B. Arroyo and L. Méndez Salinas, pp. 597-610. Museo Nacional de Arqueología y Etnología, Guatemala City. “En la vista de Pa’ Chan: Procesos Dinámicos en El Zotz, Peten y sus Cercanias.” (2012). Seventh author with Stephen Houston, Edwin Román, Thomas Garrison, Jose Luis Garrido, Nicholas Carter, James Doyle, Elsa Dámaris Menéndez, and Melanie Kingsley. In XXV Simposio de Investigaciones Arqueológicas en Guatemala, 2011, edited by B. Arroyo, L. Paíz Aragon, and H. Mejía, pp. 181-192. Museo Nacional de Arqueología y Etnología, Guatemala City. “El Diablo: Grupo Cívico-Ceremonial del Clásico Temprano en El Zotz, Peten.” (2011). Second author with Edwin Román, Stephen Houston, Thomas Garrison, Nicholas Carter, Andrew Scherer, Zachary Hruby, and Catharine Magee. In XXIV Simposio de Investigaciones Arqueológicas en Guatemala, 2010, edited by B. Arroyo, L. Paíz Aragón, A. Linares Palma and A.L. Arroyave, pp. 471-476. Museo Nacional de Arqueología y Etnología, Guatemala City. BOOK REVIEWS Centering Animals in Latin American History, edited by Martha Few and Zeb Tortorici. (2015). Social Anthropology/Anthropologie Sociale 23(1):95-97. Colonial Mediascapes: Sensory Worlds of the Early Americas, edited by Matt Cohen and Jeffrey Glover. (In press). Social Anthropology/Anthropologie Sociale. TECHNICAL REPORTS “Análisis de material ceramic del sitio El Zotz (Fase I): tiestos provenientes de un depósito ubicado en la acrópolis de El Zotz y resguardos en Salón 3.” (2014). In Proyecto Arqueológico “El Zotz” Informe No. 8, Temporada 2013, edited by J.L. Garrido López, T.G. Garrison, E.R. Román, and S. Houston, pp. 232-252. Report submitted to the Institute of Anthropology and History of Guatemala. “Mapeo y Reconocimiento en El Zotz.” (2014). In Proyecto Arqueológico “El Zotz” Informe No. 8, Temporada 2013, edited by J.L. Garrido López, T.G. Garrison, E.R. Román, and S. viii Houston, pp. 135-140. Report submitted to the Institute of Anthropology and History of Guatemala. “Análisis de los Restos Faunales del Proyecto Arqueológico Busiljá-Chocoljá: Informe Preliminar ” (2014). In Proyecto Arqueológico Busiljá-Chocoljá: Informe de la Cuarta Temporada de Investigación, edited by A.K. Scherer, C. Golden, and J. Dobereiner, pp. 229-264. Report submitted to the National Institute of Anthropology and History, Mexico. “Limpieza de saqueos en la Acrópolis de El Zotz (Operación 22).” (2013). In Proyecto Arqueológico “El Zotz” Informe No. 7, Temporada 2012, edited by J.L. Garrido López, T.G. Garrison, E. Román, and S. Houston, pp. 99-116. Report submitted to the Institute of Anthropology and History of Guatemala. “Operaciones 2 y 12: Excavaciones en la Acrópolis y la Plazuela Noroeste.” (2012). With Elsa Dámaris Menéndez. In Proyecto Arqueológico “El Zotz” Informe No. 6, Temporada 2011, edited by J.L. Garrido López, S. Houston, and E. Román, pp. 131-172. Report submitted to the Institute of Anthropology and History of Guatemala. “Catálogo y Análisis preliminar de la cerámica de la Tumba Real de El Diablo.” (2011a). In Proyecto Arqueológico “El Zotz” Informe No. 5, Temporada 2010, edited by Jose Luis Garrido López, Stephen Houston, and Edwin Román, pp. 479-522. Report submitted to the Institute of Anthropology and History of Guatemala. “Excavaciones en el Grupo El Diablo (Operación 5).” (2011b). Second author with Edwin Román. In Proyecto Arqueológico “El Zotz” Informe No. 5, Temporada 2010, edited by J.L. Garrido López, S. Houston, and E. Román, pp. 117-162. Report submitted to the Institute of Anthropology and History of Guatemala. “Excavación y descripción del Entierro 9 de El Zotz .” (2011c). Second author with Edwin Román. In Proyecto Arqueológico “El Zotz” Informe No. 5, Temporada 2010, edited by J.L. Garrido López, S. Houston, and E. Román, pp. 417-424. Report submitted to the Institute of Anthropology and History of Guatemala. CONFERENCE PRESENTATIONS/INVITED LECTURES “Ritual in the ‘Great Household’: Termination Deposits in Classic Maya Royal Residences.” (Apr. 2015). Session Title: "Household Rituals in the Ancient Americas – from Patio Groups to Pueblos.” Paper to be presented at the 80 th Annual Meeting of the Society of American Archaeology, San Francisco, California. “Founder’s Effects: Exploring a Royal Tomb at El Zotz, Guatemala.” (Mar. 2015). Second author with Stephen Houston, Edwin Roman, and Thomas Garrison. Invited lecture at the Tulane Maya Symposium and Workshop “Royals Chambers Unsealed: Tombs of the Classic Maya.” “Sharks in the Jungle: Real and Imagined Sea Monsters of the Maya.” (Feb. 2015). Brown Bag Series in Archaeology, Joukowsky Institute for Archaeology and the Ancient World, Brown University. “Game, Prize, and Player: Deer Hunting among the Classic Maya.” (Apr. 2014). Session Title: “For One Pleasure, a Hundred Pains: The Royal Hunt in the Ancient World.” Paper presented at the 79th Annual Meeting of the Society of American Archaeology, Austin, Texas. ix “Caching, Smashing, and Trashing: Ancient Maya Dedication and Termination Rituals.” (Jan. 2014). Invited lecture at the M.J. Barrick Museum, University of Nevada, Las Vegas symposium “Artistic Programs and Classic Maya Architecture: Recent Discoveries and Interpretations.” “Conservación y communidad en el sitio arqueológico El Zotz, Peten, Guatemala.” (Apr. 2013). Invited lecture at Universidad Rafael Landivar, Guatemala City, Guatemala. “It Ain’t Over ‘Til it’s Over: The Terminal Classic at El Zotz.” (Apr. 2012). Session Title: “An Inconstant Landscape: Archaeological Excavations at El Zotz.” Paper presented at the 77 th Annual Meeting of the Society of American Archaeology, Memphis, Tennessee. “Awl the Small Things: The Ritual Deposition of Worked Bone Objects at the Acropolis of El Zotz, Peten, Guatemala.” (Feb. 2012). Paper presented at the Tenth Biennial Open Forum for Graduate Students, Boston University, Boston. “u-ti-ya [and then it happened]: Retrospection in Late Classic Maya Inscriptions.” (Apr. 2011). Paper presented at Johns Hopkins University Department of Anthropology Graduate Student Conference (Conference Theme: Commemorations). “Human Sacrifice as Mortuary Ritual at the Classic Maya Site of El Zotz, Guatemala.” (Apr. 2011). Sixth author with Andrew K. Scherer, Chelsea Garrett, Stephen D. Houston, Edwin Román, and Thomas Garrison. Paper presented at the 80 th Annual Meeting of the American Physical Anthropology Association, Minneapolis, Minnesota. “The Last Supper: The Role of Ceramic Serving Vessels in Ancient Maya Mortuary Practice.” (Mar. 2011). Brown Bag Series in Archaeology, Joukowsky Institute for Archaeology and the Ancient World, Brown University. “A Feast Fit for a King: The Funerary Repast in Ancient Maya Mortuary Practice.” (Jan. 2011). Invited lecture at Umeå Universitet, Umeå, Sweden. “View from the Top: Archaeological Excavations at El Diablo, El Zotz, Guatemala.” (Oct. 2010). “Back from the Field” Workshop, Center for Latin American and Caribbean Studies, Brown University. PROFESSIONAL ACTIVITIES "Household Rituals in the Ancient Americas – from Patio Groups to Pueblos.” Apr. 2015 Organized by Samantha Fladd and Jessica MacLellan. 80 th Annual Society for American Archaeology Meetings, San Francisco, California. Participant. “Daily Deeds and Practiced Patterns: Approaches to Studying Daily 2014-2015 Life and Habitual Practices in the Ancient World.” Mellon Graduate Student Workshop, Brown University. Participant. “For One Pleasure, A Hundred Pains: The Royal Hunt in the Ancient World.” Apr. 2013 Co-chaired with Stephen Houston. 79th Annual Society for American Archaeology Meetings, Austin, Texas. Organizer, Co-Chair, and Participant. “Artistic Programs and Classic Maya Architecture: Recent Discoveries Jan. 2013 and Interpretations.” Symposium at the M.J. Barrick Museum, University of Nevada, Las Vegas. Participant. “An Inconstant Landscape: Archaeological Investigations at El Zotz, Guatemala.” Apr. 2012 x Organized by Thomas G. Garrison and Stephen Houston. 77 th Annual Society for American Archaeology Meetings, Memphis, Tennessee. Participant. “New Temporalities.” 2011-2012 Mellon Graduate Student Workshop, Brown University. Participant. SELECTED MEDIA MENTIONS Native Diver Relocation Project: “Royalty from the Sport of Kings: Unearthing a Legend of California Racing.” Archaeology. “USC Archaeology Students Help Dig Up Remains of Famed Horse.” CBS. “Digging up Native Diver.” Los Angeles Times. ”Remains of legendary racehorse Native Diver exhumed at Hollywood Park.” Daily Breeze. “A Racing Legend Revisted.” University of Southern California News and Events. El Zotz Archaeological Project: “U. archaeologists uncover Maya stucco masks.” Brown Daily Herald. “Zotz masks yield insights into Maya beliefs.” Brown University Press Release. “Mayan Royal Tomb Unearthed.” REVUE Magazine. “A ‘King Tut’ moment: Guatemalan king’s tomb yields Mayan secrets.” Providence Journal. “Mayan king’s tomb discovered in Guatemala.” Brown University Press Release. Solicited Commentary: “Los vecinos de la selva.” Prensa Libre. (Spanish). Brown University Graduate School, External Funding Workshop Student representative, panel aimed at encouraging graduate students to pursue external funding opportunities. Available online: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SrcOXiuuHAg&authuser=0 DEPARTMENT/UNIVERSITY SERVICE Brown University Anthropology Department Speaker Series Co-Coordinator 2010-2011 Graduate Student Council Student Representative (Anthropology) 2009-2012 AFFILIATIONS International Council for Archaeozoology Since 2014 Guatemalan Scholars Network Since 2013 Society for American Archaeology Since 2011 Center for Latin American and Caribbean Studies, Brown University Since 2009 LANGUAGES Spoken/Written Fluency: English (native), Spanish xi ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Processes of fragmentation and rejoining are at the heart of this dissertation and I am grateful for the many people who helped me gather together its various bits and pieces. I owe an enormous debt of gratitude to my dissertation committee for the countless challenging and stimulating insights and opinions that greatly improved this work. First and foremost, Stephen Houston has been an attentive advisor, an inspiring mentor, an engaging colleague, an untiring advocate, and a generous friend. “Thank you” seems woefully inadequate for the innumerable ways he continues to encourage, guide, and challenge me. Learning and thinking with Steve, whether in cramped tunnels and tombs or during runs in the park, has been the highlight of my development as a scholar. John Cherry was not only willing to embrace this Maya-centered task, but did so with an unsurpassed attention to detail. I am grateful not only for his wealth of knowledge, breadth of experience, and unique perspective, but also for the meticulous readings of and many corrections to every chapter, every footnote, and every reference. Andrew Scherer also shared his time, resources, and knowledge throughout every stage of my graduate career. Andrew’s uncanny ability to zero in on an argument’s weaknesses never let me hide a shaky foundation with solid prose, but rather forced me to defend my claims from multiple angles and ensure that my interpretations were based on sound evidence. Scott Hutson’s questions and comments often took me by surprise and required that I rethink my unconscious assumptions, a reaction I have often had to his own creative and conscientious work. Finally, Christina Halperin not only xii posed questions and raised issues I would not have come to without her insight, but then rightfully held me accountable for considering them. She is a generous, talented colleague and an admirable role model for a young female scholar. Members of El Zotz Archaeological Project shared most of the data analyzed and interpreted in this dissertation with me. I am grateful to the Project’s directors, Stephen Houston, Thomas Garrison, and Edwin Román, for allowing me to be part of their exciting research and to the Guatemalan Institute of Anthropology and History (IDAEH) for granting permissions and providing support, especially Ana Lucía Arroyave and Rita Casas. The analyses undertaken and the conclusions drawn here would have been impossible without the efforts of (in alphabetical order) Ernesto Arrendondo Leíva, Pedro Aragón, Kate Blankenship, Stephen Houston, Jóse Luis Garrido López, Elizabeth Marroquín, Varinia Matute, Juan Carlos Meléndez, Dámaris Menéndez, Griselda Pérez Robles, Fabiola Quiroa Flores, and Caitlin Walker, who conducted archaeological investigations within and around the El Zotz Acropolis. As noted in the text, I draw on the analytical expertise of many Project specialists, particularly Zachary Hruby and Andrew Scherer. These archaeologists directed and carefully documented excavations, but the literal movers and shakers responsible for the data accumulated by the El Zotz Archaeological Project include many colleagues from Dolores and Cruce Dos Aguadas, Peten, Guatemala, especially Héctor Aak, Felipe Alvarado, Roger Alvarado, Byron Amaya, Héctor Cervantes, Giovanni Escobar, Amilcar Génis, Alberto Heredia, Luis Gonzalo Ic Pan, Alberto Lopez, Raul Caal Pan, Catalino Ramos, Francisco Ventura, Rony Ventura, and Pablo Zabala. In addition to those already mentioned, other members of the El Zotz xiii Archaeological Project always made being in the field and the lab educational, exciting, and enjoyable: Omar Alcover, Octavio Axpuac, Timothy Beach, Boris Beltrán, Fernando Beltrán, Rafael Cambranes, Nichols Carter, Mary Clarke, William Corleto, Ewa Czapiewska, Alyce de Carteret, Davíd del Cid, James Doyle, Laura Gámez, Arturo Godoy, Yeny Gutiérrez, Danilo Hernández, Santos Hernández, Melanie Kingsley, Joel López Muñoz, Rony Piedrasanta, and André Rivas. This research was generously supported by numerous grants and fellowships. The El Zotz Archaeological Project was funded by the U.S. National Science Foundation (BCS #0840930, PIs Houston and Garrison), the U.S. National Endowment for the Humanities (Grant #RZ-50680-07, PI Houston), and ongoing support from the Fundación Patriomonio Cultural y Natural Maya (PACUNAM). A Tinker Grant from the Center for Latin American and Caribbean Studies at Brown University, a Jane C. Waldbaum scholarship from the Archaeological Institute of America, the U.S. National Science Foundation (BCS #1240737 – Doctoral Dissertation Improvement Grant), the Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research (Dissertation Fieldwork Grant and Osmundsen Initiative Award), a U.S. State Department Fulbright IIE Research/Study Grant to Guatemala, the Casa Herrera of the Mesoamerica Center at the University of Texas at Austin, a J.M. Stuart Fellowship at the John Carter Brown Library, the Dolores Zohrab Liebmann Fund, and the Department of Anthropology and the Graduate School at Brown University all contributed to the research and writing specific to this dissertation. Juan Carlos Meléndez, as director of the Museo Nacional de Arqueología and Etnología in Guatemala City, xiv and Monica Urquizú, as Director of IDAEH, generously served as my sponsors during my Fulbright grant to Guatemala. Over the course of this project, I found new homes in many places, near and distant. Richard Meadow and Ajita Patel at the Harvard Zooarchaeology Lab offered ongoing advice, guidance, and support, not to mention many late dinners and rolling-on-the-floor laughter. Ten months of research in Antigua, Guatemala felt warm and welcoming, thanks to the constant companionship of Milady Casco, José Madrid Galván, Jade Mishler, Rene Ozaeta, Grete Pasch, Rodrigo Palermo, Martin Rangel, and Astrid Runggaldier, as well as visitors including David Stuart and Carolyn Porter, Karl and Rhonda Taube, and Heather Hurst and Leonard Ashby and the always-amiable support of Kathleen Guerra. Finally, the community at the John Carter Brown Library improved my drafts and my days with supportive suggestions, feedback, and fellowship. Kathryn Burns, Manuel Covo, Jake Frederick, Bérénice Gaillemin, Stephen Hay, Jacob Lee, Tricia McAnany, Andrea Nate, Justin Pope, Michelle Reid-Vasquez, Neil Safier, Jennifer Saracino, Tatiana Seijas, Jeff Thomson, Tanya Tiffany, and Nancy van Deusen made the final phases of research and writing both more productive and more enjoyable. My friends and fellow graduate students at Brown deserve special mention and gratitude. Andrea Flores has been a constant, ever-reliable source of friendship and inspiration and I am proud and fortunate to have gone through various parts of this process alongside her, Emily Button-Kambic, Paula Dias, Bianca Siravo, and Stephanie Savell. Matilde Andrade, Mariesa DelSesto, Katherine Grimaldi, and Marjorie Sugrue made each step of the long road to the xv completion of this dissertation smoother, more efficient, and more pleasant. Several chapters of this dissertation were improved by the meals, edits, and ideas shared among members of the Daily Deed Mellon Graduate Workshop, namely Sarah Craft, Müge Durusu-Tanriöver, organizers Linda Gosner and Katherine Harrington, Miriam Müller, Sarah Rovang, Alex Smith, and Jennifer Swalec. Coleman Nye went the extra mile not only quite literally, but many times over, while Andrew Tobolowsky has been a stalwart and supportive friend from start to finish. Tom Garrison was with there for every moment of this process and read every word of this dissertation, making everything that went into it and everything that surrounded it better. Other Garrisons too – Bink, Weezie, Dan, Jill, Nick, and Sarah – contributed keyboards and quiet spaces, innumerable dinners, and a few guilty-pleasure television shows. Last, but certainly not least, my family – far and near and numerous – have been a constant source of love, motivation, and support. My mother Kathleen and my sisters, Alex and Katherine, are three incredible, admirable women who in addition to constantly inspiring and amazing, are with me in everything I do. xvi TABLE OF CONTENTS CHAPTER 1 INTRODUCTION: RETHINKING REFUSE ........................................ 1 Outline of the Text........................................................................................4 CHAPTER 2 TALKING TRASH: THEORIES OF WASTE ...................................... 9 The Work Done by Waste ........................................................................... 10 Garbage as a Relational Entity ................................................................................... 11 The “Humility” of Waste............................................................................................. 15 The Materiality of Refuse ........................................................................................... 19 Reuse, Repurposing, and Recurrence ....................................................... 23 Ways of Wasting.........................................................................................28 Consumerism and the Ethos of Disposability ........................................................... 29 Thrift, Convenience, and Hygiene .............................................................................. 31 “May God Make your House Dirty” ........................................................................... 35 Disposal, Divestment, and Discretion ....................................................... 37 Conclusion ................................................................................................. 43 CHAPTER 3 MUNDANE MATTERS: MESOAMERICAN TRASH OVER TIME .......... 47 Filth and Fertilization ................................................................................50 Comfort, Beauty, and Order ...................................................................... 55 Reforming Refuse ..................................................................................... 60 xvii The Miasmic Maya .....................................................................................68 Pepenadores Past and Present .................................................................. 72 Conclusion ................................................................................................. 77 CHAPTER 4 SWEPT, PILED, AND PLACED: MAYA CONCEPTS AND TREATMENTS OF TRASH ................................................................................. 86 Terms for Trash ........................................................................................ 88 The “Work” of Deposition..........................................................................99 Where the Garbage Goes.......................................................................... 104 Refuse or Ritual?.......................................................................................113 Conclusion ................................................................................................121 CHAPTER 5 SMASHING AND TRASHING: TERMINATION RITUALS AND “PROBLEMATICAL” DEPOSITS ................................................ 135 Bundles and Burials: “Whole” Maya Offerings ....................................... 140 Defining Deposits: “Termination” and “Problematical” ......................... 144 Piedras Negras .......................................................................................................... 145 Tikal ..........................................................................................................................146 Cerros........................................................................................................................ 151 Yaxuna ...................................................................................................................... 154 A “Problematical” Legacy: A Proliferation of Identification ....................157 Piedras Negras .......................................................................................................... 158 El Perú-Waka’ ........................................................................................................... 161 xviii Aguateca ................................................................................................................... 162 La Caldera ................................................................................................................. 165 Unusual, Destructive, and Relocated Deposits ........................................ 167 Kohunlich .................................................................................................................168 Caracol ......................................................................................................................169 Dos Hombres ............................................................................................................ 170 Blue Creek ................................................................................................................. 171 Rubbish and Renewal .............................................................................. 173 CHAPTER 6 PA’KAAN AND ITS PALACE: RESEARCH, EXCAVATION, AND DEPOSITION AT THE EL ZOTZ ACROPOLIS ................................ 192 Site and Setting: El Zotz ........................................................................... 192 Architecture and Authority at the El Zotz Acropolis ............................... 196 Identification and Excavation of the El Zotz Deposit.............................. 206 Beyond the Borders: Terminal Classic El Zotz in its Regional Context ... 212 CHAPTER 7 BREAKING AND BURNING: EXCAVATION AND ANALYSIS OF THE EL ZOTZ DEPOSIT .................................................................... 240 Methods and Results of Analysis ............................................................. 243 Faunal Remains ....................................................................................................... 245 Human Remains ...................................................................................................... 255 Lithics .......................................................................................................................257 Ceramic Vessels ....................................................................................................... 263 xix Ritual, Reuse, and Refuse ........................................................................ 274 CHAPTER 8 CONCLUSION ...................................................................... 303 Themes of the Dissertation ..................................................................... 304 Wasting and Wanting .............................................................................................. 305 Everyday Purification and Deposition: Mesoamerican Ritual “Work” ................... 307 Sowing and Dawning: Refuse and Renewal ............................................................ 309 Transforming Trash .................................................................................................. 313 REFERENCES CITED.............................................................. 319 xx LIST OF TABLES Table 5.1. Comparison of general deposit features discussed in the text (X = present, O = absent). ..................................................................................... 176 Table 6.1. Quantities of artifacts recovered from special deposits associated with Structure L7-1 of the El Zotz Acropolis. ....................................................... 208 Table 7.1. Animal taxa identified in the El Zotz Acropolis problematic deposit, quantified by number of identified specimens (NISP). ............................... 250 Table 7.2. Burning damage categories based on macroscopic appearance and color. ............................................................................................................. 253 Table 7.3. Coded refitting stages (after Bollong 1994). ....................................... 268 xxi LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Figure 1.1. The “instruments” created for composer Nathanial Stookey’s Junkestra (Flickr, Recology). ............................................................................ 7 Figure 1.2. Musicians from the San Francisco Youth Symphony Orchestra perform Nathanial Stookey’s Junkestra at the San Francisco Waste Transfer and Recycling Station, wearing tuxedoes and required yellow safety vests. ... 8 Figure 2.1. "Dana." Photo courtesy of Gregg Segal. ...............................................45 Figure 2.2. "Alfie, Kirsten, Miles, and Elly." Photo courtesy of Gregg Segal. ....... 46 Figure 3.1. The annual Quema del Diablo in Guatemala, where household trash is burned in a ritual of symbolic purification. © Surizar (Flickr). .....................79 Figure 3.2. Tlazolteotl or Tlaelquani, Aztec "Goddess of Filth" and "Eater of Ordue" (Keber 1995:17v). ............................................................................... 80 Figure 3.3. A priest, in the act of bloodletting, carries a bone perforator and incense bag marked with lumps of excrement (Keber 1995:21r). ................... 81 Figure 3.4. Ixnextli, crying and blinded, holds a vessel filled with excrement, clearly labeled as mierda, "filth," in the Spanish gloss (Keber 1995:11r). ..... 82 Figure 3.5. Map of Mexico City from 1785 (lower right corner), with inset showing a quemadero, or "incinerator," just beyond the city's boundaries. Original in the John Carter Brown Library ...................................................................... 83 Figure 3.6. Locations of major and minor dumps in Mexico City, ca. 1790. The outlined area of the city represents the traza (after Bailey Glasco 2010:Map 5.1)................................................................................................................... 84 Figure 3.7. Pepenadores (waste pickers) at the Milpillas garbage dump outside Cuernavaca, Mexico. Photo courtesy of Johan Sundgren, www.johansundren.se © ................................................................................ 85 Figure 4.1. Depictions of vultures or buzzards in Mayan writing. The syllabic preposition ti, attached to the forehead of the birds in (a) and (b), may have also been read as the logograph TA. The birds in (c) and (d), possible vultures or other kinds of buzzards or crow-like creatures, are shown pecking the eyes out of animals or other full-figured glyphs. Drawings by Matthew G. Looper (Macri and Looper 2003:99-100). ................................................................ 122 Figure 4.2. The verb mis, "to sweep," in the Madrid Codex, highlighted in red (after Grube and Nahm 1990:Fig. 9). ............................................................ 123 xxii Figure 4.3. The Emblem Glyph for the Maya site of Seibal, labeled epigraphically with three hearthstones. Drawing © John Montgomery.............................. 124 Figure 4.4. Profile of Structure A-3 at Seibal, showing the location of Cache 1 (below Stela 21), which included jade boulders arranged to form a three- stone hearth. Drawing by A. Ledyard Smith (Smith 1982:Fig. 18) ............... 125 Figure 4.5. Idealized Maya house lot, showing locations of refuse accumulation (Hayden and Cannon 1983:Fig. 5). ............................................................... 126 Figure 4.6. Idealized Maya solar or house lot, showing four basic zones of daily life (Killion 1990:Fig. 6)................................................................................. 127 Figure 4.7. Idealized Maya house lot model in Yucatan's Puuc Region (Meyers 2012:Fig. 7.1).................................................................................................. 128 Figure 4.8. House lot K from Cacalchen, an independent rancho in the Yaxacah parish of Yucatan, Mexico (Alexander 1999:Fig. 6.2). .................................. 129 Figure 4.9. Soil chemistry, ceramic density, and average sherd size superimposed on House 7-2 from Hacienda Tabi reveal a clear space, the house's backyard patio (Meyers 2012:Fig. 7.4)..........................................................................130 Figure 4.10. Soil chemistry and ceramic density superimposed on House 10-4 from Hacienda Tabi reveal the house's backyard patio (Meyers 2012:Fig. 7.5). ........................................................................................................................ 131 Figure 4.11. Maps of sherd density (a) and average sherd size (b) in the 'Aak and Muuch house lots at Chunchucmil (Hutson and Stanton 2007:Fig. 5). ....... 132 Figure 4.12. Comparison of Hacienda Tabi's regular, planned layout (a) with Chan Kom (b), an independent Maya town (Meyers 2012:Figs. 5.4 and 5.5). ........................................................................................................................ 133 Figure 4.13. A Late Classic polychrome plate with the rim intentionally chipped off, found in isolation in the Chiquibul Chamber of the Actun Kabal Cave, Belize (Stone 2005:253). ............................................................................... 134 Figure 5.1. Sahagún’s depiction of the production of potsherds in the New Fire Ceremony (Hamann 2008:Fig.2). .................................................................188 Figure 5.2. The Moche "Revolt of the Objects" theme, as depicted in the Huaca de la Luna mural (Quilter 1990:Fig. 2). ............................................................. 189 xxiii Figure 5.3. The glyphic representation of Uayeb, probably read by the ancient Maya as u-WAY-HA'B, "the sealed chamber/sleeping room of the year" (Stanzione 2003:Fig. 23). ..............................................................................190 Figure 5.4. The Nahua New Fire Ceremoney in the Codex Borbonicus (Fash et al. 2009:Fig. 3). .................................................................................................. 191 Figure 6.1. Map of the Buenavista Valley, showing the locations of El Zotz and nearby sites. Map by Thomas Garrison. ........................................................ 218 Figure 6.2. The main ruins of El Zotz, with structures investigated by the El Zotz Archaeological Project highlighted. Map by Thomas Garrison. ................... 219 Figure 6.3. Elite Early Classic ceramics from looted contexts in the El Zotz Acropolis. ...................................................................................................... 220 Figure 6.4. Bejucal Stela 2. Drawing by Nicholas Carter. .................................... 221 Figure 6.5. El Zotz Wooden Lintel 1. Drawing by Nicholas Carter. .................... 222 Figure 6.6. El Zotz Stela 4. Drawing by Stephen Houston. ................................ 223 Figure 6.7. The lord (a) and his mother (b) depicted on the Barbier Mueller vessel. Photos by Stephen Houston. ............................................................. 224 Figure 6.8. Saxche/Palmar sherd recovered from the Acropolis, showing a partial El Zotz royal title. Drawing by Nicholas Carter............................................ 225 Figure 6.9. Contents of the cache recovered from Structure L7-11’s basal platform. Photo by Stephen Houston. .......................................................................... 226 Figure 6.10. The Northwest Courtyard and El Zotz Acropolis. Map by Thomas Garrison. ........................................................................................................227 Figure 6.11. The vaulted tunnel running beneath Structures L7-8 and L7-9. Photos by Arturo Godoy. .............................................................................. 228 Figure 6.12. Doorjambs built to restrict access to the northern side of the Acropolis. Photo by Arturo Godoy. .............................................................. 229 Figure 6.13. Low perimeter wall sealing off the southwestern point of access into the Acropolis. Photo by Arturo Godoy. ........................................................ 230 Figure 6.14. Profile drawing of Structure L7-18................................................... 231 Figure 6.15. Plan view of Structure L7-17, showing Late Classic footprint (dashed) beneath Terminal Classic constructions. ..................................................... 232 xxiv Figure 6.16. Excavation of Stela 4 in the northwest corner of Structure L7-17. Photo by Alexa Rubenstein. .......................................................................... 233 Figure 6.17. Deposits atop Structure L7-1 of the El Zotz Acropolis. Photo by Stephen Houston. ......................................................................................... 234 Figure 6.18. Map showing the eight units where complex deposit materials were encountered in the Acropolis. Map by Thomas Garrison. ........................... 235 Figure 6.19. Unit EZ 2G-6-4, showing the dense concentrations of deposit materials. Photo by Arturo Godoy................................................................ 236 Figure 6.20. Excavations outside the western entrance to the vaulted tunnel running beneath Structures L7-8 and L7-9. Drawing by Jóse Luís Garrido López. .............................................................................................................237 Figure 6.21. Unit EZ 2G-6-4 divided into alphanumeric sectors. Photo by Arturo Godoy. ........................................................................................................... 238 Figure 6.22. Sahcaba molded-carved sherds and vessels made from the same mold. (a) Las Palmitas Group, El Zotz; (b) Str. L8-22, El Zotz; (c) Uaxactun (Carter 2014:Fig. 5.23). ................................................................................ 239 Figure 7.1. Fragmentation of faunal remains in the deposit from the El Zotz Acropolis (represented as portions of complete elements recovered; N = 222). ............................................................................................................... 281 Figure 7.2. Repetitive cut marks at the proximal end of a left turkey (Meleagris ocellata) humerus (white arrow) illustrate craft production, rather than butchery, techniques. The articular end has been removed, leaving the smooth shaft for further working. Scale represents 1 cm increments. ........ 282 Figure 7.3. The first stage of bone craft production: primary and secondary debitage removal. Here, the proximal end of an ocellated turkey’s (Meleagris ocellata) right humerus has been removed from the diaphysis. Scale represents 1 cm increments. ......................................................................... 283 Figure 7.4. The second stage of bone craft production: core production and finishing. This diaphysis from a large mammal (likely Odocoile us virginianus) shows a finished, smoothed cortical core. Scale represents 1 cm increments. ................................................................................................... 284 Figure 7.5. The third stage of bone craft production: primary and secondary blank production. Here, longitudinal slicing has created a primary wide blank with smoothed longitudinal edges. Scale represents 1 cm increments. ............... 285 xxv Figure 7.6. The fourth stage of bone craft production: blank finishing. This blank shows both cortical and edge finishing, as well as tertiary thinning. Scale represents 1 cm increments. ......................................................................... 286 Figure 7.7. The fifth stage of bone craft production: artifact production and finishing. Finished blanks and perforators form the artifacts from this stage. Scale represents 1 cm increments................................................................. 287 Figure 7.8. Degrees of burning observed on faunal remains within the El Zotz Acropolis deposit (N = 107). ......................................................................... 288 Figure 7.9. Many bone artifacts from the El Zotz deposit show signs of dry burning, such as the burning of the interior surface of the medullary cavity shown here (also extending into the break at the right hand side of the photo)............................................................................................................ 289 Figure 7.10. Burnt ceramics from the northern sectors (A, B, and C) of lot EZ 2G- 6-4 contain residues of potential organic materials, possibly offerings burned within the vessels. Scale represents 1 cm increments. ................................ 290 Figure 7.11. Many chert flakes from the Acropolis deposit display distinctive color changes and potlid fractures (indicated by white arrows), evidence that the specimens were exposed directly to open flame. .......................................... 291 Figure 7.12. Anthropomorphic figurine heads from the El Zotz deposit: (a) dwarf from EZ 2G-6-4-I1; (b) EZ 2H-5-4-Lvl 3; (c) figure with broad-brimmed hat from EZ 2H-5-4-Lvl 6B; (d) ez 2H-3-4; (e) dwarf from EZ 2H-3-4; (f) EZ 2H- 5-4 North Profile; (g) possible Xipe-like figure (slack eyes and lips) from EZ 2H-5-4-Lvl 3; and (h) possible Xipe-like figure from EZ 2H-5-4-Lvl 6A.... 292 Figure 7.13. Zoomorphic figurines and figurine heads from the deposit: (a) frog from EZ 2G-2-2; (b) small bird (complete whistle) from EZ 2H-5-4 Lvl 6C; (c) creature with feline features from EZ 2G-2-2; (d) owl from EZ 2H-3-4; and (e) owl (partially complete whistle) from EZ 2G-6-4-C2. ..................... 293 Figure 7.14. Additional figurines from the El Zotz deposit reported by Lukach and Garrido (2010): (a) anthropomorphic figure with straight hair pulled back and (b) anthropomorphic figure with straight hair and headband. Photographs by Arturo Godoy. ..................................................................... 294 Figure 7.15. Examples of the variety of “vessels” from Operation 2G, conjoined through refitting analyses. ............................................................................ 295 Figure 7.16. A nearly complete conjoined jar from the El Zotz deposit, designated “Vessel 1.” Scale represents 1 cm increments. .............................................. 296 xxvi Figure 7.17. A nearly complete thin-walled bowl from the El Zotz deposit, designated “Vessel 3.” Scale represents 1 cm increments. ...........................297 Figure 7.18. A reworked body sherd with a portion of the base included, designated “Vessel 64,” which may have been used as a scoop. Scale represents 1 cm increments. ......................................................................... 298 Figure 7.19. Reworked sherds included in the Acropolis deposit show a variety of forms and stages of reuse. ............................................................................ 299 Figure 7.20. Sherds from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit showing unfinished attempts at reworking................................................................................... 300 Figure 7.21. The vessel designated “Vessel 31” includes both reworked and unworked sherds: (a) Vessel 31’s exterior and (b) interior. ..........................301 Figure 7.22. Variability in breakage and weathering patterns for sherds from three distinct contexts at El Zotz: a) the deposit atop Str. L7-1; b) provisional discard stored beneath the thatched eaves of an elite, Terminal Classic residence; and c) a Postclassic domestic midden, which ceramic types indicate was accumulated over a span of more than three centuries. ......... 302 Figure 8.1. Doña Sabina performing her costumbre at one of Momostenango's many hilltop altars. ........................................................................................ 316 Figure 8.2. Broken, burnt potsherds surround individual altars in Momostenango. ............................................................................................. 317 Figure 8.3. Over time, accumulations of potsherds around shrines can reach many meters in height. Photo courtesy of Linda Brown. .............................. 318 xxvii TABLE OF APPENDIX CONTENTS APPENDIX A El Zotz Acropolis Excavation Data .................................. 360 Excavations in Str. L7-1 (Operation 2, Sub-operation G).........................364 EZ 2G-1 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) ................................................................... 364 EZ 2G-2 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) .................................................................. 366 EZ 2G-3 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) .................................................................. 368 EZ 2G-4 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) .................................................................. 370 EZ 2G-5 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) .................................................................. 373 EZ 2G-6 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) .................................................................. 376 EZ 2G-7 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) ............................................................... 380 EZ 2G-8 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010)............................................................... 385 EZ 2G-9 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) ............................................................... 385 EZ 2G-10 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) ............................................................. 386 EZ 2G-11 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010).............................................................. 387 EZ 2G-12 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) ............................................................. 388 EZ 2G-13 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) ............................................................. 389 EZ 2G-14 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) ............................................................. 390 EZ 2G-15 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) .............................................................. 391 EZ 2G-16 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) ............................................................. 392 EZ 2G-17 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) ............................................................. 393 EZ 2G-18 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) ............................................................. 394 EZ 2G-19 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) ............................................................. 395 EZ 2G-20 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) ............................................................ 395 xxviii EZ 2G-21 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) ............................................................. 396 EZ 2G-22 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) ............................................................. 397 EZ 2G-23 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) ............................................................. 398 EZ 2G-24 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) ............................................................. 399 EZ 2G-25 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) ............................................................. 402 EZ 2G-26 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) ............................................................. 402 EZ 2G-27 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) ............................................................. 403 EZ 2G-28 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010)............................................................. 404 EZ 2G-29 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) ............................................................. 404 EZ 2G-30 (Elizabeth Marroquín, 2010) .................................................................. 405 Excavations in Str. L7-2 (Operation 2, Sub-operation B) ....................... 408 EZ 2B-1 (Juan Carlos Meléndez, 2008) .................................................................. 408 EZ 2B-2 (Fabiola Quiroa Flores, 2009) .................................................................... 411 EZ 2B-3 (Fabiola Quiroa Flores, 2009).................................................................... 413 EZ 2B-4 (Fabiola Quiroa Flores, 2009).................................................................... 417 EZ 2B-5 (Fabiola Quiroa Flores, 2009) .................................................................... 417 EZ 2B-6 (Fabiola Quiroa Flores, 2009)................................................................... 420 EZ 2B-7 (Fabiola Quiroa Flores, 2009) ................................................................... 420 EZ 2B-8 (Fabiola Quiroa Flores, 2009) ................................................................... 421 EZ 2B-10 (Elizabeth Marroquín, 2010) ................................................................... 424 EZ 2B-11 (Elizabeth Marroquín, 2010) ................................................................... 429 Excavations in Str. L7-3 (Operation 2, Sub-operation F)......................... 431 EZ 2F-1 (Juan Carlos Meléndez, 2008).................................................................... 431 EZ 2F-2 (Fabiola Quiroa Flores, 2009) ................................................................... 435 EZ 2F-3 (Fabiola Quiroa Flores) ............................................................................. 440 Excavations in Str. L7-4 (Operation 22, Sub-operation C) ......................443 xxix EZ 22C-1 (Sarah Newman, 2012) ............................................................................ 443 Excavations in Str. L7-6 (Operation 2, Sub-operation A) ........................ 447 EZ 2A-1 (Juan Carlos Meléndez, 2008) .................................................................. 447 EZ 2A-2 (Juan Carlos Meléndez, 2008) .................................................................. 447 EZ 2A-3 (Juan Carlos Meléndez, 2008) .................................................................. 449 EZ 2A-4 (Juan Carlos Meléndez, 2008) .................................................................. 449 EZ 2A-5 (Juan Carlos Meléndez, 2008) .................................................................. 450 EZ 2A-6 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) .................................................................. 455 EZ 2A-7 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009)................................................................... 456 EZ 2A-8 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) ...................................................................457 EZ 2A-9 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) ...................................................................457 EZ 2A-10 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009)................................................................. 458 EZ 2A-11 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) ................................................................. 460 EZ 2A-12 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) ................................................................. 460 EZ 2A-13 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) ................................................................. 462 EZ 2A-14 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) ................................................................. 463 EZ 2A-15 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) ................................................................. 463 EZ 2A-16 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) ................................................................. 464 EZ 2A-15/16 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009)............................................................ 465 EZ 2A-17 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) ................................................................. 466 EZ 2A-18 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) ................................................................. 467 Excavations in Str. L7-7 (Operation 2, Sub-operation D & Operation 22, Sub-operation B) ...................................................................................... 474 EZ 2J-1 (Jóse Luis Garrido, 2010)........................................................................... 474 EZ 2J-2 (Jóse Luis Garrido, 2010) .......................................................................... 476 EZ 2J-3 (Sarah Newman, 2011)............................................................................... 478 xxx EZ 2J-4 (Sarah Newman, 2011)............................................................................... 479 EZ 22D-1 (Sarah Newman, 2012) ............................................................................ 482 Excavations in Str. L7-9 (Operation 22, Sub-operation A) ......................482 EZ 22A-1 (Sarah Newman, 2012) ............................................................................ 482 Excavations in Str. L7-24 (Operation 22, Sub-operation E) ....................485 EZ 22E-1 (Sarah Newman, 2012) ............................................................................ 485 EZ 22E-2 (Sarah Newman, 2012)............................................................................ 485 Excavations in the Restricted Patio (Operation 2, Sub-operation H) ..... 490 EZ 2H-1 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) .................................................................. 490 EZ 2H-2 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) ...................................................................491 EZ 2H-3 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) ...................................................................491 EZ 2H-4 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) .................................................................. 494 EZ 2H-5 (Elizabeth Marroquín, 2010) .................................................................... 497 EZ 2H-6 (Elizabeth Marroquín, 2010) .....................................................................501 EZ 2H-7 (Elizabeth Marroquín, 2010) .................................................................... 504 EZ 2H-8 (Elizabeth Marroquín, 2010) .................................................................... 507 EZ 2H-9 (Elizabeth Marroquín, 2010, Figure A.58) ............................................... 507 APPENDIX B Conjoined Vessels from the El Zotz Deposit ......................511 APPENDIX C Ceramic Rim Profiles from the El Zotz Deposit................544 APPENDIX D Faunal Recording Forms and Analysis ............................. 573 xxxi LIST OF APPENDIX TABLES Table A.1. Excavations carried out in and around the Acropolis by the El Zotz Archaeological Project, 2008-2012. Bold text indicates units associated with ritual deposits. ................................................................................................................... 362 Table D.1. Results of faunal analysis of the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. ...........................574 xxxii LIST OF APPENDIX ILLUSTRATIONS Figure A.1. Map of the El Zotz Acropolis showing excavation units from the 2008-2012 field seasons, including those detailed in the text. Map by Thomas Garrison. ....... 363 Figure A.2. EZ 2G-1. West (O) and North (N) profiles. Drawing by Griselda Pérez Robles. ................................................................................................................................. 365 Figure A.3. EZ 2G-2. South (S), West (O), and North (N) profiles. Drawing by Griselda Pérez Robles. ........................................................................................................... 367 Figure A.4. EZ 2G-3. South(S) and West (O) Profiles. Drawing by Griselda Pérez Robles. ................................................................................................................................. 369 Figure A.5. EZ 2G-4. East (E) and South (S) profiles. Drawing by Griselda Pérez Robles. .................................................................................................................................. 371 Figure A.6. Excavation of the deposit in lot EZ 2G-4-5. Photo by Arturo Godoy........... 372 Figure A.7. EZ 2G-5. North (N) and East (E) profiles. Drawing by Griselda Pérez Robles. ..................................................................................................................................375 Figure A.8. EZ 2G-6. East (E) and South (S) profiles. Drawing by Griselda Pérez Robles. ................................................................................................................................. 378 Figure A.9. EZ 2G-7 through EZ 2G-27. Tunnel excavated from the eastern façade of Str. L7-1. Drawing by Jóse Luis Garrido. ....................................................................... 382 Figure A.10. El Zotz Burial 5. Photo by Arturo Godoy. ................................................... 383 Figure A.11. El Zotz Burial 5. Drawing by Stephen Houston. ......................................... 384 Figure A.12. The possible posthole or drainage feature in Floor 1 found in lot EZ 2G-24-5. Photo by Arturo Godoy. ........................................................................................... 401 Figure A.13. EZ 3G-30. North (N) and East (E) profiles. Drawings by Elizabeth Marroquín................................................................................................................ 407 Figure A.14. EZ 2B-1. North profile. Drawing by Juan Carlos Meléndez. ...................... 410 xxxiii Figure A.15. EZ 2B-2. Access to the northwest corner of the El Zotz Acropolis. Photo by Stephen Houston. ..................................................................................................... 412 Figure A.16. EZ 2B. West profile. Drawing by Zachary Hruby. ....................................... 415 Figure A.17. EZ 2B-3-9. Paved surface. Drawing by Fabiola Quiroa Flores. ...................416 Figure A.18. Interior of the front western doorjamb of Str. L7-2. Photo by Stephen Houston. ...................................................................................................................419 Figure A.19. Inclined wall running north-south in Lot EZ 2B-7-3. Photo by Stephen Houston. .................................................................................................................. 423 Figure A.20. EZ 2B-10. North (N) and East (E) profiles. Drawings by Elizabeth Marroquín................................................................................................................ 426 Figure A.21. El Zotz Burial 8. Photo by Arturo Godoy.................................................... 427 Figure A.22. El Zotz Burial 8. Drawing by Elizabeth Marroquín. .................................. 428 Figure A.23. EZ 2B-11. North (N) and East (E) profiles. Drawings by Elizabeth Marroquín................................................................................................................ 430 Figure A.24. EZ 2F-1. East profile. Drawing by Juan Carlos Meléndez. ........................ 433 Figure A.25. EZ 2F-1. South profile. Drawing by Juan Carlos Meléndez. ...................... 434 Figure A.26. EZ 2F-2. West (oeste) and North (norte) profiles. Drawings by Fabiola Quiroa Flores. .......................................................................................................... 438 Figure A.27. El Zotz Burial 4. Photo by Arturo Godoy. .................................................. 439 Figure A.28. EZ 2F-3. West (oeste) and North (north) profiles. Drawings by Fabiola Quiroa Flores. .......................................................................................................... 442 Figure A.29. EZ 22C-1. West Profile. .............................................................................. 446 Figure A.30. EZ 2A-1 and EZ 2A-3. North profile. Drawing by Juan Carlos Meléndez. 452 Figure A.31. EZ 2A-2 and EZ 2A-4. East profile. Drawing by Juan Carlos Meléndez. ... 453 Figure A.32. EZ 2A-5. West (a) and North (b) profiles. Drawing by Juan Carlos Meléndez.................................................................................................................. 454 xxxiv Figure A.33. Tunnel excavated within Str. L7-6. East profile. Drawing by Zachary Hruby. ................................................................................................................................. 469 Figure A.34. El Zotz Burial 2. Drawing by Stephen Houston. ........................................ 470 Figure A.35. EZ 2A-12. Sealed access buried beneath later versions of Str. L7-6. Drawing by Griselda Pérez Robles. ......................................................................................... 471 Figure A.36. EZ 2A-14. Plan (above) and West (S) and North (N) profiles (below). Drawings by Zachary Hruby, Ever Sánchez, and Griselda Pérez Robles. ............... 472 Figure A.37. EZ 2A-18. South (S) and West (O) profiles. Drawing by Griselda Pérez Robles. ..................................................................................................................... 473 Figure A.38. EZ 2J-1 and EZ-2J-2. East profile. Drawing by Jóse Luis Garrido. ...........477 Figure A.39. EZ 2J-3 and EZ 2J-4. South profile. ...........................................................481 Figure A.40. EZ 22A-1. South profile.............................................................................. 484 Figure A.41. EZ 22E-1 and EZ 22E-2. West profile. ....................................................... 488 Figure A.42. Plan of EZ 22E-2-3 and possible ritual deposit. ........................................ 489 Figure A.43. EZ 2H-1, EZ 2H-2, and EZ 2H-3. North (N) and East (E) profiles. Drawing by Griselda Pérez Robles. ........................................................................................ 493 Figure A.44. EZ 2H-4. North(N) and East (E) profiles. Drawing by Elizabeth Marroquín. ................................................................................................................................. 496 Figure A.45. EZ 2H-5. North (N) and East (E) profiles. Drawings by Elizabeth Marroquín................................................................................................................ 500 Figure A.46. EZ 2H-6. East (E) and South (S) profiles. Drawings by Elizabeth Marroquín. ................................................................................................................................. 503 Figure A.47. EZ 2H-7. North (N) and East (E) profiles. Drawings by Elizabeth Marroquín................................................................................................................ 506 Figure A.48. EZ 2H-9. North (N) and East (E) profiles. Drawings by Elizabeth Marroquín.................................................................................................................510 xxxv Figure B.1. Reconstructed Vessel 1 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. ......................... 513 Figure B.2. Profile of Reconstructed Vessel 1 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. ......... 514 Figure B.3. Reconstructed Vessel 2 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. ........................ 515 Figure B.4. Reconstructed Vessel 3 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. ........................ 517 Figure B.5. Profile of Reconstructed Vessel 3 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. ......... 518 Figure B.6. Reconstructed Vessel 4 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. ........................ 519 Figure B.7. Profile of Reconstructed Vessel 4 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. ........ 520 Figure B.8. Reconstructed Vessel 5 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. ........................ 521 Figure B.9. Reconstructed Vessel 6 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. ....................... 522 Figure B.10. Profile of Reconstructed Vessel 6 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. ...... 523 Figure B.11. Reconstructed Vessel 7 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. ...................... 524 Figure B.12. Profile of Reconstructed Vessel 7 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. ...... 525 Figure B.13. Reconstructed Vessel 8 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit....................... 526 Figure B.14. Profile of Reconstructed Vessel 8 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. .......527 Figure B.15. Reconstructed Vessel 9 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. ...................... 528 Figure B.16. Reconstructed Vessel 10 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. .................... 529 Figure B.18. Reconstructed Vessel 11 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. .................... 530 Figure B.19. Profile for reconstructed Vessel 11 from the El Zotz deposit. ...................... 531 Figure B.20. Reconstructed Vessel 12 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. ................... 532 Figure B.21. Reconstructed Vessel 13 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. .................... 533 Figure B.22. Reconstructed Vessel 14 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit..................... 534 Figure B.23. Profile of Reconstructed Vessel 14 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. .... 535 Figure B.24. Reconstructed Vessel 15 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. .................... 536 Figure B.25. Reconstructed Vessel 16 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. .....................537 Figure B.26. Reconstructed Vessel 17 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. .................... 538 Figure B.27. Profile of Reconstructed Vessel 17 from the El Zotz Acropolis Deposit. .... 539 xxxvi Figure B.28. Reconstructed Vessel 18 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. ................... 540 Figure B.29. Reconstructed Vessel 19 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit...................... 541 Figure B.30. Reconstructed Vessel 20 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. ................... 542 Figure B.31. Reconstructed Vessels 21 & 22 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit, along with individual fragments constituting "vessels." ................................................... 543 Figure D.1. Recording forms used in analysis of the El Zotz faunal assemblage, including remains from the Acropolis deposit. ........................................................................573 xxxvii CHAPTER 1 INTRODUCTION: RETHINKING REFUSE In early May of 2010, an unusual ensemble took the stage at the Louis M. Davies Symphony Hall in San Francisco. Where the woodwinds and strings normally formed their neatly organized semicircle, sewer pipes, deck railings, dresser drawers, bike wheels, saws, birdcages, and bathroom fixtures were carefully arranged, along with “a shopping cart that makes a nice ratchet sound if you drag a TV antenna across it” (Katz 2010). This motley mix of “instruments” represented the work of composer Nathaniel Stookey’s Junkestra, a 15-minute opus played on more than 30 creations made entirely of materials scavenged from the San Francisco Waste Transfer and Recycling Station – the dump (Figures 1.1 and 1.2). Stookey, best known for The Composer is Dead, a fantastical murder mystery written for a narrator and an orchestra written with the help of Daniel Handler (better known as Lemony Snicket), was reprising the fruits of four months of labor as an artist-in-residence (AIR) at the San Francisco dump. Patrons sat amid gilt and velvet, garbed in formal wear, admiring the sleek architectural lines and extensive acoustic setup that would enhance their auditory and visual experiences as they watched garbage become art. Part of the draw for the audience in Davies Hall was the fact that their experience would be unique. The nature of the “instruments” meant that Junkestra could be performed in few other locations. As Stookey explained, “there’s no real way to replicate these instruments. For instance, one of the pipes I found happens to have a little concrete in it, and it’s rusted in a particular way. It produces a flat version of a C-sharp that would be very hard to reproduce exactly.” Moreover, Stookey complained, “mixing bowls don’t always hold their pitch the way a clarinet does” (Kosman 2007). Underlying the appreciation of Junkestra, however, is another kind of performance. Bramall 1 (2013:23) calls this “austerity chic,” a kind of ostentatious parsimony that serves as a new form of conspicuous consumption. This vein of unnecessary “upcycling” is as much about the experiences and social outcomes provided by engaging in the performance of thrift as about saving money or resources. The familiar mantra of “Reduce, Reuse, Recycle,” increased interest in “going green,” and repurposing programs like AIR at the San Francisco dump are evidence of ongoing processes recoding rubbish within a moral framework, transforming trash into an economically and socially valuable resource in modern society. These processes reflect changing cultural understandings of what is ordered and disordered, appropriate and inappropriate, valuable and wasted. Trash is relative, as Mary Douglas (2002) made clear more than half a century ago. Things have always been thrown away, but garbage has not always been the same. Daily habits, social norms, symbolic meaning, and cultural and economic values constantly define and redefine what is kept and what is discarded. This dissertation focuses on garbage: the bits and broken pieces of objects and bodies that were used, reused, discarded, and buried in the past. Although fragmented artifacts are often reconstructed and interpreted based on the complete objects they once constituted, here their status as rubbish is the focal point. Through an approach that incorporates archaeology, ethnohistory, and anthropology, this work examines the long, sometimes dirty, and always dynamic relationship between humans and the trash we make. I explore how such categories – the dirty, the obsolete, and the broken – were conceived of in Mesoamerica during pre-Columbian times, the colonial period, and more recent eras, as well as how and why those perceptions were restructured and changed by the colonial encounter with Europeans. My dissertation traces trash through time, evaluating its evolving meanings through an analysis of how it was made, the ways it was mentioned, and the places it is found. 2 Two major goals motivate and shape this work. The first is to question the application of modern, categorical modes of understanding to ancient societies. William Rathje, for example, called archaeology “the discipline that tries to understand garbage, and to learn from that garbage something about ancient societies and ancient behaviors” (Rathje and Murphy 2001:10). Yet archaeological deposits are much more than the static remnants of practical discard or ambivalent abandonment. Notions of waste as merely obsolete items to be disposed of as efficiently as possible are deeply rooted in the context of industrialism (Hawkins 2006; Strasser 1999). And although trash certainly provides a reflection of interactions with the material world, it is more than a passive recipient of culturally and historically variable human practices. The relationship between humans and our garbage is dynamic: waste is encountered and experienced, prompts and results from specific actions, and mediates daily habits, disciplines, and relations. As such, evaluating what trash was and meant in ancient Mesoamerica, as well as how those perceptions responded to the changes wrought by colonization, opens up new possibilities for understanding the role of deposition and disposal in constructing systems of value and meaning, creating social and ethical persons, and intentionally arranging and defining places. In order to explore what trash was and what trash meant across a broad range of Mesoamerican history, I draw upon a combination of archaeological, ethnohistoric, and ethnographic evidence throughout the chapters of this dissertation. In particular, archaeological data are derived from excavations at the site of El Zotz, an ancient Maya site in northern Guatemala, and an enigmatic deposit, dating to approximately AD 800- 900 and found within the site’s royal palace. This deposit featured an unusual combination of artifacts suggestive of refuse (e.g., animal remains, crafting debitage, and eroded potsherds) with evidence characteristic of ritual behavior (e.g., intensive burning, destruction of single-use pottery vessels, and carefully worked and valuable materials). 3 The analyses of this deposit presented in Chapter 7 serve the second overarching goal of the dissertation: to propose a methodology for the analysis of complex archaeological deposits that not only examines artifacts individually and in detail, but also in relation to other objects within a given assemblage. Extending techniques drawn from osteological studies to all artifact types, analysis of physical indicators of artifacts’ depositional histories, such as breakage, burning, and weathering patterns, reveals evidence of the reuse of curated refuse in ancient Maya ritual. The colonial encounter with Europeans, however, transformed even mundane and implicit norms of Maya society, including conceptions of and attitudes toward trash. I incorporate colonial dictionaries and grammars, ethnohistoric documents, and ethnographic accounts to highlight refuse as an overlooked point of colonial contact and underscore both the time-depth of certain practices and profound changes resulting from the colonial project. Comparing archaeological, anthropological, and ethnohistorical evidence in examining changing perceptions and practices surrounding refuse in Mesoamerica, I highlight the culturally and historically variable role trash plays in framing appropriate social behavior and demarcating places. I explore how the profane realm of waste offers a transient space, where objects may disappear, but also return through fluid creativities of reuse, recycling, and revaluing. Finally, I examine disposal as both a process and a practice: the rules that define what becomes waste, the active, structured, and spatially important ways in which items are disposed of, and the necessity of discard in constructing value. Outline of the Text The next chapter, Chapter 2, introduces trash as a cultural category. I highlight the role of trash as a framing device, exploring its ability to separate and categorize good 4 and bad, clean and dirty, right and wrong. I also broadly examine societal rules for disposing of waste and the unwanted and discuss the role of disposal in place-making. I then take a closer look at the potential for fluidity within the socially defined divisions between garbage and non-garbage, emphasizing refuse’s potential to categorically transform from rubbish to resource. In Chapter 3, I begin moving further into the past to explore how the dirty, the obsolete, and the broken were conceived of in Mesoamerica during the colonial period and more recent eras, as well as how and why those perceptions were restructured and changed by the encounter with Europeans. Colonial documents, ethnographic accounts, and modern scholarly works and translations reveal the clash between indigenous and European perceptions of discard and disposal, as well as the long-term impacts of the processes of colonization, resettlement, and religious conversion on those practices. In Chapter 4, I narrow my focus to Maya conceptions and treatments of trash. Lexical sources on Mayan languages and the terms and associations for refuse, combined with archaeological and ethnographic case studies of discard patterns, provide insight into indigenous categories and connections. I engage this evaluation with broader Mesoamerican and Maya concepts of productive work, examining how intentional deposition of material objects, both refuse- and ritual-related, can serve immaterial goals. In Chapter 5, I turn to a detailed discussion of complex deposits similar to the example from the El Zotz palace. I examine the often-ambiguous categories created to define and interpret these deposits – classifications such as “termination” or “problematical.” Compiling examples from across the Maya region, I look at the myriad ways these finds have been excavated, described, and interpreted. I suggest that these assemblages, though distinct, represent shared underlying principals and goals. I further argue that the distinctive patterns of breakage, reuse, and weathering observed in these 5 contexts offer an opportunity to better understand the specific human actions at work in their formation, a task to be undertaken in Chapter 7. Chapter 6 provides contextual information on the location, occupation, and history of research at El Zotz, including a specific overview of the development and use of the Acropolis, the principal royal palace at the site during the Late Classic period (ca. AD 550-850). Chapter 7 then details the methods used to analyze the artifacts recovered from the complex deposit in the El Zotz Acropolis. I describe the specific analyses undertaken to identify patterns of breakage, burning, and dispersal, observed for each class of artifact found in the deposit (i.e., osteological materials, ceramic sherds, lithics, and figurines). Drawing on evidence of individual artifacts’ post-depositional histories, I reconstruct some of the actions responsible for the formation of the problematic deposit to show that the artifacts interred within are examples of the reuse of stored refuse for ritual purposes. These results are contextualized with a discussion of deeply rooted Mesoamerican ideas about creation, destruction, and renewal. Finally, in Chapter 8, I conclude by reiterating the connections between breakage, discard, and deposition, as well as their relationship to broader concepts of transformation and work among the Maya and other Mesoamerican peoples. I highlight the insights provided by the “Direct Historical Approach” (Marcus and Flannery 1994) in interpreting complex archaeological assemblages and better understanding the actions in the past responsible for them. Finally, I emphasize the need to question the application of categorical classifications to past societies and to reconsider the culturally and historically variable ways that humans have understood and interacted with the material world, even its most mundane aspects. 6 Figure 1.1. The “instruments” created for composer Nathanial Stookey’s Junkestra (Flickr, Recology). 7 Figure 1.2. Musicians from the San Francisco Youth Symphony Orchestra perform Nathanial Stookey’s Junkestra at the San Francisco Waste Transfer and Recycling Station, wearing tuxedoes and required yellow safety vests. 8 CHAPTER 2 TALKING TRASH: THEORIES OF WASTE For his 7 Days of Garbage project, Gregg Segal asks his family, friends, and neighbors to save a week’s worth of their trash and recyclables. The California photographer then arranges his loved ones in his backyard, surrounded by their own waste (Figures 2.1 and 2.2). Segal’s photographs are intended to make trash impossible to ignore, to show the pervasiveness of garbage, and to elucidate a need for change in practices of consumption and disposal. Yet while 7 Days of Garbage is primarily driven by environmentalism, the discarded items convey more than just an ethos of disposability. The trash reveals details about family composition, socioeconomic status, ethnicity, gender roles, and health, sometimes more clearly indicated by the products and packaging than by the individuals nestled among them. Segal himself describes 7 Days of Garbage as “instant archeology, a record not only of our waste but of our values” (Segal 2014). William Rathje and Cullen Murphy, authors of Rubbish! The Archaeology of Garbage (2001) would agree. As Rathje (cited in Humes 2012:129) said, “People forget, they cover, they kid themselves, they lie. But their trash always tells the truth.” This view acknowledges trash as an important component of identity in the same way as Segal’s photos: what we want to get rid of tells us who we are. But this view is also limiting. It reduces trash to a passive recipient of culturally and historically variable human practices. Rather than a unilateral flow through production, use, and discard, the ever- 9 present relationship between humans and their garbage is a dynamic one. Waste is encountered and experienced, prompts and results from specific actions, and mediates daily habits, disciplines, and relations. As Gay Hawkins (2006:2) explains, “what we want to get rid of also makes us who we are.” This chapter examines what waste is and what waste does through the shifting relations between it and the human beings who continually produce it. I focus on trash as a distinctive category of objects, simultaneously a representation of established social orders and a key player in the relations that define those norms. I then focus on the fluidity between garbage and non-garbage, emphasizing objects’ potential to move in and out of those categories, as well as the special character of the obsolete to retain memory and incite reuse. Finally, I turn to disposal as a process and a practice: the rules that define what becomes waste and how it is gotten rid of, the active, structured, and spatially important ways in which items are discarded, and the necessity of a means of discard in constructing value and alienating objects. The goal of this chapter is to highlight trash, in the past and in the present, as more than a simple indicator or byproduct of daily life. Here, waste is foregrounded as actively constituting the repeated practices required to define and dispose of it, as well as the specific moral codes and forms of reason that make such actions meaningful. The Work Done by Waste Accepting that waste can be more than a subordinate to human actions requires positioning objects – including broken, dirty, and obsolete ones – as key determinants in the formation of human behavior and identity. The interdisciplinary field of material culture studies has grown out of this view, emphasizing how inanimate objects within the environment become entangled with people, for the purposes of carrying out social 10 functions, regulating social relations, and providing human activity with symbolic meaning (Woodward 2007:3-4). Daniel Miller (2010:42), a key proponent of understanding culture as something that is both created and lived through objects, refers to material culture studies more simply as “theories of things.” Here, I examine three principal aspects of trash in relation to such “theories of things,” which establish waste as an active force in human sociality: garbage as a relational entity, the “humility” of waste, and the materiality of refuse. Garbage as a Relational Entity Humans understand objects and other entities not only as abstractions, but also through the contexts of everyday practices. We define things in terms of classifications and categories that arise through their relations to other things, the purposes they serve, and the ways in which our bodies interact with them. A chair, for example, is understood as such until it reaches the point at which it is large, elaborate, and singular enough to become a throne. Simultaneously, however, both a chair and a throne are understood as not being a bed or a bench, even though we might sit upon those as well. We know that a chair is comfortable not because we assess its ergonomic form, but because we enjoy sitting in it, we interact with it and understand it through its intended usage (see also Dreyfus 1991:77; Miller 2010:51). As Arjun Appadurai (1986:5) states in his introductory essay to The Social Life of Things “things have no meanings apart from those that human transactions, attributions, and motivations endow them with… their meanings are inscribed in their forms, their uses, their trajectories.” Garbage is the ultimate relative and situational category, continually redefined by its contrast to other objects, namely those that are considered not-trash. This is not an 11 unfamiliar idea – after all, “one man’s trash is another man’s treasure” is an old adage. Even today’s dominant conceptions of waste, rooted in the industrialism of the 19th century and a 20th-century economy in which markets for new products depend in part on the continuous disposal of old things (Strasser 1999), are in the process of being reimagined in light of heightened environmental awareness. The familiar mantra of “Reduce, Reuse, Recycle” and increasing interest in “going green” and “upcycling” (converting waste materials into new products of better quality or higher value) are evidence of current trends revaluing and recoding rubbish as an economically and socially valuable resource (Hawkins 2006; Humes 2012; McDonough and Braungart 2002). This notion, however, is a critical component in framing waste as more than the unidirectional result of human action, since trash is a particular kind of relational entity. It can be a singular object, but also a category of things. Moreover, a particular object or items within the category may shift in response to cultural and historical variables, while the overall concept remains unchanged. Nothing is inherently trash, but everything may eventually become it. Mary Douglas (2002:44-45) elaborated this eloquently in her seminal work, Purity and Danger. Douglas argues that dirt requires two conditions, both a set of ordered conventions and a contravention of that order. “Where there is dirt there is system” (Douglas 2002:44). Dirt is the byproduct of the classification and systematic ordering of matter, defined and rejected as an inappropriate element, violating some ideal sense of the way things ought to be. In some ways, this echoes earlier work by Marcel Mauss’s on the Kwakiutl potlatch (1991[1950]), which laid the anthropological groundwork for the idea that getting rid of something is profoundly implicated in the maintenance of a recognizable state of social order. Douglas’s key contribution, however, was her focus on the elements that are deemed inappropriate, and therefore rejected. 12 Douglas showed that such things – dirt, pollution, trash, waste, etc. – are relative. “Shoes are not dirty in themselves, but it is dirty to place them on the dining-table; food is not dirty in itself, but it is dirty to leave cooking utensils in the bedroom, or food bespattered on clothing.” At least in the waste practices of today’s consumer societies, this idea of trash as disorder requires a caveat. Garbage today is highly ordered and has a very particular place, whether it be a can, a dumpster, a recycling center, or a landfill. Indeed, as Lucas (2002:7) points out, we even have a particular word for rubbish that is actually out of place: litter. Susan Strasser (1999:5) suggests this makes the act of enforcing such systematic ordering and classifying a positive process. In keeping the shoes off the table and washing bespattered clothing, matter out of place is actually put where it belongs. These dedicated and classified spaces for refuse, however, only further underscore garbage’s relational identification. They merely separate and demarcate rubbish from the constituted material world. Although trash goes into a dedicated can, the trashcan is characterized as such by the fact that what lies inside it is generally disordered, de- constituted, and mixed up. An alternative way of thinking about trash as a relative category is through what linguists called “markedness” (Jakobson 1971; Waugh 1982). Markedness refers to the idea that certain oppositional pairs exist, particularly in language, which are confined to a hierarchical relationship to one another. One element is known as the marked term, which is more narrowly specified, and the other is the unmarked term. The unmarked term is nonfocused, nonspecialized, and may stand for a category in general, while the marked term is defined in contrast to the unmarked, it is specifically not the unmarked term. In oppositional pairs such as life/death, present tense/past tense, fertility/barrenness, etc., the first term given (e.g., “life”) is unmarked, while the second 13 is marked (“death”). Anthropologists such as Claude Lévi-Strauss (1970, 1972) and Rodney Needham (1973) further extended the notion of marked and unmarked oppositional pairs to culture, examining ideas such as “left-handedness” and “right- handedness” for their markedness. Importantly, as Waugh (1982:315-316) emphasizes, any opposition is really an opposition of choices (not things) among unequals (not equals). Derrida (1981:41) makes a similar point about divisions, in which “one of the two terms governs the other (axiologically, logically, etc.) or has the upper hand.” The relations between unmarked and marked terms therefore both define the concepts of a system and help to hierarchize it. Considering garbage in this way, it is clearly a marked category: we define garbage simply by recognizing it as not being non-garbage. Moreover, trash is hierarchically inferior to non-trash. The reason the concept of markedness is useful in understanding garbage as a relational entity is because of the limits of Douglas’ explanation. Although Douglas asserts the significance of material culture, even dirty material culture, it remains a static sign or symbol representing preexisting social forms, rather than a dynamic component capable of influencing that system. Considering garbage as a marked category, however, not only places trash in relation to other objects, but foregrounds its active role in establishing that hierarchical relationship. Moreover, it underscores the choices, overlooked by Douglas, inherently involved in defining and separating waste. Douglas (2002:xviii) herself acknowledges this in the preface to a reprinted edition of Purity and Danger: “Should I not allow for the obsessional artist whose tolerance of disorder is practically complete? His studio is chaotic, he sleeps there, eats there, urinates in the hand basin or out of the window when his passion for his work gives him no time to go to the W.C. Everything looks wildly disordered, except on his canvas.” Finally, applying the concept of markedness to refuse makes it clear that the unmarked category of non- 14 garbage items has come to stand generally for “objects” in material culture studies, thus disregarding the marked category of garbage. Waste is imagined as just that which is left over – the final by-products of linear processes of production, consumption and disposal, the redundant afterwards of social life that only register when the need to do something about them has been identified (Evans et al. 2013:7). As Colloredo-Mansfeld (2003:246) states, “The social life of things (and value) has long squeezed out consideration of their social death.” The “Humility” of Waste This discussion of the humility of waste extends an argument for “the humility of things,” made by Daniel Miller (1985, 1987:105-108, 2010:49-51), to the humblest of things – the ones that are discarded. According to Miller, the humility of things refers to the unexpected capacity of objects to go unnoticed, to remain peripheral and fade out of focus, yet still determine behavior and identity. He draws heavily on two principal sources to flesh out this notion: Erving Goffman’s (1975) Frame Analysis and Ernst Gombrich’s (1979) The Sense of Order. The key argument made by Goffman, for Miller, is the idea of framing. Frames create the context that cues our actions. The elements of theater that prevent viewers from rushing up on stage to save dying protagonists are a classic example of framing: frames convey the fact that the characters are being portrayed by actors and that the violence being shown is not real danger, but an imitation. A framed activity determines what is or is not appropriate behavior, even though we are generally unaware of the framing that constrains our actions. George Lakoff (2004:xv) describes frames as “part of [our] cognitive unconscious, structures in our brains that we cannot consciously access, but know by their consequences: the way 15 we reason and what counts as common sense.” Gombrich, Miller’s other inspiration, also discusses frames, but of the physical kind, into which artwork is placed. According to Gombrich, art is intended as a focus of attention, but ornament should be on the margins of perception; rarely is it an appropriate object of direct attention. A literal frame goes unnoticed like those of Goffman, but only when it is appropriate to what it contains, seamlessly conveying the way we should encounter the work within. When inappropriate (or perhaps absent), however, clashing with the piece in color, size, or style, we are suddenly aware of the frame surrounding the art. Miller extends this argument to suggest that it is the frame, rather than any independent quality of the artwork, that enables the special categorization of an image as art. Miller combined the ideas of Goffman and Gombrich to make sense of his ethnoarchaeological observations among the Dangwara of central India. Miller (1985) argued that the ubiquitous Dangwara pottery present at feasts, weddings, and funerals acted as a framing device in the sense used by Gombrich, establishing the appropriate setting for symbolic display or behavior, but not of itself representational. Instead, the pots provided cues that had the effect of establishing the ritual significance of the events taking place. He writes, “Pots, by and large, rarely figure directly as signs or symbols; they can rarely be said to ‘mean’, in the empiricist sense of direct reference. If they ‘denote’, it is merely the category of which they are an individual example, while what they evoke is dependent largely on contextual discrimination” (Miller 1985:182). Goffman’s version of framing is witnessed in Dangwara villagers’ anxiety over whether they have the correct pots required for a wedding, alongside their complete lack of concern when using those same pots for storage. Frames allow individuals to choose when contradictions in meanings may be ignored and when they are brought into direct confrontation. Taken together, these two types of framing provide the power for the 16 humility of objects. Objects are important, not because they are obvious or they physically constrain or enable, but because they are able to determine our expectations, setting the scene and ensuring appropriate behavior, while being invisible and unremarked upon, familiar and taken for granted (Miller 2010:50). Bennett (2010:6) also puts forth this idea, arguing for the vibrancy of matter through “the curious ability of inanimate things to animate, to act, to produce effects dramatic and subtle.” Perhaps trash, too, is unpretentious: it remains invisible even while we are in the midst of it. As Shanks et al. (2004:70) highlight, garbage containers are to be found in most rooms in a house, are more frequent and available than gas stations on an interstate, and mar the beauty of National Parks every several feet, completely without notice. They write: …by far the most striking example of how little we recognize our discards is based on watching photographers at landfills wading through garbage at least twenty feet deep. At some point the photographers have to change their film roll or video cartridge. Almost invariably, they rip open the film pack, hold the foil or box for a minute, and then stare up with a quizzical look and ask, “Is there anywhere around here I can throw this?” The answer, of course, is “Just drop it!” (72). In the twenty-first century, the work of invisibility is accomplished by the manpower and machines dedicated to protecting us from interacting with our own garbage. As Hawkins (2006:1) argues, however, the garbage contractors, dual-flushing toilets, and In-Sink- Erators that mark civilized modernity implicate the elimination of waste in the formation of a specific kind of person, with distinct habits and firm beliefs as to what constitutes trash and how we should rid ourselves of it. Like Miller, Hawkins sees the unconscious management of the mundane as a determinant of the habits and embodied practices that constitute the self. For Hawkins (2006:4), waste management is “part of the way in which we cultivate sensibilities and sensual relations in the world; part of the way we move things out of our life and impose ethical and aesthetic order. No matter how 17 insignificant putting out the garbage may seem, the way we do it reflects an ethos, a manner of being.” Rolland Munro (2013) provides a modern example of the framing work that is accomplished by dirt and garbage, despite its invisibility, in his analysis of the modern, Western-style kitchen-diner. Munro describes the evolution of the kitchen from a “backstage” region where the messy ordering of domestic life once took place to a “front stage” space, where “stainless steel and geometrical lines combine to have us looking forward; they give a ‘space age’ ambience, a sense of our being engaged in the projects of progress” (Munro 2013:219). The detritus of the old backstage kitchen – drying plates and pans, shelves of storage jars, empty milk bottles, and wet washing – is replaced by the “white goods” that drive mass production. And while domestic machines necessarily have to be readily at hand, their ubiquity removes the need for them to be permanently displayed. Only the lack of mess betrays the presence of labor-saving devices like dishwashers, garbage disposals, and washing machines. As Munro (2013:218) writes, “It is this very effacement of household chores that emphasizes the occasional and intermittent nature of their use: no ‘modern’ woman or househusband is tied to their chores in the kitchen all day. To the contrary, the kitchen-diner is now somewhere to linger and enjoy; it is a space intended to magnify one’s being in the world, rather than diminish it.” In Munro’s example, dirt and garbage, even while actively being made invisible, frame the kitchen and determine the kinds of behaviors that occur in that space. Kevin Hetherington’s (2004:159) understanding of disposal, however, argues that garbage’s power in creating proper frames works through an absence that is never entirely unseen. For Hetherington, the absent can exert as much influence upon relations as the recognizably and physically present. That is, bodily and ethical forms of conduct 18 (the “ethos” described above by Hawkins [2006:4]) are performed not only around what is actually there, but also around the presence of what is not. The act of disposal, then, results only in a representational stability – it is never fully achieved as a final form of closure in the way that Douglas suggests, but merely moved along. Instead, Hetherington focuses on the motility of trash, its ability to “come and go, appear and disappear, and in so doing [remain] – unfinished and not fully disposed of no matter how much representational work we might do to put it somewhere where it is no longer perceived as out of place” (2004:162). Hetherington’s ideas about the enduring quality of trash complicates Miller’s notion of the “humility” of things. As Munro’s example underscores, waste often exerts its influence more fully by being unseen, through the absent presence described by Hetherington. Even when invisible, trash is not “humble” – this marked category of materials always exists as an asymmetrical opposition to the rest of the objects that surround us, even when obscured by those objects. At the same time that trash works as an important framing device in shaping bodily and social relations through its “humility,” the material reality of waste cannot be ignored. The Materiality of Refuse That which has been deemed worthless and rejected cannot be completely social and cultural, but possesses a significant material character as well (Reno 2014:3). Garbage has a messy visibility, a stench, a greasiness and grittiness that our bodily senses cannot ignore. Expelled material both revolts and fascinates (see Laporte 2002). Julia Kristeva (1982) and Elizabeth Grosz (1994), for example, explain the visceral power of disgust in relation to bodily wastes, while Sjaak van der Geest (2007:384), playing on Douglas’s classic analysis, writes: “The faeces I carry with me in my body are in the right 19 place (as long as they do not stay there for too long) and do not worry me. They may become dirty if someone starts to draw special attention to their presence and tries to discredit the human body as a ‘sack of shit.’” The kinds of wastes and processes of rotting that tend to provoke reactions of abjection or disgust are difficult to examine for the distant past (though see Mlekuž [2009] for an exception discussing the manipulation of dung in Neolithic caves). Dust, which Phil Dunham (2004:100) describes as an amalgam of human skin and fibers that blends imperceptibly into a mass of world matter, is similarly difficult to examine in archaeological contexts, but raises important questions concerning what is consistent about living bodies and where (or perhaps whether) a line can be drawn between the human and nonhuman worlds. Reno (2014:7) suggests that the transience of such decomposing and deteriorating matter evokes a sense of repulsion not because of its connection to death, but because of the gradual devolution into other biological and chemical life processes. He quotes William Ian Miller (1998:40), who states, “What disgusts, startlingly, is the capacity for life.” Another kind of decomposition, however, is less difficult to trace. Processes of decay that affect inorganic or otherwise “durable” materials do not necessarily affront the senses or invariably yield reactions of disgust. Routines of daily life often depend on such material transformations of physical objects: people use things up, expose them to the elements, consume and combine (Colloredo-Mansfeld 2004:250). These slower deteriorations recall Hetherington’s (2004) argument that disposal is not the final act that leads to the closure of a sequence of production and consumption, but a continual practice of engaging with making and holding waste in a state of absence, with the potential for return. Mary Douglas (2002:197) sees things incompletely absorbed into the category of waste as a threat. She writes, “This is the stage at which they are 20 dangerous… their half-identity still clings to them and the clarity of the scene in which they obtrude is impaired by their presence… it is unpleasant to poke about in the refuse to try to recover anything, for this revives identity.” As trash is cast aside, tossed around, and mixed in with other discarded things to form unintended assemblages, waste breaks down and becomes less predictable, putting established orders at risk. This is the moment at which Bill Brown (2001:4) claims we confront the “thingness” of objects, when they stop working for us, when we are not quite sure how to identify them, when their flow within the circuits of production and distribution, consumption and exhibition, has been arrested, even if momentarily. Tim Edensor (2005:318) further clarifies the discomfort described by Douglas and Brown as the result of an inversion or erasure of objects’ assigned places and normative meanings caused by processes of decay. Deterioration, Edensor argues, transforms the familiar material world, changing the form and texture of objects, eroding their assigned functions and meanings, and blurring the boundaries between things. At the same time that decay undoubtedly serves as a kind of erasure, however, it is also a process that can generate creative potential through reuse and different kinds of knowledge. “The forgetting brought on by decay allows for a different form of recollection…a mode of remembrance that is erratic and ephemeral – twined around the past and reaching imperceptibly into what has yet to come” (DeSilvey 2006:328). In his study of permanence among the Classic Maya, Stephen Houston (2014:133) alludes to the constructive impulse that can arise in response to deterioration: “…the acknowledgement of transience did not result in resignation or a crisis of disbelief or a longing for different destinies… By craft, by art, decay was overcome… fragile things achieved a hopeful permanence when humans bent matter to will.” 21 The changing state of deteriorating objects suggests that space and materiality might be configured in alternate ways. Stripped of use and exchange values and processes of commodification (Kopytoff 1986:72-77), objects relegated to trash are laid bare and can be reinterpreted anew. Andrew Jones (2007:106-107) provides a clear, archaeological example in his discussion of the relationship between the inhabitation of longhouses and the emergence of longmounds to house the dead on the fringes of Neolithic Atlantic Europe. According to Jones, the transformation of “houses for the living” into “houses for the dead” has often been discussed abstractly, as a component of the transformation of the “idea of the house.” In practice, however, Jones discusses the work of Bradley (1998), who situates the transformation in the materiality of the longhouse and its decay based on finds from the site of Balloy, in northern France. Bradley suggests that many settlements would have contained abandoned houses interspersed among those still in use, meaning that some houses within a settlement were left to deteriorate visibly: …eventually as the process of decay increased, each of the houses would collapse, leaving a gap in the distribution of buildings marked by a long, low, mound, much of it contributed by the daub which had covered the walls. The erosion of borrow pits might even have given the impression of side ditches. The very process of decay in the heart of the inhabited area might have given rise to the basic idea of the long mound (Bradley 1998:45 [cited in Jones 2007:107]). The example of the longmounds highlights the ways in which the material presence of seemingly forgotten objects, even as they undergo decay and lose the characteristic forms or qualities that defined them in another life, can be remembered, reimagined, and reconceived. If we are to understand waste as more than elements of static representation, this dynamic, hidden potential within rubbish is a critically important characteristic of objects, particularly those that were discarded and deposited in the past. 22 Reuse, Repurposing, and Recurrence Having established waste as a relational entity and argued for the importance of its material substance, I now turn to the ways in which the interactions between humans and their garbage can change those characteristics of trash. Objects are not permanently locked into the category of waste, destined to remain unseen, or restricted by their material qualities. Rather, malleability and transformation can occur depending on how those qualities and materiality are apprehended. It is difficult to explore the reuse or recovery of trashed objects without incorporating a brief discussion of value, even if only a superficial one. Here, I understand value as described by Munn (1986:215-233) and Graeber (2001:83-84), as being derived from the action invested in something, relative to the action that could potentially go into doing other things. Positive value is generated by such actions that result in contentment when present, discontentment when absent. Negative value yields displeasure. As Papadopoulous and Urton (2012:21) remind, the positive and negative exist in relation to one another, arising from human investments that relate the abstract to the particular. Positive and negative value, therefore, do not “hinge on whether an element is plentiful or scarce, possessed or dispossessed, quantifiable or unnumbered” (2012:21), or at least not necessarily. Discard, then, can be seen as the objectification of negative value – “things that are not worth (or ‘waste’) our time and creative capacities” (Reno 2009:30). As Reno further acknowledges, most things must be “separated from a disposable husk” at some point, in order to have their values inscribed and realized. This applies not only to the superfluous paper and plastic packaging of today’s commodities, but also to the material excess that occurs during non-industrial production, including the crafting debitage left behind in making precious jade adornments for Maya nobles or 23 shell bracelets for kula exchanges. This puts waste in opposition to value, what Alexander (2005:456) calls its “objective co-relative.” An important distinction should be made here between the negatively valued and the valueless. Negatively valued waste, particularly bodily excreta, has the potential to be extremely disturbing because it challenges boundaries and symbolic order. As a result, we tend to do all we can to eliminate it and render it invisible (Collins 2008; Hawkins 2006:76; Inglis 2002; but see Chapter 3 for alternative conceptions of bodily wastes in Mesoamerica). This chapter’s discussion focuses instead on valueless waste – things classified as refuse because they are wrecked, in excess of demand, or no longer desired. As John Frow (2003:25) eloquently explains, “Waste is the degree zero of value, or it is the opposite of value, or it is whatever stands in excess of value systems grounded in use.” This (zero) value of discarded objects is not fixed, however, but rather may be reassessed after disposal, just as social objects undergo continual evaluation while circulating between different “regimes of value” (Appadurai 1986; Myers 2001; Thomas 1991). Practically, Schiffer (1972:158-159) calls these processes “recycling” and “lateral cycling” – the routing of elements to the manufacture process of the same or a different elements and the termination of an object’s use-life in one set of activities and its resumption in another, with only maintenance, storage, and transport between stages of use. Lateral cycling, in particular, can create simple or complex systems of circulation among and between social units, classes, and castes. Rubbish, then, is not the end product of a linear sequence from production, to consumption, to disposal, but rather a recursive step in cycles of (re)valuation. Decades before waste gained traction as a subject of interest in material culture studies, Michael Thompson’s Rubbish Theory (1979) outlined the recursivity of rubbish. According to Thompson (1979:8), objects can be understood as existing in two 24 categories: the “transient” and the “durable.” Objects in the first category, the transient, decrease in status and value over time and have finite life spans. In the other category, durable objects increase in value and status over time and have (ideally) infinite life spans. Most consumer goods exist in the transient category, most art and antiques in the durable. Rubbish, however, exists as a third and covert category, occupying a region of flexibility between the durable and the transient. In this region, objects have little or no value or status, instead occupying a blank and fluid space between the other two categories. Something of declining worth, such as an old car or a broken pot, must first enter the indeterminate state of being rubbish in order to transition into something invaluable – for example, to become a classic car or an archaeological artifact. Thompson draws on two examples from the 1960s: the gentrification of decaying inner-city housing in Islington, London and the collecting of Stevengraphs, late Victorian machine-woven silk pictures. The two examples were both popular objects at one time, but then slipped into the transient category and eventually became rubbish: dilapidated slum housing and worthless Victorian kitsch. Yet animated as much by the figurative blank canvas provided by these items while within the rubbish category as by rarity, classification, or possession, a creative collector transformed them into highly sought after, expensive artifacts (Hetherington 2004:165). In this way, Thompson illustrates how rubbish simultaneously helps to maintain the separation between the transient and the durable, but also provides a conduit for objects to move back and forth into the regions of the durable and the transient. It affirms the stasis of the order of value, while also allowing for movement, flexibility and change (see also Hetherington and Lee 2000). In Thompson’s model, then, humans need waste not just because, as Douglas would say, purification rituals are important to socially determined boundaries, but also 25 because rubbish serves a structural role in formations of value, which depend on a limit point. Thompson’s theory is significant in two ways: 1) he demonstrates that worthlessness is the condition of possibility for objects to move between different categories; and 2) this transformation or malleability is grounded not in the intrinsic properties of the things themselves, but in the new and unexpected uses and functions that people bring to them (Hawkins 2006:79). He shows that societies not only have conduits of disposal for waste, but that the category of waste itself can be a conduit for the disposal of the symbolic representations or values of objects. Moreover, disposal is fluid and translational, allowing unpredictable items to remain in the category of trash or to return as highly valued durables. The theory has also been met with two main critiques. The first, as elaborated by Hetherington (2004:166), is that Thompson only discusses rubbish in terms of its role in establishing mobility and flow in the field of exchange value, ignoring how a piece of rubbish might be valued in other ways or how one form of value might translate into another. In particular, Hetherington raises the issue of sentimental value as opposed to use, exchange, or sign value. After all, as Hetherington writes, “one of the reasons why people often do not get rid of things in a rational way when they have become practically useless or economically valueless is because they retain a high level of sentimental value.” The second criticism is that although Thompson acknowledges that human innovation and creativity are crucial in the seemingly impossible transfer of materials from the rubbish category to the durable category, he limits the impact of this to economies of value and waste’s role in generating change. Strasser (1999:11) likewise points to the reuse of refuse within the United States prior to the 20th century as an outlet for creative energies. She writes, “Fixing and finding uses for worn and broken 26 objects entails a consciousness about materials and objects that is key to the process of making things to begin with… Indeed, mending and restoring objects often requires even more creativity than original production.” John Frow (2003) builds on these observations by suggesting that such transformations of value, how things pass from one state to another, are fundamental to the relationships between people and objects. As Frow sees it, objects in a complex world often have a number of actual or potential overlapping uses, translating human interests, carrying and transforming desires and strategies. They are “the transient solidification of a relation between the human and the nonhuman, as well as of the various and conflicting interests of those who put them to use” (Frow 2003:36). Hetherington (2004:165) similarly points to not only the implications of conduits of disposal for changes in the value of particular materials, but also the implications of the fluidity of those conduits for social relations, such as trustworthiness, stability, and provenance. A family is a trusted conduit of disposal in the “passing down” of a durable heirloom, while a used-car salesperson is an untrustworthy conduit whose reliability and provenance are uncertain. Trash, then, is dynamic, and part of an ongoing social process. This process incorporates not only the different pathways that unwanted things might follow, but also the historical and cultural contexts in which the disposal of rubbish is situated. I now turn to the ways in which things are disposed of, the places chosen for discard, and the retained memories of objects and their material properties that allow for reuse. These actions form a complex set of habits that result from the intersection of bodily, symbolic, and ethical concerns. 27 Ways of Wasting The preceding sections highlight waste’s particular qualities, how it is defined, what it can do, and how it can change, all through its relations to humans responsible for its production. Somewhat inextricable from the identifications of trash discussed above are acts of discard or disposal – the very moments when non-garbage becomes garbage. Disposal as a practice and process, however, is culturally and historically variable, and much more than the simple act of throwing something away. Discussing disposal is also made more difficult by the fact that the process has become directly conflated with contemporary consumption practices and today’s ever-present problem of getting rid of things (Munro 2013:213). In this section, I aim to reach an understanding of waste and disposal that can be taken beyond the context of modern consumer culture, so that it can be applied to archaeology in the next chapter. Reaching the deep past, however, requires identifying, and thereby shedding, what Hawkins (2006:24) calls the “ethos of disposability,” the ways we learn to create and discard waste in today’s society, as well as the ethical criteria that shape those everyday habits. I begin by discussing the growth of environmentalism during the late twentieth century as a clear example of the ways in which the ethics of disposal have undergone a significant shift, even as techniques for waste removal have largely remained the same. I then work back through several stages in the development of modern concepts of rubbish and discard, to show that disposal practices are not just inevitable outcomes of economic processes of production and consumption, but are culturally and historically variable, responding to and shaping prominent moral and ethical considerations. 28 Consumerism and the Ethos of Disposability Waste practices in consumer cultures are based on an excess of consumption that results in an excess of waste: the easier it comes, the easier it goes. The constant change that is essential to the expansion of modern markets and the circulation of commodities not only requires goods to have shortened life cycles, but leads to lives that are saturated with mass-produced objects. When people cease to make the objects they live with, they become distanced from both the object’s production and its immediate materiality. Deprived of the sensuous relations with the things that surround us, humans succumb to a kind of crude fetishization of objects. Karl Marx (1971) called this process estrangement and alienation, while Georg Simmel (1978) refers to it as the dialectic of proximity and distance (see also Miller 2010:55-68 on “objectification”). When we have little knowledge of how things come into being, what happens to them after we have used up the qualities we once fetishized is also of little concern. Perceiving objects as enchanted, animated things obliterates their origins and their final destinations from the processes of acquiring and consuming them. Such changes in our relationships to objects, then, lead to the creation of yet more institutions with the purpose of propagating this kind of consumerism. Bill Brown (2003:31) describes how the department store was designed to inculcate desire, yet keep the pleasure of a purchase fleeting, as well as how fixed prices removed any need for human bargaining and reduced the relations of consumption to those between the consumer and the merchandise. Martin Mayer (1959), echoed closely by Vance Packard’s popularizing book The Waste Makers (1960), highlighted the strategies of product obsolescence that arose to facilitate consumption: planned, functional, and style. Planned obsolescence refers to a product intentionally designed and manufactured to have an artificially limited use-life, that is, a product made to fail in order to ensure 29 future purchases of the same item. Functional obsolescence describes products that are made outdated by new technologies, such as typewriters and cassette tape players. Mayer describes style obsolescence, products that simply go out of fashion or become undesirable with use and age, through the example of the advertising slogan for the 1959 Dodge: “The old must make way for the new.” Commodity cultures, then, necessarily result in a waste problem. As Hawkins (2006:29-32) argues, however, prior to the emergence of environmentalism, that problem was a technical one: something to be administered by the most efficient and rational technologies of removal. The habits of disposability created a self through mastery over and separation from the world, for whom “waste” had few moral connotations. In the 1960s, however, the problem became a moral concern. Anti-litter campaigns portrayed this separation as an act of pollution, as evidence of an undisciplined self without a sense of public responsibility. When waste was no longer contained in its appropriate places, classificatory boundaries were blurred and trash wasn’t just “matter out of place,” but evidence of collapsing civic obligation (e.g., Shuttlesworth 1973). Interest in waste in relation to a global environmental crisis brought discussions about household trash into public discourse for the first time, making household waste-disposal practices that had previously been private affairs into topics for school lessons, television public service announcements, and utility bill inserts (Strasser 1999:19). As concepts of waste shifted, so too did notions of disposal: from straightforward elimination to a process of careful management. Rather than protecting the purity of the subject, waste management is now understood as protecting the purity of the environment. As a result, major transformations in domestic waste practices have taken place, such as the complex processes of cleaning and sorting recyclables or the conscious choices made to purchase “green” products, even the somewhat extreme 30 lifestyle advocated by the Johnson family of Marin County, California, who produce only a single Mason jar of unrecyclable waste per year (Humes 2012:242). As Hawkins (2006:31) states, “In managing our domestic waste according to new principles of self- scrutiny, we are making the self an object of reflection in and through our relations with waste.” While it is true that environmentalism recast the way in which waste frames our actions, thereby shaping a very different kind of self than it did for the “throwaway society” (Rogers 2005), Hawkins’ analysis highlights only one of a series of transformative shifts in humans’ long and dirty relationship to garbage. Other scholars, particularly Susan Strasser (1999) and Gavin Lucas (2002) have demonstrated that waste was a moral problem long before the environmentalist movements of the twentieth century. Tracing trash back through time a bit further, it becomes clear that waste has always been an active force in producing and categorizing a particular kind of social, and often ethical, person. Thrift, Convenience, and Hygiene In the United States in the nineteenth century, before the emergence of an ethos of disposability, waste was largely regarded as the result of ignorance, improper household management, and inefficiency. Isobel Beeton’s (1861:37 [cited in Lucas 2002:6]) Book of Household Management states, “…great care should be taken that nothing is thrown away, or suffered to be wasted in the kitchen, which might, by proper management, be turned to good account.” Similarly, Christine Terhune Herrick’s “The Wastes of the Household: Watching and Saving the ‘Left-Overs,’ from the inaugural issue of Good Housekeeping claims, “in eight cases out of ten, this relegation of cold bits to the 31 offal pail or ash barrel is not caused so much by extravagance as by the lack of knowledge of how to dispose of them in any other way” (1885:16). As Susan Strasser (1999:25) observes, these kinds of advice-writing serve as reform literature, a guide that is more intent on correcting normative behaviors than in describing them. Still, much of her book is devoted to the multitude of ways in which Americans in the nineteenth century used and reused materials, producing little trash. She writes: Women boiled food scraps into soup or fed them to domestic animals; chickens, especially, would eat almost anything and return the favor with eggs. Durable items were passed on to people of other classes or generations, or stored in attics or basements for later use. Objects of no use to adults became playthings for children. Broken or worn-out things could be brought back to their makers, fixed by somebody handy, or taken to people who specialized in repairs. And items beyond repair might be dismantled, their parts reused or sold to junk men who sold them to manufacturers. Things that could not be used in any other way were burned; especially in the homes of the poor, trash heated rooms and cooked dinners (Strasser 1999:12). The positioning of frugality as a domestic virtue points toward a 19th-century conception of trash rooted in economic value; in the money to be saved by not wasting, spending time to prolong the useful lives of objects and to use up scraps. It is also telling that these early housekeeping guides rarely mention rubbish explicitly, despite many chapters devoted to household cleaning methods and the importance of cleanliness. During this time, garbage was seen less as a problem and more as a resource (Lucas 2002:6). Thrift is also explicitly defended in these texts against any associations with a lack of resources (Binnie and Boxall 1926:214), underscoring the notion that strategies of reuse and careful management of household wastes were markers of creativity and diligence, rather than the self-denial that characterizes current environmentalist movements. The value placed on thrift in the household was soon overtaken by a concern for public health and a connection drawn between refuse and hygiene. Although Strasser (1999:29) suggests that people were “accustomed to the odors of chamber pots and 32 outdoor privies and to the stench of manure on city streets as well as in the country… even the most refined could scarcely have been squeamish about malodorous garbage.” Lupton (1995:20) sees the theory of miasma, or “bad air,” as having existed in Europe from ancient times until the discovery of microbes. This theory, the idea that damp, odorous, or polluted air in itself caused disease, meant that substances responsible for miasma, namely dirt and odor, were perceived as contagions. Brian Crane’s (2000) work in the history and archaeology of 19th-century yards in Washington, DC shows how laws designed to control miasmas led to the creation of different categories of rubbish, created and imposed to enable public sanitation efforts to respond appropriately to each type of trash. Previously, human waste (“night soil”) and domestic rubbish (“garbage”) were often found together or at least in the same spaces, generally at the margins of domestic areas. Rubbish pits or middens most often sat side by side with privies or cess pits. As Wheeler (2000:11) notes, major dumps of household items in abandoned privies often marked transfers in ownership, discarded by either the departing residents or the incoming tenants. After the introduction of germ theory in the 1890s, waste management was oriented toward mediating the dangers posed by dirt. As Strasser (1999:174) writes, “comfort and morality united with science as the public learned that dirt and dust carried tiny creatures that caused illness.” The primary site of cleanliness or hygiene shifted from the environment to the individual, requiring the segregation between bodily and other kinds of domestic waste that we have inherited today. The development of packaging products grew largely out of this discourse, which created an aesthetic linking cleanliness and single-use. The familiar reinforcing loop between disposability and consumption, mediated by the package, is built upon the assurance of hygienic protection that packaging provides the customer: the product is new and clean. This 33 guarantee is strengthened by the fact that the consumer throws away the package before or after using the product and, today, hyper-signified in the use-by dates printed on packaging that tell consumers exactly by when to consume or dispose of products (Lucas 2002:12). In addition to paper, cardboard, and later plastic packaging, other kinds of new material culture, like indoor cistern toilets, dedicated trash cans, and garbage disposals, also grew out of the increasing separation of types of garbage and the emphasis on personal hygiene in waste removal (Lucas 2002:10). The new things that became necessary to dispose of old and unwanted things created another kind of association with waste: a connection between trash and class. Prior to public sanitation efforts, trash piled up more visibly in densely populated poor neighborhoods than in more affluent areas, where wealthier people could afford to hire others to haul away their rubbish. According to Strasser (1999:136), while wealthy “Americans” actually produced more garbage, ashes, and inorganic refuse than poor European immigrants, the rhetoric of refuse became entangled with xenophobic perceptions about human refuse. Even Emma Lazarus’s “The New Colossus,” inscribed on the Statue of Liberty, reads “Give me your tired, your poor…The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.” As I discuss in detail in chapter seven, this same logic was pervasive in colonial Latin America, particularly in Yucatan during the height of the cholera epidemic of the 1850s, when the indigenous Maya became equated with filth and blamed for the spread of disease (Gann 1918:37; McCrea 2013:159). 34 “May God Make your House Dirty” Moving beyond the predominantly Western focus of the preceding discussion, ethnographic accounts underscore the impact of historically and culturally particular contexts on the perception and disposal of refuse. Laurence Douny (2007), for example, provides an analysis of the domestic waste practices among the Dogon of Mali. As Douny (2007:311) describes, the Dogon landscape is a dry, dusty escarpment area characterized by scarcity, but also a major target for tourists since its designation as a UNESCO world heritage site in 1989. The landscape is also one dominated by rubbish: flies swarm around piles of straw, rags, tin cans, animal bones, tree leaves, dung, plastic bottles, shredded plastic bags, and many other forms of detritus that are, in fact, intentionally collected in the immediate vicinity of Dogon households. This includes scattered manure, which evaporates, creating, as Douny (2007:317) describes, “an aroma of sewage with a hint of ammonia that is discernable amongst the multiple scents of smoke and rotten condiments drying out on the rooftop or boiling in the cooking pot, and which intensifies as the heat increases.” Common sayings, such as “Ama ginu nemegere [May (god) Ama make your house dirty]” and “Ama gonte woun logudjio [May (god) Ama turn your courtyard very dirty]” express the common Dogon desire for houses to become increasingly dirty over the years. A dirty household, blackened by smoke from cooking fires, covered in handprints from sweaty palms along entrance walls, and filled with unwashed cooking pots and utensils, indicates life. A compound empty of dirt points to precarious conditions for its inhabitants– spotlessness becomes lifelessness (2007:314- 315). Dirt signifies productivity, while cleanliness implies sterility. Douny (2007:319) calls this a “positive disorder,” an unusual, but no less systematic, kind of symbolic order, one that celebrates vitality through the various material remnants of Dogon daily life. Rather than situating Dogon waste management practices in contrast to Western 35 views on trash, the Dogon provide yet another example of the way that conceptions of waste exist in relation to the totality of social life. In an environment dominated by scarcity, where existence is made possible through labor, the remnants of things used and eaten and the collection of nutrient-rich organic matter for crops and livestock are proudly displayed. Moreover, piles of garbage and the places where they are encouraged to accumulate have a profound impact on the social interactions of the Dogon community and the spatial experience of moving through the compound, affecting not only daily habits, but also perceptions of and responses to others. In a well-known case study, Henrietta Moore (1986:110-114) highlights the spatial and semantic distinctions made by the Marakwet of Kenya concerning rubbish. The Marakwet recognize three kinds of refuse: ash, animal dung, and chaff from finger millet and sorghum. Moore specifically notes that other objects generally termed rubbish by Westerners are not considered as such by the Marakwet (animal bone, rinds and peels, tin cans, etc.) and so are disposed of indeterminately, mostly scattered over a wide area on the lower side of compounds. The three recognized types of refuse, however, are disposed of in specific positions, relative to one another and to the activities that occur within compounds. Ash is thrown behind the house from which it comes, chaff is placed wherever a woman chooses to do her winnowing, and animal dung is swept over the edge of the compound below the animals’ quarters. The separation relates to the relationship between discard and burial: the Marakwet say that rubbish should not be mixed, because when a woman dies she will be buried where the chaff is (the material that serves as the foundation of her work). Old men, on the other hand, will be buried near the goat dung. The distinct locations where the three types of refuse may be discarded are shaped by gendered spaces within the compound: women are associated with cooking, while men are associated with animals. Moore emphasizes that these distinctions do not merely 36 represent a functional differentiation of the house and related activities. At times, for example, animal dung may have to be swept and carried a considerable distance in order to be deposited in an appropriate place. The Marakwet example underscores the social contexts of deposition – the idea that refuse and the places where it is deposited not only reflect cultural categorizations, but are seen as a functional means to maintaining historically constructed values (see also Hodder 1987). From historical accounts of the United States to ethnographic studies in Africa, the changing ways of creating, categorizing, and disposing of wastes outlined in the preceding examples emphasize the more abstract points made about the nature of rubbish at the beginning of the chapter. Garbage’s relational status and its materiality are embraced and rejected in a multitude of historically and culturally determined ways. I will return to this idea in Chapter 4, where I examine the particular and variable ways that trash was defined and discarded in ancient Mesoamerica. For now, the purpose of the preceding discussion is to demonstrate the fact that even though the particular associations of waste management practices change over time, refuse is always implicated in the construction of an ethical and social self. This, in turn, points to the important role of disposal in the organization and cultivation of norms, morality, and identity. Disposal, Divestment, and Discretion The foregoing discussion showed that conceptions of waste and specific forms of disposal are inseparable from wider cultural and historical contexts. While the process of making and defining rubbish carries variable social meanings, however, it is also a process that occurs at a more intimate, individual level. To conclude this chapter, I turn to how disposal is experienced: the processes of divestment and alienation that 37 transition objects to the refuse category, the stages of disposal mediating the finality of discard, and the ways that disposal serves to produce or maintain the self and the inhabited world. Finally, I relate the conclusions of this chapter to more distant times, emphasizing how themes of the discussions presented here generate an approach to archaeological trash that moves beyond representation and broadens the potential for meaningful understandings of the past. This sets the stage for the following chapters, which transition from theory to practice by outlining specific examples of refuse practices in contemporary, historic, and ancient Mesoamerica. As preceding discussions have shown, waste occupies an ambiguous plane, always in flux and relegated to the borders of social existence, both part of and outside everyday experience. Lucas (2002:16-17) describes rubbish as linked to a temporality of desire that is never present to its object, but always future or past: that which we desire, but no longer or not yet again. He sees refuse as created through the interplay of processes of appropriation and alienation, what he calls a “doubling of desire.” For Lucas, rubbish is created by making inalienable objects alienable once again through graduated divestment, a staged erosion of the attachment we feel to objects that occurs as we place them in appropriate categories and locations. The stronger the investment in the original appropriation of an object, the harder it can be to dispossess ourselves of it, a point that becomes particularly salient when considering the availability of raw materials and the time and effort required for the production of objects in pre-industrial contexts. Passing significant objects between generations, hoarding unused or unneeded items, putting things in designated garbage or recycling containers, and, finally, moving them to dumps and landfills mediate that transition. This “reveals an irony in that the more care we take to dispose of something, the more we are contradicting the act of disposal” (Lucas 2002:18). As Lucas suggests, perhaps we need a place to accommodate the 38 destruction or de-constitution of material culture, a place that recognizes what we no longer need/desire/want and makes it irrevocable. The category of refuse allows us not only to rid ourselves of unwanted objects, but to make those objects alienable once again. Lucas’s argument becomes particularly salient in the case of “hoarders” – those who acquire, but fail to discard, possessions of useless or limited value. In a psychological study of such behavior, Frost and Gross (1993:367) argue that hoarding allows individuals to avoid the difficult decisions required to throw things away and the worry which accompanies such decisions, creating a perception of control by avoiding the emotional reactions that accompany parting with cherished possessions. Throwing things away upsets hoarders both emotionally and physically (Frost and Gross 1993:379). Moreover, Frost and Gross (1993:380) view hoarding behaviors as manifestations of a drive to perfectly control the environment – a key indication not only of the role of disposal and dispossesion in defining objects’ value, but of the act of disposal in creating and demarcating the world around us (see below). Marcoux (2001) provides another example of the forms, difficulties, and effects of dispossession in his analysis of what he calls the ‘casser maison’ ritual, the divestment from their possessions performed by elderly people in Montreal on the occasion of a move from a home of their own to a care environment. Marcoux argues that people inhabit their things as much as their place, but also points to the fact that they do not necessarily take what matters to them when moving. Instead, the ‘casser maison’ ritual is the process of transmitting, donating, and placing those things. This dispersal of belongings is ritualized and as much a part of the (re)construction of a particular self as accumulations of and interactions with objects. Divestment becomes a form of investment: in social relations, in the future, in ways of directing remembrance. As Marcoux writes, “‘casser maison’ is an attempt to use the emptying of the home, the 39 purging of the place, for reconstructing the self, in other people’s homes and memory…to make oneself an ancestor” (2001:231). Gregson and colleagues (2007), in examining the “conduits of disposal” for everyday consumer objects in contemporary British households, show how certain types of things are divested using specific conduits in particular ways, a process that involves enacting both specialized and spatialized knowledge and habits. They follow the pathways taken by items that are often discarded, but do not necessarily spring to mind when using terms like “waste” or “garbage”: outdated appliances, “inappropriate gifts,” children’s toys, or clothing. Like Lucas, they point to a gradual process filled with various intermediary stages of passing on, donating, selling, hoarding, and recycling, a series of steps from which rubbish might reemerge or find reuse. Gregson and colleagues write, “it is through practices of divestment that we continually re/constitute social orders, using what we do with and to things – including how and where we place them – to constitute narratives of us, of others, and our relations to them” (2007:198). Tracing disposal as a network or flow, rather than the fixed and final categories of here or there, in or out, emphasizes how the routes objects follow influence their ability to maintain or transform value, meaning, and experience. The examples provided by Frost and Gross, Marcoux, and Gregson and colleagues all acknowledge the act of moving rubbish to a particular place as an important feature of the disposal process. This is a critical point: trash fulfills its role as an active framing device because of how and where we place it during acts of disposal. This notion is elaborated more fully by Rolland Munro (2013), who refers to the broader process of placing (of which disposal is a part) as discretion. According to Munro (2013:213), discretion is continuously exercised, from moment to moment, as we place and arrange materials. Discretion results in our producing and recreating “places” of 40 identity and belonging, which in turn affect our moral sensibilities: the places we create incite us in what we wish to do. As Munro puts it, “we deliberately, if unwittingly, distribute materials in detachable ways that leave a variety of ‘places’ at our disposal” (2013:215). But what kinds of places does that notion of disposal create? Kevin Hetherington (1997) argues for an understanding of “place” as a contingent effect of a threefold practice that is somewhat akin to Munro’s discretionary disposal. For Hetherington (1997:187), places are materially constituted through an ongoing and repeated process involving placing, arranging, and naming, summed up in what he calls “labours of division.” Placing locates material objects and actors within heterogeneous networks of relations, arranging is a selective process that includes and excludes, and naming is about valuing and comparing. Together, they discern the spatial ordering of materials in the world and a coherent system of difference, which separates that ordering into discrete, but mobile, places. Places, then, are effects of similitude: they should be understood as “being in the process of being placed in relation to rather than being there” (1997:188). In short, place is not simply an abstract set of relations or a container for actions, but an ongoing encounter through the relationship that materials and persons have to one another over time. Memory brings those relationships to hand and represents them as the source of a sense of place and, more specifically, belonging (1997:196). This argument serves as a kind of mediation between understanding objects in terms of objectification and alienation or viewing them as totally deterministic of everyday conduct. Munro, like Miller, draws upon the work of Erving Goffman, but in a slightly different way. Miller focuses on Goffman’s ideas about framing, highlighting the ways that objects can serve to mark the backdrop to encounters and experiences, cuing 41 behaviors appropriate or inappropriate to that setting. Munro, however, further explores Goffman’s (1981) concept of “footing,” suggesting that people (or things) can be in the same place, but may be framing in different ways. Moreover, the frames they create may also change over the course of the encounter. These shifting frames and changes in footing require an ongoing presentation of self in everyday life. As Munro (2013:215) states, “I imagine the body as always comporting itself in one ‘pose’ or another…as members who uphold socially available practices and occasions, it is possible to see the body as thus needing to dis-pose of itself accordingly.” Viewing disposal as first and foremost concerned with arranging and placing not only avoids the common conception that it is a process that is somehow secondary to consumption, but enables an extension of this idea beyond modern consumerism. The deviant, the devalued, and the discarded need not be revalorized only after the fact, but can serve as modes of remembrance and place-makers in their own right. An ethnographic example from New Ireland in Papua New Guinea illustrates this point in more concrete terms. Suzanne Küchler (1999) describes the construction of malanggan, monuments made of wood or woven vines and decorated with carvings of animals, birds, shells, and human figures and erected for the dead. These perishable monuments are set over human graves as markers until a certain amount of time has passed, when the human soul is understood to have escaped the body. The malanggan are then taken from the graves and set in a different location, often near the sea, where they are left to rot. Once the malanggan have decomposed, the remains are gathered and used to fertilize gardens. As Küchler (1999:62) argues, this way of remembering does not require the object, but draws on the absence of that physical presence, the “mental resource created from the object’s disappearance.” Understanding these ephemeral monuments from within Munro’s framework for disposal and Hetherington’s concept of 42 place, remembering occurs not through consistent reflection on a static remnant, but through the processes that incorporate that mutable material presence, creating and recreating frames of commemoration. Conclusion I began this chapter by positioning it in opposition to the view that refuse represents a straightforward indicator or byproduct of daily life. Instead, I argued for an understanding of trash as a particular kind of categorical object: one that is relational and often taken for granted, yet has a materiality that is impossible to ignore. I examined the transient space occupied by waste and the special ability of refuse objects to exist as absent presences, returning in various ways as reused, recycled, reconceived, or revalued items. Examples familiar and distant demonstrated the myriad ways that trash may be categorized, perceived, and discarded depending on its cultural and historical context, each underscoring the role played by refuse in shaping and providing a frame for the actions of acceptable social and moral persons. Finally, I evaluated disposal as a process by which we demarcate places, separating the world into discrete arrangements of materials subjects and objects that can recall or create the frames of identity and behavior we wish to occupy. But how does this relate to archaeology? The many historically and culturally variable forms that conceptions and treatments of trash may take demonstrate the need for understanding archaeological trash within its appropriate context. This chapter included only some of the ways that the perception and meaning of refuse has changed in Western culture, raising the question of how we can apply our own changing notions of waste to cultures, times, and peoples yet more distant. We have also seen that rubbish disposal need not be efficient in a way that makes sense to an observer, but may serve a 43 purpose in a way that appears logical from within a particular social, phenomenological, or cosmological framework (see Hutson and Stanton 2007). I take up this question in more detail throughout the chapters of this dissertation, examining potential approaches that might enable an understanding of ancient, historic, and contemporary Maya perceptions of waste that are less categorically bound and more culturally embedded. Rubbish’s ability to return, to unexpectedly gain in value or meaning, further complicates rigid understandings of ancient discard practices. Objects that appear broken or unwanted may be in a transitionally hoarded or curated stage, awaiting a potential resurfacing that simply never came. Such objects might also already be repurposed, but appear as trash when interpretations are influenced by modern perceptions of usage and function. Finally, approaching disposal as a means of place- making, of delineating and arranging the framing devices that condition social behaviors and ethical identities, opens up new possibilities for understanding archaeological deposits, particularly the kind of anomalous deposit that is the focus of this dissertation. Rather than seeing discarded or buried objects as acts of finality, understanding them as objects specifically arranged and intentionally incorporated into places enables them to continue to act – in constructing values, retaining memories, and maintaining interactions and relations. In the chapters that follow I take this approach, re-examining established depositional categories and analyzing artifact histories to try to understand ancient depositional behaviors in terms of their intended experiences and effects, at the moment of discard and long after. 44 Figure 2.1. "Dana." Photo courtesy of Gregg Segal. 45 Figure 2.2. "Alfie, Kirsten, Miles, and Elly." Photo courtesy of Gregg Segal. 46 CHAPTER 3 MUNDANE MATTERS: MESOAMERICAN TRASH OVER TIME Every year, at sunset on December 7, the streets of Guatemala are lined with fire. On the eve of the Feast of the Immaculate Conception of the Virgin Mary, the start of Christmastime, Guatemalans set their household trash and piñata effigies of Satan ablaze in a symbolic act of purification and triumph of good versus evil. Old newspapers, stained mattresses, and worn-out tires are consumed by bonfires, often fed by fresh, green wood, generating thick, acrid clouds of black and white smoke, frequently pierced by the abundant firecrackers added to the flames. This ritual, the Quema del Diablo (“Burning of the Devil”) is a tradition that takes its current form from the Colonial period, but has deep roots, extending back to pre-Columbian times (Figure 3.1; see Chapter 6). In recent years, however, the Guatemalan government has expressed growing concerns over the safety of the ritual and its impact on public health and the environment. Not only does the multitude of household bonfires in residential neighborhoods raise concern, but the billowing, blinding smoke from burning wood and trash also causes a surge in automobile accidents. Moreover, the Guatemalan Ministry of the Environment and Natural Resources reports a significant increase in air pollution during and following the Quema del Diablo. Advertisements in print and radio media attempt to dissuade the burning of batteries, plastics, aerosol canisters, paints and other solvents, medicines, and herbicides or insecticides. Citizens with respiratory problems 47 are advised to stay indoors until several days after the ritual has passed (Velásquez 2013). The Quema del Diablo exemplifies many of the themes of this dissertation: associations of trash with both physical and moral impurity, the role of waste management strategies in defining the appropriate actions of social and ethical persons, and the clash between traditional refuse practices and dominant societal concerns. Although the Quema del Diablo is a relatively recent ritual, it highlights the ways in which ordinary activities like trash disposal may incorporate deeper meanings and greater purposes. Long before, Diego Durán (1977:55), a Dominican friar in sixteenth- century Mexico, complained that, “[h]eathenism and idolatry are present everywhere: in sowing, in reaping, in storing grain, even in plowing the earth and in building houses; in wakes and funerals, in weddings and births.” Voicing the seeming impossibility to the conversion task set before him, Durán similarly emphasizes the potential sacredness of everyday acts. As subsequent chapters of this dissertation will show, even the most mundane aspects of daily life – dirty, obsolete, and broken materials – could be repurposed: incorporated into ritual service, transformed into offerings, and engaged in relationships of obligation and pacification. Here, I build on the previous chapter’s exploration of human conceptions of material and bodily wastes, but narrow my focus to the particulars of Mesoamerica. By beginning with more recent eras, this chapter bridges the contemporary theories of waste outlined in Chapter 2 with the specific, deeply-held indigenous perceptions that will be examined in detail in Chapter 4. This chapter focuses largely on collective approaches to waste, those enacted at the city or state level, where urban environs precluded the more casual or rural habits elaborated in Chapter 4. Such organized waste management practices focus Chapter 2’s discussion of the ways refuse is implicated in the construction of ethically and socially 48 appropriate persons by providing concrete examples drawn from Mesoamerica. Much of the information presented here comes from Central Mexico, reflecting the asymmetrical wealth of historical documentation available for that region, though occasional forays are made into Yucatan, Chiapas, and southern Guatemala. This broad approach admittedly runs a risk of minimizing distinctions among specific cultures, as well as blurring important changes that variably shaped them in particular times and places. My aim, however, is not to suggest that the examples included in this chapter can be understood as typical of Mesoamerica, nor even that they are an especially illustrative or representative sample. Patterns of refuse disposal were shaped by underlying understandings of dirty and clean, good and bad, order and disorder, which are cast into high relief when those that were in existence in pre-Columbian Mesoamerica are compared to those that traversed the Atlantic Ocean. These deeper notions, in the variable forms they take throughout pre-Columbian, colonial, and contemporary Mesoamerica, contribute to what López Austín (2001:268) calls the “hard nucleus” of Mesoamerican cosmovision: “a complex of ideas, quite resistant to historical change… systematically interrelated so that they were self-adjusting and could incorporate new elements of culture, accommodate existing ones, and substitute for those lost in order to give meaning to the remaining components of social thought.” The examples presented in this chapter are simply particular instances of interaction, but also ones that help to bring out stark contrasts between indigenous and European concepts surrounding bodily and material wastes. In these instances, refuse emerges as an often-overlooked point of colonial contestation. Continuities and differences between practices of waste management, ancient and modern, suggest that the “pacification, conversion, [and] ordering” (Hanks 2010:xiv) of the colonial project transformed even seemingly implicit norms of society, 49 including attitudes toward trash. Indigenous views that allowed for the ongoing potential of ordinary objects for multiple purposes, including ritual, did not and could not coexist with the European mindset. Forced resettlement brought the colonizers and the conquered into close quarters, where differences in waste practices were employed to legitimize hierarchies of race, maintain social and economic inequalities, and exercise control over particular populations. As this chapter illustrates, the effect of this clash between indigenous and European perspectives on discard and disposal, as well as the impact of colonial restructuring on definitions of trash, has had long-lasting impacts and, in many ways, continues to shape waste management in Latin America. Filth and Fertilization The first Spaniards to set eyes upon Tenochtitlan, the great Aztec capital that would later become Mexico City, were awed. As Bernal Díaz del Castillo (1973:216), a conquistador who marched into the city with Hernán Cortés, recalled, “[w]ith such wonderful sights to gaze on we did not know what to say, or if this was real that we saw before our eyes. On the land side there were great cities, and on the lake many more … It was all so wonderful that I do not know how to describe this first glimpse of things never heard of, seen or dreamed of before.” Not only did Tenochtitlan impress architecturally, rising out of the waters of Lake Texcoco like a second Venice at the center of a complex network of causeways and floating gardens (Díaz del Castillo 1973:11), but the order and cleanliness within the city itself was also a significant shock to the Spaniards. Contemporary European cities suffered from garbage-lined streets and clogged gutters, as well as indiscriminate dumping of waste, often in plazas or cemeteries. In sixteenth- century Seville, a trash heap located on the main walkway by the river accumulated so 50 much refuse, over generations of careless disposal, that it became known as the “monte de malbaratillo,” the “mound of junk” (Bowers 2013:24). Many years after his time in the Aztec capital, Díaz del Castillo (1973:234) still recalled how “…everything was whitened and polished, indeed the whole place was so clean that there was not a straw or a grain of dust to be found there.” The Franciscan friar Toribio de Benavente (better known as “Motolinía,” a name meaning “the poor one” that he adopted in New Spain), one of the first 12 priests to arrive in the newly conquered lands of Mexico, similarly described an impeccable Tenochtitlan: …the streets and highways of this great city were so clean and well swept that there was nothing to stumble over, and wherever Moteczuma went, both in this city and anywhere else, the road was swept and the ground so firm and smooth that even if the sole of the foot were as delicate as the palm of the hand, it would not be hurt by going unshod (Benavente Motolinía 1973:155). Waste management in Tenochtitlan involved city-wide investments in infrastructure and substantial human labor. According to Juan de Torquemada, another Franciscan friar and chronicler of life in early colonial Mexico, the constant sweeping of the island capital, dampening the dust of its streets, and maintaining its canal network required the efforts of 1,000 men, but left the city so clean that one could walk about without any more fear for one’s feet than for one’s hands (Soustelle 2002:32-33). Martin Medina (2007:130-131) describes a class of Aztec scavengers known as the pepenilia, a term drawn from the Nahuatl word pepena or pehpena. Pehpen(a) has several meanings: to pick, choose someone, to gather, collect, or glean something. Over a dozen examples of verbs referring to harvestable or collectable items exist, including cuauhpehpen(a), “to gather firewood,” tlaōlpehpen(a), “to harvest maize,” and xītomapehpen(a), “to pick tomatoes” (Karttunen 1983:190). The person who did such gathering, collecting, and picking was referred to as pepenilia. Siméon (1977:379) 51 provides an example of the term in use taken from Andrés de Olmos’ grammar: “teutitlan, tlaçoltitlan, axixpan, tlaelpan oncan oquimo-pepenili in tlatoani,” or “he has risen from very low, has been picked up from the dust, the filth.”1 In the eighteenth century, the task of picking up garbage and human waste continued to be relegated to Indians, who provided the labor for waste collection and cleaning Mexico City’s canals as annual tribute (Bailey Glasco 2010:102; see below). A Hispanicized version of this term, pepenador, is still used in Mexico today, referring to the informal refuse collectors and dump scavengers that are an integral, though informal, part of the country’s waste management systems (Sundgren 2003; Wilson et al. 2006; see below). Díaz del Castillo (1973:233) further notes an extensive system of public latrines throughout the city: “on all the roads they have shelters made of reeds or straw or grass so that they can retire when they wish to do so, and purge their bowels unseen by passers-by, and also in order that their excrement shall not be lost.” As he further (apologetically) describes, “…they sold many canoe-loads of human excrement, which they kept in the creeks near the market. This was for the manufacture of salt and the curing of skins, which they say cannot be done without it. I know that many gentlemen will laugh at this, but I assure them it is true.” In the Florentine Codex, Sahagún (1950- 1982:Book 6:124) alludes to an additional use of bodily waste as fertilizer. He describes a soil known as axixtalli as “…land which had been urinated upon, which is greasy…” and another called tlalauiyac, a mellow soil fertilized with human feces. Bray (1968:116) likewise describes the use of human dung as fertilizer, collected from the city latrines and 1 Simeon’s gloss reads “el señor lo ha levantado de muy abajo, lo ha sacado del polvo, de la inmundicia, etc.,” which is directly translated into English here. The Nahuatl words used in Olmos’ example, however, include axixpan, a term with the root āxīx(a), meaning “to urinate or to have diarrhea” (Karttunen 1983:15). This implicit reference to human excrement further underscores the ambivalence that characterized Nahua approaches to bodily and material waste discussed in this chapter. 52 sold to farmers in the market at Tlateloco, which he views as a necessary practice, given the absence of New World cattle and resulting lack of stable-manure. In addition to being used as fertilizer, Medina (2007:129) also suggests that organic waste was fed to fatten the edible, hairless native dog, itzcuintli. Fortunately, Harvey (1981:164) suggests that the occupation Sahagún might have described as the “Hauler of Excrement,” while certainly odious, might not have been so odorous, thanks to a deficiency in certain chemical compounds (tryptophan and sulphur-containing amino acids) caused by the maize- and bean-based diet of ancient Mesoamericans. Excrement seems also to have been collected and burned, presumably as fuel, during Aztec war campaigns. In the Florentine Codex, Sahagún (1950-1982:Book 2:63-64) describes how young girls taunted young men who have never been to war, crying, “Art though not just a woman, like me? Nowhere hath thy excrement been burned” (see also Klein 1993:27). Urine was also collected and used as a mordant to bind dyes to woven textiles (Bray 1968:143). Like other forms of Mesoamerican work (see Chapter 4), the collection, redistribution, and reuse of human excrement accomplished more than economic or ecological gains. Cecilia Klein (1993) describes the ambivalent nature of human waste in pre-Hispanic Mexico, where excrement was capable of signifying and causing both bad and good. In contrast to dominant Christian discourse and European perspectives, the human body and its products were not perceived as separate from and antithetical to the “mind,” social values, and the supernatural (Klein 1993:20). Asocial individuals guilty of carnal transgressions – drunkenness, adultery, abortion, incest, and sodomy – had as their patron certain female deities associated with the moon, particularly Tlazolteotl, the “Goddess of Filth,” “Divine Filth,” or “Divine Excrement” (Figure 3.2; Klein 1993:21). Tlazolteotl was also addressed as Tlaelquani, meaning “Eater of Ordure,” due to her role as a goddess of tlazollalli, literally “earth filth,” but connoting humus and the 53 revitalization of the soil. As Sullivan (1982:15) writes, Tlaelquani “receives all organic wastes – human and animal excrement… and so forth – which when decomposed are transformed into humus.” Tlaelquani heard the confessions of sexual transgressors and removed corruption. Penitents, however, removed their clothes to expose their “evil odor” to Tlaelquani and swallowed their own stench, their own filth (López Austin 1988:32; Sahagún 1950-1982:Book 1:25, Book 6:31). Through a kind of sympathetic magic, “[e]xcrement thus not only embodied the cause of an individual’s bad health and potential demise, but also constituted the means to prevent or cure them” (Klein 1993:22). Tlazolteotl, goddess of filth, was also goddess of medicine, demonstrating the close link between tlazolli and purification, sickness and its cure (Aguirre Beltrán 1963:44). As Burkhart (1989:121) writes, “[f]ilth wards off filth.” The Codex Telleriano- Remensis, a sixteenth-century manuscript with Spanish glosses, includes numerous images of offerings of excrement being made (see Klein 1993:22-23). In Figure 3.3, a priest lets blood from his ear in a self-afflicted wound of atonement on the day 7 Eagle, a day when prostitutes made sacrifices to the moon. The bone perforator and incense bag used by the priests are both marked with lumps of dung, offerings to the moon goddess embodying sexual transgressions and offenses (Keber 1995:21r). In Figure 3.4, a woman named in the text of the Codex Telleriano-Remensis as Ixnextli appears, holding a vessel filled with excrement, which is clearly labeled as mierda or “filth” by the Spanish gloss. She is crying and blinded, which the Spanish commentator notes is a punishment for her excessive sexuality. The offerings of excrement to Tlaelquani/Tlazolteotl were made in the hopes that she would literally consume the material manifestation of one’s offenses, converting them into fertilizing soil or, as Klein (1993) calls it, “holy shit.” 54 Comfort, Beauty, and Order From the beginning of Spain’s dominion in the New World, indigenous and European attitudes concerning the definition and use of space, cultural norms of behavior and bodily propriety, and notions of cleanliness and order clashed daily in the streets of colonial Latin American cities. Many of the successful waste management strategies that had been employed by indigenous peoples were deeply rooted in perspectives on human waste and material refuse as a meaningful and symbolically charged resource with various potential reuses. The colonial project of conversion, however, targeted the underlying principles of Mesoamerican thought that structured and perpetuated daily norms as idolatry, undercutting the foundations for many of the systems that the first Spaniards had initially admired. As a result, colonists seeking to “civilize” their new environments – natural, cultural, and constructed – constantly struggled to reshape popular practices and make manifest a New World of “comfort and beauty, equally reconciled with order” (Castera 1982[1794]). Systems of civic maintenance in Tenochtitlan naturally broke down in the wake of the siege and conquest. Bernal Diaz del Castillo (1973:405) describes the houses and the stockades in the lake so full of heads and corpses that one could not walk without treading on the bodies of dead Indians. Many of the Spanish captains became ill from the stench of the city and quickly left to return to their camps. He writes, “[t]he city looked as if it had been ploughed up … There was no freshwater to be found; all of it was brackish.” Cleaning up and organizing the capital city, however, was of primary concern to its new authorities, as it had been for the Aztecs. As Díaz del Castillo (1973:408) describes: The first orders Cortes gave to [C]uatemoc were that the conduits from Chapultepec should be repaired and restored to their former condition, so that the water could flow again into the city; that the streets should be cleared of the bodies and heads of the dead, which should be buried, so that the city should be left clean and free from any stench; that all bridges 55 and causeways should be thoroughly restored to their former condition, and the palaces and houses rebuilt so as to be fit for habitation within two months. He marked out the parts in which the Indians were to settle, and those which were to be left clear for us. Post-conquest resettlement and restructuring of native populations was not only a concern on the local level, but an effort that later came mandated, and with specific instructions, from King Philip II himself. In his “Ordinances concerning discoveries, settlement, and pacifications,” issued in 1573, the monarch directed the process of laying out towns in the New World with a painstaking degree of detail. The proportions and sizes of central plazas, numbers and directions of major and minor streets, and locations of churches, markets, and hospitals were all predetermined. As Zelia Nuttall (1921:743) wrote, “[n]o feature that could ensure the beauty, commodiousness, and salubrity of a town seems to have been overlooked.” Many of the guidelines stipulated in Philip II’s Ordinances defined the shape of urban Latin America, which is still apparent today, as Nuttall (1921:743) suggests, in the “uniformity of the plans of so many Hispano-American cities… the beauty of their central plazas filled with trees and flowers and surrounded by public buildings, and their picturesque churches.” Where the Ordinances postdate the founding of major cities in the New World, such as Mexico City, they were still important in organizing subsequent growth and development. Imposed structure in town layouts impacted practices of waste management as well. Three of Philip II’s Ordinances explicitly treat issues of refuse and cleanliness (Tyler 1980:109). As Ordinance 133 directs: They shall arrange the house lots and buildings within them in such a way that the rooms of the latter may enjoy the air at midday and from the north as these are the best. They shall generally arrange all the buildings and houses to serve as a defense and fort against those who may try to disturb or invade the town. Each house in particular shall be built so that they may keep horses and work animals therein, with yards and corrals as large as possible for health and cleanliness (John Carter Brown Library, 56 Providence, Rhode Island [JCB] 1774: Recopilación de las leyes de los reynos de las Indias, Vol. II). Ordinance 122 states, “the site and building lots for slaughter houses, fisheries, tanneries, and other things which produce filth shall be placed so that the filth may be easily disposed of” (JCB 1774:Recopilación, Vol. II). The next, Ordinance 123, reads, “it will be considerably convenient if towns which are laid out inland, away from ports, be built, if possible, on the shores of a navigable river; and attempts should be made to have the shore where it is reached by the cold north wind; and that all trades that give rise to filth be places on the side of the river and sea below the town” (JCB 1774:Recopilación, Vol. II). This deliberate movement of refuse beyond town limits to control both sight and smell was a distinct contrast to earlier practices, both of the crowded city of Tenochtitlan and rural households (see Chapter 4). The mandated relocation of refuse was foreign not only to the indigenous inhabitants, but to the Spaniards who had emigrated to Mexico as well, evidenced by archaeological evidence of sixteenth-century trash dumped in the wells of Spanish houses (Rodríguez-Alegría 2005: 41). Lasting effects are visible in Figure 3.5, a plan of Mexico City created by Ignacio de Castera in 1785. Beyond one of the city’s guardhouses, the de facto city boundaries, a small, square structure is highlighted as the Quemadero, a location where trash was brought beyond the borders of the city and incinerated (Castera 1785). More than just urban planning, however, the Ordinances represented the triumph of a new vision of Spain’s destiny in the New World. Indigenous peoples were expressly regarded as rational, with rights to life, liberty, private property, social organization, and eventual Christian self-government. The concentration of Indians in towns according to the standard cruciform plan laid down in the Ordinances rested on the hope that native peoples could not only be “Europeanized,” but protected from 57 slavery, serfdom, and exploitation by Spanish rancher-colonists. In Mexico, approximately 56,000 Indian families were resettled between 1598 and 1606. This secular effort dovetailed with the intensification of religious activities. As waves of new missionaries arrived in Spain’s colonies, the task of converting native populations to Christianity was made decidedly easier by the reorganization and resettlement of the dispersed (and decimated) Indian populations (Parker 1995:114-115). In addition to waste management strategies dictated by royal decrees, the tenets of Christian doctrine and the methods used by early friars to communicate and convert also had potential impacts on indigenous perceptions of and practices surrounding dirt and refuse. Louise Burkhart (1989) has documented the ways that friars attempted to translate Christianity to New World populations. Many of the basic concepts at the heart of Christian doctrine, such as good and evil, temptation, and sin, did not have equivalents in native Nahua thought. Friars appropriated terms that seemed to accord with their own, but many of these carried fuller meanings than their Spanish glosses. Tlazolli, glossed by Franciscan friar Alonso de Molina as “rubbish which they throw on the dung heap,” is derived from a verb meaning “to grow old, wear out” (Burkhart 1989:87). It broadly connotes any sort of dirt and little bits and pieces of things that have become formless and unconnected, anything that is “useless, used up…has lost its original order or structure and has been rendered loose and undifferentiated matter” (Burkhart 1989:88), including bodily secretions, rags, dust, disheveled hair, potsherds, etc. The concept of tlazolli was employed in Christian moral discourses of filth and purity. Christians, however, understood the corruption associated with sin as an effect of sin, not the sin itself. Corruption is not the inherent nature of sin, but a punishment or sanction imposed in reaction to sin. Nahuas perceived tlazolli as a dangerous domain always in existence, contact with which was intrinsically contaminating. For the Nahuas, 58 certain acts were not proscribed because they created tlazolli, but because they entailed contact with tlazolli. Christianity, moreover, uses physical pollution as a metaphor for spiritual corruption; filth and sickness are material cognates for the immaterial soul. In Nahua ideology, on the other hand, immaterial things were continuous with the material world; abasement of the body was abasement of the entire self. Burkhart (1989:101) provides an example of this understanding drawn from Diego Durán. In a penitent act, straws were passed through the tongue and then burned in order to purify oneself of misdeeds, each straw representing a single act. The tlazolli polluting the person was transferred, by blood, to the straw, its metonymic representation. The straws thereby became metaphors for the acts and both could simultaneously be destroyed by fire. As Burkhart (1989:102) describes, reduction and redirection occurred in the friars’ adoption of the notion of tlazolli: “…simple terms of cleanliness and dirt appear constantly while the more complex or esoteric tropes, especially those lacking Christian parallels, are less common or absent. Thus, there is a loss of richness, a failure to exploit the full expressive (and hence persuasive) capacity of Nahuatl.” The friars used purity and impurity as rhetorical devices, accomplishing moral persuasion by linking negatively valued phenomena with negative affect and positively valued phenomena with positive affect, but the tactic was perhaps even more effective than they intended, understood by the Nahuas in more emotionally and physiologically evocative, largely literal ways. Fray Andrés de Olmos’s 1547 grammar of Nahuatl, for example, includes the phrase “the dirty and obstinate sinner is like the pig with mud” in Spanish. The Nahuatl translation, however, is made in the style of indigenous oratory: “[h]e (or she) plays with filth, dust; puts himself in charge of the ash-heap, occupies himself with mud, potsherds; thus he mixes himself with mud, thus he mixes himself with potsherds; like a peccary [pig] he rolls in excrement and ashes” (Burkhart 1989:103). In preaching against lust, 59 Olmos advises, “God wishes that, as a person cares for his (or her) clean mantle so that it does not become black, become dirty, it is much more important that he care for his soul and his body, so that they not fall into urine, into excrement, into a bad place, into a wrong place” (Burkhart 1989:106). In his sermons, Fray Juan de la Anunciación likewise compares the sinner to a cripple rolling in the teuhtli tlaçolli, the dust and filth. He describes sin as dirty and ragged clothing and exhorts his congregation not to dirty and blacken their bodies with “foul happiness” (lust) and dirtiness. According to Anunciación, sin causes one to stink and rot, a heart with mortal sin is like “a urine-jar, an excrement-jar,” and persons living in sin are like pigs lying submerged in the mud (Burkhart 1989:107). These examples from friars’ sermons and prayers illustrate how such symbolism might impact daily practices for managing filth and refuse. The collection and storage of bodily and material wastes for repurposing entailed constant proximity to and interaction with tlazolli, but in a new form: tlazolli that was stripped of its converting, regenerative power, leaving only the potential for pollution and corruption. Equating dirt, excrement, and potsherds with sin, immorality, and sickness would have made such indigenous waste management strategies not only morally reprehensible, but dangerous to the health of one’s body and soul. Reforming Refuse In a study of epidemic disease in Mexico City, Donald Cooper (1965:19) wrote, “[m]uch of the city refuse was disposed of by simply dumping it into one of the many canals which crisscrossed the capital. By 1637 there were seven major canals plus innumerable smaller ones, all of which ultimately carried their burdens to the city cesspool – Lake Texcoco – where more things floated than just the gardens.” The great 60 market at Tlateloco was praised for its order and cleanliness by Bernal Díaz del Castillo (1973:232), who wrote “we were astounded at the great number of people and the quantities of merchandise, and at the orderliness and good arrangements that prevailed… Every kind of merchandise was kept separate and had its fixed place marked for it.” By the 1560s, however, the market at Tlateloco, as well as other markets around the city, were described as poorly paved, prone to flooding, and filled with mountains of garbage and human excrement, so much so that it became difficult for people to perform their daily tasks (Carrera Stampa 1949:305). By the early seventeenth century, Francisco Cervantes de Salazar (1953:62) commented of the Tlateloco market that “it means less for what it is than for the memory of what it was.” Still, Mexico City seems to have maintained better living conditions than contemporary European cities for some time. Thomas Gage (1958:67), writing of Mexico in the 1620s, stated, “[it] is a by-word that at Mexico four things are fair; that is to say, the women, the apparel, the horses, and the streets” and “[t]he streets of Christendom must not compare with those in breadth and cleanness.” Salvador de Madariaga, a Spanish author, wrote that late seventeenth-century Mexico City was both elegant and noble, a virtual paradise, “clean and well policed” (de Madariaga 1947:191). This, however, was in contrast to de Madariaga’s description of London’s St. James Square as “[a] receptacle for all the offal and cinders, for all the dead cats and dogs of Westminster,” and the greater English capital as a city with poor drainage, streets filled with potholes, and residents who dumped their household excrement, garbage, and refuse out of their windows and into the streets below, with no regard for the unlucky passersby. By the eighteenth century, however, Mexico City had clearly lost its luster. Ordinances issued in 1728 lay out a series of rules for keeping the city clean, the specifics 61 of which provide a sense of the acute, city-wide problems concerning the disposal of bodily wastes and other forms of refuse: No person shall dare to throw rubbish or human waste in the streets, plaza, canals, nor fountain[s] of this city, under penalty of two pesos for each time that he might throw it; and if it cannot be determined who has done it, then the citizen who is closest to the spot where the said rubbish might be found shall be ordered to remove it within three hours, and if he does not remove it, he shall pay a peso, and the place shall be cleaned at his cost. … No person shall throw clean or dirty water through the window or doors into the streets by day, or until curfew has sounded, under penalty of one peso for each time that he might do it. … Because of the scant care that is taken to remove dead animals, and because of the bad odor that results from leaving them in the streets and plazas, and since they are a cause of sickness in the republic [city], it is ordered that no person shall throw into the streets, plazas, or canals, dogs nor horses, nor other dead animals, under penalty of ten pesos for each time that he might do it; and if it cannot be determined who has done it, then the citizen who is closest to the site of the dead animal shall be ordered to remove it within three hours, and if he does not remove it, he shall pay two pesos and it shall be carried to a rubbish pile at his expense (Cooper 1965:20). One of the city’s chief prosecutors, Hipólito Villarroel, in an extensive and scathing critique, commented on “…the deplorable state of this unhappy city… it is an impenetrable forest filled with evil and dissolution, which makes it uninhabitable for cultured people. It is filled with innumerable lairs and other hiding places… which one may properly call pig-sties rather than houses for rational beings” (Villarroel 1999:175, cited in Bailey Glasco 2010:17). In 1762, a council member of Mexico City (Don Pedro Fermín Mendinueta) and three deputies of the municipal police force known as the Junta de Policía (Don Joseph de Gorraez, Don Luis de Monroy, and Don Mariano Malo) issued a city-wide evaluation and subsequent public orders addressing issues of cleanliness. They report large amounts of garbage littered throughout the streets, which blocked drainages and caused localized flooding and compromised the daily activities of residents. All property owners were expected to clean up the garbage within fifteen days of the publication of the orders, 62 though certain occupations were especially singled out: butchers, bakers, meat sellers, factory owners, tanners, blacksmiths, and general store owners. The activities of these businesses were viewed as particularly careless and polluting. Indian garbage collectors were also chastised, accused of collecting garbage and excrement from homes in one neighborhood and dumping it in another, rather than in designated sites for public dumping. Fines were imposed for failures to adhere to the new orders – six pesos, with an alternative punishment of twenty-five lashes for Indians and servants who did not have the resources to pay such fines (Bailey Glasco 2010:101). Just a few years later, in 1769, Viceroy Carlos Francisco de Croix issued further regulations, requiring property owners to construct latrines, imposing higher fines for those guilty of dumping excrement or garbage in the streets and canals of the city, prohibiting laundering of clothes and washing of animals in public water sources, exacting stricter control over professions known to dump trash in and around their businesses, and giving owners six months to address problems associated with their properties in an effort to curtail the common practice of dumping garbage in abandoned buildings. These regulations were facilitated by a citywide evaluation in 1773, when the cabildo (“city council”) agreed to reserve 8,000 pesos annually for street cleaning. Twenty-eight carts, designed for the purpose, hauled garbage and collected waste using indigenous drivers from the areas of San Juan and Santiago Tlateloco, whose unpaid labor was considered annual tribute (Bailey Glasco 2010:102-103). These carretoneros, refuse collectors using horse carts, are still found in Mexican cities, though many are also known as burreros, having switched to using donkey carts. Since their inception over two centuries ago, the carretoneros occupation has been associated with poverty, lack of sophistication and education, and even crime (Medina 2007:131). 63 These attempts to reform Mexico City’s waste management structure in the late eighteenth century were, for the most part, failures. State enforcement efforts lacked the necessary legitimacy, influence, and resources necessary for success (Bailey Glasco 2010:105). Significant changes did not take place until the arrival of Juan Vicente de Güemes Pacheco y Padilla, second Count Revillagigedo, who served as viceroy from 1789 to 1794. Viceroy Revillagigedo, himself personally fastidious and an exemplar of Bourbon ideals of order and stability, was repulsed by the filth of Mexico City and the repugnant people coursing through its streets and public spaces (Bailey Glasco 2010:14). In Revillagigedo’s words (Archivo Histórico de la Ciudad de México [AHCM], Pulquerías, Vol. 3719, Exp. 8), “[t]he abuse, disorder, and liberty with which the neighborhoods of this Capital are accustomed, with all classes of people ridding themselves freely of their natural functions, dirtying whatever place, lacking in modesty and with damage to the public health, must be remedied with vigilance.” Almost immediately upon beginning his term as viceroy, Revillagigedo produced a bando (“royal proclamation”), issued August 31, 1790, containing fourteen points concerning the dumping and collection of garbage in Mexico City (JCB 1790: Don Juan Vicente de Guemez Pacheco de Padilla Horcasitas y Aguayo, conde de Revillagigedo…Uno de los puntos mas esenciales de todo buena policía es la limpieza de los pueblos…). In his bando, Revillagigedo orders that two distinct types of carts will pass through the city every day of the year, including festival days: one for human waste and the other for mixed refuse. The carts would canvass the city from a half hour before sunrise until an hour after sunset, then return again until eight thirty in the evening from March through September and until nine o’clock at night from October through February. A final pass through the city would be made from nine until eleven o’clock from March through September and from eight until ten o’clock from October to 64 February, to collect waste from residents who missed the first carts. At which point, “all the city must be perfectly clean.” Trash needed to be set out for pickup by 7 am (from October to February) and by 6 am (March through September). If residents missed the carts’ designated pickup times, they were instructed to maintain their refuse within their residences until the following day. The cleaning carts would be equipped with bells to alert residents to their arrival and ensure their clear passage through the city streets. Anyone interfering with the progress of the garbage carts was fined twelve reales, a payment that doubled or tripled with subsequent offences. Additional stipulations prohibited beating dust from clothes or mats from balconies or washing clothes in the canals, as well as cleaning or shearing livestock in public fountains and plazas. Residents were prohibited from leaving dead animals in the streets to rot; instead they were instructed to alert authorities within twelve hours, who would then promptly remove the carcasses to designated dumping sites. Moreover, owners were prohibited from letting their dogs – particularly “scary” breeds such as Mastiffs – from running wild and defecating in the streets. Fines were imposed for such offenses, which increased with each incident. The police would simply kill dogs found in the street at night, with the assurance that they “did not have an owner that cared for them.” Revillagigedo places particular emphasis on “the extremely indecent abuse by residents of both sexes, who relieve themselves in the streets and courtyards.” Those who commit “this abominable excess” were placed in the stocks, fined, and, for multiple offenses, jailed. Teachers, as an “essential part of a good education,” were to create designated places for children to relieve themselves within their schools, to allow them to do so one by one, and to instruct their pupils that they should never use the streets for such purposes. Pulque taverns, according to Revillagigedo, were “the places where men and women, disposed of decency and reason, commit this offense with the greatest 65 frequency.” Tavern owners were therefore charged with building latrines, as were masons building new houses. Existing houses with access to the open sewage ditches running along the streets were given three months to construct public toilets and facilities for disposing of excrement collected within homes farther from the drainage system. If the three month deadline were not met, the Junta de Policía would construct public toilets, but at the cost of the property owners. In 1792, Revillagigedo republished his decree, this time with more specific instructions for these constructions as deep pits lined in masonry, with top openings for easy dumping of waste (but also covered to prevents the smells that built up), and covered spouts at the bottom for quick removal by the garbage-collecting carts. The level of detail in Revillagigedo’s instructions is impressive, particularly in comparison to earlier attempts at sanitation reform. The specifics he provides in attempting to counteract certain practices not only paint a vivid portrait of the filth that plagued eighteenth-century Mexico City, but they center both the problems and the solutions of waste management on residents and their daily behaviors. Rather than bemoaning the state of Mexico City as an abstract entity, Revillagigedo focused on changing what it meant to be Mexican. His bando articulates his vision of a civilized, ordered, and socially responsible Mexican person and their conduct. Revillagigedo’s approach to reforms recalls Hawkins’ (2006:4) quote from Chapter 2, that “[n]o matter how insignificant putting out the garbage may seem, the way we do it reflects an ethos, a manner of being.” Ironically, Revillagigedo’s ideals of self-control, discipline, and containment in relation to personal hygiene could only be realized through massive public, state-level engagements in the private bodily practices of the population of Mexico City. 66 Revillagigedo’s bando also implicitly highlights issues of race and class entrenched in colonial Mexico’s refuse problems. The most comprehensive plans and resources were devoted to the city center, the traza that had initially been reserved for Spanish residence. These areas – the Calle and Plaza de San Francisco, the Callejón de Condesa, and the Calle de Canoa – were the wealthiest parts of the city, but also the places where elites were forced into direct, daily interactions with what they called “the polluting activity of the poor” (Bailey Glasco 2010:104-105). The new collection and dumping sites established by Revillagigedo were located only beyond the limits of the traza, that is, in areas with primarily working- and lower-class residents. Figure 3.6 shows the location of major and minor dumps in Mexico City during the 1790s, most of which are located in the Indian barrios (“neighborhoods”) of San Juan and Santiago Tlateloco. Poorer neighborhoods became, by state mandate, the dumping grounds of the wealthy. As Bailey Glasco (2010:115) writes, “[c]ity planners gave little thought to pollution in indigenous zones, or its effects on the health of residents there. The greater concern was the potential for this garbage, and the air it infested, to bleed into the traza, where elites lived. City officials viewed Indian barrios as the place where, according to Revillagigedo himself, ‘all the horrible things of the city originated.’” Physically transporting the elite wastes into Indian neighborhoods reinforced associations of indigenous residents of Mexico City as unclean and amoral. As Colloredo-Mansfeld (1998:188) has argued for modern Ecuador, a preoccupation with racial and national hygiene, whether real or imagined, determines one’s ability to fit into society; dirty bodies and clothes not only convey poverty, but speak to social, economic, and moral status. These perceptions not only served to maintain racial- and class-based hierarchies, but enabled elites to blame indigenous populations for wider social problems stemming 67 from dirt and disorder, such as the spread of disease during waves of epidemics that plagued Latin America during the nineteenth century. The Miasmic Maya If Indian populations living within the regular, gridded barrios of Mexico City were perceived as uncontrollable and unclean, indigenous Mesoamericans living beyond the borders of cities were yet further stigmatized. Heather McCrea (2013:153) summarizes elite attitudes toward indigenous inhabitants in rural areas, such as Yucatan: …Yucatecan elites frequently expressed their irritation with the Maya and placed blame for violence, pestilence, and barbarity squarely on the shoulders of the ‘vengeful’ Maya. Print media frequently noted the contempt creole elites held for the Maya. Newspaper articles were loaded with characterizations of the Maya as ‘barbarians’ who impeded economic growth by burning down productive export haciendas, stealing cattle, and living in squalor and filth with their animals. Medical circulars criticized the rural poor for their ‘ignorance’ and ‘passivity,’ portraying them as members of society who either would not or could not comply with sanitation regulations. Elites consistently placed nonhuman animals within the living spaces of the Maya to highlight a commingling of filth between nonhuman and human animals … Animals, insects, and frequently the indigenous Maya were all alike cast as purveyors of filth and illness. Although McCrea focuses on the nineteenth century, dirt and disorder were implicated in constructions of race and class throughout Latin America’s colonial history. A collective report made by the Dominican monks Francisco Viana, Lucas Gallego, and Guillermo Cadena from Cobán in 1574, recording one of the earliest expeditions into the southeastern Maya lowlands, expresses their distaste for the three towns of San Andrés Polochic, San Mateo Xocolo, and Puerto de Caballos. The monks write, “[t]hese three towns swarm with bad vermin – like toads, snakes that kill people, and many mosquitoes – so that the natives can’t work, nor can the women spin or sew. They look like lepers 68 because of the mosquitoes that eat them” (Feldman 2000:14). During an 1865 expedition into the Manche Chol area of southeastern Guatemala, Friar Agustín Cano (Feldman 2000:190) wrote, “[h]uts of the Chols are difficult to find. When found, they are extremely dirty, filled with smoke and domestic insects like fleas, jiggers, and bedbugs, without being free of the innumerable kinds of mosquitoes, snakes, scorpions, and other poisonous animals of the forest.” The British explorer Thomas Gann (1918:32-37) similarly described Maya houses as unsanitary spaces: …the bush is allowed to grow to a considerable height in order to provide a convenient latrine for the women and children. Dogs, pigs, and vultures serve as scavengers … Hookworms and many other varieties of intestinal parasites are prevalent, owing to the earth-eating habits of the children, the earth being taken usually from the immediate vicinity of the house, where pigs and other domestic animals have their quarters. This disgusting habit no doubt accounts in part for the swollen bellies and earthly color of many of the children. Foreigners’ descriptions not only regularly connected the Maya with unsanitary living conditions and filth in the rural countryside, but explicitly associated indigenous peoples with disease as well. The early account by Viana, Gallego, and Cadena suggests the Maya “look like lepers,” while Gann explains the intestinal parasites and swollen bellies of Maya children as the result of “disgusting” habits, equating indigenous bodies with dangerous and unsightly illnesses. These associations became even more pronounced as waves of global cholera pandemics hit Latin America in the mid-nineteenth century, first in the 1830s and again in the 1850s, the second coinciding with the eruption of the Caste War in 1847 (McCrea 2013:156). The dominant medical discourse at the time was the theory of miasma, or “bad air,” which saw damp, odorous, or polluted air as the cause of disease. Substances that were responsible for creating miasma, such as dirt and odor, were perceived as contagions (Lupton 1995:20). During the 1830s cholera pandemic, Yucatan’s Supreme 69 Health Council received numerous complaints about disorder, filth, excrement, and invisible miasmas, often attributed to livestock rummaging through refuse, mating, and defecating as they roamed through streets and public spaces. Guidelines for the prevention of cholera advised containing or killing roaming animals, collecting garbage, and banning the slaughter of livestock at public markets (Javier Santero 1885). City residents were forbidden from bringing pets and livestock to public places during outbreaks and fines were imposed for animals that were found living in homes or allowed to wander the streets, with increased penalties if animals were infected with parasites (McCrea 2013:155-156). Miasmic theory, however, ran counter to traditional Maya understandings of disease. For the Classic-period Maya, companion spirits, or wahy, had wild, sinister, and disease-bearing properties (Houston et al. 2006:79). In the compilation of late colonial Yucatecan incantations known as the Ritual of the Bacabs (Roys 1965), the speaker conjures up similarly personified diseases and controls them through specific knowledge of their birth, location, and symbols, exorcising them through a variety of metaphorical means, including decapitation and dismemberment (Freidel and Shaw 2000). Additionally, the evil winds (ik), could be anthropomorphic harbingers of disease that could occasionally assume the form of “little people, who performed petty mischief at night. Some of them acted of their own volition, while others may be induced to act by spirits or sorcerers” (Roys 1965:xxii). This notion has Classic-period comparisons, with the breath of death gods thought to induce illness (Houston et al. 2006:142). Redfield and Villa Rojas (1962:164-165), working in the village Chan Kom in the mid-twentieth century, documented similar beliefs that “evil winds” caused disease: “…the winds that blow from the water are the winds that are apt to bring sickness. In Yucatan, water appears in just three forms: the sea, the cenotes, and the rain. When winds come from 70 any of these, they are evil winds.” Kunow’s (2012:60-61) ethnographic work with modern Maya curers in Yucatan describes healers attributing sickness to “…emotional upsets, witchcraft, neglect of the gods or other supernaturals, hot/cold imbalances, or from encounters with disease-causing agents such as evil winds, certain birds, and persons who have evil eye.” A similar theory of “evil winds” as harbingers of disease existed in Central Mexico as well: “[t]he winds from the south… blow in the months of March, April, and May… the ancient Aztecs called them the winds of death… The chroniclers of the period refer to them as precursors of the matlazahuatl [typhus] and other epidemics, and in the celebrated one of 1737 the south winds blew like hurricanes from March until December of 1736” (Reyes 1873: 157). In 1784, a writer for the Gazeta de México even employed the “evil wind” theory to offer a “rational” explanation for the rising incidence of disease in Mexico’s capital, blaming unseasonably wet weather, a greater frequency of winds from the south and southeast, and unfavorable positions of the sun and the moon (Gazeta de México, 1784:46-47). Traditional Maya understandings of disease and wellness contributed to forms of daily living conditions and practices. Humans and animals were thought to become vulnerable to agents of illness during times of imbalance – states of excess or deprivation. Subjects of care and protection, such as children and animals, required a close relationship, a watchful eye, to ensure that such imbalances were avoided. An animal left to wander could not be monitored, whereas one in close proximity could be kept in balance (McCrea 2013:157-158). State policies in Yucatan that created physical boundaries and forced distances between livestock and their owners therefore threatened the physical and economic subsistence of rural indigenous populations. As policymakers began to enforce new regimes to segregate animals and humans, eradicate 71 selected species of noxious animals and insects, and subject the indigenous populations perceived as threats to public health to measures of control, cultural changes, and punishment, clashes between emerging concepts of sanitation and deeply rooted indigenous customs were cast into high relief. McCrea (2013:162) writes: Public-health campaigns conceptualized animals and indigenous residents in terms of the positivistic narrative of antithetical couples: the civilized versus the barbarous, the tamed versus the wild, and the healthy versus the diseased. Given this narrative, it was easy to subsume animals, insects, and the indigenous Maya into negative categories all associated with filth, pestilence, and backwardness. In this way, culturally and historically embedded attitudes toward trash, dirt, and disorder became justifications for continued, if not heightened, hierarchies of race and class. Maya practices, particularly those surrounding waste, were seen as causal factors in the spread of disease, and therefore signs of moral corruption and social irresponsibility. Pepenadores Past and Present Associations between poverty, dirt, and refuse are not only deeply rooted, but ongoing. Today, somewhere between 500,000 and four million people scavenge through trash for a living in Latin America, most of whom are poor, socially marginalized, and politically disenfranchised (Figure 3.7; Marello and Helwege 2014:1). Although the materials they collect have changed over time, scavenging and informal recycling have a long history in Mexico, extending back to the Nahua pepenilia and the indigenous carretoneros mandated by refuse disposal reforms of the eighteenth century. The recovery of materials from waste to be reused or recycled, of course, was not a practice unique to indigenous Mesoamerica. Some of the impetus for sustained 72 scavenging in post-conquest Mexico came directly from the historical role that refuse collection played in Spain’s economy. Beginning in the tenth century, Arab techniques for making paper from rags spread, via Spain, throughout Europe. Ragpickers in Spain were known as pannorum collectores, “collectors of rags,” or pannicolorum collectores, “collectors of little rags” (Medina 2007:24). From the thirteenth through the eighteenth centuries, however, Spain and most of Europe faced a chronic shortage of rags. Demand for paper continued to increase, while the supply of rags diminished. Most clothing was not only made of wool during this period (not a suitable material for making paper), but was used as long as possible, repaired often, and discarded infrequently (Medina 2007:24). The “Regulation and Royal Tariffs for Free Trade from Spain to the Indies” issued by Carlos III on October 12, 1778 (JCB 1778: Reglamento y Aranceles Reales para el Comercio Libre de España a Indias de 12 de octubre de 1778), exempted rags collected in the Americas from the payment of taxes. The laws of the Reglamento sought to encourage rag collection in the Spanish colonies, where cotton cloth was more prevalent, which could then be shipped to Spain and transformed into paper (Lenz 1990:143-44). This active export market never developed, however. No records exist of the export of rags from New Spain to Spain, despite royal efforts to stimulate them (Medina 2007:25-26). Instead, as colonization and its associated legal and bureaucratic documentation proceeded, New Spain developed its own paper shortage. By the end of the eighteenth century, the supply in New Spain was so insufficient that the price of paper doubled. Mexican ragpickers, called traperos (trapos are “threads” in Spanish), sold their linen, cotton, hemp and other similar materials not for export to Spain, but rather to the growing number of domestic paper mills within Mexico, either directly or through middlemen (Lenz 1990:153-155; Sánchez de Bonfil 1993). Far from operating at the margins of the economy, traperos played a crucial role in the production of a major 73 colonial commodity. This pattern continues: although the informal nature of scavenging makes it difficult to ascertain its quantitative impact on municipal solid waste management, the World Bank (Medina 2007:vii) estimates that about 1% of the world’s populations survives by scavenging (about 15 million people) and Medina (2007:139) calculates that informal refuse collectors in Mexico City gather 221,000 metric tons of garbage per year, which amounts to the reuse or recycling of roughly 6% of the annual waste the city generates. Although scavengers have been described as “economic bottom-feeders” (Power 2006:63), there is a self-imposed hierarchy within the informal recycling sector, a kind of funhouse mirror of larger inequalities. During the 1940s, large numbers of rural populations moved to Mexico City and scavengers began to settle permanently around the dumpsites receiving the city’s wastes. In the communities that formed, ambitious individuals became caciques – combination tyrants and benefactors who offered protection and exclusive claims on particular trades in exchange for payments. The caciques in turn developed relationships of mutual gain and political clientelism with authorities, bribing government officials in exchange for their ignoring the caciques’ abuse of power. Scavenger communities were then made to vote for the Mexico’s long- time ruling party, the Institutional Revolutionary Party (the PRI). In the 1960s, one particular cacique, Rafael Gutiérrez Moreno, consolidated the power of several others to become a kind of supreme cacique, headquartered at the enormous Santa Cruz Meyehualco dump. Through a series of under-the-table bribes and agreements, Gutiérrez ensured that Mexico City police never entered the scavenger community at Santa Cruz Meyehualco, while he enjoyed de facto immunity from prosecution. Gutiérrez purchased all the recyclable materials recovered from Santa Cruz Meyehualco, which he then sold at considerable mark up. By the time Gutiérrez died in 74 1987, just one of his bank accounts contained the equivalent of US $80 million (Medina 2007:134-135). Known as the Rey de la Basura, “the King of Garbage,” Gutiérrez ruled the dump sites and the scavengers themselves as a kind of feudal lord. Among other forms of violence, whenever a young girl from the Santa Cruz Meyehualco community was getting married, Gutiérrrez had the right to take her virginity; he reportedly fathered over one hundred children (still falling short of his personal goal of two hundred). Yet he also built over five hundred homes for scavengers who showed him loyalty, paid for beach vacations for community members twice a year, gave out toys at Christmas, and created a playing field at the dump known as “Rafael Sports City”. Gutiérrez’s scavengers disguised themselves to participate in PRI rallies and parades, or engaged violently with opposing antigovernment demonstrators. His influence extended to the point where, at its peak, Gutiérrez controlled 14,000 tons of trash daily, which his 16,000 scavengers picked through for his profit. Gutierrez was even once elected to Congress. His reign came to an end suddenly, when he was shot and killed, reportedly by his wife’s design, while entertaining a lover one night (Castillo 1990; Williams 1987). Similar complexities of hierarchy and tangled social and political networks shape most of the world’s informal waste collection and recycling economies. Cairo’s current waste management system, for example, took shape in the early twentieth century, when a group of migrants arrived from the remote Dakhla oasis in Egypt’s Western Desert. These became known as wahiya, “people of the oasis.” Upon settling in Cairo, the wahiya began to pay building owners for the right to pick up garbage and charge fees for that service to the tenants. The wahiya collected trash, most of which was flammable, and burned it as fuel for street carts that sold ful, a staple dish of fried beans in Egypt. In the 1930s and 1940s, new waves of migrants from Upper Egypt arrived – Coptic 75 Christians who were able to raise pigs that consumed organic garbage. The Christians subcontracted refuse collection work from the Muslim wahiya, who evolved into middlemen, controlling access and fees. The Christians became known as the zabaleen, who did most of the actual sorting and hauling of trash, with additional income made by selling pork to tourist hotels. Without any governmental involvement, this system – the result of multiple historical, religious, and economic factors – developed into “arguably one of the world’s most efficient resource recovery systems” (Fahmi and Sutton 2006:820), with the zabaleen estimated to recycle 80% of the waste they collected (Hessler 2014). As contemporary issues of climate change bring waste to the forefront of global concerns, however, there is surprising and growing enthusiasm regarding the inclusion of waste pickers in municipal solid waste systems. For example, both the World Bank and the InterAmerican Development Bank have recently funded projects to support integrating waste pickers into formal sector recycling (Marello and Helwege 2014:1). Ironically, scavenging is becoming increasingly popular in the First World (though decidedly by choice, not necessity), evidenced by movements such as the San Francisco dump’s artist-in-residence program (Humes 2012:169-172; introduced in Chapter 1) and Indonesia’s burgeoning market for “trashion”, a portmanteau of trash and fashion that describes efforts to convert refuse, especially plastic waste, into a wearable, sellable products (Newman and Matan 2013:160). These and the more familiar, but no less complex, processes of cleaning and sorting recyclables, the production and consumption of “green” products, and interest in “upcycling” industrial materials into things of similar or greater value highlight the remarkable fluidity of perceptions of refuse and the elastic margins of socially acceptable waste management practices (see Chapter 2). 76 Conclusion In the past as in the present, garbage is a constant. Managing material and bodily wastes requires repeated, culturally and historically variable practices, as well as specific moral codes and forms of reason. As the examples provided in this chapter have shown, a long-term perspective on waste management practices can reveal changing norms of social and ethical behavior, economic fluctuations at local and regional scales, and instances of remarkable creativity and resilience encountered among the used-up, the dirty, the broken, and the (seemingly) obsolete. Many of the successful waste management strategies that had been employed by indigenous Mesoamericans prior to the arrival of Europeans were deeply rooted in ambivalent understandings about waste. That is, human excreta and material refuse were meaningful and symbolically charged in ways that embraced both negative and positive qualities. Waste was a resource that could be employed for material and immaterial purposes. The colonial project of conversion, however, targeted many of the underlying principles of Mesoamerican thought. Redefining concepts of good and bad in terms of cleanliness and filth, the Christians that arrived in the New World could not help but affect both the spiritual and physical worlds of their native converts, which were not as clearly separated as in the European mindset (Astor-Aguilera 2009). Trash, dirt and disorder became one of many realms of colonial contestation that shaped the trajectory of Latin America. Moral associations with filth, heightened by concerns for social control, racism, and public health scares, became tied to (and justification for) social and economic hierarchies. Throughout this dissertation, practices of refuse disposal are positioned as active, engaged means by which humans define their relations with the world around them. Waste management often involves intimate bodily encounters and sensory experiences 77 that are shaped by socially determined values and habits. Trash’s transient nature (see Chapter 2), however, creates a conceptual category that is particularly open to reinterpretation and reinvention. The pepenador rooting through and reselling plastic or scrap metal and the fashionable steampunk “employ[ing] that which was prior to construct their fantastic costumes, contraption, and stories from whatever scraps of the past that they feel are worth salvaging” (Barber and Hale 2013:166) are equally involved in the process of rethinking refuse, even if one is motivated by survival and the other by social trends. The myriad ways that trash may be categorized, perceived, discarded, and repurposed depending on its cultural and historical context, underscores the role played by refuse in shaping and providing a frame for the acceptable actions of members of societies past and present. 78 Figure 3.1. The annual Quema del Diablo in Guatemala, where household trash is burned in a ritual of symbolic purification. © Surizar (Flickr). 79 Figure 3.2. Tlazolteotl or Tlaelquani, Aztec "Goddess of Filth" and "Eater of Ordure" (Keber 1995:17v). 80 Figure 3.3. A priest, in the act of bloodletting, carries a bone perforator and incense bag marked with lumps of excrement (Keber 1995:21r). 81 Figure 3.4. Ixnextli, crying and blinded, holds a vessel filled with excrement, clearly labeled as mierda, "filth," in the Spanish gloss (Keber 1995:11r). 82 83 Figure 3.5. Map of Mexico City from 1785 (lower right corner), with inset showing a quemadero, or "incinerator," just beyond the city's boundaries. Original in the John Carter Brown Library Figure 3.6. Locations of major and minor dumps in Mexico City, ca. 1790. The outlined area of the city represents the traza (after Bailey Glasco 2010:Map 5.1). 84 Figure 3.7. Pepenadores (waste pickers) at the Milpillas garbage dump outside Cuernavaca, Mexico. Photo courtesy of Johan Sundgren, www.johansundren.se © 85 CHAPTER 4 SWEPT, PILED, AND PLACED: MAYA C ONCEPTS AND TREATMENTS OF TRASH In 1549, a young friar named Diego de Landa arrived in northern Mexico. Landa was both gifted and zealous: he became proficient in the Yukatek Mayan language to better translate and distribute the materials and messages of conversion and quickly rose in the religious hierarchy to become the provincial of the Franciscan order in Yucatan. Two of Landa’s acts – one infamous, the other lauded – define his impact on Maya history. In the first, known as his auto de fé of July 1562, Landa, according to his own claims, burned some 5,000 “idols” and twenty-seven hieroglyphic texts, which he clearly understood as “works of the devil” (Gates 1937:iii) despite his inability to read them. The second is the Relación de las cosas de Yucatán, long thought to have been written by Landa, in Spain, in defense of his inquisitional actions in Yucatán. Even though recent evidence suggests that the Relación available today only represents excerpts of a more complete, vast manuscript (Restall and Chuchiak 2002), the text chronicles the environment, people, and customs of the peninsula with a surprising sensitivity to the details of sixteenth-century Maya life. Landa’s manuscript, intended to demonstrate the pervasiveness of idolatry in New Spain and defend his harsh measures, provides descriptions of Maya social organization, economy, politics, and calendrical and religious systems, as well as insights into aspects of daily routines, agricultural practices, and interpersonal interactions. 86 In a section of the manuscript devoted to the count of the Yucatecan year and the characters of its days, Landa writes: The first day of Pop’, which is the first month of the Indians, was its New Year, a festival much celebrated among them, because it was general and of all; thus the whole people together celebrated the festival for all their idols. To do this with the greater solemnity, on this day they renewed all the service things they used, as plates, vases, benches, mats and old garments, and the mantles around the idols. They swept their houses, and threw the sweepings and all these old utensils outside the city on the rubbish heap, where no one dared touch them, whatever his need (Gates 1937:70). Like many of his passages, Landa’s description of New Year celebrations is a succinct recounting of his personal observations but also alludes to the broader contexts of those actions in the Maya world. Here, Landa hints at layered meanings afforded to everyday objects, including plates, vases, mats, and old garments, which had significance within colonial Maya cosmology and required specific interactions to maintain that framework. Moreover, old, broken, and discarded objects held onto meaning, even after being relinquished to distant waste heaps. Finally, Landa points to the role played by trash in simultaneously defining and enabling the behaviors required for the New Year ceremony, a clear example of refuse’s ability to frame appropriate and inappropriate actions. The passage, then, provides a specific case of the broader argument developed in the previous chapter: that what is considered refuse, the purposes it serves, and how it should be approached and managed are intimately bound to culture and history, as well as social and moral expectations. Moving toward a better understanding of what trash was and what it meant for the Maya relies on the incorporation of multiple sources of evidence. Lexical terms used to label refuse and its associations in Mayan languages, documented in colonial and modern dictionaries, provide rich insight into indigenous categories and connections. Ethnoarchaeological and archaeological case studies offer comparative models for 87 certain classifications of refuse and methods and locations of disposal. Finally, particular examples of broken, burned, dispersed or buried objects that display unusual characteristics (such as intentional breakage) or are found in unexpected locations (e.g., above-floor deposits in residential structures or accumulations placed in deep cave recesses) complicate contemporary dichotomies between rubbish and value, ritual and refuse. Combining these varied lines of evidence enables a reconsideration of Maya refuse, one that engages with broader Mesoamerican and Maya concepts of productive work and incorporates intentional deposition, even in the mundane realm of trash, into processes of place- and memory-making. Terms for Trash The common English term for discarded matter, “trash,” enters the language sometime during the mid-fourteenth century, borrowed from a Scandinavian source, perhaps Icelandic’s tros, “rubbish, leaves and twigs from a tree picked up and used for fuel,” Norwegian’s trask “trash, scraps,” or Swedish’s trasa “a rag, a tatter” (Skeat 1888:661). H. de B. Parsons, in his The Disposal of Municipal Refuse (1906:19), appears to be the first to apply the term to domestic refuse, differentiating between animal and vegetable matter as garbage and ashes, sewage, and rubbish as household trash. For Parsons, the offensive odor of rotting meat, fish heads, and banana peels, in addition to their high water content and their commercial value as hog feed, fertilizer, and marketable grease distinguished “garbage” from other kinds of refuse. Many later writers largely follow this distinction, particularly as food waste is often treated in distinctive ways by households and by municipalities, using garbage for food waste and rubbish, trash, or refuse for mixed waste (Strasser 1999:29). As described in the previous chapter, however, this distinction becomes less clear for pre-Industrial societies, where even 88 “discarded” organic matter often saw transformation, reuse, and reincorporation into daily life. Moreover, the colonial dictionaries used in this chapter generally gloss terms for trash using the Spanish word “basura/vasura,” which does not distinguish between organic and inorganic matter. Dictionaries of Mayan languages, dating to colonial and modern times, provide a window into how particular concepts, including trash and waster, were understood in more distant times. Thanks to the historical connections between Mayan languages, coherence and consistencies between entries and their glosses point to specific terms, meanings, and concepts that extend back in time, with Classic period equivalents or antecedents. Moreover, as most of the Classic period inscriptions record a now-lost version of the Ch’olti’an language branch (Houston et al. 2000), existing Mayan languages that are linguistically similar to this group are more likely to be relevant and reliable, to carry the same meaning back to the Classic period. The sources in Yukatek, however, are often widely divergent from the language of the lowland Classic period. And while widely shared concepts are more likely to have ancient roots, clusters of terms provide a sense of the nuances of Mayan languages and the ideas they express. As Houston and colleagues (2006:3) write of the process, however, “There is no foolproof method, only reasoned argument and serendipitous insight…later clusters of meaning, often more clearly stated than clues from the Classic, allow us to frame hypotheses and hone particular lines of reasoning.” Although an assortment of terms and phrases for types of waste and the suite of actions involved in its production, classification, and management can be found in Mayan-language dictionaries, few examples exist that are roughly equivalent in meaning to categorical terms like “trash,” “rubbish,” or “refuse” in English. Ch’orti’ offers sojk, “garbage, feed for animals, dried corn stalks and leaves” (Hull 2005:100; cf. bohk/p’ohk, 89 “wild vegetation pulled up, lean vines, trash [esp. of milpas]” in Wisdom 1950:588), while Ch’ol features tzukulel, “trash” (Hopkins et al. 2011:242), drawn from the root tzuk, meaning “old, worn out, ragged.” More variations can be found in Yukateko, including dzicit, “trash carried by water when it rains” (Bolles 2001:1799); taan zohol, “trash in general” (Bolles 2001:4911); and zohlil/zohol/zoholil, “trash, plant debris” (Bolles 2001:6639). Despite the relative rarity of terms for trash, most Mayan languages share a root that can be traced back to proto-Mayan, *tzaa or *ta, for human and nonhuman bodily waste (Kaufman 2003:293). In Ch’orti’, ta’ carries a broad meaning - anything that is left behind by the body, from flakes of dry skin to footprints to excrement (Wisdom n.d. [cited in Houston et al. 2006:15]). In Ch’ol, soyta’ refers to “intestines” (Sapper 1907:443), which may be related to the Chuj so’ for “nest,” coming from the Eastern Mayan root *sook, also for “nest” (Kaufman 2003:1476), making the term literally a “nest of his excrement” (Hopkins et al. 2011:207).). Moles and birthmarks are ta’juk, “insect excrement,” while the calf of the leg is ta’ok, the “excrement of the leg” and ta’il lak wut for “eye secretions” is literally translated as “excrement-our-eyes” (Becerra 1937:265, 270). As Stephen Houston (personal communication 2014) suggested, a “buzzard,” ta’jol (also xta’jol [Kaufman 1964:82]), is quite literally a “shit-head,” a pairing that is also found in the glyphic representations of Classic Maya texts. Figure 4.1 illustrates hieroglyphic depictions of buzzards, each with the syllabic preposition ti (sometimes read, perhaps, as a logographic ta’) attached to the forehead. Not only do vultures feed on the detritus of rotting carcasses, but they begin their eating at the body’s most vulnerable spots: notably, in this case, the anus and the eyes. Another glyph depicted in Figure 4.1 shows the ‘i bird in the act of pecking out the eyes of an animal, possibly a dog or a jaguar. The Motul dictionary of Colonial Yukateko (Barrera Vásquez 1980:748) 90 extends the term to include excreta while still inside the body as well, describing taa’ as “the tummy, belly, or gut where an animal’s manure is contained.” It encompasses other forms of excrescence as well, as in tak’in or ta’k’in, literally “excrement-sun,” for “gold” (Ciudad Real 1984:405r; Hopkins et al. 2011:213) and ta’‘ek’, “excrement-star” for a shooting star (Sapper 1907:453). Specific terms also exist for certain kinds of refuse, particularly agricultural debris. A Ch’orti’ word noted above, sojk, is not only used for garbage generally, but more specifically for “feed for animals” and “dried corn stalks and leaves” (Hull 2005:100). Ch’olti’ uses boos for “trash, garbage” but also more specifically for “small sticks that get thrown away” (Ringle n.d.). In Yukateko, sohol is glossed as “garbage in general,” but also defined as “tree leaves that die and fall dry to the floor, trash of straws and light things, litter, weightless straw, dry leaves” (Barrera Vasquez 198:420). Again in Yukateko, ku col/k’ukol is the name given to “the litter and other trash that is piled up around cleared fields” (Bolles 2001:3059), likely derived from k’ub-kol for “dedicate [a] milpa” (Houston, personal communication 2014; Hanks 1990:353). The close connection between the terms for dedicating an agricultural field and for clearing it of harvest remains underscores the importance of purification for the Maya, as in the examples of preparatory sweeping activities associated with religious ceremonies. It also demonstrates how those practices could involve settings and actors beyond ceremonial centers, extending into the daily life of other spheres of Maya society. These particular kinds of waste – bodily and agricultural – incorporate with each other and other words to connote different types of trash. For example, in Yukateko, taan zohol is literally “excrement-plant debris” but is glossed as “trash in general,” while taa miz, literally translates as “excrement-sweeping,” meaning “swept up trash” (Bolles 2001:4911). The phrase (ah) pul taan mis, also in Yukateko, is defined as “dump, person 91 [who throws out the trash],” but translated directly as “(he)-burn-excrement-sweeping” (Barrera Vásquez 1980:676) emphasizing the actions required for managing waste rather than classifications of the waste itself. Indeed, rather than the abstract, relational category connoted by English’s trash- related terms, most words for rubbish in Mayan languages are entwined with action. Things become trash when humans interact with and treat them as such – sweeping, piling up, scattering, or throwing away. The root for sweeping or cleaning, *mes/mis, extends back to proto-Mayan (Kaufman 2003:957) and can be seen spelled out phonetically in the Codex Madrid (111c; Figure 4.2), alongside gods holding brooms (Grube and Nahm 1990:22) is often incorporated into terms and phrases concerned with trash. In Yukateko, examples include ta’ mis “trash, trash from sweeping,” (ah) pul taa’ mis “dump, person [who throws out the trash]” (Barrera Vasquez 1980:523, 676), miz “trash in general,” taa miz “swept up trash,” u taa miz “the trash taken out by the broom when sweeping,” and mol taa miz “take away the trash” (Bolles 2001:4893). Other examples include mes, “fertilizer, trash, garbage, sweepings, sweeping” in K’iche’ (Christenson n.d.:74), mehs “trash, gleanings, sweepings” in Ch’orti’ (Wisdom 1950:525), and mez “sweepings, garbage that is swept, broom” in Pokom (Feldman 2000:251). Sweeping has other associations as well, in particular with the act of cleaning roads and paths, as in Yukateko’s miz be “clean the road by removing the plants,” miz beil “the part of the road that falls to each town to clean,” and kochol miz beyl/matan miz beil “the part of the road that each place is obligated to clean” (Bolles 2001:3676). In Ch’ol, misuntel is described as: part of a ceremony. It is said that when a man goes to be cured by a healer, the first thing the healer does is to lay hands on him to know the reason for his disease. When finished with this, the healer already knows if the sick man has fallen in the water or in the road, where his spirit stays. 92 Then the healer goes to the site where the man fell to call to his spirit. [The healer] goes by the road, sweeping with branches to bring back the spirit of the man that fell in the road (Aulie et al. 1999:73). Landa’s description of the Pop’ celebration and other passages from his Relación highlight sweeping as an important purification ritual. Not only were the houses swept and the sweepings discarded, but Landa also recounts how the patio or court of a house must be swept clean and scattered with fresh leaves, prior to and once again during the course of a child’s baptism (Gates 1937:44). Landa also describes how certain new year celebrations similarly required that the chiefs, priest, and men of the town assemble “having the road swept clean and prepared” or how “with the road all cleaned and dressed, they all proceeded together for their accustomed devotions” (Gates 1937:62, 64). In the Books of Chilam Balam and contemporary Tzotzil creation narratives, “sweeping the path” is often used as a repeated metaphor for ritual purification (Edmonson 1982:35-36, 100; Gossen 1993:420). In Ralph Roys’ Ethnobotany of the Maya (1931:220), a decoction of mizib can, or “broom shots,” used as a wash is prescribed as a treatment for certain skin diseases. Sweeping was powerfully associated with religious concepts and celebrations in other parts of Mesoamerica as well. In the Florentine Codex (Sahagún 1950-1982), another key ethnohistoric document recorded by a Franciscan friar, Bernardino de Sahagún lists the daily pre-dawn household sweeping by Aztec women in his catalog of native offerings, alongside bloodletting and temple sacrifice. Although sweeping was closely associated with women in the Mexica domestic context, priests are also shown sweeping in the Codex Mendoza. Aztec rulers maintained their pure condition with the aid of attendants who swept the road before them when they traveled. Gods swept as well: Quetzalcoatl swept the roads for the rain gods, while the patron deity of the Mexica, Huitzilopochtli, was conceived as his mother Coatlicue swept. Toci, also known as the 93 “Mother of the Gods,” was often depicted carrying a broom and shield. During her festival, known as Ochpaniztli or “Sweeping the Roads,” roads were indeed swept, as were houses, baths, and courtyards (Burkhart 1989:117-124; 1997:34). As Nikolai Grube and Werner Nahm (1990:22) note, the final pages of the Madrid Codex are devoted to the rites related to bees and apiculture, showing gods with brooms in their hands alongside the phrase (u) mis kab, “he cleans the bees.” The act of bee-cleaning has correlates in present-day rituals in Yucatan, now called santiguar, which are performed in order to prevent the bees from dangerous epidemics or the attack of xulab ants. As the bees are cleaned in santiguar, prayers are recited in which the verb mis describes the ritual performed. In addition to sweeping, trash could also be dropped, deposited, and scattered, as in choki, “abandon, throw down, throw away” in Ch’orti’ (Hull 2005:22) and chok “to throw, cast down” in Chol (Hopkins et al. 2011:42). Chok, “to cast, throw” (Houston and Stuart n.d.) exists in numerous Classic period texts as well, as the key term for describing the offertory throwing, scattering, or dispersal of incense. Refuse was also gathered together or piled up. An Eastern Mayan root, *mul is glossed as both “trash” and “group, pile up” (Kaufman 2003:171), while dzic cab or dzic cabtal in Yukateko is defined as “to bring together trash” (Bolles 2001:1792). Yukateko also features lob taa for “dung for manure, trash midden,” collections or concentrations of both organic and inorganic wastes (Bolles 2001:3297). In Ch’orti’, xich’i is glossed as “lay something out, lay out trash, spread out” (Hull 2005:114), while Yukateko provides xeexek as “discard for butchering offal, dirty place filled with scattered trash, dirty jumbled garbage” (Bolles 2001:6008). Closely related terms in Colonial Tzeltal (Robertson n.d.), including puc “for divide, break,” puccul/pucbil as “scattered,” pucu meaning “dust,” and zpucuquil for “trash,” point to a correlation between discard and dispersion. Such collections of trash 94 seem to have held negative meanings for the Maya, as in Landa’s description of the practices surrounding the Pop’ New Year or the Yukatekan term xekbancunzah, for “the place covered or blighted by pieces or fragments that are thrown there” (Pío Pérez 1877:391). Acts of breakage are both more commonly described in lexical sources and more complicated to analyze. Several roots occur in many Mayan languages, with differing connotations. For example, *k’as/q’as is given for “breaking” in Ch’ol and Tzeltal, but also has negative meanings, including “damage, worsen” in Yukateko, “ugly” in Mopan, and “bad” in Ch’orti’ (Kaufman 2003:142-143). A proto-Mayan root *q’aj connects “broken” in Q’anjob’al, Akateko, Popti’, K’iché and Kaqchikel to the act of harvesting, particularly maize, in proto-Cholan and Tzeltal (Kaufman 2003:863). Ch’ol similarly uses the same word, tuk’, for “cut or harvest fruit” and “smash to pieces.” Likewise, the terms top’, “to split, to break” and tojp’el “to be broken” in Ch’ol are associated with another meaning for tojp’el, “to give birth,” and top’o’lum for “plow, shovel, to break earth,” further pointing to a connections between breaking and agricultural renewal. Top has similar meanings in Colonial Tzeltal, defined as both “to open ripe fruit” and “to break, like water jars, etc.” (Robertson n.d.). Some languages also include specific terms for broken pieces of pottery, such as xejt’ in Ch’ol (Hopkins et al. 2011:275) or xamach in Yukatek (Bolles 2001:5978). Yukateko further includes xamachcunbil for “giving way, flattening, reducing something to a sherd or comal” and xamachcunzah or xamachcunzahaan for “that which has been reduced to a comal” (Bolles 2001:5978), suggesting a typical avenue for the continued reuse of broken pottery vessels as comales, the smooth, flat griddles used for cooking a variety of items over a hearth, but particularly for tortillas. Similarly, in Ch’olti’ (Ringle n.d.), semet is glossed as “ceramic sherd,” but also as “comal.” 95 Trash also has distinctive qualities in Mayan languages, particularly its smell. In K’iche’an proper, the root *xex refers to “trash” in Ch’orti’, but also to “having a bad taste” in K’iche’ and Kaqchikel (Kaufman 2003:1227). A variety of terms are available in Ch’orti’ to describe the particular nature of unpleasant sensations: ink’umaj for “bad smelling, smelling of spoiled milk;” insakin as “stinky, smelly;” insut’ for “sticky and slimy, pasty;” intak’tak’ for “sticky, gummy;” and intuj for “foul-smelling, stinky.” In Chol, ta’ chäb, for “wax, clay” (Becerra 1937:254, 256), literally translates as “excrement- earth.” In its Classic period glyphic rendering, the raw material for clay, earth, is marked by signs for its pungent smell – “a fertile night soil” (Houston 2014:20). Some roots and terms for offensive smells are explicitly tied to rotting meat or fruit (e.g., Bolles 2001:5438; Kaufman 2003:1228), perhaps pointing to a distinction between food waste and other forms of refuse. In Mexico, Louise Burkhart (1989:87-98) has drawn connections between the Nahua concept of pollution, tlazolli (discussed in Chapter 3), and both indigenous and colonial moral discourses. Actions that entailed contact with tlazolli, a contagious and contaminating force, were restricted or prohibited and tlazolli had to be managed through rituals of purification, such as bathing, sexual abstinence, and fasting. Physical and moral pollution were close, even overlapping concepts, existing in a metonymic relationship to one another in Nahua thought. Although the Maya do not seem to have a concept that is equivalent to tlazolli, there are indications of connections that exist between real-world filth and human immorality in Maya thought. In Ch’ol, kis is an adjective for “spoiled, rotten,” as in meat, as well as “flatulence” (Becerra 1937:256), while kisin is a noun meaning “shame, to be ashamed” (Starr 1902:99). Kisin is also the name given to the death god in Colonial sources and in one Classic period example, meaning “the flatulent one” (Closs 1986:233; 96 Houston and Taube 2000:276). The term tuw is glossed as “stinking,” but also as “evil- smelling” (Kaufman 1964: 636). In Yukateko, chab, glossed as “smell of filth and filth itself” and “sweat or bad smell of a woman” (Bolles 2001:885), is implicated in the phrase chabil than ti for “rebel, disobedient,” tying filth to inappropriate behavior. Terms connecting physical and moral corruption contrast with similar pairs for physical and moral purity: in Ch’ol, sujkun is the verb for “clean” (Becerra 1937:265) and sujm and sujmesan are glossed as “truth” and “to speak the truth,” respectively (Hopkins et al. 2011:208). In Yukateko, a variety of meanings are attributed to the term p’etaye’n, including “foul, dirty, dirtily” as well as “dishonest thing, indecent thing, abominable” and, in colonial usage, “excommunicated” (Pío Pérez 1877:297). In Colonial Tzeltal (Robertson n.d.), pungent odors are lexically related to utzlab, “bad,” as in utziy “to smell something” and utzbenin “smell in the air or striking the nose.” In her description of the pervasive character of tlazolli, Burkhart (1989:89) makes note of two phrases that Sahagún lists in a catalog of insults used by the common folk: tatapacuitlapol and txotxomacuicuitlapol, synonyms that she translates as “big old ragged worn-out piece of feces.” Although not as an insult, Yukateko includes the phrase mucucilon taan cohol luum, translated as “we are a sack of trash and dirt” (Bolles 2001:3740). Similar to the way in which the Nahua insults equate a human person with a ragged piece of feces, the Yukatekan phrase points to the transference of waste-related terms from descriptors of physical objects to metaphors for the human body and its character. An emphasis on proscriptions and rituals relating to purification among the Maya, as among the Nahua (Burkhart 1989:87), further underscores the relationship between physical and moral impurity. In addition to acts of sweeping, Landa notes that the native Yucatecans “bathe constantly” and makes reference to their “washing like the ermines” (Gates 1937:53, 56). Important calendrical celebrations often required 97 abnegation and cleansing of the body. During preparatory periods of sexual abstinence and fasting, the body would be covered with soot (Gates 1937:70), then washed or repainted in bright colors when its internal state could reflect its external cleanliness. Fasting was also a central preoccupation of the Classic Maya, connected not only to penitence, but to acts of creation and renewal (Houston et al. 2006:130). Bloodletting, fasting, abstinence, bathing, seating, processions, pilgrimages, sweeping and the Classic Maya practices of inducing vomiting and forcing evacuation by enemas, rectified derangements of order by making a person or community “whole” (Hanks 1990:364; Houston and Inomata 2009:35; Vogt 1993:179-189). The analogies between the Nahua and the Maya, as well as the longevity of particular practices from the Classic to the Colonial periods, suggest that the importance of physical and moral purity was related to what Alfredo López Austín (2001:269) has called the “hard nucleus” of Mesoamerican cosmovision, a complex of fundamental ideas integrated to form the core of a common body of thought, shared by multiple Mesoamerican peoples and quite resistant to historical change (see also Monaghan 2000:33-35). In particular, the connection between purification and acts of creation and renewal echo Davíd Carrasco’s (1990:19) argument that the religious traditions of Mesoamerican cultures were animated by three essential processes: worldmaking, worldcentering, and worldrenewing. Lexical terms for refuse in Mayan languages and the ways in which those become embedded in broader concepts, particular phrases, and interconnected dialogues provide a means of entry into indigenous categorizations of waste and rubbish. Waste serves as a powerful metaphor for the Maya, not only in the buzzard’s fecal head or the dirty sack of the human body, but in an understanding of morality that is closely tied to physical purity. Notions of refuse were intimately connected to the types of trash produced during everyday Maya life: agricultural matter and bodily excreta. Moreover, root words for 98 these two kinds of waste find their way into other Mayan terms and phrases for trash, as well as the acts that both deal with and define it, implicating people in the very existence of refuse. Acts of cleaning and purification required to manage waste incorporated multiple meanings and served purposes both practical and immaterial, often blurring the line between rubbish and ritual. This sense of action as offering was not restricted to sweeping up and discarding trash, however, but rather permeated most daily routines of Mesoamerican life. The “Work” of Deposition Among the Maya and other Mesoamerican peoples, ordinary tasks of everyday life provided a basic somatic and material vocabulary through which other kinds of behaviors and intentions could be understood. For example, Houston and colleagues (2006:225) have noted that descriptions of royal or palace work in Maya texts involved a perceived equivalence to the manual labor of peasants in the manuring and cultivation of agricultural fields. An expression read u-kabjiiy is found in Classic period texts in reference to rulers presiding over their territories, but its verbal root is related to working in cornfields, to cultivating or plowing after plants have been burned to prepare the surface or to spreading manure as fertilizer (Houston and Inomata 2009:145; Laughlin 1975:107; Stuart 2005). Hanks (1990:364) highlights the use of the Yucatec Mayan term meyah, glossed as “work,” as applying equally well to the shaman’s work in performing, the farmer’s in burning his fields, and the woman’s in cleaning the house. Among the Yukatek Maya, ritual practitioners are recognized by the simple and straightforward title of hmèen, or “doers” (Houston 2014:79). Sweeping and bathing, as discussed above, are particularly perceived as purifying acts, “work” necessary to the creation and maintenance of socially constructed spaces, whether temples or roads 99 (Burkhart 1977:33; Hanks 1990:364; Monaghan 2000:34). As John Monaghan (1998:48; 2000:25-26) describes, it is not clear that a discrete category of ritual action ever existed in Mesoamerica (see also Astor-Aguilera 2009). Rather than radically separating faith and practice, ritual and religion are construed as work in active terms in traditional Mesoamerican thought. Devereaux (1987:93-94) notes that among the modern Tzotzil Maya, the term for “work,” ‘abtel, can refer to ritual work, such as preparing food for a feast, as well as the routine requirements of subsistence practices. Monaghan (2000:32) similarly points out that, “instead of officiating at a rite, practicing a ritual, or performing a ceremony, officiants are [described as] ‘feeding’ or ‘straightening’ or ‘sweeping.’” As McAnany (2010:62) writes, “the quotidian events of everyday life – such as planting a field or building a house – present an occasion for ritual action … the performance, itself, far outweighed any body of religious orthodoxy in cultural importance.” This means that deposits of materials and objects, including those that appear fragmented or forgotten, may serve purposes other than, or in addition to, disposal. Even activities as mundane as refuse management might also accomplish alternative, metaphorical, or “ritual” work. In Ch’orti’ Mayan, the term for “deposit” is ch’ujb’anib’, a word with a root related to two other terms: ch’ujb’ar, “care, respect for something” and ch’ujb’en, for “hearth, fireplace (of three stones)” (Hull 2005:32). In Colonial Ch’olti’, “hearth” is glossed as chubentun, making use of the same root as well (Robertson et al. 2010:64). Connections between acts of deposition, acts of creation, and acts of caretaking (i.e., “feeding”) extend beyond language, however. The Maya domestic hearth, three simple, large stones set in a triangle to hold cooking pots as the quintessential cooking structure (Hanks 1990:329- 330), also served as the cosmological starting point in Maya belief (Freidel et al. 1993:66- 67; Taube 1998). Among contemporary Quiché speakers, this hearth of creation is 100 identified in a grouping of three stars – Alnitak, Saiph, and Rigel – hanging from Orion’s belt in the night sky: “… these three stars are said to be the three hearthstones of the typical Quiché fireplace, arranged to form a triangle, and the cloudy area they enclose is said to be the smoke from a fire” (Tedlock 1985:261; see also Stross 2006:585). As Karl Taube (1998:429-432) has shown, three-stone hearths are a crucial element both literally and symbolically in the creation of Maya houses (temples too, as houses for gods). As models of the cosmos, for which they serve as metaphors, the four corner posts of Maya houses represent directional trees supporting the heavens, while the three-stone hearth serves as the axis mundi from which the directions radiate (Taube 1994:659). The use of three stones as a metaphor for creation and centering extends back to the Late Preclassic period, evidenced by sets of three unshaped stones placed in lip-to-lip caches at Uaxactun and K’axob (McAnany 2010:110). In an example from Seibal, a site whose ancient name is labeled epigraphically as the three-stone place (Figure 4.3), an offering made in a radial stairway pyramid also embodies this connection between the formation of a hearth and the creation of a place. Stela 21 was found at the center of Structure A-3, atop floors with considerable evidence of burning. Directly below the monument were three jade boulders, each weighing between 6.25 and 10 pounds (Willey 1978). The boulders were arranged to constitute a hearth of green jade, creating the central three- stone place from which the temple’s stairways radiated outward to the four directions (Figure 4.4; Taube 1998:441). David Stuart (1998:417-418) has described “fire-entering” dedicatory rites among the Classic Maya, arguing that bringing fire into a new building creates a “hearth,” figuratively transforming a space into a home and investing it with heat and strength, vitality and soul. Stuart highlights the modern house-dedication rituals of Zinacantan (1998:393), ethnographically observed by Vogt (1969:461-465). These rituals provide 101 nourishment for the animus of the house (see also Monaghan 2000:30, Vogt 1993:52- 55), giving a structure a soul through the fire (in the form of candles) and food (liquor and chicken broth) brought into it and “fed” to its rafters, corners, and center. This “feeding” of structures, particularly the corner posts and roof, is a common feature of ceremonies associated with new houses in Mesoamerica. Very similar practices are also noted among modern communities in northern Yucatan (Redfield and Villas Rojas 1964:146-147) and among the Chol (Whittaker and Warkentin 1965:79-84). Stuart (1998:394) further draws attention to similar parallels in an Aztec ceremony called caltlacualiztli or “feeding the house” and in house dedication rites of the American Southwest, where items are placed under the four corners of a house and the roof is subsequently “fed.” Monaghan (2000:38) describes these broad Mesoamerican practices as “a covenant of mutual obligation, phrased in an alimentary idiom.” Similar themes of deposition as a creational, but also nourishing act can be found in the common practice of burying the bodies of ancestors beneath the floors of Maya residences. Similar to the “ensouling ceremonies” of house-dedication rituals, valuables (including ancestors) are placed in holes dug beneath houses (Harrison-Buck 2004). McAnany (2011:139-140) discusses long, complex chains of burial interment, alternating with structural renovations, at the site of K’axob. She argues that by allowing the dead to “sleep” beneath the living platforms of descendants and punctuate the construction of house histories, the Maya localized their ancestralizing practices in a strongly anchored form of place-making. The presence of both the material body and the immaterial animus of the deceased, merged physically and socially with the house, served as a kind of supra-ensoulment of the structure. This commitment to ancestor commemoration was therefore part of the survival and social reproduction of the memory community represented by the household. 102 In addition to feeding and caretaking, depositional acts can also serve as methods of payment or repayment. Drawing on the ethnographic work of Duncan Earle (1986) among the Quiché Maya of highland Guatemala, McAnany (2010:67) describes a juxtaposition between the Christian cosmology of original sin and the traditional Maya cosmology of “original debt.” Earle (1986:172) points to the K’iché Mayan term for “life,” k’aslem, as related to the root word k’as, for “debt” or “that which is borrowed” (as described above, k’as also has deep roots in connection to broken, and, in some languages, evil things). Earle argues that ancestors and deities, having done the work necessary to bring human beings into existence and having shared the material world with them, require a debt that must be repaid to the extent possible throughout a human lifetime. As one of Earle’s informants stated, “in death, a lifetime is paid back to the Mundo by the feeding of the body to it” (Earle 1986:163). Somewhat akin to the Nahua notion of tlazolli as a polluting force capable of contaminating those who come into contact with it, Monaghan (2000:33) describes how “everyday activities – eating and drinking, excavating house sites, tilling fields – require one to act in a way that violates bodily balance and annoys, disrupts, and offends the gods.” Frequent dialogues with deities, through daily practice and ritual, are required to constantly ameliorate this debt. Taube (1994:669-674) describes a type of sacrifice of offering among the Maya known as k’ex, meaning “substitute” or “exchange” in many Mayan languages. Contemporary accounts and ancient imagery attest to the importance of k’ex ceremonies performed at birth – often involving offerings or depositions of food, copal, animals, or the afterbirth. Among the Quiché in Guatemala, the afterbirth is carried in a bowl to a mountain cave and deposited there, while the Mixe of Oaxaca bury the afterbirth in a graveyard. As Taube (1994:671) writes, “as the new child is brought into the world, something must be given in return to the gods of death and the underworld to maintain equilibrium.” 103 The conceptual correlations between actions and offerings and work and ritual in Mesoamerican thought suggest that a variety of depositional behaviors, even those as mundane as refuse disposal, might serve both practical and more immaterial purposes. At a certain point, however, an issue raised in the previous chapter becomes hard to ignore: what of the materiality of waste? What actually happens to all that trash that is swept, scattered, burned, and piled up? A better understanding of Maya refuse requires not only an exploration of the ways it was described and conceptualized, but also the very real ways in which trash was dealt with: archaeological, ethnoarchaeological, and ethnographic studies of discard and disposal. Where the Garbage Goes Despite Rathje and Murphy’s (2001:10) claim that “archaeology is the discipline that tries to understand garbage, and to learn from that garbage something about ancient societies and ancient behaviors,” the particulars and peculiarities of many ancient deposits require the seemingly simple category of refuse to be defined in variety of ways (Needham and Spence 1997; Stanton et al. 2008). Appropriately, such definitions of what archaeological assemblages are and where they belong are largely generated at the household level, where daily strategies for managing mundane rubbish can reveal both practical concerns for saving time and energy (Hayden and Cannon 1983:154) and deep- rooted, implicit cultural norms (Hutson and Stanton 2007:127). Michael Schiffer’s (1972, 1976, 1983, 1985) influential work on formation processes, as well as its various reiterations, additions, and modifications over time highlights four major processes responsible for archaeological trash deposits (see also LaMotta and Schiffer 1999; Schiffer 1989). These processes occur at different times during the various stages of a given structure’s life history, while in use and after its abandonment. The first, primary 104 deposition, refers to objects that enter the archaeological record at the location of their use, either through the intentional discard of primary refuse or the accidental deposition of “loss refuse” (Schiffer 1996:76-79). Sweeping activities and durable floors, however, prevent most materials from entering the archaeological record in this way. Instead, most identifiable refuse deposits result from accumulation and secondary deposition— when artifacts are removed from an activity area and deposited at the margins of occupied spaces, in middens, or atop and within abandoned structures. Some broken or obsolete items may be retained as “provisional discard” – stored with the expectation that they might serve another purpose later on (Deal 1985:253-254, see below). Finally, de facto refuse deposition involves the abandonment of still usable objects within a structure. Assuming inhabitants will transport as much of their household assemblage as is economical, de facto refuse assemblages containing many portable, valuable, or usable objects are generally understood to indicate rapid, unplanned desertion, while those containing mainly large or broken objects are ascribed to slow, planned abandonment. As Sullivan (1978:201) has argued, however, viewing the processes through which archaeological sites are constructed as simply generating refuse types obscures the diversity of ways in which materials and surfaces may enter and re-enter the same or different contexts a number of different time and in a different order and excludes the accumulation of accidental refuse, items dropped inadvertently and therefore lacking the intentionality of refuse categories described by Schiffer, but incorporated into the archaeological record nonetheless. In lieu of bounded typologies of refuse, Sullivan focuses on “traces” (1978:194), alterations in the physical properties of an object (or the relations between objects) or a surface (or the relations between surfaces). Using the example of the disintegration of a generalized pueblo, Sullivan highlights the many different kinds of traces that can be produced in archaeological contexts: as roof beams 105 within rooms decay, they may drop onto underlying trash deposits, fracturing sherds and lithics to create additional fragments; when the roof gives way the materials discarded on activity surfaces, such as pots and hearths, may be thrown into new locations; sherds and lithic fragments on site surfaces may be thermally altered by passing fires; and, of course, abandoned objects may be spatially displaced by a variety of natural forces (1978:198). In their study of “prodigious” quantities of refuse recovered from Runnymede Bridge (Berkshire, England), Needham and Spence (1997:77) refined Schiffer’s categories into a broader conception of the movement and management of refuse, collectively referred to as the refuse-cycle (comparable to Schiffer’s [1996:66] “waste stream”). Needham and Spence (1997:79) also acknowledge that although spreads of refuse surviving on ancient landscape surfaces are often called “middens,” those designations often do not take into account the components or formation of assemblages, simply that a particular context is relatively rich in surviving refuse, either by comparison to others on the site to other sites. Identification of “middens,” then, assumes that the relative density of refuse recovered archaeologically is meaningful for interpretation. Life histories of objects are often mixed and complex, however, and assemblages can be transformed in various ways even after being deposited. To address issue of accumulation and post-depositional processes, Needham and Spence (1997:84- 85) further break down the broad category of secondary refuse at Runnymede Bridge into four distinct types of middens: (1) those serving economic functions as stock-piles of materials, including manure; (2) those created by the generation of waste due to particular activities, such as artifact production debris or shell middens; (3) those created in the maintenance of rubbish-free zones or route-ways for everyday routines and special activities; and, finally (4) refuse heaps that develop a particular symbolism, 106 perhaps assuming connotations of affluence or becoming marks of territorial dominance. They highlight intentionality as the crucial factor in understanding middening behavior, underscoring the importance of distinguishing between contexts offering direct evidence of specific, intended acts (regardless of the kind of intention) and material remains modified or totally diffused by incidental factors, whether natural or cultural. As Needham and Spence (1997:87) stress, the rigorous study of formation processes plays a vital part in the attempt to judge the intentional versus the inadvertent, as well as the results of their interactions. In Mesoamerica, major ethnoarchaeological projects undertaken in both highland and lowland areas provide analogues for examining the varied and particular formation processes that affect refuse disposal and the incorporation of trash deposits into the archaeological record. The Coxoh Archaeological Project (Deal 1998; Hayden and Cannon 1983, 1984), directed by Brian Hayden, collected data from about 150 households in highland Maya communities near the Mexico-Guatemala border between 1977 and 1979. A group of Canadian and American graduate students and 16 native translators observed, interviewed, and questioned villagers in three communities in Chiapas, near the border between Mexico and Guatemala: two Tzeltal-speaking (Chanal and Aguacatenango) and one Chul-speaking (San Mateo Ixtatan). These alpine villages, were characterized by one-room, dirt-floor houses and largely traditional agricultural, food preparation, and craft production techniques. Although many mass-produced commodities of industrial society were also well-incorporated into daily life, particularly in Aguacatenango, the villages were seen as a living context in which the team could decipher the types of waste typically produced at the individual household level, as well as how families managed that waste and where it would eventually end up. In the end, the combined results from the Coxoh Project created a typology of refuse, with categories 107 defined by the specific ways in which different kinds of rubbish were handled. Organic food scraps and other minor things that were harmless, with little value or hindrance potential, were considered “casual refuse.” “Clutter refuse,” on the other hand, described things that needed to be intentionally set out of the way of foot traffic, either because they maintained some value and needed to be stored for potential reuse or because they were worthless but bulky things that residents fully intended to get rid of, but had not yet found an opportunity to do so (Hayden and Cannon 1983:126-131). Potential reuses of such materials include domestic, gardening, animal husbandry, construction, crafts, and personal activities (Deal and Hagstrum 2000:Table 9.3). This “clutter refuse” could spend several weeks or months in a kind of transitional state as “provisional discard” (Deal 1983) – the greater the potential use value, the longer it was kept. Provisional discard was often placed along walls, in corners, or under beds inside the house or along walls, fences, or hedges or general areas for the disposal of household refuse outside, at times provisional discard areas and ultimate disposal locations for most refuse were one and the same, taking the form of pits or surface scatters. As such, provisional refuse could experience substantial displacement through further accidental breakage, weathering, the effects of children’s play behaviors, the effects of animal activities, and the retrieval of select pieces for which a use has been found. Provisional discard was often also left behind upon abandonment of a house lot. Tracing these types of trash within each household produced a plan of an idealized Maya residential compound, showing where specific kinds of rubbish generally did and did not accumulate (Figure 4.5). Not long after Hayden’s Coxoh Project, a separate group of American researchers examined similar themes in the area of the Sierra de los Tuxtlas, Veracruz, Mexico, focusing on households across villages surrounding Lake Catemaco (Arnold 1990; Killion 108 1987, 1990). The investigations in the Tuxtlas employed similar methods to the Coxoh Ethnoarchaeological Project, but also incorporated systematic surface collections of discarded items. Although the Tuxtlas lie beyond the limits of the Maya area, patterns of refuse disposal were similar, with house lots containing distinct zones of rubbish deposition. Killion’s (1990:201-202, Fig. 6) idealized model of a residential site from the study, which he called the House-Lot model, included four basic zones of daily life, collectively forming the solar, or house lot (Figure 4.6). The structural core refers to the household’s primary dwelling structures (sleeping, bathing, eating, and storage areas), while the clear area surrounding the core represents multiuse space that is regularly swept clean, usually daily (also known as the patio). An intermediate area of scattered rubbish and built-up middens then leads to the garden area, an area of residential horticulture, which provides a border to the house lot and is distinguished from nearby field agriculture. According to Allan Meyers (2012:123), house lots in northern Yucatán’s Puuc region also tend to conform to Killion’s model, despite the climatic and geographical variation between the two areas (Figure 4.7). Although the actual houses in Yucatan tend to lie closer to access routes and serve as gateways into the clear patio areas and the garden areas are more often small orchards than the maize and vegetables of the highland households, the general patterning of specific parts of the household compound that are kept clean for activities or allowed to accumulate mixed refuse materials extends throughout Mesoamerica. Variations in relative sizes of the common components of house lots reflects the types and intensity of activities conducted within and beyond the solar. Large patios, for example, tend to have more formalized refuse disposal patterns resulting from a need to maintain ample staging areas for extensive agricultural or other production activities (Arnold 1987, 1990; Santley and Hirth 1992:7). 109 The distinctive and predictable patterns of refuse management observed ethnographically among Maya house lots serve as aids to archaeologists in identifying and understanding the layout and organization of long-abandoned residences. Near the colonial town of Yaxcabá, in Yucatán, Rani Alexander (1999) investigated three distinct sites that had been abandoned during the Caste War of Yucatán in 1847. Alexander analyzed between 35-55 houses per site, mapping out and calculating the areas of patios and gardens, as well as gathering surface collections of artifacts within the house lots’ boundaries (Figure 4.8). Using the weight density of potsherds in various areas of the compounds and the average weight of potsherds within three-meter collection squares, Alexander confirmed the presence of relatively “clean” patio spaces within the Yaxcabá house lots. Patios featured both the smallest average sherd sizes and less ceramic density overall, which increased farther from the houses in the expected garden areas. That is, less rubbish accumulated in the patios and the trash that did accumulate was mostly micro-refuse, the minuscule bits and pieces easily trampled into the ground or incorporated into the patio surface by sweeping activities. Building on Alexander’s work, Allan Meyers (2012) employed similar size-sorting strategies in the study of refuse disposal at Hacienda Tabi, another colonial town in Yucatán. Meyers sought to not only identify the patio area within house lots, but also to test for the archaeological remnants of Killion’s (1990:201) intermediate area, the ring of debris separating the cleared region from the garden. Meyers combined the size- sorting methods relying on sherd size and ceramic density used by Alexander, but also undertook systematic soil chemistry tests for phosphorus to target the lasting signatures of organic rubbish, the type of trash swept from the patio to the edges of the intermediate area. Using specific sampling points within five-meter grids, Meyers calculated the average sherd weight, the density of ceramics, and the chemical enhancement of the soil 110 within each test pit. Superimposing the results on the mapped house lots revealed overlapping spikes in ceramic density, sherd size, and soil chemistry, outlining a neatly enclosed open area just beyond the house (Figures 4.9 and 4.10). The chemical signatures, in particular, also peaked inside small rubble enclosures attached to some of the larger houses in the study, enabling the identification of the small walled off areas as livestock pens (Meyers 2012:130). The house lots at Tabi also tended to conform to the patterns established between household size and refuse disposal: house lots with less space per resident had more concentrated trash dumps. The models derived from modern house lots also fit well in archaeological case studies at significantly older sites than those investigated by Alexander and Meyers. Scott Hutson and Travis Stanton (2007) investigated discard patterns in three house lots (known as ‘Aak, Balam, and Muuch) at the Classic Maya site of Chunchucmil in Yucatán, occupied primarily from AD 400-650/700, using the same methodologies later employed by Meyers at Hacienda Tabi. Average sherd size, ceramic density, and chemical signatures of phosphates and trace metals were evaluated using a sampling strategy within a five-meter grid across each of the three house lots. The analyses revealed dumps of large sherds along the edges of house lots, as well as dense clusters near the structural core of a few large objects that probably represent provisionally discarded items (Figure 4.11; Hutson and Stanton 2007:136). The finds reported by Hutson and Stanton, Meyers, and Alexander confirm the utility of house lot models generated by ethnographic observations in exploring household composition, production activities, and uses of space in archaeological case studies. The example from Chunchucmil attests to the remarkable longevity of the cultural practices and social behaviors associated with refuse disposal in the Maya area. In the case of Hacienda Tabi, however, Meyers also shows that the general organization 111 of the Maya house lot and the daily activities involved in managing the space within it are fairly resistant to the dramatic historical changes that have affected Central America. The house lots examined at Hacienda Tabi, which began as an eighteenth-century estancia (a landed estate for raising cattle) and transitioned to a sugar plantation in the nineteenth century, were part of a dedicated village for the plantation’s debt peons. The planned layout of the Tabi village, with the houses uniformly bordering gridded streets and plazas, contrasts with that of independent Maya towns in Yucatán (see Figure 4.12), which have a more organic appearance and allow houses to occupy variable positions within house lots. Even as conquest, colonization, and conversion altered the lives of indigenous populations in Latin America in far-reaching and substantive ways, cultural understandings about the appropriate organization of social and domestic spaces and specific techniques for managing wastes and mixed refuse persisted. Hutson and Stanton’s work, however, also complicates the use of formulaic models in understanding patterns in the archaeological record. Incorporating additional analyses of 61 house lots excavated by the Chunchucmil Archaeological Project showed that the densest trash deposits occurred on the western sides of the house lots 63% of the time (Huston and Stanton 2007:139). Typically practical considerations such as prevailing winds, house locations, and objects’ hindrance potential do not explain this trend. Practical logic, “an economizing logic in which utility determines custom and convention” (Hutson and Stanton 2007:123) is therefore not the only consideration at work in patterned discard. Instead, Hutson and Stanton (2007:123) argue that disposing of trash in sanctioned locations reflects a cultural logic: a particular way to satisfy basic biological needs that is not necessarily the best from an economic standpoint, but still serves a rational purpose from within a cultural, cosmological order. Cultural logics need not be understood in opposition to practical logics. Instead, history and culture 112 determine what is considered valuable, which actors then attempt to maximize through rational, practical strategies, even if those might seem impractical or wasteful in terms of time, energy, and resources. In the case of the western trash dumps at Chunchucmil, Hutson and Stanton (2007:140) highlight negative and proscribed meanings associated with both broken potsherds and the west, which the ancient Maya see as a place of death and decay, to suggest that the western sides of house lots were seen as not only fitting, but practical, locations for the deposition of dangerously powerful materials. Dumping trash to the west therefore represents more than odd or fanciful behavior, explicable only in terms of a seemingly abstract cosmology, but rather as part of the practical work of maintaining and contributing to the well-being of the inhabitants of the house lot. Refuse or Ritual? Hutson and Stanton caution that models drawn from ethnographic studies of modern house lots emphasize practicality and efficiency in the production, discard, and deposition of refuse materials in domestic contexts, perhaps overlooking other potentially meaningful behaviors. William Walker (1995a:67) has raised a similar point, arguing that typologies of formation processes tend to conflate all behaviors that move objects from contexts of use into the archaeological record. Rather, distinct types of “special” refuse deposits can result from particular ritual actions, which Walker (1995a:96-101, 1995b:75-76) terms “sacrificial offerings,” “kratophanous deposits,” and “ceremonial trash.” In Walker’s scheme, sacrificial offerings are those in which whole, still functioning objects are taken from their ordinary context and placed in archaeological deposits. Kratophanous deposits represent the intentional destruction or termination of powerful ritual objects and their disposal in specialized contexts. Finally, ceremonial trash refers to discarding singularized objects that have reached the end of 113 their useful lives and can no longer perform their function nor be reused or returned to the processes of manufacture. Yosef Garfinkel (1994) similarly views the ritual burial of cultic objects in the Neolithic and Chalcolithic of the Near East as the solution to the theological problem of how to treat ritual and sacred objects after they grow old, wear out, and become unsuitable for ritual practices. Particularly in New World contexts, Walker’s distinctions among varied depositional behaviors have enabled both new approaches to and reevaluations of complex archaeological deposits, including examples originally considered to represent offerings and later reinterpreted more specifically as kratophonous deposits or ceremonial trash (e.g., Blomster 1998; Creel and Anyon 2003; Kunen et al. 2002; Maxwell 2000; Mills 2004). Megan O’Neil (2009:124), for example, interprets the ritual burial of lumps of pine charcoal (one of which weighed five pounds) and fragments that may have been part of Stela 26 in Room 2 of Str. 5D-34-1st at Tikal (Coe 1990:498-499) as an example of ceremonial trash. The monument fragments were found deposited within a masonry altar, constructed around a larger surviving fragment of the same stela, while the charcoal was cached in the floor just in front of the stela and altar. According to O’Neil, the charcoal from wood burnt during offerings made within the sanctuary and the stone fragments, bearing little details of their once monumental message, were no longer functional, but neither were they ordinary trash. There are two key problems in both Garfinkel’s and Walker’s formulation of this particular kind of deposition, however. The first is that it separates burial from ritual acts, assuming that the interment of objects occurs only after they have served ritual functions. This argument does not allow for the burial process to be part of a larger sequence of ritual behavior (with other events occurring before and after as part of the same act) or as a particular kind of ritual act in itself. As Stephen Houston (personal communication 2014) has noted, the weighty lumps of pine charcoal from Tikal could 114 very well be the remnants of a scaffold structure, commonly constructed and used in ancient Maya rituals related to both agricultural renewal and royal accession (Taube 1988), which was burned and buried during sequential, perhaps preparatory, stages in the overall process of erecting Stela 26 within the altar and establishing Room 3 as a shrine (though see Taube and Houston [in press] for the suggestion that royal scaffolds may have been constructed from bamboo). The second issue is that it neglects an object’s ability to move from one category to another within the continua from the sacred to the profane (David et al. 1988). Linda Brown (2004; Brown and Emery 2008), for example, has documented examples of contemporary K’iche’ Maya shrines in the Guatemalan highlands, as well as an archaeological correlate from the Cerén site in El Salvador (Brown 2000), where practitioners imbue everyday or even previously discarded materials and ordinary places with ritual significance. Choices regarding different types of materials used as offerings, alterations in the physical conditions of an offering during deposition, and locations where offerings are deposited allow the meanings of limited material resources and otherwise utilitarian items to be transformed (Brown 2004:31). Broken and buried objects may also represent items that have been deliberately “killed” prior to deposition. At times, objects are broken to deactivate the forces responsible for animating them. At others, the breakage is part of more complex mortuary rituals, enabling the “dead” objects to accompany their deceased owner into the grave. In some cases, breakage may be small, as in the case of the well known “kill holes” noted in pottery from the Southern United States (Fewkes 1914), Mesoamerica (Stross 1998:37), Egypt, Sudan, and Roman Britain, among others (see Grinsell 1961: 378, 1973:112). Similarly, David Maxwell (2000:93) has observed that, among the assemblage of stingray spines from caches and other deposits at Tikal, the majority 115 consist of fragmentary spines, intentionally broken or “sacrificed” following their ritual use. Intentionally broken pottery is also often found placed within cave contexts (e.g., Moyes 2005:276; Rissolo 2005). A particularly clear example of intentional breakage is shown in Figure 4.13, which depicts a Late Classic polychrome tripod plate with the entire rim chipped off, but otherwise found complete and in isolation in the Chiquibul Chamber of the Actun Kabal cave in Belize (Stone 2005:253). As Evon Vogt (1993:23) observed in the Tzotzil Maya village of Zinacantan, “killed” objects may also experience dramatic deaths: clothes and objects associated with a dead person may be cut, burned, or broken before being included among the grave furniture of the deceased. They may be smashed violently, anthropomorphic or zoomorphic figures may be decapitated or have their eyes or mouths mutilated, or the corner posts and roofs of houses may be pulled down (Stross 2006). Deliberate breakage and dispersal of objects may also serve to disperse their meaning throughout a settlement and beyond. John Chapman (2000a:26) describes this process using a case study of Japanese Middle Jomon figurines from the almost totally excavated Shakado complex (Bausch 1994). In the largest known sample of these figurines yet excavated, analysis revealed that only one figurine was found complete and only fifteen refits of fragments could be made. Moreover, two leg fragments were refit from separate settlements, located 230m apart. The wide dispersal of the assemblage was interpreted as an intentional breaking and exchange of the objects in order to disperse their symbolic meaning (i.e., fertility) through deposition. The Maya area offers a complementary example in a hieroglyphic stairway most likely carved at the site of Caracol. The stairway, which details its defeat over the city of Naranjo, was later cut up and moved to Naranjo when that city subsequently conquered Caracol. Those at Naranjo then reset the text in their ceremonial center in an incomplete form, including an 116 additional isolated panel from Caracol that was not originally part of the stairway, making a mockery of the text. However, at least one fragment was left at Caracol and another was transported to the polity of Ucanal, 33 km away (Martin and Grube 2008:73, 92). As an object, the stairway was partitioned and placed in multiple city centers, dispersing the meaning not of its text, but allowing the message conveyed by the act of fragmentation to be expressed in multiple locations, with variably positive or negative meanings depending on its audience. In the Maya area, “problematical” deposits refer to ubiquitous, yet ambiguous, phenomena well known to archaeologists. Originally defined as such by the University of Pennsylvania Tikal Project (Iglesias Ponce de León 1988:27), problematical deposits are complex, midden-like accumulations of fragmented materials, which are found primarily in elite contexts and associated with architectural destruction and intensive burning (Mock 1998; Stanton et al. 2008:228, 242). Although these deposits share many of the material and spatial patterns associated with primary or de facto refuse (see Schiffer 1976), other qualities, contents, or contexts of recovery complicate straightforward conclusions as to their nature. Problematical deposits often include combinations of artifacts suggestive of refuse (e.g., unworked animal remains, crafting debitage, and eroded potsherds) with evidence characteristic of ritual behavior (e.g., intensive burning, destruction of single-use pottery vessels, and the inclusion of carefully worked or valuable materials). Problematical deposits are often associated with termination events, ritualized acts and offerings that occur at the end of a structure’s period of use. Dedicatory offerings, the complementary and oppositional pair to termination rituals, precede or take place during the construction of buildings, ensouling or animating structures (Mock 1998:10; Stuart 1998:395-396). Termination rituals then release the animating forces 117 accumulated by the building throughout its use-life, “killing” architecture in much the same way as the intentionally broken objects discussed above, often involving burning, defacement, or destruction of the structure (e.g., Ambrosino et al. 2003; Brown and Garber 2003; Freidel et al. 1998, 2003; Just 2005; Mesick 2006; Mock 1998; Navarro- Farr 2009; Pagliaro et al. 2003; Stanton et al. 2008). While evidence drawn from archaeology, ethnohistory, and ethnography (e.g., Mock 1998) affirms certain characteristics common to many ritual termination and/or problematical deposits (Pagliaro et al. 2003:80), they form a not uncommon type of archaeological find that is at once distinct and poorly defined. Deposits sharing these characteristics have been variably described in scholarly literature as “terminal offerings” (Coe 1959:94-95), “destructive event deposits” (Houk 2000), “transposed ritual middens” (Garber et al. 1998), “de facto refuse” (Chase and Chase 2003; Chase and Chase 2004), “violent terminal events” (Andrews and Fash 1992:86), “unusual accumulations” (Nalda and Balanzario 2011), “desecratory termination ritual deposits” (Brown and Garber 2003; Pagliaro et al. 2003; Stanton and Brown 2003; Stanton and Gallareta Negrón 2001; Stanton et al. 2008), “termination deposits” (Ambrosino 2007; Brown 2003; Duncan 2005; Garber 1983; Inomata 2003; Navarro-Farr 2009), “squatters” refuse (Pendergast 1979, 1998; Thompson 1954), or simply “domestic refuse” or “middens” (Culbert 1973, 1988; Harrison 2000). Although the term “problematical deposit” is restricted in its use to the Maya area, similar assemblages of objects that appear to be intentionally broken and deposited in connection to ritual, are known in temporally and geographically distant cases. At the site of Kavos on Keros in the Aegean Sea, a “special deposit” known as the “Keros Hoard” refers to two major areas of ritual deposition on the island of Dhaskalio, including artifacts such as broken pottery, fragmented marble vessels, and shattered marble 118 figurines (Papamichelakis and Renfrew 2010: 181). Although the Keros Hoard was first discovered in 1963 due to looting activities, recent research by the Cambridge Keros Project from 2006 to 2008 revealed previously undisturbed areas of the deposit (including more than 550 figurine fragments and 2300 pieces of marble bowls and vessels). The latter excavations showed that these vast quantities of broken pottery, shattered marble bowls and vessels, and fragmented Early Cycladic figurines were deliberately broken during ritual acts and intentionally deposited. Intriguingly, these products of ritual deposition ere not broken locally at Kavos, but elsewhere (presumably on other Cycladic islands) and brought to Keros for ritual disposal (Renfrew et al. 2012:145). Another useful analogous case to the problematical deposits of the New World are the pit clusters found in Old World contexts (e.g., Chapman 2000b; Harding 2006; Pearce 2008), filled with “a range of deposited artefacts which would seem to be out of character for everyday household waste” (Thomas 1999:66). What Maya archaeologists would call “problematical,” however, are instead often interpreted as examples of “structured deposition” (Richards and Thomas 1984:215). The concept of structured deposition proposed by Richards and Thomas and further developed by Hill (1995:73-75, 95-96), considers the majority of archaeological material culture found in pits to represent the result of deliberate deposition, rather than simple, straightforward rubbish. Although not often applied to the ancient Maya case (though see Joyce 2008; Hutson and Stanton 2007:127; and Lucero 2010 for exceptions), considering deposits as “structured” rather than “problematical” re-incorporates the complex category of termination rituals into broader practices. Rather than separating ritual actions from mundane rubbish disposal, viewing complicated deposits as a particular form of deposition emphasizes their inherent structure, as well as that of refuse deposits and 119 other types of archaeological assemblages (Pollard 2008:43). It also serves as a reminder that objects out of sight were not necessarily out of mind. As Chapman (2000a:5) states, “‘rubbish’ is no more dead than the newly deceased are dead but, like the ancestors into whom the newly dead are transformed, objects that are deposited continue to hold a certain significance for the living.” This is particularly true in the case of the ancient Maya, where such objects might also hold significance for the gods, supernaturals, and ancestors who formed as much a part of society as living individuals (Houston and Inomata 2009:193; McAnany 1994). It is also important, however, to note the possibility of unintentional, yet still symbolically meaningful, patterning of material culture (Garrow 2012a:109; Hutson and Stanton 2007:139-40). Examining the specific depositional processes involved in the formation of problematical or termination deposits offers a means of not only better understanding these complex residues of past human behavior, but also to question categorical separations among ancient acts of discard, deposition, and burial. How do termination rituals relate to other acts of structured deposition, namely refuse disposal? Are there regional and temporal patterns to these ritual acts and their resulting deposits? Moreover, these lines of inquiry shift the focus of analysis from archaeological deposits to the human actions responsible for them, highlighting intentionality and the meaningful relationships human actions engender with objects and places. Chapters 5 and 7 deal more explicitly with those particulars, comparing the contents and contexts of termination rituals and problematical deposits from multiple Maya sites (Chapter 5) and employing detailed artifact analyses to reconstruct human actions responsible for the formation of a single case study from El Zotz, Guatemala (Chapter 7). 120 Conclusion These perspectives encourage a view of the rites and practices surrounding deposition, whether refuse- or ritual-related, as merely one set of activities by which the Maya created and maintained the conditions of their existence (Monaghan 1998:50). Dedicatory offerings, termination deposits, and even discarded rubbish all become productive acts in Maya thought: conscious and deliberate human interactions with material objects that serve distinct purposes and perform necessary creative, destructive, commemorative, or reciprocal “work.” This recalls the discussion from the previous chapter concerning the notion of disposal as an exercise in the deliberate, discretionary making of places (Munro 2013). The work accomplished through deposition, disposal, and burial is not limited to the execution or the completion of these acts, but continues long after the moment of discard or interment. The following chapter takes a closer look at the intentional choices made during acts of deposition and/or disposal: the materials and conditions of objects interred and the spaces where they are found. Such decisions anchor the ongoing generative and dynamic “work” of deposition in specific objects and locations, providing material cues to incite, express, or remember the broader purposes they serve. 121 Figure 4.1. Depictions of vultures or buzzards in Mayan writing. The syllabic preposition ti, attached to the forehead of the birds in (a) and (b), may have also been read as the logograph TA. The birds in (c) and (d), possible vultures or other kinds of buzzards or crow-like creatures, are shown pecking the eyes out of animals or other full-figured glyphs. Drawings by Matthew G. Looper (Macri and Looper 2003:99-100). 122 Figure 4.2. The verb mis, "to sweep," in the Madrid Codex, highlighted in red (after Grube and Nahm 1990:Fig. 9). 123 Figure 4.3. The Emblem Glyph for the Maya site of Seibal, labeled epigraphically with three hearthstones. Drawing © John Montgomery. 124 125 Figure 4.4. Profile of Structure A-3 at Seibal, showing the location of Cache 1 (below Stela 21), which included jade boulders arranged to form a three-stone hearth. Drawing by A. Ledyard Smith (Smith 1982:Fig. 18) Figure 4.5. Idealized Maya house lot, showing locations of refuse accumulation (Hayden and Cannon 1983:Fig. 5). 126 127 Figure 4.6. Idealized Maya solar or house lot, showing four basic zones of daily life (Killion 1990:Fig. 6). Figure 4.7. Idealized Maya house lot model in Yucatan's Puuc Region (Meyers 2012:Fig. 7.1). 128 Figure 4.8. House lot K from Cacalchen, an independent rancho in the Yaxcaba parish of Yucatan, Mexico (Alexander 1999:Fig. 6.2). 129 Figure 4.9. Soil chemistry, ceramic density, and average sherd size superimposed on House 7-2 from Hacienda Tabi reveal a clear space, the house's backyard patio (Meyers 2012:Fig. 7.4). 130 Figure 4.10. Soil chemistry and ceramic density superimposed on House 10-4 from Hacienda Tabi reveal the house's backyard patio (Meyers 2012:Fig. 7.5). 131 Figure 4.11. Maps of sherd density (a) and average sherd size (b) in the 'Aak and Muuch house lots at Chunchucmil (Hutson and Stanton 2007:Fig. 5). 132 133 Figure 4.12. Comparison of Hacienda Tabi's regular, planned layout (a) with Chan Kom (b), an independent Maya town (Meyers 2012:Figs. 5.4 and 5.5). Figure 4.13. A Late Classic polychrome plate with the rim intentionally chipped off, found in isolation in the Chiquibul Chamber of the Actun Kabal Cave, Belize (Stone 2005:253). 134 CHAPTER 5 SMASHING AND TRASHING : TERMINATION RITUALS AND “PROBLEMATICAL” DEPOSITS “…I realized how immortal ritual is. I realized (what is the origin and essence of all ritual) that in the presence of those sacred riddles about which we can say nothing it is more decent merely to do something. And I realized that ritual will always mean throwing away something; destroying our corn or wine on the altar of our gods” (Chesterton 1920:23). The previous chapter discussed the conceptual conflation of ordinary tasks and ritual acts in traditional Mesoamerican thought, exploring the “work” accomplished by acts of deposition and disposal. In addition to blurring the dichotomy between the sacred and the profane, this perspective shifts analytical focus from ritual as a specific type of action to ritual as a mode of interaction, emphasizing the variable and creative ways that humans relate to and interact with non-human entities (e.g., Brown 2000; Brown and Emery 2008; Brown and Walker 2008). As Morehart and Butler (2010:591-592) describe, “[n]otions of the sacred are not unchanging grafts necessarily imposed on a changing world through ritual.” Rather, practitioners use their own creativity to move beyond static reproductions or simply meeting the criteria of particular rituals, allowing them to interact with the sacred in ways that differ but are not entirely different from those of their forebears. Hanks (1984:154) explains this situated variability within modern Yucatec ritual as a balancing act between what is normative and what is particular, a tension that is never fully resolved, but instead constantly rearticulated. This negotiation is essential to the nature of the ritual itself, which is always “saturated with the biographical particulars of the performer” (Hanks 1984:152). Linda Brown 135 (2004:34), observing contemporary K’iche’ ceremonies in highland Guatemala, further highlights the importance of material objects in enabling practitioners to actively create the desired result and functions of specific rituals. She points to three key aspects affecting the desired outcome of specific rites: (1) the types of materials used as offerings; (2) the ways an offering is deposited; and (3) the location chosen for the deposit. As Brown’s attention to the choices made concerning offerings, depositional style, and a deposit’s location suggests, this inherent flexibility is reflected in the variations observed in material remains and tangible results of ritual practice as well, the residues that become archaeological assemblages over time. Marshall Becker (1993) has discussed this variation in detail with respect to burials and caches, viewing the two as specific, related examples within the more generalized category of “earth offerings.” He provides an illustrative analogy drawn from Gustave Flaubert, in which the protagonists of Bouvard et Péchuchet have difficulty identifying which of the four major cloud formations they are watching, as “the shapes altered before they had found the names” (Mrosovsky 1980:37). All have no trouble agreeing, however, that the things they are watching are indeed “clouds.” Variation in the material correlates of ritual and the archaeological assemblages formed is similar. Although they can be inconsistent with respect to their contents, context, and condition, they may represent efforts to accomplish a singular kind of ritual work, their differences the result of choices made and specific ideas of how particular goals should be achieved. Attention to such differences, then, not only examines the details and extent of variability, but can also reveal shared underlying tenets. The often-ambiguous termination and “problematical” deposits introduced in the previous chapter also make manifest questions concerning the ways that shared immaterial goals may be achieved through differing interactions with the material world. 136 Although the criteria by which deposits are classified as problematical or termination- related are poorly defined, the fact that archaeologists find themselves employing these categories to describe their finds (or slight variations of them, as will be seen below) points to broadly linked practices and purposes. Despite key differences in artifact assemblages, locations of recovery, and the condition of associated objects, these deposits bear a kind of family resemblance: a connection that is immediately recognizable, if not easily describable. The problem, however, is that analysis often begins and ends with these vague impressions of similarity. Commonly used terms like “termination” or “problematical” can be helpful in conveying the ubiquity of certain practices or relating specific finds, but they can also mask many of the distinctive nuances of ancient Maya depositional behaviors. Moreover, these broad and ill-defined categories run the risk of serving as interpretive ends in themselves, rather than analytical aids to further understanding (see Brudenell and Cooper 2008; Garrow 2012). This is evident in the widely varying degrees to which published descriptions of problematical or termination-related assemblages provide details of the types and quantities of artifacts found, their locations of recovery, or the extent of associated architectural destruction, breakage, or burning. Lisa Lucero (2010:149), for example, provides a succinct, but informative description of a deposit from a commoner residence at Saturday Creek, Belize. She writes: In a termination event dating to c. AD 700-900 northeast of the mound center, the Maya placed three layers (1-4 cm thick) of upright smashed and burned rimless Cayo Unslipped jars, one stacked on top of the other (stratum 102), as well as a complete but smashed Sotero Red Brown bowl encased in 196 red and orange body sherds to the south … The bowl is complete, the jars rimless. Lucero’s deposit from Saturday Creek is of a notably manageable size in comparison to other examples, such as those known from Blue Creek, Belize or El Perú-Waka’, Guatemala, each with upwards of 20,000 sherds recovered (see below). Yet the details 137 she chooses to provide are key elements to understanding some of the specific events responsible for the deposit’s formation. The three rimless jars, stacked one atop the other in an already-smashed state, reveal a set sequence to the ritual acts: breakage before burial. The juxtaposition of the unburned, complete bowl with the burned, rimless jars is intriguing and an observation that implies careful refitting of the smashed sherds from both bowl and jars. Finally, Lucero provides specific quantitative counts of the fragmented sherds surrounding the complete and semi-complete vessels, giving a sense of the density of the concentration and the scale of the deposit. More often, however, detailed discussions of problematical deposits and termination rituals, especially those that are more extensive or more intensively excavated, are the purview of theses and dissertations, where each artifact class is discussed individually, in separate chapters, sub-headings, or appendices (e.g., Ambrosino 2007; Craig 2009; Navarro Farr 2009). This standard practice provides a wealth of information regarding the specific ceramic type-varieties present in deposits, relative proportions of materials (such as chert, obsidian, and jade) and identifications and tallies of human and faunal skeletal elements present. These data are valuable for comparative and chronological purposes; I have followed the same general format in the appendices included at the end of this dissertation. Evidence from objects separated based on archaeological typologies, however, is rarely compared across multiple artifact classes or evaluated at the scale of the whole assemblage. This tends to obscure potential relationships among different kinds of objects, the intentional placement of artifacts, and variations in the depositional histories of items within a single deposit. Rather than considering assemblages as wholes and examining the intentions behind chosen material arrangements and combinations, this “exploded excavation” (Jones 2002:42-43) 138 artificially divides complex deposits, emphasizing their constituent parts over the interred whole. In this chapter, I focus on the variability represented by the often-ambiguously classified termination and problematical deposits: differences in the categories, conditions, and origins of objects interred, the human acts and persons responsible for deposition, the locations for placement, and the intentions or motivations for such behaviors. Compiling examples from across the Maya area, I look at the development of termination as a particular category of ancient behavior, as well as how archaeological recognition of associated deposits has proliferated over time. I also ask whether this represents a consequence of increased excavation efforts or simply the uptake of analytical or interpretive trends. I begin with the deposits at Piedras Negras for which William Coe (1959:94-95) coined the phrase “terminal offering” and the major archaeological projects at Tikal, Cerros, and Yaxuná, where the related concepts of problematical deposits and termination rituals were defined. I then draw on particular examples of archaeological assemblages that have been designated as termination- related deposits and contrast those with similar finds where archaeologists have resisted employing terms like “problematical” or “termination,” highlighting the variation encompassed beneath these umbrella terms. Although the examples included here are not exhaustive, they are illustrative. This review shows that focusing analytical attention on specific criteria required for the identification of deposits as fitting one categorical type or another is not only limiting, but often impossible due simply to the material and spatial variations intrinsic to Maya ritual practice. Examinations of special or seemingly anomalous deposits, then, should focus on how and why certain materials were assembled in particular locations: the specific histories of objects, places, and people involved in their formation, including, but certainly not limited to, termination events. 139 Bundles and Burials: “Whole” Maya Offerings A focus on individual items based on raw material, form, or function stands in contrast to well-known examples of offerings from Mesoamerica that emphasize a notion of “completeness.” Among the Maya, intact burials provide insight into this concept. From royal tombs to simple cists or interments in household floors, burials typically include a standard combination of ceramic vessels: a drinking vase or cup and bowl for serving and storing liquids and a plate for serving food (Welsh 1988; but cf. Fitzsimmons 2009: 85 for examples of interments containing few-to-no ceramic vessels). This established set of offerings reflects an elemental dyad of bread (tamales) and drink (water or chocolate) in Classic Maya cuisine (Houston et al. 2006:108), necessary in death as in life. At El Zotz, two Late Classic, non-elite burials from the satellite group of Las Palmitas (Carter and Gutiérrez 2011:89) and the Acropolis (Marroquín et al. 2011:17) included only this normative triad as offerings. The same pattern is maintained, though elaborated, in royal and elite burials. An Early Classic tomb from the satellite group of El Diablo at El Zotz featured a variety of polychrome and monochrome ceramic vessels, of which six were most likely intended for serving or storing liquids, seven probably for solid foods, six as containers for infant sacrifices (which may have also been considered solid “food” for the dead [Houston et al. 2006:122]), and two used as cooking vessels (Newman 2011:Table 1). The “complete” offering then, seems to be not merely a whole vessel, nor even a pot filled with foodstuffs or drink. Rather, the entire assemblage providing the combination of bread and drink for the dead represents an offering that is “whole.” The iconographic motif known as the “Quadripartite Badge” (Robertson 1974; see also Kubler 1969:33-46) represents another distinctive kind of “whole” Maya offering. 140 The central element of the Quadripartite Badge is a vessel described as the “k’in bowl,” which usually has the form of a skeletalized zoomorphic head, generally a bird or serpent (Taube 2009:99), and serves as a type of incense burner or sacrificial bowl (Stuart 1998:389-390; Taube 1998). The vessel supports three elements: a bundle with a “trefoil form” (Taube 2009:99) or “crossed-bands floral motif” (Stuart 2005:164) at one end, a Spondylus (spiny oyster) shell, and a central stingray spine. Together, the stingray spine and the Spondylus convey the Maya notion of tz’ak, two elements that complete a whole (Houston 2010:77). Although slight variations in illustrated examples exist (e.g., Scherer 2012:fig. 6; Taube 2009: fig. 11), the objects depicted within the k’in bowl are a standardized, complementary set – an offering would be incomplete without any particular element of the triad. Scherer (2012:248-249) calls attention to the relationship between the Quadripartite Badge and the cache vessels regularly found in archaeological excavations at Maya sites. He argues that the form of the central offering vessel is often depicted as a high, vertically walled, and lidded bowl, the kind commonly used in Maya caches (though it is also occasionally shown with the elongated, rectangular form of a sarcophagus). Scherer (2012:257) further notes that many examples from the corpus of Maya caches include the specific ritual paraphernalia and supernatural objects represented in the image of the Quadripartite Badge – Spondylus shells and stingray spines, with the organic, vegetative element also possibly present, but lost to natural decomposition. Represented in iconography and embodied in buried caches, the Quadripartite Badge points to a notion of an idealized or “complete” assemblage deemed appropriate and expected for sacred offerings. The offering vessel of the Quadripartite Badge not only constitutes a symbolic “portal,” a point of communication with the supernatural realm (Freidel et al. 1993:216- 141 217), but also serves more specifically as a brazier for fire offerings (Stuart 1998:389- 390; Taube 2009:100). The objects offered within it, when burned, are transformed into appropriate and accessible sustenance for feeding the gods (Houston et al. 2006:125). This is true of acts of burning in general, not only those that take place within the Quadripartite Badge vessel. As Taube (1998:446) writes, “incense burners are the kitchen hearths for the gods and ancestors.” This Classic period practice remains an integral part of contemporary K’iche’ rituals, in which offerings are burned at the porobal, or sacrificial offering hearth. Brown (2004:37) describes the act of burning as key to the desired outcomes of these modern Maya rites as well: “by burning offerings, ritual participants ‘feed’ the deities…” Fire transforms offerings, including copal incense, blood, chocolate, chili, tallow, rum, sweet bread, or tobacco, into smoke – a state appropriate for consumption by gods, ancestors, and the dead. In addition to rising as smoke, offerings transformed into “food” may also reach the supernatural realm through deposition and interment. For the ancient and contemporary Maya, the earth is not dense and solid, but hollow and empty. Often represented by a quatrefoil motif, the earth – a conceptual, if not real, cave – served as an entrance to the underworld and portal into sacred space (Stone 1995:23). In the San Bartolo west wall mural, the Maize God rises with the harvest and two water deity companions out of a quatrefoil frame. The symmetrical quatrefoil, the symbol used to denote caves in much of ancient Mesoamerican iconography (e.g., Grove 2000:279-283), is situated in the back of a turtle floating in a primordial sea, a representation of the earth (Saturno 2009:125; Figure 5.1). This conflation of earth and caves extends into the Classic period, with the glyphic expression kab’ ch’e’n, which translates literally as “earth-cave,” a fitting description of the Maya area’s karstic landscape (Houston et al. 2003:241). Openings within the earth, whether formed by geological processes or human 142 effort, create points of access for communication and connection with gods and ancestors – places where offerings, in the form of caches, burials, and other interred deposits, may be made and received. As Becker (1993:67-68) describes, “‘burials’ as ‘caches’ (offerings) may reflect Maya cosmological concerns with using human remains to feed the gods (or to impregnate the ‘earth’).” This conceptual tradition still exists among modern Tz’utujil Maya of Lake Atitlan, Guatemala, for whom the primal ancestral element, known as Flowering Mountain Earth, can literally be fed through the ground. Robert Carlsen (2011:52) writes, “…some Atitecos will have an actual hole on their land through which offerings are given to the ancestor.” Allen Christenson (2014:229-230) similarly notes the conception of the space beneath the early colonial church in the highland Guatemalan town of Santiago Atitlan as an access point to the realm of the dead. The Atitecos understand the floor of the church as constituting a thin barrier separating them from the underworld and all the creative and destructive elements inherent in nature that gather together there. A small hole called ruchi’ jay xibalaba (“at the doorway of the underworld”) or rumuxux ruchelep (“navel of the face of the earth”) serves as the most sacred opening into the world of the dead from the church and as the symbolic center point of creation. Atiteco practitioners place candles on a stone covering the hole, “feeding” their light to the benevolent dead. Yucatec Maya also see subsurface soils as hollow, but conceive of the space below ground as a womb, from which humans and other forms of life are born, rather than a cave or portal (Barrera-Bassols and Toledo 2005:26-28). Related notions of the earth as a womb from which human and vegetative life springs forth are reflected in much of Mesoamerican creation mythology, such as the Historia Tolteca-Chichimeca (Kirchoff et al. 1989), which illustrates the birth of the Nahua people from Chicomoztoc (“the place of the seven caves”). In the Popol Vuh, the 143 K’iche’ Maya transcription of a complex oral history, the earth similarly represents the birthplace of plants and people: There is the sowing of seeds in the earth, whose sprouting will be their dawning … Then there is the matter of human beings, whose sowing in the womb will be followed by their emergence into the light at birth, and whose sowing in the earth at death will be followed by dawning when their souls become sparks of light in the darkness (Tedlock 1996:31). These deeply rooted themes and practices recall the previous chapter’s discussion of the lexical and conceptual connections among deposits and offerings, feeding and caretaking, fire and burning. In this chapter and Chapter 7, deposits of burnt and broken artifacts, whether termed rituals of termination or problematical deposits, are evaluated in relation to these fundamental concepts: as intentionally assembled “sets” of materials, as processes transforming objects into appropriate offerings (thereby accomplishing the ritual work of caretaking), and as means of communicating with or feeding supernatural gods and ancestors. Defining Deposits: “Termination” and “Problematical” In 1959, William Coe (1959:94-95) published the first description of what he deemed a “terminal offering,” detailing a find featuring a number of smashed censers associated with the abandonment of a structure at Piedras Negras, Guatemala. The term saw relatively scarce use, however, until investigations at the site of Cerros, Belize, led by David Freidel, formally identified and defined termination ritual deposits as a particular type of context in the Maya region (Freidel et al. 1998:135). Even Coe (1990) himself preferred to employ the broader category of “problematical deposits,” which included termination deposits but also other complicated archaeological assemblages, when he directed excavations at Tikal, Guatemala, for the University of Pennsylvania. Later work at Yaxuna, in Yucatan, also directed by Freidel, focused attention on the contextual 144 analysis of termination events, suggesting that termination could involve acts of desecration implemented by outsiders as well as local, reverential rituals. Here, I provide a brief review of these developments and the key deposits responsible for them, in order to show how the identification, excavation, and interpretation of these particular finds continues to influence later analyses of complex archaeological assemblages. Piedras Negras The defining deposit in the development of Coe’s category of “terminal offering” was a “curious” find from Structure K-5-2nd, featuring the sherds of two large, incomplete, open-base, vertical-flange censers scattered around a column altar on the pyramid-stage (Coe 1959:94-95). Coe notes specifically that he does not consider the cached vessels a dedicatory offering in connection with Structure K-5-1st-C, as large portions of the vessels are missing despite careful clearing. Rather, he suggests that shortly before the burial of Structure K-5-2nd, priests sacrificed and destroyed the two elaborate censers. Coe sees their internment, then, as “an example of ceremonial object- sacrifice at the moment of a structure’s abandonment,” with strong suggestions of “rituals of renewal.” Coe (1959:94) describes this find as “a seemingly rare custom in the lowlands, or, perhaps better, a custom rarely detected there.” Although Coe offers the first use of the term “terminal offering” for such deposits, which constitute a type of intentional deposit separate from and in addition to caches and burials, he points to examples from the earlier work of Kidder, Jennings, and Shook (1946) at Kaminaljuyu. Esperanza Phase (ca. AD 400-550) offerings in Mound B included seven individual concentrations of artifacts, each resting on the surfaces of buried structures and composed of incense burners and other vessels, often fire-blackened and smashed in a bed of ashes and charcoal. Coe suggests that like the incense burners associated with 145 Structure K-5 at Piedras Negras, these Kaminaljuyu deposits represent offerings made in connection with renewed building activity. Although Coe identifies only the deposit atop Structure K-5-2nd as a terminal offering at Piedras Negras, Garber (1983:805) suggests that the content and conditions of Burial 10 at Piedras Negras are similar to examples of the termination and abandonment of monumental architecture at the site of Cerros (see below). The floor of Burial 10’s tomb chamber was covered with a layer of white marl (disintegrated limestone), roughly 30 to 40 cm thick, which showed evidence of burning at various levels before the marl reached its final height. Associated artifacts were scattered above the tomb floor, including jadeite beads, a carved jadeite pendant and other perforated ornaments, unworked shells, shell beads, and bird claws. A neat pile of flint chips, a chipped flint instrument, and a flint blank were also found together in a small niche within the chamber. A tripod dish was found in another niche within the tomb structure, broken and covering a human mandible, cranium, and long bone fragment (Coe 1959:127). Although the burial chamber appeared to date to the Late Classic, the tomb was reopened at a later date (or the roof, supported by wooden beams above the chamber, collapsed) and the primary interment was removed. Garber (1983:805) suggests that this constituted an “abandonment” of the burial chamber, making the white earth and artifacts an act of deposition analogous to the abandonment of monumental architecture. Tikal In 1956, Coe began what would eventually become 14 seasons of research at Tikal, Guatemala with the University of Pennsylvania project, one of the most intensive and extensive archaeological investigations undertaken in the Maya area. That project coined 146 another phrase that has since been repeated many times in Maya archaeology: the ambiguous, but rather ubiquitous, “problematical deposit.” As the ambitious excavation program at Tikal progressed, archaeologists began to trouble over the consistent application of the terms “burial” or “cache” when faced with certain kinds of archaeological deposits. Although they recognized each as an overtly special depositional entity, Coe and Haviland (1982:49) explained: … we found ourselves purifying both categories in a sense, by excluding deliberate deposits then on hand that either compositionally or contextually appeared not to conform to one or the other categories. What occurred was an increasing strict and functionally-tainted concept of cache and burial at Tikal. As a result, a fresh category emerged, ‘Problematical Deposit’ – possibly a regrettable term inasmuch as it implies that patent clarity exists among caches and burials … in retrospect it might have been better to adopt a single generalized category, for instance ‘Special Deposit,’ then number the appropriate entities with adjectives such as ‘offertory’ and ‘mortuary.’ Although Coe and Haviland regret the development of the term on the basis of the clarity it implies for other depositional categories, it is also misleading in that it suggests a relation or similarity among the deposits that are subsumed beneath the “problematical” label. In his report on the North Acropolis excavations, which contains descriptions for problematical deposits (PD.) numbering into the hundreds, Coe (1990:930) describes the PD category as deposits which often appear to be thoughtfully placed, “when an excavator at last suspects that behavior of an indigenously special order is innate to a particular lot’s background.” Coe (1990:930-939) also provides a series of more specific divisions of the overly broad category, which includes descriptions such as “Burials Redeposited Following Disclosure by Building Activity,” “Sealed Pits Expectably of Caches but Contents Rule Out Their Definition,” “Miscellaneous Features Illustrative of or Implicitly Germane to Ceremony,” and, of relevance here, “Nonintrusive Deposits Indicative of Terminal Ritual Prior to Construction.” This final sub-classification includes depositional events that occur at the interface of a structure’s final usage and 147 renewed building activities, regardless of scale. PD. 77, for example, shows evidence of smashing and burning associated with the mutilation of a basal platform attached to the stairway of Str. 22-3rd, while PD. 27 features a deliberately broken large pottery vessel with its parts discarded among large quantities of flint flakes and signs of extensive burning. Even as a sub-division within the inflated category of problematical deposits, it quickly becomes clear that the contents, contexts, and conditions of termination-related depositional events at Tikal are poorly defined and variably interpreted (see also Suhler and Freidel 2003:142-146 for a revision of many of the site’s problematical deposits as termination deposits). Haviland (2014) details twenty problematical deposits associated with the site’s non-elite residential groups without shrines in his recently published Tikal monograph. Only one of these, PD. 72, appears to represent a kind of terminal offering (Haviland 2014:406-407). Found in Chamber 10 of Chultun 5C-8, the deposit included skeletal fragments of a young adult male, some of which were charred, mixed with a deposit of domestic refuse. The artifacts associated with the human remains were found both in Chamber 10 and throughout the other chambers of the chultun, and Haviland suggests that the chamber may have been dug specifically for the purpose of interring PD. 72. Haviland describes the associated artifacts as generally being those that were basic essentials to all households (2014:407): chert cores, used and unused flakes, prismatic blades (all used), thin bifaces, censers, and hammer stones, along with a jade bead. Ash, charcoal, and food remains (corn, beans, a freshwater snail shell, and animal bones) were also incorporated among the mixed debris. More unusual, however, is the inclusion of a perforated animal tooth, a bone rasp, a stemmed thin biface of green obsidian, a celt of a light green jade (unlike the usual dark green to black jadeite celts sometimes found in household trash), 5 pierced Marginella shells, and a Strombus shell fragment. Most of 148 the animal bones and artifacts were burnt, while not all of the human remains showed evidence of heat exposure. Haviland sees the filling of the chultun with PD. 72 as occurring between the demolition and subsequent building of nearby Strs. 5C-57 and 5C- 56-2nd, and the material included in the deposit as the trash, fill, and masonry from the dismantled structure. He notes a thick layer of clay atop the floor of Chamber 10, similar to that described by Golden for Str. J-20-sub-1 at Piedras Negras and feature 1A from Cerros (see below), though Haviland describes the clay layer in Chultun 5C-8 as a water- deposited accumulation rather than an intentional cap to PD. 72. Moholy-Nagy (cited by Haviland [2014:407]) points to the similarities between PD. 72 and three other burial-like problematical deposits at Tikal: PD. 22, 50, and 74. She notes that these deposits all feature burned human remains, scattered in pits full of burned household debris (PD. 72 and 74 are particularly similar); each includes stemmed thin bifaces, whereas all other burials at Tikal lack those items. The four deposits are also roughly contemporaneous, dating to late Early Classic times based on the presence of post-AD 378 Manik-phase sherds and the green obsidian thin bifaces (Culbert 1993; Iglesias Ponce de Leon 2003). Although PD. 50 and PD. 74 remain unpublished (though probably in existence as manuscripts, written by the late William Coe and Peter Harrison, respectively [Coe and Haviland 1982:57-59]), ceramics associated with the deposits are illustrated and described by Culbert (1993:Figs. 128-130). PD. 22, which Coe (1990:325) describes as “surely one of the most perplexing deposits encountered at Tikal,” features two rejoinable fragments of two limestone stairs (St. 32 and 33 from Str. 5D-26), mixed with the same kinds of seemingly random artifacts found in PD. 72 and placed within a cut made into Platform 5D-4, below the centerline of Str. 5D-26-1st. The long and diverse list of deposited items (see Coe 1990:325), includes eccentric flints and obsidians, green 149 obsidian, used and unused flint flakes, whole and fragmented grinding stones, raw jade, jade beads and mosaic elements, Spondylus beads and other worked or incised shells, an imitation stingray spine made from bone, miscellaneous complete and incomplete faunal remains, charcoal, and numerous sherds from vessels and censers. Although the material appeared to be deposited in a random manner within its hollowed-out repository, fragments of items could be refit between lots, including an incomplete censer reconstructed from 32 individual sherds from fill depths up to 2 m apart. Among these materials, a large quantity of human remains was recovered, though the skeletal elements were shattered, incomplete, and moderated to intensely altered by fire. The ceramic materials in the deposit are reminiscent of the human remains, also shattered, incomplete, and differentially charred (though he notes that a lack of evidence for burning occurring inside the pit). Coe also observed that the vessels were broken before being burned and that nineteen semi-reconstructable vessels are of a subjectively “elite” quality. In a statement that aptly describes the interpretive difficulties archaeologists encounter when faced with Maya termination deposits, Culbert (1993:Fig. 123) wrote, “[c]ompared to most Manik Complex burials, PD. 22 has more jars than any burial, but also contains more fancy vessels than most refuse deposits.” Given the deliberate and careful placement of the limestone stair fragments, Coe (1990:325) saw PD. 22 as “manifestly purposeful,” but without any meaningful associations among its contents, suggesting that the items were dumped by the basketload, already in their disassociated states, along with the dark earth fill found within the deposit. Rather than an act of termination, Coe interpreted the deposit as the disposal of an earlier interment, either unintentionally or deliberately exhumed from one of the nearby structures of Group 5D- 2. 150 Beyond their chronological and contextual similarities, PD. 22, 50, 72, and 74 share another intriguing feature. These deposits also include some of the “most striking and best documented” (Ball 1983:132) examples of pottery vessels in the style of the Mexican plateau (see also Coggins 1975:177-182, 209-211; Iglesias Ponce de León 2003:186). Several well-studied vessels depict individuals in Central Mexican attire, while Coggins (1975:182) describes PD. 22 in particular as containing “masses of undecorated pottery of purely Teotihuacan style.” These ties to Central Mexico underscore both the longevity and the ubiquity of termination rituals in Mesoamerica. Deposits identified as such have also been found at Teotihuacan itself, some predating the construction of the Pyramid of the Sun (dating to around AD 220) and others taking place in multifamily apartment compounds around AD 350 (Beramendi-Orosco et al. 2009:100). As in the Maya area, dense concentrations of ceramics and other artifacts, architectural defacement and destruction, and intensive burning occurred at the intersections of building phases (Sugiyama et al. 2013:413; Sugiyama 1998). Though it would be tempting to see a close connection between Tikal’s termination deposits and the marked Teotihuacano influence occurring at that site after the “arrival of strangers” from Central Mexico in AD 378 (Stuart 2000), evidence of termination deposits dating to the Middle Preclassic at Blackman Eddy, Belize (Brown 2003; Shelton 2008) and Preclassic Cerros, in northern Belize (Freidel 1986; Freidel et al. 1998), attest to a deep history of termination rituals far south of Teotihuacan. Cerros The concept of termination as a type or category of archaeological deposit was somewhat slow to gain traction in scholarly literature. Twenty-two years after Coe’s description of the “terminal offering” at Piedras Negras, James Garber stated in the 151 concluding chapter to his dissertation that “contextual analysis of this sort led to the examination of a contextual setting that has received little attention or has gone unrecognized at other sites. This context is termination ritual” (1981:254). Garber, along with other archaeologists from the Cerros project, built upon the initial identifications of terminal behaviors made by analysts at Piedras Negras and Tikal, further defining termination rituals as a class of context specified by a specific range of associated artifacts and matrices (Evans and Webster 2001:116) and enabling comparative assessments. Garber (1981:254-255) offers a list of characteristics associated with termination in Late Preclassic and Protoclassic deposits at Cerros, including the removal of plaster façades, ceremonial fires, the smashing of jade artifacts, the scattering of marl, the preparation and consumption of ceremonial beverages, and the smashing of vessels. Although deposits vary, the scattering of white marl, burning, and artifact smashing are consistent features of termination ritual-associated assemblages at Cerros (Freidel 1986; Robertson 1983; Robertson-Freidel 1989). Garber (1981:255) lists the artifacts associated with this category of ritual behavior, including jade beads and flares, sherd disks, bone beads, crystalline hematite, hooters (pecked stones with no clear purpose), doughnut stones, stone disks, stone spheroids, and miscellaneous pieces. Garber (1981:256) also notes explicitly that no shell beads were recovered from deposits associated with the termination and abandonment of monumental architecture at Cerros, a fact he attributes to the shell beads being less valuable and therefore inappropriate for the abandonment of public architecture, but appropriate for the abandonment of private architecture. Additionally, no manos or metates were found associated with termination rituals at Cerros. Looking specifically at the jade artifacts from Cerros, Garber (1983) focused on the condition of jades relative to their contexts. Garber (1983:802) noted that jades from 152 dedicatory caches were always found intact, while those recovered from contexts other than caches, burials, or tombs (the majority of the collection) were found broken or smashed. He describes a particular instance of termination in the destruction of Str. 2A- sub 4-1st, which bears many similarities to Golden’s (2002) description of the termination of Str. J-20-sub-1 at Piedras Negras (see below). A platform facing east and fronted by a plaza, Str. 2A-sub 4-1st was terminated “with much ceremony and ritual” (Garber 1983:802), including the smashing of ceramic vessels, burning of ceremonial fires, deposition of molded painted plaster in excavated holes at the first terrace junction of the staircase, the scattering and deposition of white marl, and the smashing and scattering of jade artifacts in and among the vessel fragments and marl. Everything, artifacts and architecture, was then buried beneath the construction of the overlying main plaza. Six jade beads (in seven fragments) and four jade ear flares (found in thirteen pieces) were recovered, though no single object was completely represented. In a similar deposit at Str. 4B, Garber (1981:804), like Coe at Piedras Negras, comments that even though the area was completely and carefully excavated, many fragments of included beads and flares were also missing (though the pieces of five complete beads were also found and able to be reconstructed). Two bead fragments also showed signs of intentional breakage with a sharp, chisel-like tool paralleling the edges of breaks. Along with the fragmented jades, the termination ritual associated with Str. 4B also included the burning of ceremonial fires, deposition of white marl, smashing of open-bottomed censers, and the deposition of a whole plate. Refitting analyses of the ceramics from the deposit at Str. 4B, undertaken by Walker (1998:88-92) likewise showed that most ceramic vessels interred had been broken in halves or quarters prior to their deposition. Garber concludes, “[t]hus, it appears that a consistent feature of termination ritual is the deposition or curation of some of the smashed offerings elsewhere” (Garber 1983:804). 153 Garber also points to a termination event in a residential zone known as feature 1 A, underlying the main plaza at Cerros, where smashed artifacts from transposed middens (i.e., trash) were interspersed between the structure’s burned clay and marl floor layers. However, Garber distinguishes between the deposit of trash and the termination event taking place at the residential structure, suggesting that “the jade was deposited in residential areas as part of [a] termination ritual and was not included in the trash that was deposited” (Garber 1981:804). As in the case of the J-17 sweatbath deposits from Piedras Negras, something about the presence of objects perceived as trash (even though the defining characteristics of such an assemblage are not enumerated) causes archaeologists to view certain above-floor accumulations as a distinct kind of abandonment-related deposition, separated from discussions of termination rituals. Yaxuna Following the completion of investigations at Cerros, David Freidel began a multi-year project of archaeological investigations at the site of Yaxuna, in Yucatan. There, archaeologists identified termination rituals in elite residential structures dating from the Early Classic period onward (Freidel et al. 1998:135). Although the early deposits at Yaxuna featured many of the distinctive characteristics that had been identified for termination events at Cerros, including intentional architectural destruction and the deposition of building materials amid layers of white marl within abandoned structures, they did not include broken and scattered ceramics and other artifacts (Freidel et al. 1992:56-66, 1998). The most extensive termination deposits at the site, however, dated to the Terminal Classic period (ca. AD 750-900) and featured both dismantled architecture and dispersed artifacts. These were found in association with 154 Str. 6F-68, a three-room building interpreted as a royal residence based on the iconography of its elaborate stone façade, located in the site’s North Acropolis (Ambrosino 2007; Ambrosino et al. 2003). Rather than a transitional ritual marking the end of one building phase and dedicating another, the termination of Str. 6F-68 is seen as a desecratory event, undertaken in association with a warfare event that led to the defeat of Yaxuna, possibly at the hands of invaders from Chichen Itza (Ambrosino 2007:268). James Ambrosino’s dissertation on the excavations of Str. 6F-68 presents a list of the archaeological evidence for the structure’s termination, which includes: (1) damage to the structure or structures around which termination activity was focused; (2) damage to the area or areas around the structure or structures; (3) the manipulation of architectural elements, the building of temporary constructions for the termination activity; (4) the destruction of portable objects; and (5) the scattering or deliberate placement of artifacts and materials. Close analyses of the artifacts recovered from Str. 6F-68 showed that most objects were broken prior to being scattered around the structure. A few complete vessels were also found within the deposits, though these were intensely burned and likely held specific offerings. Other objects, including obsidian, jade, and bone, were scattered throughout the deposit and showed variable signs of heat exposure (Ambrosino 2007:274-276, 280). Moreover, Ambrosino (2007:277, 279) describes the termination event as a well-planned, gradual process incorporating feasts, the construction of an altar and new plaster floors for associated termination activities, burial reentry, and the manufacture of pottery specifically for the ceremony. He also suggests that ceramic vessels and other objects were smashed at a location away from the area of deposition, based on the presence of widely separated ceramic refits and the fact that few objects (vessels, bifaces, etc.) could be wholly reconstructed. Ambrosino 155 (2007:284) also notes distinct concentrations of materials within the rooms of Str. 6F- 68, such as concentrations of ceramics above a burial in Room 3 or accumulations of bird bones in Room 2. Ambrosino’s work represents an important development in archaeological approaches to termination rituals and the deposits that result from them. His contextual approach to the complex assemblages at Yaxuna moves beyond identifying the presence or absence of specific materials, instead drawing upon the locations and conditions of artifacts and architecture to interpret, and sequence, past human behaviors. The analysis of the materials from the Terminal Classic deposit at El Zotz, detailed in Chapter 5, follows and builds upon this model for investigation. Focusing even more closely on the individual histories of deposited artifacts, the analyses presented in Chapter 5 elucidate not only the moment of their interment and participation in specific ritual acts, but also pre- and post-depositional events surrounding termination. A few key points regarding the definition of “termination deposits” as a particular kind of archaeological find in the Maya area merit reiteration. First, the development of this concept largely rests on the finds of four archaeological projects, directed by two individuals: William Coe and David Freidel. While numerous other examples of termination deposits have surfaced since the last of those projects ended in the mid- 1990s, some more extensive or intensively excavated than those found at Piedras Negras, Tikal, Cerros, or Yaxuna, Coe, Freidel, and the archaeologists working under their guidance are responsible for defining the basic criteria that have become the standards of identification for termination-related assemblages (e.g., Pagliaro et al. 2003:79-80; Stanton et al. 2008:237-238; see below). Second, those criteria focus more on the contexts of recovery than on the conditions of artifacts within assemblages. Even Ambrosino’s (2007) detailed artifact analyses at Yaxuna assume a consistent history for 156 the objects included within the assemblage deposited at Str. 6F-68, bypassing possibilities for human intervention between the production and use of complete items and their dispersion and burial as fragments (e.g., Chapman 2000; Chapman and Gaydarska 2006). This approach overlooks the processes of assembly that bring actions, objects, and places together to form archaeological deposits. As Jervis (2014:185) writes, “Deposits are phenomena with a variety of histories; the materials which make them up are drawn from multiple places and multiple times, forming a messy bundle of associations.” There has been a tendency to “identify” archaeological finds as termination-related based on (often superficial) similarities to these few finds initially described as such, rather than examining assemblages as distinct entities, assessing their characteristics, and employing that information to understand how and why artifacts came to rest in particular conditions and locations. This approach tends to limit the deposits defined as termination rituals to simply those that are most similar to early published examples or citable criteria. Deposits that exhibit the kind of variable, family resemblance discussed at the beginning of this chapter are excluded, considered unique, or described using modified terms (see below), masking shared concepts underlying their assembly and interment. Finally, using the concept of “termination ritual” as an interpretation, instead of one of many factors impacting the formation of archaeological assemblages, emphasizes an understanding of ritual that exists entirely apart from the broad spectrum of other acts of deposition and events in the histories of objects and architecture, a notion in contrast to traditional Mesoamerican views (see Chapter 3). A “Problematical” Legacy: A Proliferation of Identification Once termination rituals gained acceptance as an alternative explanation for extensive and often complex deposits found in Maya structures, the frequency of 157 discussions surrounding these features increased substantially (e.g., Arden 1999; Brown and Garber 2003; Craig 2004, 2005, 2009; Estrada-Belli et al. 2009; Freidel et al. 2003; Houk 2000; Inomata 2003; Lucero 2010; Mock 1998; Nalda and Balanzario 2011; Navarro Farr 2004, 2009; Navarro Farr et al. 2008; Pagliaro et al. 2003; Rice 2009; Schwake and Iannone 2010; Stanton and Brown 2003; Suhler 1996; Suhler and Freidel 2003; Yaeger 2010:156-157; Walker 1998; among others). Despite being subsumed under a single classification, however, many termination rituals are widely variable with respect to their extent, locations, contents, and conditions. The result is an inflated category much reduced in its analytical value, as John Monaghan (1998:47) describes for ritual acts of dedication: Over the years, the list of ceremonial practices and indigenous purposes that are labeled as ‘dedicatory’ has gradually expanded; the term now includes things that appear quite different from one another. For example, while some dedication rites have the aim of setting aside objects for sacred use, others seem to mark a ruler’s reign, record a period in the calendar, commemorate a military victory, or indicate a rite of passage of some kind. Moreover, we now see dedication as being performed for the construction not only of buildings, but also of plazas, stelae, benches, and even ceramic vessels. With regard to buildings, dedication is now seen as occurring at different stages of construction and not just at completion. The broad application of the term dedicatory to Mesoamerican religious practices threatens the analytic usefulness of the concept – after all, anything that explains everything in the end explains nothing. A few detailed examples serve to illustrate this point. Archaeological deposits found at the sites of Piedras Negras, El Perú-Waka’, and Aguateca, in Guatemala, and at La Caldera, in Belize, underscore the diversity of contexts, contents, and motivations that may be identified and interpreted as evidence of termination ritual. Piedras Negras Following Coe’s work, later excavations by the Piedras Negras Archaeological Project uncovered both more extensive and intensive termination activities in 158 association with the site’s royal palace. Burning, architectural demolition, and large deposits in association with Str. J-20-sub-1, an Early Classic construction beneath Court 3 of the site’s Acropolis, offer an example of a “reverential termination of a building,” dating to roughly AD 550 (Golden 2002:360). According to Golden (2002:359-360), the perishable superstructure of J-20-sub-1 was burned and pieces of ceramic vessels, figurines, jade, earspools, and organic materials were thrown over the remains. Some objects appeared to have been placed carefully, while others appeared to have been violently smashed, with pieces spread over several square meters. This deposit was then capped with a layer of dark clay. A thin layer of ash and distinctive coloring in the clay suggest that the burning building was still smoldering as both the objects and the clay layer were deposited. Golden states that the materials found in association with Str. J- 20-sub-1 can be clearly differentiated from those of residential middens. Although some ceramic fragments show signs of use-wear, the majority of the objects do not show signs of use prior to disposal. Golden also notes that the ceramic assemblage also differs markedly from that of a comparative domestic midden from the Acropolis: it was formed in as little as a few hours or days, yielded higher proportions of polychrome and other slipped vessels, presented larger overall ceramic sherds, the sherds were less eroded, and included more reconstructable figurines. Golden highlights two key features of the deposits as pointing toward reverential termination: (1) the fact that the event occurred as part of activities associated with raising the level of Court 3’s patio, making it as much an act of construction as an act of destruction; and (2) the lack of evidence of foreign ceramics or materials that might have been left by invading forces, as has been identified at other sites (see below, especially the case of Yaxuna). He suggests that the termination event was a public affair, though probably limited to an elite public. However, he also notes that the burning of Str. J-20- 159 sub-1 would have included a wider public as well, through associated sights, sounds, and smells of destruction: the flames and smoke at one of the highest points in the region would have been visible and smelly for long distances, while the voices of the participants and the sounds of the dismantling of the building would carry at least through the nearby plazas of the Northwest and West Group. Golden also notes that many of the ceramics included in the associated deposit were incised with graffiti. Although graffiti are rare in the overall ceramic assemblage from Piedras Negras, more than a dozen different vessels in the collection from Str. J-20-sub-1 were incised, suggesting that the incisions were produced as part of the termination ritual. The engraved designs vary in style and skill of execution, suggesting the presence of multiple hands in the graffiti carving. At the J-17 royal sweatbath, located across from Court 3 on the northeast face of the Piedras Negras Acropolis, Child (2006:302; Child and Golden 2008:82) describes a similarly dense accumulation of artifacts encountered atop the structure following its abandonment. The front stairs, vestibule, and sweat chamber were “choked with debris” (Child and Golden 2008:82) dating to AD 808-840. In contrast to Golden, however, Child sees the deposit as a “garbage dump” (Child and Golden 2008:82) and a “dumping ground” (Child 2006:302), the simple discard of trash in an abandoned building, rather than an intentional act of rejection or refutation. Seven other sweatbaths excavated by Child at Piedras Negras also showed signs of abandonment around AD 810, contemporaneous with the termination of Str. J-20-sub-1. However, later offerings within the surface debris of the sweatbaths indicate that the artifacts deposited within them were left exposed, lacking the clay cap found atop Str. J-20-sub-1 (Child 2006:310; Child and Child 2001). Although Child seems to explicitly avoid discussions of termination or deactivation rituals in his descriptions of the deposits associated with 160 abandoned sweatbaths at Piedras Negras, the materials deposited, the rapid placement of large quantities of artifacts, and the locations chosen for their deposition (above floors, along central access points) also do not align neatly with common patterns of refuse disposal among the ancient Maya (see Chapter 3). El Perú-Waka’ At the site of El Perú-Waka’, dense concentrations of ceramic sherds and other materials recovered above final-phase floors of Str. M13-1 represent some of the most extensive and intensively excavated termination deposits from the Maya area; just one of seven sub-operations covered 30m2 of horizontal exposure (Navarro Farr 2004, 2009; Navarro Farr and Arroyave 2007; Navarro Farr et al. 2008). Accumulated materials distributed throughout multiple areas of the structure included broken, scattered, and stacked stelae, fragments of flat-bedded pottery, halved projectile points, fragmented shell adornments, grinding stones, modeled stucco, fragments of obsidian blades, disembodied figurine heads, ceramic whistles, fragmented and disarticulated human bone, and burials of complete human interments within the same, above-floor matrix. White marl was notably absent from the Str. M13-1 deposits (Navarro Farr 2009:448), as were faunal remains (though see Navarro Farr and Arroyave 2007:Fig. 12 for an animal bone flute from the Str. M13-1 deposits). Most of the human bone, projectile points, worked shell, and ceramics showed signs of burning. (Navarro Farr 2009:433). Excavation procedures at Str. M13-1 involved meticulous recording of the locations of artifacts using digital photography. These methods were designed specifically to enable archaeologists to identify the precise locations of objects, particularly ceramic sherds (though only accurate to half a meter [Navarro Farr 2009:129]), in order to reconstruct patterns of smashing and scattering presumed to be responsible for the Str. M13-1 161 assemblage. Multiple seasons of horizontal excavations atop the structure recovered 20,532 ceramic sherds. By contrast, the number of “small finds” recovered, which include worked shells, projectile points, grinding stones, jade and figurine fragments, etc. (see Navarro Farr 2009:Fig. 9.48), is strikingly small: projectile point fragments, which represent the most common item recovered after pottery sherds, include fewer than 50 individual fragments across all of the sub-operations associated with Str. M13-1. A number of complete burials were also found among the mixed debris atop the final- phase floors of Str. M13-1, which did not show signs of heat exposure, even if materials surrounding the interment showed clear signs of burning (Navarro Farr and Arroyave 2007:714). Some burials did, however, show signs of violence or butchery (Navarro Farr et al. 2008:129). Based largely on ceramic analyses undertaken by Keith Eppich (Eppich et al. 2005), combined with selected radiocarbon dates, Olivia Navarro Farr (2009:441-442) interprets the accumulated artifacts atop Str. M13-1 as the result of multiple ritual events taking place between roughly AD 620 and AD 1000. She also argues that the Str. M13-1 deposits represent diverse ritual behaviors: not only termination rituals, but also mortuary rituals and votive offerings (Farr 2009:451). Finally, based on the variety of artifacts encountered in specific excavation areas, Navarro Farr suggests that “a diverse socio-economic body of practitioners and participants” are responsible for the formation of the Str. M13-1 assemblage. Aguateca Excavations conducted by the Aguateca Archaeological Project in 1998 and 1999, focused on Strs. M7-22 and M7-32 of the site’s Palace Group, recovered evidence of burning, destruction, and artifact deposition consistent with termination rituals 162 (Inomata 2003:52-57). These two residential structures, the main living quarters for the royal family, are the only two buildings at Aguateca confirmed to have had vaulted roofs, which probably collapsed due to fire. Str. M7-22 had five individual rooms, each of which was covered in a thin layer (roughly 5 cm thick) of white soil, similar to the layers of white marl consistently found in ritually terminated buildings at Cerros and Yaxuna (Freidel 1986; Freidel et al. 1998). Four of the five rooms were swept clean, with only a small number of artifacts deposited atop the white layer. The easternmost room, however, contained a large number of artifacts. Severe burning blackened the inner walls of the room chamber, which were covered in a layer of thick stucco, and a large amount of carbon was found within the room. At the western edge of the room, a number of artifacts were found in front of a stuccoed bench, many of which were reconstructible and were mixed with collapsed stones. Takeshi Inomata (2003:52) interprets the artifacts in front of the bench as complete objects that had been placed or hung in high locations, which fell when the roof of the structure collapsed. Immediately in front of the entrance into the room, however, a dense concentration of artifacts was found above a layer of collapsed stone. According to Inomata (2003:53), the artifacts appeared to have been stored inside the room and the collapsed stones came from a wall sealing the chamber, which either collapsed forward or was deliberately opened. Based on the stratigraphy of artifacts and collapse, as well as the degree and patterns of burning within the room, Inomata suggests that either enemies from outside or the remaining residents at Aguateca opened and sacked this sealed room, threw many of its objects outside, then set the building on fire. Additional concentrations of artifacts, measuring 20 to 30 cm in depth and including numerous ceramic sherds, bones, chipped-stone tools, flakes, fragments of grinding stones, shell ornaments, jade beads, and pyrite mirror pieces were recovered 163 just beyond the other rooms of Str. M7-22 (Inomata 2003:54). The ceramic sherds in these deposits did not yield reconstructible vessels and many artifacts exhibited clear traces of burning. Soil chemistry analysis also showed that the phosphate levels in the areas of these deposits was even lower than areas that had been swept clean of artifacts. Excavators at Aguateca interpreted such low phosphate levels as contradictory to the possibility that midden materials were redeposited in the structure. Evidence from other phosphate analyses at Maya sites such as Chunchucmil (Hutson 2004:216-217, 219-222) and Piedras Negras (Wells et al. 2000:459), however, suggests that the Maya often separated organic and inorganic trash (see Chapter 4). A midden primarily comprised of inorganic refuse would have low phosphate levels to begin with, lower still if partially recovered and redeposited (which may have occurred multiple times). In Str. M7-32, the structure’s central room featured a large, C-shaped bench with wings at its northern and southern ends. A niche under the northern wing had its capstone removed and an adjacent area of the bench floor was intentionally destroyed (Inomata 2003:56). Dense concentrations of sherds and other artifacts were placed in the niche, without a capstone, along the entire area in front of the bench, and within a hole created in the floor of the bench, all of which were later covered when the masonry roofs collapsed. These deposits were similar to those found within Str. M7-22, though they also incorporated fragments of human crania and other bones. Inomata interprets the deposits within Aguateca’s Palace Group as part of a termination ritual, but also acknowledges that the patterns observed at Aguateca differ from those detected at other sites, Cerros in particular. For example, Robertson (1983:112) noted that the termination ritual deposits at Cerros included large ceramic fragments that could be fit together, which suggested the use of complete vessels in the rituals, broken at the end of rites. At Aguateca, the ceramics deposited in Strs. M7-22 164 and M7-32 could not be rejoined and resembled midden materials in their size and condition, and were more likely brought, already broken, from other locations. Inomata (2003:59) sees the termination rituals within the Palace Group taking place after the royal family had already abandoned their residences, conducted by enemies seeking to symbolically dismantle the importance of the compound and the royal family that once lived there. La Caldera La Caldera is a site located in northwestern Belize, close to the larger regional center of La Milpa and occupied from the Late Preclassic through the Late/Terminal Classic (Kunen et al. 2002:201). Excavations in one of several groups of patios surround by multi-room buildings and platforms, interpreted as elite residences, revealed an unusual trash-filled pit carved into the bedrock beneath Str. 3-F-10. This deposit was found immediately beneath three burials, possibly of individuals with a familial relationship. A diverse array of artifacts was found layered in a compact fill with abundant charcoal. Over 6,000 sherds were recovered (many of them from polychrome pottery), 25 intact bifaces, over 50 broken obsidian blades, five pieces of groundstone, seven pieces of marine shell, and 45 pieces of animal bone, many of them worked. Seven modified sherds were also recovered, along with a ceramic spindle whorl, a figurine fragment, 11 carved and polished bone fragments (including awls or needles, one with a carved serpent around the shaft), two bone beads, four polishing stones, and two carved marine shells (one in the shape of a caiman’s head). The pit itself demonstrated parallel marks from axe blows along the walls, two carved steps down to the bottom of the feature, and an empty niche carved into one wall, demonstrating without doubt that it was artificially cut from the natural bedrock. 165 Ceramic analyses showed that only a few hundred of the thousands of sherds recovered from the pit dated to a period other than the Late Classic. Moreover, only 4% of the ceramic fragments could be refit. Serving vessels and cooking vessels were found in balanced proportions, contrary to expectations for feasting-related deposits (where serving vessels would be expected to significantly outnumber cooking vessels). Fragments of incense burners were also rare. Taken together, these materials and their conditions suggest rapid deposition (perhaps even a single dumping episode), seemingly of ordinary household refuse. Kunen and colleagues interpret the entire assemblage within the pit as a mixed deposit, combining both cached objects and the redeposition of household refuse. However, they also see the whole objects incorporated, such as the bifaces, needles, and shell objects, as “ritually significant” (Kunen et al. 2002:208), cached placements within the larger context of domestic trash. They argue that the cleansing and excavation of the bedrock surface, followed by deliberate deposition, could serve as either an act of dedication to purify the ritual locus of the structure, or as destructive, terminating links with the previous use and occupation (2002:209). The examples from Piedras Negras, El Perú-Waka’, Aguateca, and La Caldera provide a glimpse of the variety of finds that may be encompassed by the concept of termination. For example, while the deposits associated with Str. M13-1 at El Perú-Waka’ and Str. J-20-sub-1 at Piedras Negras lacked significant quantities of faunal remains, the assemblages identified as the residues of acts of termination at Aguateca and La Caldera both included worked and unworked animal bones. On the other hand, the deposits at El Perú-Waka’ and La Caldera featured complete or nearly complete human interments in association with the termination materials, which were absent at Piedras Negras and Aguateca. Stanton et al. (2008) highlight many other examples of variations in the contexts, conditions, and contents of termination-related deposits, emphasizing 166 differences in the behaviors and intentions responsible for their formation. According to Stanton and colleagues (2008:235), “termination” should be reserved for deposits that have one thing in common, “the intent to ritually ‘kill’ an object, structure, person, or place.” They also suggest that the use of the term “problematical” may be helpful in cases where data appear too ambiguous to distinguish among the potential types of behavior behind specific deposits. Such conclusions about intentionality are often difficult to draw, however, and many archaeologists simply prefer to avoid applying weighted terms like “termination” or “problematical” altogether. Unusual, Destructive, and Relocated Deposits Although the depositional categories defined by Coe and Freidel’s projects, whether “terminal,” “problematical,” or “termination ritual,” were implemented in the interpretation of many subsequent archaeological finds, other archaeologists resisted such inexact terminology. This, then, leads to an analytical issue of somewhat opposite to that raised by Monaghan. Archaeologists create a range of new terms, individually describing every find that does not fit neatly within established categories (even those categories that were created specifically to describe finds that did not fit within existing categories). Rather than the problem of a single term encompassing too much to be useful, this proliferation of deposit-specific naming creates an overabundance of classificatory monikers and dissuades comparability among them. The end result is the same: the actual ancient behavior responsible for archaeological deposits and the meanings underlying acts of deposition are obscured, rather than elucidated, by overly specific jargon. As above, a few key examples, here drawn from Kohunlich, Caracol, Dos Hombres, and Blue Creek, serve to illustrate this point. 167 Kohunlich In Quintana Roo, at the site of Kohunlich, Enrique Nalda and Sandra Balanzario (2011) provide extensive documentation of thirty deposits that they call acumulaciones inusuales or “unusual accumulations,” found across three separate complexes at the site center. These assemblages were distinguished by their “abundance, artifactual variability, and contemporaneity” (Balanzario 2011:13). Nalda and Balanzario (2011:20- 21) use the term “unusual accumulations” for these deposits in order to highlight what they see as distinctive characteristics of the assemblages at Kohunlich: 1) none of the unusual accumulations were found buried beneath contemporary or subsequent construction phases, only atop stucco floors or the collapse of masonry architecture or building façades; 2) the unusual accumulations at Kohunlich were found solely in association with residential structures, never with “ceremonial” buildings; and 3) all of the finds deemed unusual accumulations date to the same period, the Terminal Classic (between AD 850 and 1050), which Balanzario sees as evidence that the material recovered from the thirty deposits represents the product of a specific activity, collected and buried or deposited after the activity was completed with “relative care” (Balanzario 2011:20). The unusual accumulations at Kohunlich feature a wide variety of artifacts: ceramic sherds, including fragments of incised and polychrome vessels; complete obsidian and chert objects as well as lithic production debitage; figurines and whistles; censers; spindle whorls; mollusks and faunal remains (primarily from white-tailed deer); and human skeletal remains, including several complete or semi-complete interments (Balanzario 2011:71-116). The deposits identified as unusual accumulations are inconsistent in their contents, however. Some deposits do not include any ceramics, while others lack faunal or human skeletal materials. As Balanzario (2011:117) describes, 168 the assemblages are deemed unusual accumulations based on their mixed character. Broadly defined, these deposits seem to be formed by the discard and by-products of everyday life, yet are combined with the remains of special, occasional or periodical activities, including primary burials. Caracol At the major Maya site of Caracol, artifacts and debris recovered from the surfaces of final-phase floors represent the most abundantly recovered materials dating to the Terminal Classic period (Chase and Chase 2004:348). These assemblages, which Arlen and Diane Chase (2004:348-349, 352) term “on-floor debris,” “de facto refuse,” or “abandonment deposits,” include bone (animal and human, worked and unworked), artifacts like jadeite or marine shell, and pottery (approximately 140 whole or largely reconstructible vessels). Many of the floors of the palaces at Caracol beneath these finds also show evidence of a burning layer. One deposit also included an unburied child, found in an interior doorway of one of Caracol’s palace structures. Chase and Chase understand these assemblages as the result of the rapid abandonment of Caracol, during which use-related (non-ritual) pottery and trash were left behind in the midst of a hurried or unplanned exit. A few of these deposits are described as “more problematic,” namely those that incorporate both ritual and domestic items. These include the deposition of domestic objects or skeletal remains on the floors of temples or ceremonial buildings, such as cooking vessels found on the floor of Str. A6, a ritual building with the longest history of use at Caracol (Chase and Chase 2004:354). Chase and Chase further note the presence of “sheet deposits” of mixed ceramic vessels (both complete and partial specimens) and fragmented sherds associated with residential palace structures. Although the 169 assemblages bear striking similarities to deposits at other sites that have been identified as examples of termination rituals (such as those from El Perú-Waka’ [Navarro Farr 2009] and Aguateca [Inomata 2003] discussed above), Chase and Chase see these materials as provisional refuse, indicative of an interruption in collection procedures and garbage removal. In fact, they explicitly state that “Judging from the content and contextual considerations at Caracol, these deposits do not appear to be related to termination rituals” (Chase and Chase 2004:363). Dos Hombres In the Three Rivers Region of Belize, Brett Houk prefers to use the term “destructive event deposit” (2000:144) to describe a midden-like, problematical deposit from the site of Dos Hombres. Known as “Problematical Deposit (PD) 2,” the deposit refers to a 50-cm thick concentration of artifacts atop a final floor within a small, elite courtyard at the entrance to the site’s elevated Acropolis. Artifacts from the deposit included partially reconstructible vessels, an imported chert eccentric biface, a rollerstamp, a figurine head with an elaborate bird headdress, an animal’s face made of ceramic, a drilled jaguar tooth, an obsidian biface, and an anthropomorphic whistle. Houk, assuming that the materials were deposited across the entire courtyard, extrapolates from the excavated sherd density to suggest that 104,000 sherds were present, forming approximately 1000 complete vessels (despite the fact that refitting analyses were not carried out with respect to PD 2 [Houk 1996]). The courtyard deposit effectively terminated the entire architectural group, sealing the entrance to the Acropolis. Rather than seeing PD 2 as a ritual termination, however, Houk suggests that the event represents a secular mimicry of earlier ritual behavior. Instead of terminating a 170 structure or courtyard, Houk argues that PD 2 terminated the elites of Dos Hombres themselves, in a series of “profane, non-sacred, non-ritual acts that destroyed the possessions of the elite, the physical symbols of their ideological prestige and power” (Houk 2000:144). According to Houk, only the private, enclosed domains of Dos Hombres elites were subject to such “destructive event deposits.” Houk ties the deposits at Dos Hombres to other known examples from the region, specifically at Chan Chich and Blue Creek (2000:149). Blue Creek At Blue Creek, another archaeological site in the Three Rivers Region of northwestern Belize and not far from Dos Hombres, a problematical deposit known as “Special Deposit (SD) 1” covered the front of Str. 3, one of two tall, pyramidal structures occupying the eastern side of the site’s main plaza, Plaza A (Clayton et al. 2005:121). SD 1 featured primarily ceramic sherds, packed within a dark soil matrix, containing a high carbon concentration, atop Str. 3’s stairway, extending along the stairway and into the adjacent plaza. Although Thomas Guderjan (2004) interprets SD 1 as a single ritual, in which whole vessels were smashed in front of Str. 3, Clayton et al. (2005) present evidence drawn from ceramic analyses to argue against Guderjan’s identification of SD 1 as the remains of a termination event. Clayton et al. (2005:123) understand termination ritual as “an event in which vessels were smashed and then scattered, along with other ritually meaningful items,” leading the analyst to work from the expectation that “if SD 1 represents a termination ritual involving the destruction of ceramic vessels and their immediate deposition at Structure 3, we would expect to find numerous whole vessels in the deposit.” Modified refitting analyses of the Blue Creek materials were undertaken, which focused on rim sherds from the ceramic assemblage and assumed that fully 171 reconstructible rims represented whole vessels. Although 21,271sherds were recovered from SD 1, analysis took into account slightly fewer than 18% of the total assemblage (3,785 sherds) because of issues of erosion and unidentifiable body sherds (Clayton and colleagues state that the minimum number of vessels represented was 2,341 [2005:123]). The sherds dated to various chronological periods from the Late Preclassic through the Terminal Classic, though the Late Classic period was by far the most common time represented. Using only the rim sherds from SD 1, Clayton and colleagues find a high ratio of serving vessels to storage vessels, which they interpret as possible evidence of feasting- related activities. The ratio in SD 1 is even higher than would be expected for the remains of feasting (Clayton et al. 2005:128), however, and the deposit also lacks other evidence of feasting activities, such as chipped- and ground-stone tools and faunal remains. This, they argue, suggests that refuse associated with feasting activities conducted in the Plaza A area was relocated to Str. 3 from a nearby primary midden deposit (also termed a problematical deposit by Clayton et al. [2005:128]). The refuse from the storage, preparation, and processing of food for the feast, however, would have been created and deposed of in a domestic location far away from the ritual civic structures of Plaza A or perhaps discarded in a separate and yet undiscovered midden. The examples from Kohunlich, Caracol, Dos Hombres, and Blue Creek demonstrate some of the inconsistencies in individual researchers’ criteria for termination rituals. For example, even though Coe (1959:94-95) specifically noted the fact that the smashed censers from Str. K-5-2nd at Piedras Negras could not be reconstructed despite careful excavation, a same trait echoed by archaeologists working at Cerros (Garber 1983:804; Robertson 1983), at some point incomplete items lost their place as a defining characteristic of termination deposits. Ironically, the ability to 172 reconstruct interred objects instead became a required factor in the identification of some termination rituals, as in the case provided from Blue Creek (Clayton et al. 2005:123) or in Houk’s (2000:144) extrapolated vessel counts at Dos Hombres. Moreover, breakage is often presumed to have been a violent event. As Pagliaro et al. (2003:80) write in their list of characteristic evidence for termination rituals, “ceramic sherd refits from different levels, often spaced quite far apart and from wide areas, are indicative of pot smashing and scattering associated with termination ritual deposits.” This leads to cases like Kohunlich, Caracol, and Blue Creek, where archaeologists see the presence of other types of material, particularly domestic or ceremonial refuse, as incongruous with their own assumptions about what constitutes ritual behavior. The examples from Piedras Negras, Aguateca, El Perú-Waka’, and La Caldera subsumed different material culture patterning under the umbrella of “termination,” blurring the individual characteristics of the assemblages at each site. In the examples provided from Kohunlich, Caracol, Dos Hombres, and Blue Creek, on the other hand, archaeologists emphasize the distinctive nature of each deposit, but generating new terminology to describe each archaeological find often comes at the expense of comparative study. Rubbish and Renewal Although archaeologists at Cerros formally defined “termination ritual” as a particular type of context commonly encountered at ancient Maya sites (Freidel et al. 1998:135), subsequent usage of the categorical term often implies an interpretation in itself, rather than a means of getting towards one. At least in part, the difficulties in forming consistent interpretations of seemingly anomalous archaeological deposits and/or the events responsible for them stem from variation in understanding how meaning may be generated or imparted through action. That is, are archaeological 173 deposits themselves meaningful or does meaning arise through the actions and processes that create them? Do the objects interred as termination deposits carry meanings generated in a particular context, which led to their deposition, or do they gain meaning through their involvement in processes of termination, via their deposition? Are broken objects employed in termination rituals because the act of breakage is part of the event or because they are already broken and therefore considered acceptable items for offering and deposition? Houk writes of Dos Hombres’ PD 2, “Obviously the deposit itself is not the ritual, but the byproduct of the ritual” (2000:144). As the previous chapter demonstrated, however, categories of action ranging from “ritual” to “mundane” are often overlapping. Activities that a modern analyst may deem unusual or special may have served purely rational purposes from the point of view of individuals or communities in the past (see also Brück 1999; Hall 2011). Moreover, the marked variability in ancient depositional practices and their archaeological remains raises the issue of whether identifying certain assemblages as “special,” “unusual,” or “problematical” is really even possible. Rather, the indeterminacy of the criteria for deposits that seem both ordinary and extraordinary tends to lead to what Kunen et al. (2002:199) describe as “what many archaeologists do when faced with special deposits: base their assignment on a common-sense ‘feel’ for what the deposit represents.” The preceding sections detailed examples of the kinds of archaeological deposits discussed at the beginning of this chapter: individually variable, yet also recognizable as connected in some way. Table 4.1 presents a comparison among those finds, summarizing the descriptions detailed in the text by highlighting the presence or absence of common features. As the text and table show, comparatively evaluating the specific artifacts or contexts of assemblages is somewhat difficult. Methods and levels of analysis 174 and the details of published data range widely, as do the contents and patterns of each deposit. Fundamentally, what relates these deposits, and makes them “problematical”, is a peculiar shared characteristic: they defy archaeologists’ expectations. Concentrated dumps of apparent refuse interspersed with human remains and objects of value, found within elite residential areas, they simply don’t make sense to a modern mindset that cleanly divides rubbish from ritual (thus initial interpretations of such finds as post- abandonment “squatters’ refuse” [Pendergast 1979; Thompson 1954]) Further complicating these questions is the ambiguous boundary between dedication and termination in Mesoamerica. Sometimes described as two sides of the same coin, at others as opposite, yet complementary, ends of a ritual spectrum (e.g., Mock 1998:5; Chase 1988:93), it is often (and ironically) unclear where acts of termination end and acts of dedication begin. John Monaghan (1998:48-50), however, prefers to view dedicatory or termination acts as part of local theories of production: a set of ideas about how people actively constitute, organize, and propagate their worlds. For Monaghan, production moves beyond a view that solely encompasses technology or is defined by material utility, drawing instead on labor, capital, and resources, each mediated by ideas about the body, work, gender, and nature. Collapsing the distinction between dedication and termination to one of production or transformation opens up possibilities. The rites and practices surrounding dedication and termination are no long phenomenologically distinct activities, but simply one set of actions through which people create and maintain the conditions of their existence. This is particularly true where trash is concerned. Curated, collected, transported, and interred, refuse bridges the retained and the forgotten, the visible and the invisible (Thompson 1979:8-9). Burnt and broken artifacts manifest the manipulation of resources and objects through human intervention. 175 Site Source Burning Architectural White Sherds Faunal Primary Fragmented Small Destruction Marl (Reconstructible?) Remains human human Finds burials remains Piedras Coe 1959 X X O X (Partially) O O O O Negras (Str. K-5-2nd) Piedras Coe 1959 X O X X (Completely) X X O X Negras (Burial 10) Tikal (PD. Haviland 2014 X X O O X O X X 72) Tikal (PD. Coe 1990 X X O X (Partially) X O X X 22) Cerros Garber 1981, X X X X (Partially) X O O X 1983; Walker 1998 Yaxuna Ambrosino X X X X (Some complete, X O X X 2007; Freidel et some partial) al. 1998 Piedras Golden 2002 X X O O O O O X Negras Piedras Child 2006; O O O O X O O X 176 Negras Child and Golden 2008 El Perú- Navarro Farr X X O O O X X X Waka’ 2004, 2009; Navarro Farr and Arroyave 2007 Aguateca Inomata 2003 X X X O X O O X La Caldera Kunen et al. X O O O X X O X 2002 Kohunlich Nalda and O O O O X X X X Balanzario 2011 Caracol Chase and Chase X O O X (Some complete, X X X X 2004 some partial) Dos Houk 2000 O O O X (Partially) X O O X Hombres Blue Creek Clayton et al. O O O O O O O O 2005; Guderjan 2004 Table 5.1. Comparison of general deposit features discussed in the text (X = present, O = absent). Based on evidence in text and imagery provided by the Maya themselves, Stephen Houston (2014:133) argues that “[the Maya] saw that a transformative power, arising from skill, magic, and mystery, could recall a delightful thing but also alter it, offering a new shape that both replaced and was its own original. The many caches of broken pots, figurines, flutes, even jade and shell, suggest that, for them, creation also existed alongside destruction.” Similarly, in Bernardino de Sahagún’s Historia General de las Cosas de la Nueva España (1950-1982), an illustration from book 7, chapter 12 depicts an indigenous man in the act of producing potsherds as part of the cyclical New Fire ceremony of the Aztec: with arms outstretched, he flings bowls, jars, and footed vessels, surrounding himself with fragmented objects (Figure 5.2; see Hamann 2008:804). In Mesoamerica, processes of making and unmaking represent complementary interactions and relations between people and the physical world, the transformation of material objects through the investment of human energy, creativity, and skill. At the same time that the Maya manipulated matter, bending and shaping materials and objects according to human will, objects possessed their own liveliness and, to a certain extent, agency (Harrison-Buck 2012; Stuart 1996:157; Jackson 2014). As Houston (2014:78-79) shows, the Maya world was full of animating, agitating energies. Yukatek Maya employ the common, ancient term kux to describe the most potent of these – life itself. Kux enables man, animals, plants, and stones to live, while also refreshing or vivifying special things, such as altars. The concept of k’u or ch’u (its pronunciation depends on the particular Mayan language in which it appears) connotes “sacred entity,” also meaning “holy, sacred, divine” when used in adjective form as k’ul or ch’ul. Ch’u is at the root of the concept of ch’ulel, a term that appears in Chol and the Greater Tzeltalan Mayan languages with a meaning “vitality” or “holiness” (Houston and Stuart 1996:291-292). Ch’ulel encompasses the vital force or power that energizes bodies, blood, and a variety of ritual and everyday objects (Gossen 1996:533; Vogt 1969:369-371; 177 Watanabe 1992). For the Tzotzil Maya of Chiapas, Mexico, ch’ulel is indestructible and recyclable, an essence that gathers in humans and “domesticated animals and plants, salt, houses and household fires, crosses, the saints, musical instruments, maize, and all the other deities in the pantheon” (Houston 2014:78). Ch’ulel can be lost by disease, breakage, and wear, but also returns in an enlivened ebb and flow. Human interactions with objects are shaped by these energies and the various acts and offerings required to manage such forces. As Houston (2014:79) writes, “they show independent resolve, yet, with persuasion, bow to human will. An intense projection of anger, even if unplanned, destroys a useful tool; proper tending will invite it to cooperate.” The Tzotzil coax musical instruments to perform by plying them with liquor, while the Q’eqchi Maya of Guatemala must “feed” houses, brooms, musical instruments, bridges, and sewing machines – “profane objects” – in order to calm their intrinsic hostilities (Houston 2014:79). Thompson (1971:199) observed this notion of dangerous, animate objects with respect to Classic period artifacts: “[t]he Maya believe that the stelae, as well as other ancient things, notably incense burners, come to life at night, and they deliberately smash them in the belief that they harm the living.” This tenuous relationship with the material world, particularly the objects made and used by human hands, is deeply rooted in pre-Columbian mythology. In the Popol Vuh, a pre-human race of people made of wood are destroyed by their own dogs, grinding stones, and cooking pots, experiencing the torment of use, breaking, and burning to which they subjected their own creations: Their bones were ground up. They were broken into pieces … Their faces were crushed by the trees and the stones. They were spoken to by all their maize grinders and their cooking griddles, their plates and their pots, their dogs and their grinding stones. However many things they had, all of them crushed their faces. Their dogs and their turkeys said to them: ‘Pain you have caused us. You ate us. Therefore it will be you that we will eat now.’ Then the grinding stones said this to them: ‘We were ground upon by you. Every day, every day, in the evening at dawn, always you did holi, holi, huki, huki on our faces. This was our service for you who were the 178 first people. But this day you shall feel our strength. We shall grind you like maize. We shall grind up your flesh,’ said their grinding stones to them … Then spoke also their griddles and their pots to them: ‘Pain you have caused us. Our mouths and our faces are sooty. You were forever throwing us upon the fire and burning us. Although we felt no pain, you now shall try it. We shall burn you,’ said all of their pots … The stones of the hearth flattened them. They would come out from the fire, landing on their heads and causing them pain … Thus the framed people, the shaped people, were undone. They were demolished and overthrown as people (Christenson 2003:66-89). Quilter (1990:44) sees the Popol Vuh legend as the Maya version of a shared pan- American myth known as the “Revolt of the Objects” (a useful shortening of Krickeberg’s [1928:386] earlier term for the story, “The Sage of the Rebellion of Human Utensils Against their Masters”). In addition to the Popol Vuh account, the Revolt of the Objects theme is also known from three major Moche artworks: a mural from the Huaca de la Luna in the Moche Valley and two painted pottery vessels in German museums. In all three depictions, various objects, weapons, and articles of military regalia are shown with arms and legs, chasing humans or holding them captive (e.g., Figure 5.3). Moreover, an early 17th-century document, compiled by Francisco de Avila in the highland Huarochiri region east of Lima, contains the following description: “They recount that in remote times the sun died. Because of its death five days passed like nights. And then the rocks banged against each other. Furthermore, the mortars and grinding stones began to eat men. And the male llamas began to drive humans” (Urioste 1983 [quoted in Quilter 1990:46]). The Peruvian legend and the Moche imagery are remarkably similar to the Popol Vuh account, underscoring the notion of relational personhood, one equally incorporating objects, activities, and social relations, as a wide-reaching perspective of the pre-Columbian world, throughout Mesoamerica and beyond (Allen 1998; Gossen 1996; Hutson 2010:1-2; Monaghan 1998). In both the Maya and the Peruvian accounts of the Revolt of the Objects, the uprising takes place at the end of an era: the death of the sun or the destruction of the 179 earth. As Allen (1998:18) describes, “[t]ime moves in fits and starts. Periodically, the sun is blotted out; everything goes crazy, turns backwards or inside out, and then gets washed away, burned up, or buried. The old order gives way and makes room for new worlds, new suns, and new people. In these moments of cosmic liminality, utensils and domestic animals turn on their human masters.” In Mesoamerica, conceptions of time both arise out of and provide the basis for these deeply preoccupying moments and the constantly negotiated, oppositional balance between order and chaos, structure and anti- structure (Carrasco 1990:48-53). As Farriss (1987:574) writes, “[t]he drama of creation is therefore an ongoing one, for the cosmic order must continually be reaffirmed in the face of this ever-looming chaos.” This pervasive uneasiness during liminal periods is particularly evident in the Uayeb’ (or Wayeb’). The Uayeb’ is a short month of five unlucky days that fall at the end of the year (the leftover days that result from a calendar divided into 18 months of 20 days each). According to Stanzione (2003:56), the Uayeb’ is also known as “the sleeping or resting place of the Sun. Since the sun was at rest, the portal from the Underworld opened, allowing deathly chaos to roam across the face of the earth.” Stanzione further highlights the components of the Classic period glyph for the Uayeb’, which is formed by the 360-day tun sign situated beneath a skeletal maw, the open passage to and from the Underworld (Figure 5.4). This glyph was probably read in ancient times as u-WAY-HA’B, “the sealed chamber/sleeping room of the year” (Stephen Houston, personal communication 2014). The dread accompanying the Uayeb’ is described in several colonial period texts, such as the early nineteenth-century account by Don Juan Pío Pérez: “When the days and months that make up a year pass, the five nameless days are counted. These are the bad days of the year, the ill-fated days in which there is every kind of danger or misfortune; sudden deaths, bites by wild beasts or snakes, wooden splinters 180 in the feet, and other things. For this reason they are called the painful or ill-fated days” (Craine and Reindorp 1979:170). Similar to human interactions with the potent, vitalizing energies described above, historical and contemporary events played out in human time had the potential to impact the course and perpetuation of cosmic time (Carrasco 1990:114). Despite the divine ordinance of cosmic cycles, their execution remained dependent largely on the agency of human individuals. Disorder and chaos are forces beyond the power of mere mortals, but their role in combating them is an active one. The collective anxiety over this looming threat was partially assuaged by the sense of a collective purchase of survival through rites of renewal, which replenished divine energies and maintained the orderly motion of time and the cosmos (Farriss 1984:320-343). During the Uayeb’ period, normal life was suspended, people became susceptible to disease, misfortune, and death, and the world died, to be reborn on New Year’s day (Christenson 2014:30). In a quote from Diego de Landa at the beginning of Chapter 4, the cleaning, sweeping, and renewal of houses, everyday objects, and personal belongings reflects and ensures the ceremonial rebirth of the world at the end of the Uayeb’ period. Christenson (2014:31) has observed the remarkable continuity of such practices: In 1977 I lived in a small community called Canquixaja, near Momostenango, Guatemala. At the close of the 260-day ritual calendar, each household ritually smashed their principal cooking vessel used for boiling maize prior to grinding. The larger fragments of the pot were then carried as a family to an ancestral shrine in the mountains and placed atop a great mound of other shards that had accumulated over the years … There an ajq’ij, a traditional Maya priest, blessed each member of the family to cleanse him or her from any corruption that they might have accumulated during the previous year. He then called upon various deities, saints, and their own sacred ancestors to give them a healthy and abundant new year. The family then returned to their homes where they thoroughly washed themselves in the nearby river to remove any taint from the bad influences of the final days of the year. Immediately afterward, they swept their home clean and prepared a new cooking vessel 181 as a token that the world had been reborn and would continue to provide nourishment for them in the coming year. Another oft-cited example of such rituals of renewal is the Central Mexican New Fire ceremony. Every 52 years, at the completion and restart of the Calendar Round (the pan- Mesoamerican combination of the 365-day solar calendar and the 260-day ritual calendar), the Nahuas took a series of precautionary steps to ensure that the sun would rise and the present age of creation would continue. The New Fire ceremony is briefly described in a sixteenth-century manuscript known as the Codex Tudela (Códice Tudela 1980:Folio 83v-84r): “Every fifty-two years they put out all the fires so that none remained in the land, and they broke all of the jars and pitchers that they had used, and they broke all of the cooking griddles and vessels that they owned.” Sahagún (1950- 1982:Book 7:25) provides a more detailed account in the Florentine Codex: First they put out the fires everywhere in the country round. And the statues, hewn in either wood or stone, kept in each man’s home and regarded as gods, were all cast into the water. Also (were) these (cast away) – the pestles and the three hearth stones (upon which the cooking pots rested) ; and everywhere there was much sweeping – there was sweeping very clean. Rubbish was thrown out; none lay in any of the houses2. The Codex Borbonicus (Figure 5.5) also offers a visual depiction of the New Fire ceremony, in which each of four priests carries a bundle of sticks known as a xiuhmolpilli, signifying years (Fash et al. 2009:206). New Fire ceremonies have long been suggested to have correlates in the archaeological record. Valliant (1938:552) first proposed the identification of concentrated artifact dumps with local New Fire celebrations: “…a very striking possibility in the presence of simultaneously destroyed groups of vessels, as opposed to more gradual accumulations in refuse heaps… One such rite involved the destruction of 2Burkhart (1989:120) translates the last few lines of this excerpt as “[e]verywhere things were swept, things were swept smooth, things were carried aside, no longer did anything lie fallen in people’s houses.” 182 old household furniture and equipment in order to make new utensils when the next [52- year] cycle began.” More recently, Elson and Smith (2001) not only published additional data excavated by Vaillant in the Basin of Mexico to further support this hypothesis, but showed the New Fire ceremony to be an ancient, widespread ritual that was appropriated by the Nahuas, rather than particular to them. Byron Hamann (2008:806) suggests that the breaking and disposal of household objects played an integral role in the Nahua New Fire ceremony not because they were “matter out of place” (Douglas 2002:35), but because they were “matter out of time.” Created in one 52-year cycle, they could not belong in the next. They became tlazolli, grown-old, worn-out things (see Chapter 4), a form of “chronological pollution” (Fasolt 2004) that violates the cultural ordering of temporality (Hamann 2008:803). Hamann (2008:806) writes, “[t]he active creation of tlazolli in preparation for the New Fire ceremony (the intentional breaking of bowls and pitchers and tripod vessels) countered the passive creation of tlazolli that would result if objects from one 52-year cycle were simply left in place to wait for the dawning of a new epoch.” New Fire ceremonies were not only undertaken at the end of 52-year cycles, however. In the Mapa de Cuahtinchan No. 2, the upper left hand corner of the map shows the Chichimecs in the process of performing a New Fire ceremony in preparation for leaving Chicomoztoc, the seven caves marking their origin place (Carrasco and Sessions 2007:2). Guilhem Olivier (2007:301), drawing together all examples of the New Fire ceremony in Postclassic highland Mexico, notes that the ceremony may be conducted at the birth of a people when leaving a place of origin, the transformation of a people when passing through that place, the foundation of a city or seigniorial domain, the foundation of a new house or temple, the accession to power of a new authority, or the foundation of a new lineage after conquest. Nielsen (2006:22) similarly highlights 183 instances of New Fire ceremonies enacted to connote the enthronement of a new ruler, the founding of a new town, and the arrival of a new world order. As Elson and Smith (2001:171) argue, other ethnic groups conducted celebrations of the New Fire ceremony, not only the Nahuas of Central Mexico. Nor, it seems, were they limited to the Postclassic period. Fash et al. (2009) have documented evidence suggesting that similar concepts were at work in Classic Teotihuacan, long before the Aztec practice. The alignment of the Pyramid of the Sun reflects observation of solar and eclipse cycles, but also the setting of the Pleiades on the day of the solar zenith. When the later Aztecs practice their New Fire ceremony, the passing of the Pleiades through the zenith was the key event in the cosmic drama, signaling that the sun would live on and marking the moment when the actual New Fire was ignited over the chest of a sacrificial victim. Fash et al. (2009:207) further note the presence of stone mosaic sculptures arranged before a platform in front of the Sun Pyramid (known as the Adosada), which take the form of the xiuhmolpilli (year bundles), depicted in the Codex Borbonicus. Fash et al. (2009:208-209) view these three large xiuhmolpilli as “name tags,” labeling the Adosada as the “House of New Fire.” A large stone brazier marked by a twisted cord (a fire-making sign) and a knotted sign (signaling sacrifice) was found at the center of Adosada, further identifying it as a place where fire was made and offered. In addition to the New Fire ceremonies performed at Teotihuacan, Fash and colleagues (2009:211) see parallels among the Classic period lowland Maya as well. They position Temple 16 at the Maya site of Copan as a recreation of the Sun Pyramid and Adosada at Teotihuacan. Drawing on hieroglyphic and iconographic readings by Stuart (2000) and Taube (2004:268), Fash and colleagues interpret the “crossed bundles” glyph on the façade of Temple 16 and Altar Q as bundles of firewood (see also Taube 2004:272-273), analogous to the xiuhmolpilli and referring directly to the Adosada platform of the Sun Pyramid at Teotihuacan. Taube (2004:267-268), in fact, calls the torch depicted on Altar Q the 184 “founding fire,” interpreted as an original, legitimizing New Fire passed from Copan’s dynastic founder to his descendants (Nielsen 2006:25). Colonial period sources attest to the continued practice of New Fire ceremonies among the Ch’olti’-Lacandon Maya (de Vos 1988:181-182; Houston, personal communication 2014). A collective letter, dated August 26, 1695 and written by Friar Antonio Margil and two companions, includes an account of the ceremony celebrated in honor of Macom, the god of lightning, which de Vos (1988:181) describes as an annual rite of fire renewal: …secretly they make offerings to lightning, whose god is called Macom, and for that reason, when it thunders, they offer him copal, saying: Macom, illa ha tzaon anapom; Macom, don’t pummel us, there is your copal. The major celebrants of this festival are the caciques and four other officials; the caciques get drunk on a drink they make with pineapple and sugar cane. They enter like lightning into the town and the people flee to the bush, each leaving by the side of the hearth in his house a jar of water. No one stays in the town aside from the drunken caciques in the house of the idols, and the four officials, who are not drunk, go through all of the houses, extinguishing the fire, pouring the water jar on top of it. These four take care to see that a great fire burns continuously in front of the idols, constantly burning a lot of copal, taking care occasionally to ensure the drunkenness of the caciques, giving them the drink they make so that they do not stop being rays of lightning or drunk throughout the four days that the solemnity of the lightning lasts. The next day all four return to their homes, each one cutting a fowl’s throat and dropping the blood over fatwood3. They bring [the fatwood] to burn before the idols and ask the caciques (now that their drunkenness has passed) for new fire, and from there the fire passes to all the houses, and they cook their chickens and eat and drink and celebrate their great festival, free of ordinary soot (de Vos 1988:182). Christenson (2014:393-394) similarly describes the creation of New Fire as the major ceremony on the Saturday of Holy Week in Santiago Atitlan. A newly-created flame must be used, rather than a pre-existing one, to light all the candles and incense burners in the church. In the modern ceremony, all of the electric lights in the church are turned off immediately beforehand, the only time that the area is cast into absolute darkness. A 3 The resin-impregnated, rot-resistant heartwood of pine trees, used as kindling and tinder for starting fires. 185 bonfire is assembled and lit in the plaza beyond the church, the striking of the New Fire symbolizing Christ’s rebirth and the restoration of light and life in the world. The flames of the bonfire are used to light a large candle, which a priest blesses and calls “the beginning and the end.” The priest climbs the steps of the church and uses the candle to light the unlit ones held by the Atitecos closest to him, who in turn light the candles of their neighbors, creating the illusion of a cascade of light flowing through the plaza, illuminating the darkness. The rituals of renewal from Yucatan to highland Guatemala to Central Mexico show considerable variation, yet speak to shared purposes and accomplish similar goals through their ritual “work,” a theme that similarly characterizes the deposits discussed earlier in this chapter. Major events and changes, whether cyclical or unexpected, local or widespread, require preparation, recognition, or respect to ensure success and continuity. In the case of termination rituals and “problematical” deposits, the potential “chronological pollution,” intrinsic vitality, and possible hostility of the materials made and used prior to deposition were mitigated by their curation, collection, and containment within remodeled or abandoned structures. Through burning and deposition, used, worn-out, and broken objects were transformed, “fed” to the earth and the animating forces of houses and temples built upon it. Swept up, piled, and placed directly into the fabric of renewed buildings, these artifacts contributed their threatening (but contained) power to new iterations of previously existing structures, much in the same fashion as broken indigenous idols incorporated into the walls of Latin America’s early colonial churches (Hamann 2008:811). Rather than attempting to delineate a boundary between dedication and termination, understanding problematical deposits as ritual “work,” as necessary acts of renewal, enables an understanding of these interments as simultaneously looking to the past and the future, bridging endings and beginnings, maintaining and perpetuating not only a worldview, but the actual world itself. 186 187 Figure 5.1. The Maize God is reborn with the harvest out of a turtle-shaped quatrefoil earth. Drawing by Heather Hurst. Figure 5.1. Sahagún’s depiction of the production of potsherds in the New Fire Ceremony (Hamann 2008:Fig.2). 188 189 Figure 5.2. The Moche "Revolt of the Objects" theme, as depicted in the Huaca de la Luna mural (Quilter 1990:Fig. 2). Figure 5.3. The glyphic representation of Uayeb, probably read by the ancient Maya as u-WAY-HA'B, "the sealed chamber/sleeping room of the year" (Stanzione 2003:Fig. 23). 190 Figure 5.4. The Nahua New Fire Ceremony in the Codex Borbonicus (Fash et al. 2009:Fig. 3). 191 CHAPTER 6 PA’KAAN AND ITS PALACE: RESEARCH, EXCAVATION, AND DEPOSITION AT THE EL ZOTZ ACROPOLIS Moving through contemporary, historic, and ancient practices of discard and deposition, previous chapters of this dissertation situate unusual deposits from the Maya area in their multilayered theoretical and comparative contexts. In this chapter, I narrow that lens to focus on one such deposit’s immediate local setting: the palatial complex at El Zotz, an archaeological site in the Department of Peten, Guatemala. Drawing on the work of the international collaborations of the El Zotz Archaeological Project, I provide an overview of El Zotz’s geography and environmental history, a detailed description of the architectural and occupational chronology of the Acropolis (the royal palace at the site center), and the archaeological context and excavation strategies employed with respect to a particular complex deposit, to be analyzed and interpreted in the following chapter. I conclude by returning to a regional scale, providing an overview of the geopolitical climate surrounding El Zotz and its neighbors during the Terminal Classic period (ca. AD 800-100). In this way, the particular depositional acts that took place at the El Zotz Acropolis are understood in terms of their physical context (geography and natural resource availability) and site-specific cultural history, as well as in response to and as repercussions of broader Terminal Classic transformations in the Central Peten. Site and Setting: El Zotz The archaeological site of El Zotz occupies an elevated position within the Buenavista Valley in northern Guatemala, a southwest to northeast corridor running for 192 32 km to the north of the Lake Petén Itza region (Houston et al. 2015; Figure 6.1). The valley connects the northeast and northwest Department of Peten, providing a key route from Chetumal Bay to the bay of Campeche, in the shadow of its defining feature: the Buenavista Escarpment. The largest in the Peten, the Buenavista Escarpment’s looms – nearly 400 masl in some places – above the valley’s northern edge, before transitioning to the uplands of the Petén Karst Plateau (Beach et al., in press; Dunning et al. 1998:89). The site is moderate in size, dwarfed by Tikal, its immediate neighbor 23 km to the east, and situated geographically, and at times politically, between Tikal and El Perú- Waká, 58 km to the west. Many of El Zotz’s satellite groups occupy hilltops along the Buenavista Escarpment, which defines the valley to the north and provides far-reaching views across the route below. Its modern name (meaning “the bat” in several Mayan languages) refers to the nightly exodus of a particularly large community, which pours out of a nearby cave in the Buenavista Escarpment at dusk. The ancient inhabitants of the site, however, knew it as Pa’kaan, meaning “split sky” or “fortified sky” (Houston 2008:7). Studies of the soils, geomorphology, water quality, and paleoecology, led by Timothy Beach and Sheryl Luzzader-Beach, provide details of the major natural resources in the El Zotz region and environmental changes throughout its history (see Beach et al., in press; Beach et al. 2011; Luzzader-Beach et al. 2012). Located at a divide of four important drainages and their varied natural resources – the Three Rivers basin (northeast), the Belize River (southeast), the Pasión River (south), and the San Pedro Martir River (west) – the region is characterized by typical karst mogotes, sinkholes, and caves. Although the climate has fluctuated throughout Late Holocene, it is primarily controlled by the Intertropical Convergence Zone (ITCZ) and experiences a wet climate from May to December (with annual rainfall around 1,500 mm per year) and a dry climate from January through May. Vegetation around El Zotz is variable, ranging from 193 tall, upland forests to savannas, wetlands, and scrubby, seasonally dry “bajo” ecosystems. Natural wetlands form in depressions, which were sometimes altered by the Maya to act as reservoirs, known locally as aguadas, near areas of occupation. The cival (a grassy wetland) at the nearby site of El Palmar serves as a large expanse of water during wet periods and a wetland with invading trees during drier times. A core from the cival at El Palmar showed human disturbance appearing in the Late Archaic period (Cal BP 3680-3460), with rising levels of Zea mays (maize), Ambrosia (ragweed), and charcoal. In the Late Preclassic period (Cal BP 2255-1860), Maranta arundinacea (arrowroot) appears as a cultigen, as do Chrysophyllum and Simarouba glauca, flowering trees with edible fruits and medicinal properties. The concentration of maize reaches its highest levels in the Early Classic, where Cucurbita (gourd) and “chemo-ams” (pollen from Amaranth family) are also found. During the Classic period in general, cultigens and charcoal are found at El Palmar, but so are tree, shrub, and aquatic plants, suggesting that even after the abandonment of the Preclassic urban environment along the shores of the cival (Doyle 2013), the area served as a kind of forest garden. Excavations within the aguada at the site of El Zotz complement the information provided by the El Palmar core. Zea mays was found only in levels dating to the Late Preclassic to Early Classic transition, indicating that urbanization of the El Zotz site core pushed maize agriculture to the periphery. Cucurbita was the only clear food cultigen found in the El Zotz aguada, though Protium (copal) and Pinus (pine) were present throughout the record. Somewhat surprisingly, carbon isotope ratios indicate that the amount of C4 taxa (such as maize) never reached 50% in the El Zotz region, meaning that C3 taxa (such as tropical trees) were still dominant, even during periods of intense occupation. 194 El Zotz went largely unstudied prior to the focused investigations by the El Zotz Archaeological Project despite the site’s familiarity to looters, attested to by over 200 illicit tunnels penetrating the ruins. Early archaeological attention mainly came in the form of cursory visits, sometimes accompanied by sketch maps, which were made in the early 1960s by Robert Carr’s workmen from the Tikal Mapping Project (Doyle 2013:13), and later, during the late 1970s, by Ian Graham, George Andrews (Andrews 1986), and Marco Antonio Bailey of the Instituto de Antropología e Historia (IDAEH) of Guatemala (Houston 2008:6-7). Salvage and consolidation efforts on behalf of the Proyecto Nacional Tikal from the mid-1980s to the late 1990s (Laporte 2006; Quintana and Wurster 2001) retrieved some caches and other ceramics from the site center and backfilled the summit of one of its largest pyramids, Str. M7-1. Today, the ruins lie within the 116,911 hectares of the San Miguel La Palotada Biotope, a collaborative effort on behalf of CECON (Centro de Estudios de Conservación, Universidad de San Carlos de Guatemala), CONAP (Consejo Nacional de Áreas Protegidas), and IDAEH to protect both its cultural and natural resources. In 2006, the El Zotz Archaeological Project, sponsored by Brown University and IDAEH, began an intensive mapping project, soon followed by excavations and regional survey between 2008 and 2011. This first and largest phase of the Project was directed by Stephen Houston and co-directed by Héctor Escobedo (2006-2007), Ernest Arrendondo (2008), and Thomas Garrison, Timothy Beach, and Edwin Román (2009- 2011). In 2012, the project began a second phase of continued mapping and excavations, this time sponsored by the University of Southern California and IDAEH and directed by Garrison and Román, with Houston maintaining his role as the Project’s epigrapher and as an advisor. The test units, vertical and horizontal excavations, and tunneling carried out throughout the El Zotz region during both phases revealed an extensive occupational history from the Preclassic through the Postclassic periods (ca. 700 BC – AD 1250), as 195 well as architecture and artifacts varying widely in date, function, scale, and elaboration (Garrido López et al. 2014). Many archaeologists, conservators, and excavators have conducted detailed work in the El Zotz region. Areas investigated include those beyond the core of El Zotz, such as the site of El Palmar, located east of El Zotz, at the edge of the cival of the same name; the associated site of Bejucal in the uplands to the northeast; a small site known as La Avispa to the southeast, between El Zotz and El Palmar; and hilltop satellite groups of El Zotz – El Diablo, El Tejón, and Las Palmitas. Areas of interest closer to the main ruins include the South Group (a focus of Postclassic occupation), the royal palace and its associated pyramid, the temples of the ceremonial complex known as the East Group, and the necropolis and associated plaza known as the Plaza of the Five Temples (see Figure 6.2). Recent investigations into households, both near and distant from the site center, will complement these elite-centered investigations and build upon the Project’s program of regional survey and test-pitting. The cumulative results of this research can and have filled volumes (e.g., Houston et al. 2015; Garrison and Houston, in prep) and represent the subject matter for multiple doctoral dissertations (e.g., Doyle 2013; Carter 2014; Kingsley 2014) and master’s theses (e.g., de Carteret 2013; Newman 2011; Román Ramirez 2012). As such, in this chapter I narrow my focus to the immediate architectural context for the deposit that is the focus of this dissertation: the El Zotz Acropolis. Appendix A provides detailed data from excavations within the Acropolis. Architecture and Authority at the El Zotz Acropolis Burials at hilltop groups offer evidence of the founding of the first royal necropoleis at El Zotz. A fourth-century AD intact find at El Diablo, most likely represents the founder of the royal line at El Zotz, the Pa’kaan dynasty (Houston et al. 196 2015). Other vaulted Early Classic tombs, though looted, are known from El Diablo and Bejucal, in addition to high-status, but unvaulted burials at El Tejón (Carter et al. 2012). El Diablo, with its royal residential area and the elaborately stuccoed mortuary pyramid known as the “Temple of the Night Sun,” appears to have been the seat of Early Classic authority at El Zotz (Houston et al. 2015). Evidence of Early Classic elite activities also exists in the valley below, in the epicenter of El Zotz. The earliest iterations of Str. M7-1, also known as the “Pyramid of the Wooden Lintel,” are likely contemporary with the royal residential compound at El Diablo, perhaps dating to the mid-fourth century AD (Garrison and Rivas 2014:71). A fifth-century version of the Pyramid of the Wooden Lintel, known as the Accession Platform (Str. M7-1-Sub.2), was aligned toward the Temple of the Night Sun at El Diablo and faced with three monumental masks depicting Ux Yop Hu’n, the personified paper headband of Maya kingship (Garrison et al. 2013; Garrison and Rivas 2014; Stuart 2012). A large vaulted tomb, now looted, lay within the Accession Platform and was reentered by the Maya in antiquity, who cut through the Platform’s central mask in order to access the chamber (Garrison et al. 2012: 68). In the Acropolis, looters’ tunneling debris provided fragmented ceramics similar in form and decoration to those from the intact El Diablo tomb, suggesting that at least the eastern residential areas of what would later become El Zotz’s primary palatial compound also date to the fourth, or perhaps late fifth, century AD (Newman and Menéndez 2012:143; Figure 6.3). An early phase of Str. L7-1, along the western side of the Acropolis, also likely existed as a simple platform during that time. The only evidence of Early Classic masonry superstructures in the Acropolis comes from tunneling excavations in Str. L7-6, the southern border of the Acropolis, which explored a well- preserved room that had been cut and filled in preparation for subsequent expansions of the structure (Pérez Robles et al. 2010:16-18). 197 Textual evidence demonstrates the Pa’kaan dynasty’s involvement in the complicated geopolitics of the Maya lowlands during the Early Classic. Bejucal Stela 2, with dates of July 23, AD 393 and an accession event 12 years before (probably on Sept. 2, AD 381), includes a figure identified with some of the same elements in his name as other rulers at El Zotz (Figure 6.4). This same stela, however, recounts the subordination of Pa’kaan to an enigmatic figure associated with Teotihuacan and linked to Tikal’s regional power during the Early Classic – Sihyaj K’ahk’ (Stuart 2000). Houston has also noted that Stela 31 from Tikal may reference the Temple of the Night Sun, the funerary temple at El Diablo. In a passage alluding to events after the arrival of Sihyaj K’ahk’ (possibly Nov. 26, AD 411), the text identifies a place linked to the Jaguar God of the Underworld, apparently at a location other than Tikal itself. The Temple of the Night Sun abounds in such imagery, from which it gets its name (Houston et al. 2015). El Zotz Wooden Lintel 1 (for which Str. M7-1 is named) has been style-dated to the early sixth century AD, based on the style of its glyphs and imagery (Figure 6.5). The wooden lintel was looted from El Zotz during the 1970s, sold to the Denver Art Museum, and later, in the 1990s, repatriated to Guatemala and the Museo Nacional de Arqueología y Etnología (Houston et al. 2006: 5, 9). El Zotz Wooden Lintel 1 depicts and names a Pa’kaan ruler, alongside the names of his parents. This king’s name, Chak […] Ahk, includes both known and undeciphered elements: chak (meaning “red” or “great”), a vertical fish, an animal head, (probably a dog), and, occasionally, ahk (“turtle”). He is also named on a looted, lidded bowl known as the Canberra Vessel, located in the National Galley of Australia (Houston 2008:3). An unprovenanced mirror back from Bagaces, Costa Rica, is identified as a gift from a fourth-century AD ruler of El Perú- Waka’, K’inich Bahlam, to a lord of El Zotz (Guenter 2005; Houston 2008:5), suggesting a close political relationship between the two sites, possibly one of subordination. A similarly named ruler, perhaps even the founder buried at the El Diablo group, may be 198 named on Monument 60 from Tonina, which records the deaths of Maya kings from many sites. The monument likely dates to March 4, AD 384 and, though badly eroded, seems to include the vertical fish, an early form of chak, and perhaps the dog’s head (Stephen Houston, personal communication 2014). Prior to the beginning of the El Zotz Archaeological Project, Simon Martin (2004) deciphered the name of the site of Yaxchilan as Pa’kaan, translated as “cleft sky” or “split sky.” Martin (2004:1) acknowledges the appearance of this same emblem glyph on pottery linked to Uaxactun, though he notes that it does not appear on the (heavily eroded) monuments at that site, with the possible exception of Stela 2, which Martin suggests is probably a toponym (see also Houston 2008:3). This same emblem glyph is used at El Zotz, with provenience: on the carved wooden lintel from Str. M7-1, Stela 2 from Bejucal, a painted ceramic sherd recovered from tunnels within the Acropolis, and Stela 4 (Figure 6.6). The ceramic finds at Uaxactun, moreover, probably originated at El Zotz, providing evidence of exchange between the two sites rather than the ancient name of Uaxactun (Houston 2008:3). El Zotz and Yaxchilan also share an additional, less commonly used emblem glyph, still undeciphered, which consists of a logographic earspool and is found on the wooden lintel from Str. M7-1 at El Zotz. Although the “split sky” emblem glyph appears in association with Yaxchilan’s dynasts, in early (though retrospective) dates, such as Yopaat Bahlam on the mid-sixth century AD Lintel 11 (Martin and Grube 2008:118), the in situ finds at El Zotz raise the possibility that it was the Yaxchilan dynasty that took up the emblem glyphs established at El Zotz. Where the Early Classic period at El Zotz was marked by the spread of the Pa’kaan kingdom along the Buenavista Escarpment and interactions with neighboring and distant polities, Late Classic investments turned inward, with occupation built upon the site core at the foot of the ridge. El Diablo and El Tejon were abandoned by the end of the Early Classic period, in the midst of unfinished renovation efforts (Houston et al. 199 2015; Román Ramirez 2012), and the Acropolis became the dominant royal-residential zone at the site. In contrast to the Early Classic period, however, direct evidence of kingship at El Zotz during the Late Classic, such as royal burials or inscribed stelae, remains elusive. A cursory, though complicated, record of the Pa’kaan dynasty during the seventh century is provided to a certain extent by the characteristic red-background vessels from the site, of which over thirty exist in private and museum collections. The pots most likely date to the early seventh century AD, on the basis of aesthetic, iconographic, and epigraphic style. INAA results confirm that these vessels were produced using the same clay sources as provenanced pottery recovered during excavations at El Zotz (Ronald Bishop, personal communication 2012). At least nine distinct individuals are named upon various vessels as their owners, in addition to two sets of parents (i.e., the mother and father of two different individuals). The same name carved into El Zotz Lintel 1 and the Canberra Vessel, Chak […] Ahk, appears on the red-background pots, as do other distinct names, such as Bolon Chan K’in, which is also found on one of the vessels from Uaxactun noted by Martin (2004:1). Some of the vessel owners are named as lords of Pa’kaan others as “holy” lords of Pa’kaan (k’uhul pa’ chan ajaw), and some as youths (Carter et al., n.d.). This sudden proliferation of Pa’kaan nobles during the early seventh century AD seems inconsistent with the lack of carved stelae or royal tombs observed for the same time period. As Stephen Houston (personal communication 2014) has recently noted, however, one pot in particular, known as the Barbier Mueller vessel, may help to explain this appearance of multiple named individuals during the Late Classic. The Barbie Mueller vessel shows a familiarly named lord – Chak […] Ahk – and his mother, with accompanying text (Figure 6.7). The glyphic passage designates the mother as a woman of Pa’kaan, her son legitimizing his heritage through her claim to El Zotz. The emphasis on female lineage probably indicates some kind of dynastic disturbance – a 200 loss of clear inheritance lines from father to son that forced a focus on other connective ties to the dynasty. The many named youths and lords of the red-background vessels may represent the pool of potential kings during the early years of the Late Classic period, as well as the inability of any one individual to take firm and lasting control. Despite the inconsistencies in royal leadership hinted at by the red-background vessels, the mid-sixth and early eighth centuries AD, locally known as the Mo’ phase at El Zotz, seem to be a time of expansion and modification of the site core, particularly along its western edges. The westernmost structure of the Acropolis, Str. L7-1, was built up atop its Early Classic antecedent during this time, creating a 50 m long platform running north to south, likely beneath a perishable, residential superstructure. The architectural fill below the floor of this new phase not only provided a radiocarbon date for its construction of AD 540-650 (1490 ± BP), but also a Saxche/Palmar orange polychrome sherd (Figure 6.8), dating to the Mo’ ceramic phase at El Zotz, ca. AD 550-700 (Czapiewska et al., n.d.) and showing the partial royal title k’uhul Pa’kaan (holy Pa’kaan), confirming the presence of a functioning royal court housed at the El Zotz Acropolis during the early Late Classic period. Judging by major investments in architecture following these Mo’ phase modifications, El Zotz seems to have experienced a surge in economic or political success during the local Caal phase (AD 700-850), particularly during the late eighth century. While still short of the building programs commissioned by Early Classic rulers at the site, a complete refurbishing of the Acropolis, in which most of the structures within the complex doubled in volume, and the construction of El Zotz’s tallest pyramid, Str. L7-11, took place during this time. An elite patio group, known as the Northwest Courtyard, was formed just to the west of the Acropolis, while the Las Palmitas Group took shape to the north, marking the return of palatial and ritual structures to the hilltops of the Buenavista Escarpment (see Carter 2014:267; Carter et al., n.d.). Superficial 201 modifications were also made to Str. M7-1 at this time, a testament to the longevity of the pyramid’s impact at the site (Garrison and Rivas 2014). Str. L7-11, at approximately 20 m high, is perhaps the clearest indicator of this impressive investment in construction. The temple consisted of a front entrance and two rooms connected by a central doorway, probably with a wooden lintel and roof. Built in a single episode incorporating multiple preparatory floors, retaining walls, and at least one dedicatory cache, cleaning and documentation of looters trenches within the structure and excavation of its superstructure showed no evidence of earlier phases or buried substructures (Arredondo Leiva et al. 2009), though the temple was modified after its initial construction, with its back wall buttressed for further support and the floors replastered twice. A cache found below the floor of the temple’s basal platform consisted of two small, outflaring bowls, placed lip to lip. One of the bowls was a red and orange bichrome, the other a Zacatal cream polychrome painted with a basketweave pattern. The two vessels contained two plaques of muscovite, a greenstone figurine pendant, a polished Spondylus shell pendant and 46 shark teeth, of the genus Carcharinus, all of the upper jaw and likely from a single individual (Figure 6.9). A radiocarbon sample from the fill surrounding the cache returned a date of AD 660-880 (1240 ± BP). On the other side of the Acropolis, the first iteration of the Northwest Courtyard consisted of well-made basal platforms to support perishable superstructures, oriented along the cardinal directions. The group includes four structures, Strs. L7-17, L7-18, L7- 19, and L7-20 (Figure 6.10). Str. L7-19 has not been investigated, but the remaining three buildings all feature contemporaneous Late Classic residential constructions (Aragón 2011; Newman and Menéndez 2012). Despite the lack of masonry superstructures, the platforms of the Northwest Courtyard were solidly built of dressed limestone blocks, with thick and well-preserved floors. Additionally, the artifacts 202 recovered from their Late Classic levels – polychrome vessels, worked bone tools and adornments, and greenstone objects – suggest the group was inhabited by elites, though not royals, and most likely associated with courtly life in the Acropolis. In the Acropolis proper, changes throughout the Caal phase not only built up the individual structures of the Acropolis, but restricted access to its interior residential spaces, both from outside the complex and within it. On the eastern side of the compound, an existing Early Classic platform was covered over and extended toward the west, forming the base for two separate masonry range structures added above, Strs. L7- 8 and L7-9. The extension of the platform restricted access to the palace from the eastern side, joining the Acropolis to the base of Str. L7-11. Entry was then limited to a narrow, vaulted tunnel, running beneath Strs. L7-8 and L7-9 from the plaza to the east of the Acropolis, for a total of 34 m, before opening onto the palace’s eastern interior courtyard (Figure 6.11). To the north, another Early Classic base beneath Str. L7-2 was simultaneously expanded and restricted. A staircase providing a northern point of entry into the Acropolis was narrowed by wide doorjambs erected to either side, limiting both access and visibility into the interior courtyards of the palace complex (Figure 6.12). At the southwest corner of the Acropolis, a low perimeter wall sealed off a small patio with a stairway leading down to the Northwest Courtyard (Figure 6.13). The patio’s floor was then raised, further limiting access from the patio to the Acropolis’ western interior courtyard between Strs. L7-1 and L7-6. Movement within the palace itself was also limited by extensions to Str. L7-7, running north to south at the center of the complex and separating its two interior courtyards. Str. L7-7 merged with the basal platforms underlying the structures to the north and south of the Acropolis, requiring passage through the interior rooms of Str. L7-7 to access one courtyard from the other. These modifications to the El Zotz Acropolis limited entry to and passage within the royal residential compound to a series of what Loten (2007:26) describes as “portal” 203 structures for the North Acropolis at Tikal, checkpoints where persons desiring entry could be admitted, denied, or perhaps purified. Beyond the Acropolis, changes made to Str. L8-17, a small temple just south of the Acropolis, took place toward the end of Caal phase. These modifications highlight the repercussions of the major changes to the form and layout of the site core. The original building constructed atop the seventh-century tomb consisted of a rectangular room running north to south, with an entrance facing out toward the west. During the late eighth century, however, the structure was altered – the long room was shortened by added walls, what was previously an open interior space was filled with a wide bench, and the former western doorway sealed, with another opened to the east and a stairway added in front, changing the building’s orientation toward the new mass of Str. L7-11 and the Acropolis (Figure 6.14). The changes to Str. L7-18 not only reflect the importance of the new constructions on the eastern side of the site’s main plaza (particularly Str. L7-11), but further underscore the pattern of dividing and restricting existing spaces for privacy and privileged access, a trend common at many Maya sites. What is surprising at El Zotz is that restrictions appear to take shape during a determined and consolidated effort in the late eighth century, rather than the more gradual changes documented at sites like Tikal, Palenque, or Copan (Liendo Stuardo 2003). The distinct shift from mainly low, unconnected platforms (with the exception of the substructure of Str. L7-6) of the Early Classic to the massive labyrinth of the Late Classic remains poorly understood. These late investments may represent the Pa’kaan kings exercising newfound power following the defeat of their overlords at El Perú-Waká and Calakmul, an increasing concern with defensibility in response to those same military campaigns orchestrated by Tikal (Martin and Grube 2008: 49, 113), or perhaps a mechanism for further delineating royalty from 204 other nobles as elites proliferated during the Late Classic period (Houston and Stuart 2001: 59-61; Jackson 2005; Sharer and Golden 2004: 41; Tokovinine 2005). Excavations in the residential structures of the Northwest Courtyard showed evidence of several renovations during the Terminal Classic, locally known as the Cucul phase (AD 850-1000). These buildings were modified not only in terms of their shape and size, but also with respect to the building materials used for their construction. The first of these Terminal Classic changes to Str. L7-17, close to the time of transition between the Caal and Cucul phases at El Zotz (around AD 850-900), buried the existing Late Classic architecture completely and extended its footprint in all directions (Figure 6.15). A fragment of El Zotz Stela 4 was reused as the northeast cornerstone of the foundation of the newly extended platform of Str. L7-17. The fragment was interred on its side, rotated clockwise 90° from the upright position in which it was meant to be displayed, with the text facing inward and somewhat protected from the stone forming the structure’s eastern foundations with a loose, sandy fill (Figure 6.16). The remaining legible hieroglyphs provide a dedication date reconstructed by Stephen Houston as the bak’tun ending 10.0.0.0.0 7 Ajaw 18 Sip (March 11, AD 830) and reveal a hitherto unknown king, […] Chan Yopaat, described as a k’uhul pa’kaan ajaw, or holy Pa’kaan lord. The Stela 4 fragment thus attests to the existence of divine kingship at El Zotz in AD 830 and marks the site as one of the few Maya kingdoms to record this important bak’tun ending, along with Uaxactun and a polity based at Zacpeten (Houston and Inomata 2009:300). Although few inscribed monuments are known from El Zotz, Stela 4 is typical of the size and style characterizing those of the later years of the Pa’kaan dynasty. In reviewing the text visible on the Stela 4 fragment, Houston noted both the monument’s diminutive size and its stylistic similarities to Stela 2 from El Zotz, found in the site’s main plaza. No text is preserved on Stela 2, but Houston identifies it as a Late Classic 205 monument based on its remaining iconographic elements. Like Stela 4, however, the monument was also later reshaped and repurposed, in this case rounded into an altar. The recarving of Stela 2 and its use as an altar may have been related to the celebration of the 10th bak’tun ending recorded on Stela 4. The glyph blocks of Stela 4 are carved in relief and heavily eroded, particularly along their upper edges, most likely as a result of the monument having been displayed for some time in its intended upright position before being cut up and incorporated into Str. L7-17. Although the time frame encompassing the erection and display of Stela 4, the dissolution of the Pa’kaan dynasty, and the mutilation and reuse of the monument in the Northwest Courtyard, can only be estimated, the 10.0.0.0.0 dedication date on the stela fragment provides a terminus post quem that aligns roughly with the transitional ceramics recovered from the same phase of Str. L7-17 (AD 850-900). Identification and Excavation of the El Zotz Deposit Contemporaneous with the renovations in the Northwest Courtyard, large-scale deposits were made in the Acropolis proper. Seemingly focused at points of entry into the palace complex, these consist of a variety of broken, burned, and dispersed artifacts, distributed across final phase floors and packed in a layer of dense mud (Figure 6.17). The deposits were buried beneath thick levels of construction fill–two meters deep in some places–incorporating masonry blocks taken from the partially dismantled superstructures of the Acropolis. Eight targeted test pits in Strs. L7-1, L7-8, L7-24 and the restricted patio at the southwest corner of the Acropolis (each between one and one and a half meters on a side) yielded similar types and quantities of materials (Figure 6.18; Pérez Robles et al. 2010:37-43, 45-47; Marroquin et al. 2011:39-42, 48-50; Newman 2013:108-109). In this dissertation, I focus my analyses primarily on the largest concentration of materials recovered from Str. L7-1. Not only was this the first 206 encountered and most intensively excavated of the dense deposits within the Acropolis, but its excavators selectively employed a grid system that enabled greater precision with regard to refitting analyses and identifications of patterns across the assemblage. Although the full extent of the deposits remains unknown, excavations along the central axis and immediately to the south of Str. L7-1, a three-room building that defines the western edge of the Acropolis, revealed 5,255 ceramic sherds (ranging from jars, bowls, and plates to drums and incense burners, as well as several examples of reused or partially reworked sherds); 377 animal bones and 54 human remains; 427 lithic objects (including grinding stones as well as flakes, blades, and cores of chert and obsidian); 31 figurines; and 78 fragments of marine shell (including four complete rings and pendants), as well as burnt residues of tropical hardwoods and flowering plants of the Bignonia genus, a small piece of burnt maize cob with two preserved rows of cupules (David Lentz, personal communication 2010), and modeled stucco fragments were recovered (Table 6.1). AMS radiocarbon dates from carbon samples within the deposit returned calibrated results of AD 780-980 (1150 ± 40 BP) and AD 780-1000 (1130 ± 40 BP) with intercepts at AD 890 and AD 900, respectively. 207 2G-2-1 2G-2-2 2G-4-5 2G-6-4 2H-3-4 2H-4-4 2H-5-4 Total Ceramics 731 319 415 2053 476 215 1046 5255 Obsidian 15 2 6 10 10 3 5 51 Chert 63 67 24 50 39 43 81 367 Shell 4 2 6 55 3 1 6 77 Figurines 4 4 0 8 12 0 3 31 Faunal 41 37 25 128 21 4 96 352 Remains Human 0 0 0 19 0 1 34 54 Remains Worked 0 11 3 10 0 1 0 25 Bone Worked 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 1 Shell Carbon 4 3 2 10 0 2 6 27 Maize 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 1 Jade 0 0 0 3 0 0 0 3 208 Grinding Stones 0 0 0 3 0 0 0 3 (manos) Grinding Stones 0 0 0 4 1 1 0 6 (metates) Stucco 0 0 0 2 0 0 8 10 Fragments Table 6.1. Quantities of artifacts recovered from special deposits associated with Structure L7-1 of the El Zotz Acropolis. Excavation recording at El Zotz follows the system used at Tikal (Coe and Haviland 1982:43-47). Sites are designated using a unique two-letter code (e.g., EZ = El Zotz), while each investigation within that site receives a numerical code referring to the operation, the largest excavation unit. The operation normally corresponds to a discrete group or area of investigation (e.g., Op. 2 = Acrópolis, Op. 5 = El Diablo). The sub- operation, another letter code, designates the specific structure within the operation that is being investigated (e.g., Str. L7-1 = G, Str. L7-6 = H), which is followed by another numerical code to represent the unit. Normally, a lot is designated by a final number and represents the minimal provenience unit. In the case of the deposit analyzed here, however, excavators added an additional alphanumeric code to represent specific levels of gridded areas within a lot. Thus, EZ-2G-6-4-H1 refers to the first level of sector H within the fourth lot of the sixth unit excavated within Str. L7-1 of the Acropolis at El Zotz. Prior to excavation, the deposit atop Str. L7-1 had already been disturbed by at least one looters’ trench, which cut through the northern end of the interior of structure’s central room (the cleaned trench was designated as unit EZ 2G-2). Immediately to the east of the looters’ trench, crossing the eastern wall of Str. L7-1, a 1.5 by 1.5 m pit excavated by Pérez Robles during the 2009 field season provided the first access to the deposit in its original context (unit EZ 2G-4; Figure 6.19). A notably dense concentration of large ceramic sherds and other materials was found within a distinctive layer of fine soil mixed with ash and carbon (ranging from 25-80 cm thick) atop the final phase floors inside and outside of Str. L7-1. Abundant artifacts were well packed within this matrix and covered by a thin, dark layer of mud or clay, resulting in their exceptional preservation – such as the carbonized maize cob recovered. This upper protective cap was buried beneath nearly 2 m of a relatively loose limestone, mortar, and soil matrix of 209 construction fill. Patterns of architectural dismantling and the depth of new construction fill above these deposits suggest an interrupted process of remodeling. Similarly unfinished monumental construction attempts have been documented prior to abandonment at sites such as La Milpa (Zaro and Houk 2012:152), Aguateca (Inomata et al. 2004:798), and Piedras Negras (Fitzsimmons 1999). At El Zotz, the attempted Terminal Classic modifications to the Acropolis follow the trends of earlier Late Classic constructions, continually restricting access to the inner courtyards of the palace and sealing off former points of ingress and egress. In addition to the deep fill atop the Str. L7-1 deposit, over two meters of construction fill and dismantled architectural elements buried the restricted patio at the southwest corner of the complex, obscuring the distinction between Str. L7-1 and L7-6. On the eastern border of the Acropolis, the vaulted passageway running beneath Strs. L7-8 and L7-9 was completely buried (although the interior of the tunnel was not filled in). Approximately 2.25 m of construction fill covered the tunnel and the basal platforms of Strs. L7-4 and L7-8, with the thick, ashy matrix and burnt and broken objects of the ritual deposit found just outside the passageway’s western entrance (Figure 6.20). Once the deposit was identified, unit EZ 2G-4 was extended one meter to the south in order to recover additional in situ materials. Of the entire deposit, only one lot (EZ 2G-6- 4) from this southern extension (a unit designated as EZ 2G-6), was excavated using an alphabetic grid system to record the locations of artifacts before they were lifted and separated according to their respective material classes (e.g., lithics, ceramics, figurines, etc.). Although EZ 2G-6-4 was the only lot excavated using the grid system, it also featured the best-preserved and greatest quantities of the artifacts recovered. Nine sectors were used to locate artifacts, each excavated in two levels. The three rows of three squares were labeled from north to south: A-B-C, D-E-F, and G-H-I. Each square was roughly 35 cm by 35 cm (Figure 6.21). Unfortunately, items from most other lots 210 associated with the deposit cannot be located with (even) this degree of precision, including the unit in which the special nature of the find was first recognized (EZ 2G-2). Broken objects that could be reunited from unit EZ 2G-2 may represent post- depositional breaks of artifacts that were recovered side-by-side or scattered dispersion as far as 4.25 m apart. Similarly, the lot adjacent to the grid system (EZ 2G-4-5) was excavated as a single area, without a grid in place. Many semi-complete vessels that could be reconstructed from the deposit include sherds from the sectors defined for lot EZ 2G-6-4 as well as fragments from lot EZ 2G-4-5, which encompasses an area of 1.5m2 and nearly 80 cm deep. Conjoined sherds with smoothly reunited breaks between lot EZ 2G-6-4 and lot EZ-2G-4-5 could therefore represent dispersion of as little as a few centimeters or as much as 2.5 m. For these reasons, general patterns for all lots associated with the deposit from Str. L7-1 are discussed within each artifact category below. Specific reconstructions, however, are based almost exclusively on the artifacts recovered from the gridded excavations in EZ 2G-6-4. Artifacts were separated and stored according to material type as they were lifted from the deposit (ceramics, faunal remains, lithics, etc.), a standard practice on archaeological projects because of the cadre of analysts responsible for distinct artifact classes and, in the El Zotz case, specific reporting and cataloging requirements mandated by Guatemala’s Institute of Anthropology and History (IDAEH). This practice, the “exploded excavation” (Jones 2002:42-43) discussed in Chapter 5, proved both a help and a hindrance to analysis. Important information was recovered by category specialists, such as Dr. Zachary Hruby’s identifications of stages of production, degrees and types of use-wear, and raw material sources for obsidian and chert objects from the deposit, filling in important details of the pre-depositional histories of those artifacts. Much of the information regarding the relative positions of and relationships among 211 different kinds of objects, however, was lost in collecting and bagging artifacts by type rather than location or associated artifacts. Beyond the Borders: Terminal Classic El Zotz in its Regional Context The erection of El Zotz Stela 4 and the large-scale deposits and aborted remodeling project at the El Zotz Acropolis can be seen as attempts by the local Pa’kaan king and court to bolster their own power and legitimacy during a period that was marked by serious political disruption at other sites, both far and near. The subsequent dissolution of effective dynastic power appears to have been relatively rapid. By the beginning of the tenth century, the construction efforts in the Acropolis lay abandoned and Stela 4 had been mutilated and repurposed as raw material by the remaining elites at the site. The failure of the royal court at El Zotz, however, only appears as a significant rupture from within the palace. Although the effects of dynastic downfall were certainly felt, residual elites at El Zotz managed to maintain differences in social status and access to prestige items and imports for at least another century. El Zotz’s strategic location in the east-west corridor of the Buenavista Valley proved crucial to maintaining what remained of the site’s social strata in the wake of dynastic collapse (Carter 2014; Kingsley 2014; Newman et al., in press). Connections to other polities kept the lingering elites at El Zotz at the top of a sustained social hierarchy, albeit one that was weakened, impoverished, and left them dependent on the fortunes of other sites in the northern Peten and beyond. Terminal Classic changes at El Zotz and responses to them therefore represent not only the decisions made and actions taken by the inhabitants of that site, but also the repercussions of successes and failures at other polities, beyond their control. 212 At the turn of the ninth century, a weakened royal court at El Perú, to the west of El Zotz, commissioned few final inscriptions and monumental constructions. The absence of any monuments commemorating the tenth bak’tun ending and the deliberate destruction of older monuments, indicate that the institution of divine kingship ended at El Perú some years before dynastic dissolution at El Zotz (Freidel and Escobedo 2005). The ceramic record at El Zotz reflects this loss, with contact on a quotidian, economic level intensified with sites to the east and northeast, especially Uaxactun and Tikal, rather than with the area west of the Buenavista Valley (Czapiewska et al., in press). Specific ceramic evidence also confirms continued interaction among elites at El Zotz, Uaxactun, Yaxha, and Tikal. Sherds and partially complete vessels of the Sahcaba Molded-Carved type, produced using the same mold, have been found at all four sites (Figure 6.22). The first vessels made with this mold to come to archaeologists’ attention are a pair of barrel-shaped vases with pedestal bases, excavated at Uaxactun in the 1930s by the Carnegie Institution of Washington project and now in the storeroom of the National Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology in Guatemala City. The two vases were found under a stucco floor in front of Str. B-12 in Uaxactun’s East Patio. At Tikal, another example, again a barrel vase with a pedestal base, was recovered from a midden between Strs. 5D-40 and 5E-30 in the East Plaza (Jones 1996: 88). The vases bear two meeting scenes among three supernatural beings. In one scene, an individual wearing a royal “Jester God” diadem and seated on a K’awiil head interacts with two other seated personages, one of whom may be the Maize God. The other scene includes a deity with an avian headdress and two older figures with large eyes, perhaps the Paddler Gods. The shared text is recognizably Maya, but it differs from standard Dedicatory Sequences and contains few legible glyphs. The El Zotz examples consist of two adjoining fragments of the “Jester God” scene, recovered from a domestic midden behind Str. M3-8 at Las Palmitas, a Late- 213 Terminal Classic elite hilltop site just north of the main ruins of El Zotz, and from excavations near Str. L8-22, a Terminal Classic residence located to the west of the main ruins of El Zotz. Based on the curvature of the sherds, they likely came from other barrel- shaped drinking vessels. During the Terminal Classic period, molded-carved vessels of various types played a similar role to Late Classic polychrome vases. High-status, high- prestige objects, produced by or under the supervision of elites, such vessels were circulated among members of that class and displayed in formal settings. While it is not clear at which site the vessels were produced, the presence of these sherds in various areas of the site is further evidence that Terminal Classic El Zotz looked eastward for its political and economic networks. As during earlier stages of Maya history, the (mis)fortunes of the great behemoth of Tikal continued to shape those of its neighbors during the Terminal Classic period. Serious disruptions to centralized structures of authority at that site are marked not only by the royal court’s failure to commission a stela for the tenth bak’tun ending, but also by the systematic looting of several royal tombs in mortuary pyramids of the site center. The plunderers evidently knew where to look, digging down into the floors of the shrines atop the pyramids until they reached their targets. Valuable artifacts were removed, undesired objects left behind. Later, the looted tombs were sealed off with construction fill containing Terminal Classic ceramics, the superstructure floors were repaired, and the mortuary shrines continued in use until the center of Tikal was finally abandoned by around AD 1000 (e.g., Coe 1990: 331-332, 500-501, 574-575). It remains unclear whether the ancient looters backfilled their own “excavations” or whether the looting took place during a temporary breakdown in royal administration, after which the work of refilling and repairing the shrines was supervised by restored authorities. The fact that Jasaw Chan K’awiil II, a claimant to the Mut throne, eventually did manage to erect a 214 pair of monuments - Stela 11 and Altar 11 - for the 10.2.0.0.0 k’atun ending, favors the later possibility. This period of instability at Tikal aligns with the rituals and remodeling efforts of the final Pa’ Chan ruler. El Zotz, however, was only one of several smaller royal courts on the periphery of Tikal’s probable eighth-century zone of control to assert its own power as that of Tikal waned. A branch of the Mut dynasty ruled at the neighboring sites of Ixlu and Zacpeten in the lake district south of Tikal, where they erected monuments between A.D. 830 and 879 with iconographic ties to late eighth-century stelae at Tikal. Another ruler, a western kaloomte’ named Olom, established a court at Jimbal, to the north. An inscription at Uaxactun records that Olom celebrated the tenth bak’tun ending together with a Uaxactun king, who also went by the name of Jasaw Chan K’awiil. Later monuments from Jimbal and Uaxactun suggest that relations between the two courts remained close for at least a generation after Olom, until royal monuments ceased to be erected at both sites after A.D. 889. Comparatively smaller sites such as El Zotz, Ixlu, and Jimbal were not the only polities to take advantage of the vacuum of power left in the wake of Tikal’s downfall, however. In the Triangulo Park area, Terminal Classic architectural booms and demographic increases at Nakum and Yaxha may indicate that those sites served as places of migration for refugee populations as surrounding centers collapsed. Stela D from Nakum, dedicated in AD 849, describes the depicted ruler using the title elk’in (?) kaloomte’, or east kaloomte’, positioning the local lord as a high, powerful king of the east (Źrałka and Hermes 2012: 182). This suggests that the sudden success and political and economic independence gained by Nakum after the collapse of former hegemons such as Tikal and Naranjo may have positioned that site as an important polity in the eastern part of the southern Lowlands at the end of the Classic period. El Zotz’s realignment of its trade and exchange relations toward the east would then illustrate an 215 active and advantageous response to the changing conditions of the Terminal Classic period. While the sudden decline of nearby major centers and longstanding alliances may have proved too much for the last Pa’kaan dynast, the emergence of former vassal sites as prominent players in the Peten provided the remaining elites at El Zotz with an opportunity to capitalize on new political and economic networks and maintain certain social traditions, even as others dissolved. The ups and downs of the Terminal Classic period at El Zotz, as at many other Maya centers, are difficult to describe succinctly. Not long after the successful celebration and commemoration of the tenth bak’tun ending and the ambitious program of architectural investment and ritual deposition in the Acropolis, the Pa’kaan dynasty and associated royal court dissolved abruptly, leaving the palatial complex at El Zotz abandoned in an unfinished state. Remaining elites took advantage of the opportunity to reorganize their exchange networks and capitalize on the growth and decline of other centers in the Peten, a strategy that proved successful in maintaining a certain status quo in the short term, but tied El Zotz’s fate to that of its neighbors and finally led to a more complete collapse of social and political systems. Yet the volatility of the Terminal Classic period blurs when viewed from a wider perspective, as El Zotz’s eventual downfall can also be seen as the endpoint of a long and gradual decline from the site’s former apogee during the Early Classic period. Collapse at El Zotz was neither uniform nor extraordinary, but rather the culmination of specific actions and reactions undertaken over a period of nearly two centuries. Its history aligns with and reflects those of neighboring polities, broadening an understanding of the consequences that individual, but interconnected, centers still had on one another and the larger sociopolitical situation in the southern lowlands. Simultaneously, this history paints a portrait of the site-specific strategies, successes, and failures orchestrated by El Zotz’s remaining inhabitants in response to turbulent times. The processes responsible 216 for the accumulation and interment of the complex deposits found in the Acropolis took place within this transitional, transformative milieu. As the following chapter demonstrates, paying attention to the accumulated histories of objects connects the seemingly random accumulation and deposition of various materials to broader conceptual frameworks, purpose-oriented motivations, and practices shaped by local and widely shared traditions. 217 Figure 6.1. Map of the Buenavista Valley, showing the locations of El Zotz and nearby sites. Map by Thomas Garrison. 218 Figure 6.2. The main ruins of El Zotz, with structures investigated by the El Zotz Archaeological Project highlighted. Map by Thomas Garrison. 219 220 Figure 6.3. Elite Early Classic ceramics from looted contexts in the El Zotz Acropolis. Figure 6.4. Bejucal Stela 2. Drawing by Nicholas Carter. 221 Figure 6.5. El Zotz Wooden Lintel 1. Drawing by Nicholas Carter. 222 Figure 6.6. El Zotz Stela 4. Drawing by Stephen Houston. 223 224 Figure 6.7. The lord (a) and his mother (b) depicted on the Barbier Mueller vessel. Photos by Stephen Houston. 225 Figure 6.8. Saxche/Palmar sherd recovered from the Acropolis, showing a partial El Zotz royal title. Drawing by Nicholas Carter. Figure 6.9. Contents of the cache recovered from Structure L7-11’s basal platform. Photo by Stephen Houston. 226 227 Figure 6.10. The Northwest Courtyard and El Zotz Acropolis. Map by Thomas Garrison. 228 Figure 6.11. The vaulted tunnel running beneath Structures L7-8 and L7-9. Photos by Arturo Godoy. 229 Figure 6.12. Doorjambs built to restrict access to the northern side of the Acropolis. Photo by Arturo Godoy. 230 Figure 6.13. Low perimeter wall sealing off the southwestern point of access into the Acropolis. Photo by Arturo Godoy. 231 Figure 6.14. Profile drawing of Structure L7-18. 232 Figure 6.15. Plan view of Structure L7-17, showing Late Classic footprint (dashed) beneath Terminal Classic constructions. 233 Figure 6.16. Excavation of Stela 4 in the northwest corner of Structure L7-17. Photo by Alexa Rubenstein. 234 Figure 6.17. Deposits atop Structure L7-1 of the El Zotz Acropolis. Photo by Stephen Houston. 235 Figure 6.18. Map showing the eight units where complex deposit materials were encountered in the Acropolis. Map by Thomas Garrison. Figure 6.19. Unit EZ 2G-6-4, showing the dense concentrations of deposit materials. Photo by Arturo Godoy. 236 Figure 6.20. Excavations outside the western entrance to the vaulted tunnel running beneath Structures L7-8 and L7-9. Drawing by Jóse Luis Garrido López. 237 238 Figure 6.21. Unit EZ 2G-6-4 divided into alphanumeric sectors. Photo by Arturo Godoy. Figure 6.22. Sahcaba molded-carved sherds and vessels made from the same mold. (a) Las Palmitas Group, El Zotz; (b) Str. L8-22, El Zotz; (c) Uaxactun (Carter 2014:Fig. 5.23). 239 CHAPTER 7 BREAKING AND BURNING: EXCAVATION AND ANALYSIS OF THE EL ZOTZ DEPOSIT Searching for patterns and providing explanations of variability are at the heart of archaeological practice. As detailed in the two preceding chapters, however, difficulties arise when archaeological assemblages are marked by seemingly anomalous contents, context, or patterning, confounding attempts to understand their nature and recognize the behaviors responsible for their deposition. More often than not, such complex accumulations of materials are interpreted as the remains of ritual behavior. This creates the potential for an inflated category, one that is considered distinct from other archaeological deposits (particularly trash disposal), yet rarely defined and poorly understood with respect to artifact conditions and associations or, more importantly, meaning (Brück 1999; Garrow 2012:94; Kunen et al. 2002:200). Rather than focusing on whether assemblages seem to fit a predetermined set of criteria for identification, analyses that draw attention to how the various components of a deposit came to be broken, brought together, and buried offer a means of moving beyond the use of ‘ritual’ as both a description and an explanation (Morris and Jervis 2011:70). An exploration of the specific processes by which objects and spaces are transformed or become meaningful through particular human behaviors offers an alternative approach to complex archaeological assemblages (Chapman 2012; Fontijn 2012; Garrow 2012b; Gosden and Marshall 1999; Jervis 2014; Jones 2002; Morris and Jervis 2011; Mytum 2010). The pre-depositional histories of objects are a necessary consideration not only in realizing how they came to be deposited in particular ways, but also in understanding conceptual connections between distinct acts of deposition, such as offerings, burials, and discard, and what individual events in an artifact’s history make certain objects appropriate, even necessary, choices for particular depositional events or 240 locations (Garrow 2012b:134-135). Moreover, eventual discard or deposition is not only a phase in the life cycle of a material object, but also of the places where that material is dumped and in the lives of those who dispose of it or later re-engage with it. As Jervis (2014:184) writes, “the challenge in exploring processes of deposition is to identify and articulate biographical motion, not by seeing the archaeological record as a materialization of values and perceptions of the world, but by seeing deposition as a process through which these emerged and were enacted and maintained.” A narrative that incorporates individual artifact histories not only breaks down a dichotomy between the mundane and the symbolically meaningful (Jervis 2014:186), but can also reveal specific human actions responsible for the formation of archaeological deposits. This perspective also better accounts for the variation in the kinds of archaeological deposits discussed in this chapter, highlighting divergences as the results of the simultaneous creative, immaterial, and practical considerations at work. That is, rather than viewing the complex deposits discussed here as the static remains of a specific type of ancient behavior, attention to artifact histories examines the actual steps by which practitioners brought individual objects and places together while acknowledging other potential events in the life cycles of objects prior to deposition. Attention to the details of formation processes affecting assemblages at various scales can help to elucidate specific ways in which artifacts were accumulated, broken, and buried. Rather than searching for the material correlates or signatures of “ritual” as a particular category of behavior, focusing on distinct events in the histories of artifacts and assemblages emphasizes the deliberate choices made by people in the past in selecting, placing, and treating objects in depositional acts. In this chapter, I detail the analyses used to examine patterns of breakage, burning, and dispersal within the complex deposit from El Zotz detailed in the previous chapter. This deposit, recovered from one of the residential structures of the site’s palatial complex and described as a 241 “termination ritual” by excavators in the field and in preliminary reports (Pérez Robles et al. 2010:37-43, 45-47; Marroquin et al. 2011:39-42, 48-50), bears many similarities to the comparative examples detailed in Chapter 5. Here, however, investigations focus on the particular characteristics of the El Zotz deposit and its associated artifacts, rather than searching for evidence to confirm similarities expected from other known cases. The accumulation history of this complex deposit and the traces of human actions responsible for its formation are examined via pre- and post-depositional indicators of cultural and natural processes observed within the assemblage. This approach is based upon taphonomic research in zooarchaeology (e.g., Lyman 1994), which identifies and analyzes the postmortem, pre- and post-burial histories of faunal remains. The methods and interpretations offered by taphonomic investigation may be extended to other artifacts and scales, such as lithics (Bordes and Teyssandier 2011; Grosman et al. 2011, 2013; Keene 2009), ceramics (Banducci 2014; Beadsmoore et al. 2010; Blanco-Gonzalez and Chapman 2014; Stark 2003:201), and even landscapes (Barton et al. 2002; Burger et al. 2008). Here, visible burning, breakage, and weathering patterns are evaluated for bone, ceramic, and lithic artifacts from the El Zotz deposit, in order to reconstruct sequences of human interactions and impact on both individual objects and the assemblage as a whole. The goal of this chapter is to not only describe the patterns witnessed within the deposit from El Zotz, but also to reconstruct and distinguish among some of the specific activities responsible for them. In a certain sense, this research responds to calls for an increased focus on formation processes to better understand the nature and complexity of complicated archaeological assemblages (e.g., Brudenell and Cooper 2008:31-32; Pagliaro et al. 2003:89; Stanton et al. 2008:242). More importantly, however, it bridges the dichotomy between the unintentional and the intentional in the realm of ritual: identifying both natural processes that affect the presence and conditions of artifacts, as well as deliberate human actions, which can then 242 be understood through the perspectives outlined in the earlier chapters of this dissertation. What seems complicated, anomalous, or even “problematical” in relation to categorical typologies makes sense when modern (sometimes forced) classifications are shed in favor of indigenous conceptual frameworks. Methods and Results of Analysis Conceptual tools developed by Michael Schiffer (1989, 1996) and subsumed under the umbrella term of “site formation processes” have been influential in drawing attention to some of the cultural and natural modifications to the archaeological record. As the name implies, however, studies of site formation processes focus on the relatively large scale of the site, settlement, or household. Moreover, as Binford (1981:34) pointed out, Schiffer treats transformations between the systemic context (the dynamics in which materials were involved in the past) and the archaeological context (the static form in which culturally generated materials are found in the archaeological record) as distortions obscuring an underlying, undisturbed portrait of human behavior (Schiffer 1976:12). Yet the transformative processes that take place during production, consumption, deposition, and even excavation are not just equally important parts of objects’ biographies, but represent multiple instances of the kinds of human-object interactions that construct practice, meaning, and value (Miller 1987:190). Attention to the complexities that affect individual archaeological objects offers an opportunity not only to reconstruct original assemblages (i.e., “working back” from the observed assemblage while attempting to control for bias), but also to detect and describe events and processes that are of interest in and of themselves (Orton 2012:321). Taphonomy was originally defined in paleontology, as the study of the laws and processes of fossilization (Denys 2002:469), but archaeologists more often use the word to encompass the study of pre- and post-depositional processes evaluated at the scale of 243 individual artifacts. At first, taphonomy’s role in archaeology fell within the purview of osteoarchaeologists, who, perhaps more accustomed to drawing from the biological sciences, first expanded its applications from palaeontology to more recently deposited bone assemblages (e.g., Behrensmeyer 1978; Binford and Bertram 1977; Gabucio et al. 2012; Gordon and Buikstra 1981; Outram et al. 2005, among many others). Subsequent applications have considered the evidence that can be gleaned from close analysis of the stratigraphic positions, heat alteration, fissuring, and patination of lithic artifacts (e.g., Bordes and Teyssandier 2011; Grosman et al. 2011, 2013; Keene 2009, etc.). Taphonomy has further been extended to landscapes (e.g., Barton et al. 2002; Burger et al. 2008) and ceramics (e.g., Banducci 2014; Beadsmore et al. 2010; Blanco-Gonzalez and Chapman 2014) and has even been used in ethnographic accounts (e.g., Dawdy 2006; Sterner 1989), though these applications tend to use a broadened version of the term that is actually more akin to the study of site formation processes. Despite the fact that osteological specimens, particularly zooarchaeological collections, have been and continue to be the focus of most taphonomic investigations, many of the processes assessed through taphonomy are equally applicable to other categories of artifacts. For example, a key step in evaluating faunal collections is to identify potential biases caused by preferences for certain skeletal elements used or reused for utilitarian, crafting, or ritual purposes (e.g., Brown and Emery 2008:325). Similar processes have been documented for ceramic assemblages both archaeologically (e.g., Chapman 2000b:359; Sullivan et al.1991:251-252) and ethnographically (e.g., Deal 1985:258; Sterner 1989:458). Degrees and patterns of burning, such as shrinkage, warping, color changes and fragmentation (e.g., Stiner et al. 1995; Shipman et al. 1984) should be identifiable for ceramic artifacts as they are for bone and lithics, though improvements in methodology and terminology, as well as standardization of both, are necessary (Banducci 2012). Criteria used to define specific patterns of breakage and 244 surface changes due to exposure or the surrounding depositional matrix (e.g., Behensmeyer 1978; Lambrick 1984:162-164; Olsen and Shipman 1988:536-537) offer another possible adaptation for use in distinguishing visible patterns of slip erosion or abrasion on pottery (Schiffer and Skibo 1989). Finally, processes of fragmentation, destruction, and transportation during and after deposition obviously affect all artifact classes, though not always equally (e.g., Hayden and Cannon 1983:156; Todd and Rapson 1988). The methods of analyses presented in this chapter and the next consider artifact taphonomies across multiple categories of materials. Below, I describe the patterns noted within each artifact category, illustrating how each type of object provides clues to the structure of deposition in the El Zotz Acropolis. The overarching goal is to use objects’ pre- and post-depositional histories to reconstruct the past human actions that resulted in their variable breakage, burning, dispersion, and deposition. Faunal Remains Following the general trend in archaeology described above, an initial interest in the taphonomic trends visible in the faunal collection from the deposit led to a later expansion of these analyses to other categories of artifacts and the deposit as a whole. From September through December of 2010, the entire assemblage of animal bones recovered from the Acropolis was first analyzed at Harvard University’s Museum of Comparative Zoology (MCZ) and the Zooarchaeology Laboratory of the Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology. This initial phase of research revealed relatively high percentages of modified remains and unusual depositional patterns within the deposit (uncommon burning patterns, highly variable weathering, etc.). In order to review identifications in light of additional comparative specimens made available by the MCZ and to ensure that analysis was systematic, the same assemblage was re-analyzed 245 along with the entirety of the faunal collection from the El Zotz region from 2011 to 2012. The same analytical protocol was used to evaluate the faunal remains from the deposit and the rest of the zooarchaeological assemblage from the El Zotz region. Recording forms initially developed by Richard Meadow (1978:170) and subsequently updated by Ajita Patel (Patel and Meadow 2011) were further modified to include species commonly found in New World assemblages and to emphasize taphonomic factors such as burning, fragmentation, and weathering alongside standard identification and quantification data. A sample analysis form is included along with abbreviated raw data from faunal analysis in Appendix C. In total, 431 individual bone specimens were recovered from the deposit in the El Zotz Acropolis, including 377 animal bone fragments and 54 human remains. From the original 377 bones and fragments, refitting produced 222 distinct identified specimens. The majority of the fragments that were joined and considered a single element represent direct refits, mainly of modern breaks that occurred during excavation and transport. No refits could be made across sectors, between lots, or from different units. Of those 222 elements, however, fourteen represent groups of shaft fragments (54 individual specimens in total) that could not be directly refit nor identified to their skeletal part, but were considered likely to be pieces of a single element based on the presence and shape of modern breaks and similar characteristics among the fragments in terms of size, thickness, and superficial appearance (i.e., color, burning, and weathering). Another four elements represent grouped fragments of turtle shells (13 individual specimens in total), which were also not directly rejoined but considered likely to have come from a single animal, again based on size, thickness, and appearance. The assemblage from the deposit was highly fragmented (see Figure 7.1), with only six complete elements found, three of which were unfused epiphyses from sub-adult specimens. The high degree of fragmentation of the assemblage, as well as the inclusion 246 of numerous heavily worked bones, made identifications to the level of the species, or even the genus, difficult in many cases. These were identified simply as large, medium, and small mammals and birds. Those that could be identified more specifically include specimens representing medium and large carnivores (jaguars, ocelots, and dogs), rodents (agoutis), deer of both the large white-tailed variety and the smaller brocket deer, peccaries, ocellated turkeys and New World quail, and a variety of turtles, including large river and musk turtles, as well as smaller mud turtles and pond sliders, as well as some iguana, rat, and mice specimens that were found just below looters’ debris and are most likely intrusions into the deposit (Table 5.2). Fifty-four (14.3%) of the 377 fragments of animal remains were worked to some degree. Here, worked bones are considered those that have been intentionally modified by humans in ways that are unrelated to subsistence, i.e., drilled, shaped, fashioned into blanks, squares, and disks, and made into a variety of implements and adornments. Although cut marks and burning can also be considered evidence of intentional human modifications to bone, these were treated separately here. Since many of the worked bones from the deposit were subsequently burnt, subsuming all surface modification under a single category would have blurred these distinct events. Moreover, cut marks were rare among the collection from the deposit – only nine bone fragments displayed cut marks and several of these were clearly made during attempts to saw articular ends off of long bones, one of the primary stages in the production process of worked bone artifacts, rather than evidence of butchery (Figure 7.2). The collection of worked animal bones from the Str. L7-1 deposit exhibits the full range of stages of craft production, as described by Kitty Emery (2008:75) for the worked bone assemblage from the site of Dos Pilas. In the first stage, primary and secondary debitage removal, transverse cuts are made, perpendicular to the element shaft, in order to separate the heavily contoured articular ends of long bones from the smoother diaphyses 247 (Figure 7.3). The next stage, known as core production and finishing, involves creating a regular, transversely cut diaphyseal core, occasionally cut or scored longitudinally in preparation for production cuts (Figure 7.4). Next, primary blank production creates “blanks” or preforms in a variety of widths by removing imperfections (Figure 7.5), while the fourth stage of reduction begins to shape the bone into a form that more closely resembles the final product through smoothing and tertiary thinning (Figure 7.6). Finally, during the fifth stage of artifact production and finishing, cortical bone and edges are shaped and smoothed, yielding finishing blanks and perforators (Figure 7.7). The finished bone products found in the El Zotz deposit include both ornaments, such as beads made of dog and peccary teeth or white-tailed deer antlers, and tools, such as awls, perforators, spindle whorls, and spatula. Many of these show evidence of being used prior to their deposition, such as lineal wear within drilled holes from objects being worn or hung, dulling of awls and other pointed objects, or slight polishing and use abrasions on spindle whorls or spatulas. Visible burning on bones was described via a scale indicating the degree of burning responsible for the patterns observed, using descriptions provided by Shipman and colleagues (1984:312-314), descriptive criteria used by Stiner et al. (1995:226), and some modifications following more recent studies by Buenger (2003:29-30, 133-170) and Inomata (2014:52). The most intensely burned specimens were coded as an 8 on the scale, identifying fully calcined bone. Calcined bone is completely white or slightly bluish in color, shows distortion, shrinkage, and a porcelain-like texture, and indicates exposure to a temperature of at least 645°C. The least affected specimens were classified as a 1, indicating a slightly burned bone. These specimens show evidence of very slight discoloration and cracking due to some heat exposure, but no visible charring (blackening of the bone that involves the carbonization of at least some of the organic 248 Scientific name Common name NISP % NISP Weight (g) % Weight MAMMALS Mammalia Mammal 2 0.9 2.7 0.37 Mammal (e.g., deer, Mammalia (large) 37 16.67 94.9 13.1 tapir) Mammal (e.g., Mammalia (medium) brocket deer, 37 16.67 52.3 7.21 peccary) Mammal (e.g., paca, Mammalia (small) 25 11.26 12.8 1.77 agouti) Mammal (e.g., rat, Mammalia (very small) 3 1.35 0.3 0.04 mouse) Canis lupus familiaris Domestic dog 4 1.8 11.7 1.61 Dasyprocta punctata Agouti 3 1.35 3.5 0.48 249 Leopardus pardalis Ocelot 3 1.35 5.1 0.7 Mazama sp. Brocket deer 8 3.6 22.9 3.16 Odocoileus virginianus White-tailed deer 46 20.72 400.7 55.27 Panthera onca Jaguar 1 0.45 4.6 0.63 Tayassuidae Peccary 5 2.25 16.1 2.22 BIRDS Bird (e.g., turkey, Aves (large) 11 4.95 5.4 0.74 guan) Aves (medium) Bird (e.g., duck) 9 4.1 2.2 0.3 Aves (small) Bird (e.g., quail) 2 0.9 0.2 0.03 Meleagris ocellata Ocellated turkey 7 3.15 21 2.9 Colinus sp. Quail 3 1.35 0.2 0.03 REPTILES/AMPHIBIANS Iguanidae Iguana 2 0.9 0.2 0.03 Turtle (e.g., Giant Testudines (large) 1 0.45 3 0.41 musk turtle) Turtle (e.g., Slider Testudines (small) 3 1.35 1 0.14 turtle) Central American Dermatemys mawii 3 1.35 47.5 6.55 river turtle Kinosternon sp. Mud/musk turtle 3 1.35 3.9 0.54 Trachemys scripta Slider turtle 4 1.8 12.4 1.71 Table 7.1. Animal taxa identified in the El Zotz Acropolis problematic deposit, quantified by number of identified specimens (NISP). 250 content), suggesting exposure to a temperature greater than 185°C, but less than 285°C. Between these extremes, bones were classified as shown in Table 5.3: partially calcined (coded as a 7 on the scale), calcined/partially carbonized (coded as a 6), fully carbonized (coded as a 5), partially carbonized (coded as a 4), mostly burned/partially carbonized (coded as a 3), mostly burned/partially reddish in color (coded as a 2), and slightly burned (coded as a 1). Bones coded as a 0 were considered unburned, though that does not necessarily mean they were never exposed to heat, only that they did not reach temperatures of greater than 185°C. This detailed burning scale was used in the analysis of patterns in the overall faunal assemblage from the El Zotz region, but in the case of the smaller sample from the L7-1 deposit, these nine divisions were collapsed into three broader categories: bones that exhibited cracking or discoloration but were not yet carbonized, bones that showed any degree of carbonization, and bones that showed any degree of calcination. Of the 377 individual bone fragments that compose the faunal collection from the deposit, 107 bones showed evidence of some degree of burning (approximately 28.4%). Figure 7.8 illustrates the variability in the degree of burning witnessed across those 107 bone fragments, 67 of which (62.6%) were recovered from the gridded excavation lot, EZ 2G-6-4. Most of these bones showed fairly consistent degrees of burning across the entire specimen, indicating that the bone was burned dry (i.e., defleshed). The presence of soft tissue during burning (such as in cases where meat is cooked on the bone or in the cremation of fleshed bodies) tends to protect bone from thermal color changes, often causing a sequence of calcined, charred, and slightly discolored zones defining the area exposed to heat (Ubelaker 2009:3). Bone that is burned while still fleshed also shows considerable warping and distinctive, irregular fractures, whereas dry bone exhibits only superficial, longitudinal cracking and rarely displays warping (Whyte 2001:439). Although some specimens from the deposit exhibit clearly defined areas with different 251 degrees of burning, most of these instances are still clear examples of dry burning. They are generally noted on worked bone artifacts, which obviously would have been defleshed before being shaped into tools or adornments. Moreover, the worked bones often show intense burning on areas that would have been inaccessible while still encased within skin and meat: what would have once been the interior surface forming the medullary cavity, for example, or the roots of permanent teeth (Figure 7.9). In some instances, intensive burning, including carbonization and calcination, extends into bone fractures or clear breaks in what were once whole tools or adornments. Such patterning makes it clear that these bones, including many worked bone artifacts, were fragmented prior to being burned. The combination of burning patterns visible on animal bones, and the locations where those bones were found within the gridded excavation of lot EZ 2G-6-4, suggest that the faunal remains were largely broken, dispersed throughout the deposit area, and then burned in situ. The burning was probably not directed at individual bone fragments or artifacts, but rather localized in certain areas of the deposit where faunal remains happened to be scattered. Since the deposit was placed atop the plaster floor of Str. L7-1, bones that show inconsistent burning patterns were most likely protected from complete heat exposure by objects placed atop or nearby the faunal remains, rather than by being variably incorporated into the depositional matrix (which could produce similar burning patterns). Although the 0.35m resolution of the grid used to excavate lot EZ 2G-6-4 does not provide the kind of precision necessary to pinpoint areas where flame may have been focused, burning patterns follow a general trend from most intensive at the northern end of the unit (sectors A, B, and C) to little to no evidence of burning at the southern end (sectors G, H, and I). As will be seen below, this general pattern accords with burning witnessed on human remains and ceramic vessel fragments. Moreover, burned vessel fragments from sectors A, B, and C bore traces of possible burnt residues of organic 252 Burning Pattern Burn Description Temperature Code Range Completely calcined 8 Neutral white with some medium gray and reddish-yellow; shows 645+°C porcelain-like texture Partially calcined (more white than 7 Neutral white predominating, with light blue-grey and light grey 645+°C black) present alongside some neutral black (visibly charred) Calcined/partially carbonized (more 6 Neutral black, with medium blue and some light blue-grey and light ~500°C - black than white) grey appearing (visibly charred) ~600°C Fully carbonized (completely black) 5 Neutral black, with medium blue appearing (visibly charred) 300°C – 500+°C Partially carbonized (more black than 4 Neutral black, with medium blue appearing, alongside some reddish- ~300°C - brown) yellow, reddish-brown, or very dark grey-brown (visibly charred) <500°C Mostly burned/partially carbonized 3 Reddish-brown, very dark grey-brown, to reddish-yellow alongside ~300°C - (more brown than black) some neutral black (visibly charred) <500°C Mostly burned/reddish (not yet 2 Reddish-brown, very dark grey-brown, to reddish-yellow 285°C - <300°C carbonized but fully burned) discoloration, some slight cracking (no visible charring) Slightly burned (evidence of heat 1 Very slight discoloration and cracking due to some heat exposure >20°C - <285°C exposure) 253 Table 7.2. Burning damage categories based on macroscopic appearance and color. materials (Figure 7.10). These patterns could indicate placement of actively burning offerings toward the northern end of the unit, such as copal or pine (Morehart et al. 2005:264; Stross 2007), which may provide an explanation for this rough gradient in burning patterns from north to south. Intriguingly, this north-south gradient observed within EZ 2G-6-4 places the most concentrated burning at the exterior, northeast corner of the central room of Str. L7-1. As described in Chapter 3, a structure’s four corners play key roles in house dedication ceremonies within modern Mesoamerican communities. Recall that in the ch’ul kantela rite in Zinacantan, a Tzotzil Maya shaman leads a counterclockwise procession to each of the four corners of a new house, planting pine tips and lighting candles before “feeding” each corner with chicken broth and sugarcane liquor (Vogt 1993:23-24). Corners are important in house dedication rites throughout Mesoamerica past and present, observed ethnographically farther north in Yucatan and even up into the American Southwest, and known from Aztec accounts of “house drilling” ceremonies to renew temples or construct residences (Stuart 1998:393-394). Although still speculative, the burning patterns witnessed within the deposit suggest that active burning took place at the corners of Str. L7-1. Another possibility is that the deposit represents a specific type of action within the broad and variable category of ritual burning and censing among the ancient Maya, perhaps associated with the tradition of scattering rites. Scattering rites are widely cited on Classic period monuments as the paramount ceremony associated with the Maya calendar’s Period Endings (Stuart 1984:9). Understood as a king’s active sanctification of time and its passing and centered on his unique role in the perpetuation and renewal of time, scattering rituals involved casting incense into braziers or onto sacred stone altars (originally interpreted as the scattering of pellets or streams of blood [Love 1987:11]). Although scattering rites are generally recorded literally as chok-ch’aaj, “casting incense” 254 (Stuart 2005:272), an example from Hieroglyphic Stairway 1 at El Reinado is spelled unconventionally as u chok-ow k’ahk’, “he casts (into?) the fire” (Stuart 2012:5). The breakage and burning patterns on objects recovered from the deposits in the El Zotz Acropolis are consistent with their having been burned in place atop Str. L7-1. Although speculative, these deposits may have even been part of the celebration of a Period Ending in AD 830 commemorated by the rulers of El Zotz on one of the site’s few stelae (Stela 4). The deposit could represent the remains of a major scattering rite, with the scale of the ritual reflecting the importance of the Period Ending being celebrated: the ending of a bak’tun cycle, an event which occurred only twice Classic Maya history. Whether these patterns represent an aspect of dedicatory offerings in preparation for the subsequent, uncompleted phase of Str. L7-1 or an act of termination meant to deactivate the structure within which burning took place remains unclear. It does, however, reiterate another theme, discussed in Chapter 4: the blurry boundaries between ritual acts in Mesoamerica. Human Remains In the field, excavators occasionally misidentified human remains as animal bones or vice versa, so some of the human osteological material from the deposit was also analyzed in the Harvard Zooarchaeology Laboratory, using the same recording procedures as those employed during faunal analysis. Dr. Andrew Scherer, the bioarchaeologist for the El Zotz Archaeological Project, confirmed identifications of a handful of human bones (five from the deposit) included among the faunal collection. Dr. Scherer and I later analyzed the assemblage that excavators had identified as human remains during the 2013 field season at the El Zotz project laboratory in Jocotenango, Guatemala (Scherer 2014). Forty-nine additional human remains from the deposit were 255 identified and the burning patterns and possible refits among those bones recorded descriptively. Three faunal specimens misidentified by excavators as human skeletal material were also added to the zooarchaeological data during this stage of analysis. The 54 human remains recovered from the deposit include at least 25 individual skeletal elements, ranging from teeth to toes. Although the sample is much smaller, the human osteological remains are generally less fragmented than the animal remains. Thirteen of the bones are whole or nearly complete, one of which represents the unfused epiphysis of a sub-adult femur. While the remaining 12 are broken to varying degrees, only two long bones were fragmented to a degree that prohibited identification of the skeletal part. Most of the bones are adults, some probably from the same individuals. For example, a supernumerary incisor and right maxillary second premolar from sector F1 are probably from the same adult, while proximal and intermediate pedal phalanges from sector G1 are also probably from a single adult’s toe (though not necessarily the same individual represented by the teeth from sector F1). Three lower thoracic vertebral fragments with unfused superior centrum rings, however, also indicate at least one sub- adult person. Although the majority of the human remains are from the extremities, such as teeth and bones of the foot, this may be a misleading pattern. A single human foot includes 26 individual bones, while the rest of the leg is comprised of only four (including the patella). One proximal pedal phalanx (of the toe from sector G1) bears very slight traces of red pigment, probably specular hematite. Burning patterns visible on the human bones from the deposit are similar to those observed among the faunal remains. Burning is variable from one bone to another, ranging from slight discoloration to carbonization to partial calcination. As with some of the animal bones, burning patterns are often the same on the periosteal (exterior) and endosteal (interior) surfaces of long bone fragments, indicating that the skeletal elements were broken and dry when burned. Burning patterns can also be inconsistent 256 on the same bone, which underscores the supposition that the remains were scattered throughout the deposit before localized burning, as well as the notion that certain areas of the bones were protected from thermal alteration by the presence of other objects placed above and around them. Given the number of bones that are missing to form complete human skeletons and the presence of at least two, though probably more, individuals (at least one adult and one sub-adult), it is unlikely that the human remains represent a burial in the location of the deposit. Rather, the human bones probably represent the relocation of an interment originally buried elsewhere, whether unintentionally or via the retrieval or curation of certain body parts. This practice would not be out of place in the El Zotz Acropolis. Tunneling excavations into Str. L7-6, the large building forming the southern border of the Acropolis complex, revealed the proximal head of an adult humerus placed within a small posthole of one of the building’s substructures (Pérez Robles et al. 2010:19). Lithics Dr. Zachary Hruby, project lithicist for the El Zotz Archaeological Project, analyzed the obsidian and chert artifacts from the Acropolis deposits during the Project’s 2009, 2010, and 2011 laboratory seasons in Antigua, Guatemala (Hruby and Lang 2010; Hruby n.d.). Hruby’s analyses emphasize production, both in the sense of the specific techniques employed by ancient artisans in the crafting of stone tools and also with respect to the people and places where such abilities were concentrated. He observes a dearth of early-stage production debitage across the site of El Zotz, particularly during the Late and Terminal Classic periods. The same time period also marks the introduction of flaked flint points of a distinctive caramel brown color, common at both the nearby sites of Tikal and El Perú-Waká. These patterns suggest that the inhabitants 257 at El Zotz’s city center were receiving lithic materials that were already worked to varying degrees, whether as roughly prepared decorticated nodules or as finely made finished products. Many of these finished small, stemmed bifaces appear to have been imported as prestige items, based upon the elite contexts of their recovery during the Late and Terminal Classic periods at El Zotz. In April and October of 2013, I revisited the lithic assemblage from the Str. L7-1 deposit at Salón 3, the archaeological storage facility operated by IDAEH in Guatemala City. With Hruby’s detailed production analyses as a baseline, this secondary work focused specifically on assessing evidence for burning and breakage of stone materials within the context of the deposit. Lots associated with the deposit incorporated a total of 427 lithic objects, including fragments of grinding stones (manos and metates), flakes and blades of chert and obsidian at various stages of reduction, chert axes, complete and broken bifaces, lightly used to nearly exhausted cores, scraping and polishing tools, and retouched products. While the mano and metate fragments show no signs of burning, just over 17.5% of the chert flakes, points, axes, and fragments have been burned to varying degrees. Most of these burned items range from reddish to maroon to deep purple in color, display multiple characteristic potlid fractures, and show sinuous, erratic crazing scars (Figure 7.11). The ovate, shallow divots in the artifact’s surface known as potlid fractures result from small, typically “bowl-shaped” pieces of lithic material exfoliated from the surface due to rapid temperature changes in a specimen (Alperson- Afil and Goren-Inbar 2010:23; Hranicky 2013:229). Experiments have demonstrated that only artifacts that come into direct contact with fire and are heated to a temperature above 300°C will show heat damage (Sergant et al. 2006:1000). Chert or flint materials were often intentionally heated in antiquity, as thermal alterations to these stones can increase compressive strength and reduce point tensile strength, provide more effective control of flaking and fracture, and decrease the 258 occurrence of undesirable step and hinge fractures while flaking (Purdy 1975). Treating materials with controlled heat also tends to produce sharper edges, though the products are also more brittle, wearing more quickly and breaking more easily during use. The burnt lithics might therefore represent curated, worked materials that were intentionally but improperly treated with heat during the process of stone tool production. They could also be relocated materials from middens that were burned periodically (presumably to control the odor of organic materials) or objects exposed to open flame during the depositional event atop Str. L7-1. While the locations within the deposit where burned lithics were found do not reveal any clear patterning, heat fractures can be violent. Even if the lithics were burned in situ atop and within the structure, the various fragments of shattering stones could have flown quite far from the original positions where they would have been exposed to open flame. As Hruby (Hruby and Lang 2010:312) has suggested, burning chert in open flame during termination rituals could cause the stone to flare brightly and explode, undoubtedly adding to the drama of a structure’s deactivation. In addition to breakage caused by thermal alteration, some of the lithic objects included in the deposit may have been intentionally fractured. Several fragments of large metate grinding stones, which ethnographic studies suggest are virtually unbreakable during use and transport (Searcy 2011:50), are included among the lithic assemblage. The manos included in the assemblage are represented by whole implements, items that appear to have been broken but smoothed through continued reuse along their break surface, and fragmented pieces that may have been intentionally broken, marked by visible chipping along the edges. Likewise, some of the broken bifaces from the deposit exhibit flake scars on their break surfaces, as well as possible impact damage along the broken face, both associated with intentional destruction (Sievert 1992:68-70). The few examples raising the possibility of intentional breakage, however, may also represent unfinished attempts to rework and reuse materials broken accidentally or through use. 259 Figurines In comparison to other artifact classes from the Acropolis deposits, figurines are relatively scarce. Like the lithic materials, the figurine fragments discussed here were counted, identified, and documented at Salón 3 in Guatemala City during the months of April and October of 2013. A preliminary report on the figurines from El Zotz by Katherine Lukach and José Luis Garrido (2010) mentions additional figurine fragments from lots associated with the Str. L7-1 deposit, which could not be located among the materials stored in Salón 3. Lukach and Garrido (2010:337) report 21 figurine fragments recovered from lots near the center of Str. L7-1, along with another 16 fragments from the restricted patio at the southern end of Str. L7-1. In Salón 3 in 2013, however, only 14 fragments from sub-operation 2G (the central area) and 13 fragments and one complete whistle from sub-operation 2H (the patio) were included among the stored figurine collection from El Zotz. Of the nine discrepancies, at least three pieces that were not found in Salón 3 are depicted in Lukach and Garrido’s preliminary report (the three fragments combine to form two mostly complete anthropomorphic heads) and are therefore also included in this discussion. The remaining six fragments may also potentially be included in Lukach and Garrido’s list, but as the report is preliminary, many of the catalog entries simply list descriptions and images as “pending,” making it difficult to determine whether they reference the same fragments that are included in the Salón 3 collection. In total, then, 31 individual fragments make up the figurine sample from the deposit associated with Str. L7-1 and are discussed here. Fifteen complete or nearly complete heads of varying anthropomorphic and zoomorphic beings are found among the figurines (including the complete whistle), as well as two additional mold-made, broad-brimmed hats that may have once belonged to 260 figures whose heads show no signs of hair or headdress. Following the terminology used and described by Halperin (2007b:148-254) for figurines from the neighboring site of Motul de San Jose, the sample from the Str. L7-1 deposit at El Zotz includes two dwarves, three women with varied hairstyles, at least one man with a broad-brimmed hat, one with no head decoration, and another with a more elaborate headdress, as well as two possible Xipe-like (flayed skin) figures, two owls, a feline-like creature, a frog, and the complete whistle, which is shaped like a small bird (Figures 7.12 and 7.13). Although the sample size from the deposit is too small to compare its composition to other well-studied assemblages (e.g., Halperin 2007a:10), the high proportion of heads and head elements to other fragments (arms, whistle mouthpieces, etc.) is intriguing nonetheless. Over half of the figurine fragments (58%) represent complete or nearly complete heads, often broken in nearly identical fashion just below the chin or neck of a figure. The head, as well as its ornamentation and associated regalia, served as a focal point in the constitution of social and personal identities in Mesoamerica. As Houston and colleagues (2006:60) write, “As the locus of identity, the face or head establishes individual difference and serves logically as the recipient of reflexive action.” The significance of the head is reflected not only in the emphasis on decapitation of war captive and sacrificial victims in Mesoamerica, but also in more reverential portrayals of ancestral figures, often with name glyphs above their foreheads, that appear on cache vessels, censer burners, and belt assemblages. As described above, decapitation is also a common method of “killing” figurines (Stross 2006). In removing and then retaining the head, the apical aspect of personhood, captors and bearers of heads and their images could participate in or absorb the identity of someone else. Houston et al. (2006:72) further note the extension of this perception of the head to Maya writing, where it is the heads employed in glyphic representations that communicate sound and meaning, conversing with the reader. 261 The potential emphasis on including complete figurine heads in the deposit raises the question of whether they may have been intentionally fragmented, the head deliberately removed from the rest of the body. Figurines are a notoriously difficult artifact category when it comes to identifying evidence of purposeful destruction, however. The thin, hollow nature of mold-made ceramics lends them both to easy breakage and to rapid wear along breaks from post-depositional processes, making it extremely difficult (if not impossible) to distinguish between accidental and intentional breakage (Verhoeven 2007:175). Fortunately, both the exceptional preservation of the figurines from the Acropolis deposits and the small size of the collection provide helpful clues. Following Halperin (2007b:86), visual characteristics of figurine pastes were examined across the entire collection from the deposit. Although visual analyses provide only rough, largely qualitative categorizations of paste composition, they are more reliable than superficial comparisons of color and texture, which can vary widely due to difference in both ancient painting techniques and post-depositional weathering (see Figure 7.14a). With the aid of a 100x handheld microscope, paste color (using a Munsell color chart), temper and inclusions, and paste texture (generally described as fine, medium, or coarse) were documented for each of the 31 figurine fragments. Only two fragments within the small sample shared enough characteristics to be considered multiple parts of the same figurine. The two fragments, recovered from lots EZ 2H-5-4- 2A and EZ 2H-5-4-2D, could not be directly refit, though Lukach and Garrido’s report shows two additional fragments as direct refits, forming the head depicted in Figure 7.14a. The rest of the figurine parts and pieces, however, are clearly unlike one another, indicating that whether or not the complete heads were intentionally broken from their bodies, they certainly entered the deposit associated with Str. L7-1 without their limbs and other body fragments. 262 The fragments of additional body parts found within the deposit include smooth, plain backs and appliquéd mouthpieces, suggesting that many of the figurines functioned as ocarinas. These were most likely hollow and completely molded in the front, but featured hand-modeled backs and bases lacking bodily contours, which is also the most common figurine manufacturing type noted for Classic period collections from Motul de San Jose (“Type 1” in Halperin 2007b:117) and Piedras Negras (“Tipo 4” in Ivic de Monterroso 2002:556). Such figurines, with the front head and body parts made together in a one-sided press mold, usually have hollow bodies but solid heads, which were then subsequently adorned with appliquéd elements, such as hair or headdresses. For figurines of this type, it may simply be the solidity of the heads, in comparison to the rest of the figurines’ bodies, which accounts for their presence and preservation within the deposit. Some of the figurines feature hollow heads, however, and their elaborately modeled backs show them to be made using two-sided press molds (such as those shown in Figure 7.14). They are still represented by nearly complete or complete heads, despite the increased fragility of that particular body part as a result of the process by which they were made. Ceramic Vessels Ceramic sherds make up by far the majority of the fragmented objects from the deposit. In order to examine the ways in which this major artifact class was broken and distributed, refitting analyses were a major component of the studies undertaken. As the name implies, refitting (often used interchangeably with the terms “cross-mending” or “conjoining” [Bollong 1994:17]) involves the identification of two or more discrete pieces of material that can be shown to originate from the same single entity. Although attempting to identify and piece together similar fragments of broken pottery seems both 263 a natural and straightforward post-excavation analytical technique, systematic approaches to entire assemblages or multiple intra-site contexts have been rare, particularly in certain regional traditions (Blanco Gonzalez et al. 2014:139; Blanco- Gonzalez and Chapman 2014:248; Schurmans 2007). Archaeological refitting analyses have largely been focused on lithic artifacts, as the reduction sequences used in manufacturing chipped-stone tools facilitates reuniting production debris (Hofman 1992:8), but they have also been carried out in cases of ceramic vessels (e.g., Blanco- Gonzalez and Chapman 2014; Bollong 1994; Burgh 1959; Sullivan 1989; Sullivan et al. 1991), figurines (e.g., Bausch 1994), and faunal remains (e.g., Henshaw 1999; Lyman 2008; Zeder and Arter 1996), with varying degrees of complexity and success. Conjoining of lithic flakes, ceramic sherds or fragments of animal bone has been shown to enable assessments of the integrity of site structure, inferences about human behaviors across geographic space (such as “activity areas”), evaluations of technology, and the identification of curation and recycling of materials, as well differential efficiencies in the transport of resources (Schurmans 2007:9-11). In general, refitting analyses are fairly straightforward. As Hofman (1992:1) states, “anything breakable is potentially subject to refitting.” Whether faced with lithic artifacts and flakes, ceramic sherds, or broken bones, rejoining fragments that come together like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle is the usual goal (though see Blanco-Gonzalez et al. 2014 for a recently proposed method to establish shared sherd origins through petrographic analysis). Like most methods, however, refitting is not perfect. The major issue with conjoining studies is that while they have the potential to yield a wealth of information regarding both cultural and natural processes, they are notoriously laborious, expensive, and highly time and space consuming. In particular, their success rates decrease as assemblages increase, as the potential number of possible refits grows exponentially (Goring-Morris et al. 1998:160-161). Fortunately, the assemblage analyzed 264 from El Zotz in this study was of a manageable size (1,843 sherds were included in refitting attempts). Comparative refitting analyses used in designing the methodology employed here featured collections ranging from 946 sherds (Sullivan et al. 1991:244) to 2,067 sherds (Sullivan 1989:102-103) to 3,785 sherds (Clayton et al. 2005:123). As described above, however, the El Zotz deposit represents neither a completely excavated nor a systematically sampled deposit. Comparative deposits from other Maya sites that have been more thoroughly excavated suggest that complete refitting attempts of these archaeological features would be impractical, if not impossible. For example, Special Deposit 1 from Structure 3 at the site of Blue Creek, Belize yielded 21,271 ceramic sherds, despite the fact that only two-thirds of the deposit was recovered because of disturbances caused by looters and backfilling operations (Clayton et al. 2005:122-123). Similarly, excavations carried out over the course of four field seasons at Structure M13-1 at the site of El Perú-Waka’, Guatemala recovered 20,532 ceramic sherds, many of which were never labeled or analyzed, let alone refit, due to the overwhelming volume of materials, as well as time and budgetary constraints (Navarro-Farr 2009:362-364). Moreover, there will always be pieces below a certain size, fragments that are so heavily eroded as to have lost their fracture edges or morphological characteristics, and artifacts with certain qualities which make them virtually indistinguishable (such as body sherds of unslipped vessels), all of which preclude the possibility of true “complete” refitting attempts. In an ideal scenario, then, well-defined sampling strategies should be incorporated during both the excavation and analysis stages when dealing with large-scale special deposits and take into account the time, labor, and resources available in both the field and the laboratory. The methodology used here extends beyond reuniting fracture edges and surfaces to include ceramic sherds that cannot be conjoined, but clearly come from the same vessel based on their morphological characteristics (i.e., ceramic type, vessel form, 265 decoration style, temper type, density and distribution of temper, wall thickness, core color, and finishing techniques such as direction and depth of scraping or polishing striations). During the analysis, I largely followed procedures outlined by Charles Bollong (1994) in his analysis of hunter-forager pottery from South Africa. Although Bollong describes six possible refitting stages, I used only the first five (see Table 5.4). The final stage identifies sherds that are too fragmentary, variable or damaged to allow judgment regarding association with other fragments in the assemblage, which I removed as a whole during the first stage of the analysis. Unslipped vessels were also not included in refitting attempts, as the rough pastes often used in their production break easily and unevenly, often prohibiting rejoins between even fresh breaks. Moreover, the high degree of similarity among these types of vessels makes distinguishing one pot from another difficult without the aid of additional techniques (such as petrographic analysis of paste composition). Following Sullivan (1989:104), a single attribute mismatch was sufficient to warrant segregation of sherds into different vessels and the term “vessels” is used here to refer to reconstructed pottery and to singular fragments. Although numerous refits were made within lots, very few associations could be made across excavation areas (to reduce bias, refitting procedures were applied to sherds without regard to their specific proveniences). The few exceptions were refits made between lots EZ 2G-2-1 and EZ 2G-2-2 and among lots EZ 2G-4-4, EZ 2G-4-5, and EZ 2G-6-4. Even in those cases, the lots were immediately above, below, or adjacent to one another, making the delineations between them more arbitrary effects of excavation protocol than indications of meaningful distance. Lots EZ 2G-4-4, EZ 2G-4-5, and EZ 2G-6-4, located just to the north of the central axis of Str. L7-1 and on the eastern side of the wall separating the two northern rooms of the structure (see Figure 6.21), provided the most detailed refitting information. The vessel fragments from these lots were in noticeably better condition than those from other units associated with the deposit, 266 particularly those toward the southern end of Str. L7-1 (lots EZ 2H-3-4 and EZ 2H-3-5, for example). 267 Code Description Number of Percentage sherds of total 1 Direct physical refits made between sherds, making their association and origin from a common vessel 426 48 certain. 2 Sherds not physically refit, but morphological characteristics (e.g., texture, thickness, fabric, shape, color, and/or decoration) allow determination that specified sherds were derived not only from the same vessel, 138 15 but from the same region of that vessel, making their association certain. 3 No refit between sherds, but morphological characteristics (as above) allow determination that specified 233 26 sherds were derived from a common vessel and association is certain. 4 No refit between sherds, but judgment of gross morphology permits association as “probable” (i.e., 4 0.45 analyst judgment of better than 50%). 268 5 Equivalent to Schiffer’s (1989:53) “orphan” sherd, shown to be unlike any other in the assemblage on the basis of gross morphology, which may represent a sherd either introduced to the site as a single 94 11 fragment, or, if site excavation is incomplete, may be associated with other sherds from that vessel not recovered. The distinctive nature permits designation (with caveats noted) as a vessel. Table 7.3. Coded refitting stages (after Bollong 1994). The overwhelming majority of the 895 sherds from those combined lots produced refits, most of them direct rejoins of fresh breaks (see Table 5.4). Using the coding system described above, 94 of 895 sherds not only did not refit with at least one other sherd from the assemblage, they were clearly unlike any other vessel in the collection, based on the same characteristics used to determine those that did represent common vessels. Unfortunately, as excavations of the deposit focused only on two distinct areas at the front of the structure and off its southern side, it is impossible to say whether the high percentage of direct refits found within them is indicative of very low or very high dispersion of sherds in and around the structure. That is, whether the sherds coded as a 5 truly did not have any refits throughout the entire deposit, meaning that they were intentionally deposited as single fragments, or whether they were actually part of larger vessel pieces, or even complete vessels, which were not recovered but were interred somewhere along the 20m stretch separating the units of Operation 2G from those of Operation 2H. Like other areas of the deposit, some of the individual vessels identified in the central area of Str. L7-1 were represented by only a handful of sherds. Depending on the size of those fragments, a “vessel” could comprise, for example, a significant portion of the base and body of a globular jar or simply the rim of a large-diameter bowl. In these more central lots, however, refitting also produced 23 mostly complete or semi-complete vessels. The reconstructed vessels include tall jars with outflaring necks (commonly referred to as ollas), wide plates with low, sloping sides, deep, globular bowls with restricted orifices (also known as tecomates), and smaller bowls with thin-walls and highly burnished slips (Figure 7.15). The variability in breakage, dispersal, and weathering patterns evident upon sherds from individual vessels provide more specific clues to the ways in which the pots were interred than the mere fact of their conjoining. For example, a nearly complete jar 269 designated as Vessel 1 is a tall, relatively straight-sided pot with a restricted neck and everted rim, bearing deep red, burnished slip on its exterior surface and a grainy, reddish-orange unslipped interior (Figure 7.16; see Appendix B for the complete catalog of photos of conjoined vessels from the El Zotz deposit). The vessel comprises 53 sherds in total and is approximately 90% complete (mainly missing pieces of the neck and shoulder of the pot). Only three sherds could not be refit with any other fragment and a total of six (some conjoined) could not be reunited with the rest of the vessel. The fragments of Vessel 1 do not show any traces of burning, save for some clouding toward the base that occurred when the pot was fired. Most of the sherds are well preserved, with little slip erosion and some discrete areas of chipping or scratching. The exceptions, however, are sherds coming from the upper body, neck, and rim of the vessel, where the slip is noticeably more eroded than the rest of the vessel and breaks between sherds are more warped and weathered (making for less perfect rejoins). The edges and underside of the vessel’s base also show wear, but in this case they are marked by chipping, striations, and smoothing that were created during the vessel’s use, as it was set down to be filled. Similarly, the exterior edge of the vessel’s rim and the area just inside the rim are also worn from the use of the pot before interment. The base and lower body sherds are lightly etched by root activity, but the root marks snake across breaks between the basal and lower body fragments, indicating that at least the lower third of the vessel was deposited intact and remained so for some time. The base is broken into four large pieces and the breaks between them, though not modern (i.e., caused during excavation or transport), are sharp and show very little evidence of the characteristic signs of discoloration or pitting from having been exposed to a soil matrix. Finally, of the 54 total fragments making up Vessel 1, 42 of those were found within sector H1 and the remaining 12 (mainly sherds from the rim, neck, and shoulder of the vessel) were found in adjacent sectors E1, F1, and G1. The fact that nearly 270 all sherds from the vessel were found in the same sector suggests that not only the base, but the nearly complete pot was interred upright, in sector H1. The majority of the breakage observed on Vessel 1 was probably not caused by acts of smashing and scattering, but rather by the weight of the construction fill piled atop the deposit. This is further supported by the fragments of the vessel’s rim, neck, and shoulder, found nearby but with additional signs of weathering. As fill was initially added above the deposit, it partially filled and surrounded Vessel 1, protecting the base and lower body sherds, while the weight of the matrix caused the upper portion of the vessel to break. This separated some of the fragments from the rim, neck, and shoulder from the remainder of the pot and explains their more weathered appearance and warped rejoins with the vessel, since they were exposed to the deposit’s matrix on all sides early on. Moreover, the fracture edges between some sherds of the vessel’s body indicate that it was broken inward (the exterior slip of the fragments shears off and the interior paste edge bevels sharply inward), also consistent with most of the vessel having been broken by the weight of the fill as the deposit was covered. Over time, as the fill settled and was affected by post-abandonment regrowth at the site, the rest of the vessel was further cracked and broken. However, the fill surrounding the vessel still provided some degree of protection and the sherds remained close together, suffering little erosion and abrasion. Vessel 1 thus provides important information in reconstructing the depositional event at Str. L7-1, though the missing 10% of the vessel begs further consideration. If Vessel 1 had been deposited intact, all fragments should have been accounted for, especially given the (close) proximity of those that were found and reconstructed. A nearby vessel, designated Vessel 3 and located mainly in sector G1, shows similar patterning in terms of breakage, but the burning and dispersal of some of its pieces provide additional elements of the artifact’s history. Vessel 3 is a much smaller 271 vessel than Vessel 1, a thin-walled, circular bowl with short, curved sides, and a light grayish-brown, smooth slip on both the interior and exterior of the vessel (Figure 7.17). Vessel 3 is also roughly 90% complete and is represented by 26 sherds. Vessel 3’s base sherds exhibit weathered breaks with the body sherds of the bowl, but fresh, largely unweathered breaks between base fragments, again probably indicating that the bowl was placed upright in the deposit. Unlike Vessel 1, however, the base sherds of Vessel 3 show signs of use-wear on the underside of the vessel as well as erosion on the interior bottom of the bowl. The thin walls and larger opening of Vessel 3 would have broken more easily than Vessel 1, which explains the greater degree of fragmentation, and would have exposed the inside surface of the base to erosion within the fill. The rim of Vessel 3 is also abraded from use prior to deposition – in areas the slip is almost entirely worn away to the past beneath. Vessel 3 differs from Vessel 1 in another key feature: three of its rim fragments were found burned and well beyond sector G1. One of these was recovered from lot EZ 2G-4-5, indicating a minimum possible distance of 1.15m from the closest point in sector G1, and two were found in lot C2, which represents a distance of at least 0.5m. Moreover, these three rim sherds all show signs of post-breakage burning. Blackening on the exterior of the sherds extends into the paste of the breaks between refits, though adjacent rim sherds show no traces of burning. These burning patterns align well with those observed for osteological materials, which indicated that localized burning took place toward the northern end of lot EZ 2G-6-4, where both sector C2 and lot EZ 2G-4-5 are situated. The combination of the burning patterns witnessed and the distance between these sherds and the rest of the vessel indicates that at least the rim of Vessel 3 must have been broken prior to its inclusion in the deposit and that those fragments of the otherwise nearly complete vessel were scattered prior to subsequent burning and interment. 272 Most reconstructed vessels from the El Zotz deposit, as well as many of the solitary rim and base sherds, show signs of prior use – scratching and chipping around bases from pots being stood upright in use or along rims from being stored upside down when empty, scouring inside the necks of jars or the bottoms of bowls from cleaning, etc. Some fragments, however, also had a second life as reworked and reused sherds. Evidence of reuse is generally made clear by the overall preservation of the deposit assemblage. Fragments with sharp breaks on some sides and worn, smoothed edges on others may have been used as scrapers, smoothers, or polishers (Halperin and Foias 2010:402). Vessel 64 was reshaped in such a way as to include a portion of the base, creating a weighted side to its elongated form, which may have been used as a scoop (Figure 7.18; see Deal and Hagstrum 2000:Fig. 9.14). Six sherds from the central deposit lots were reshaped into circular objects, along with another 14 recovered from lot EZ 2G-2-2 and 15 from lots in Operation 2H. Some are crude, with the edges roughly chipped to create a rounded edge, while others are evenly smoothed into disks or drilled to create spindle whorls and pendants (Figure 7.19). A few sherds even show unfinished attempts at reworking, such as holes drilled partway through (Figure 7.20). One particularly intriguing example of reuse is Vessel 31 from the deposit. This vessel is largely incomplete, but the shape and thickness of its fragments suggest that it was once probably a large, globular jar or deep bowl. The sherds have a distinctive deep red, highly burnished slip on both their interior and exterior surfaces and thick walls of a fine, but grainy yellow-brown paste. Three of the 15 fragments attributed to Vessel 31 are reworked into a circular shape, the edges of the disk successively chipped and smoothed to round out the object. While the reuse of the sherd itself is not uncommon, the inclusion of both the disk and other, unworked fragments from the same vessel is an unusual find (Figure 7.21). In combination with the presence of reworked but unfinished sherds, various stages of production debitage from worked bone artifacts, and the 273 patterns of use prior to deposition observed on the majority of objects within the deposit, it seems that many of the items interred atop Str. L7-1 represent those in the process of being stored, worked, or reworked as raw materials. Ritual, Reuse, and Refuse Attention to detailed physical characteristics of the deposits in the El Zotz Acropolis demonstrates that numerous incomplete vessels and reworked or reused fragments of other materials were dispersed (but not violently smashed) and burned in situ atop Str. L7-1 before being carefully buried beneath the structure’s final construction phase. Most objects from the El Zotz deposit, whether grinding stones, bone tools, or ceramics, show evidence of repeated use prior to their interment. Somewhat ironically, the taphonomic evidence of natural processes of weathering, root etching, and dispersion within the deposit indicate that cultural practices of artifact curation and reuse are responsible for many of the pre- and post-depositional patterns observed. These objects and their taphonomic indicators are most likely examples of provisional discard (see Chapter 3): items that have reached the end of one functional life, but are stored for reuse in other forms. Figure 7.22 compares sherds from three distinct contexts at El Zotz: a) the deposit atop Str. L7-1; b) provisional discard stored beneath the thatched eaves of an elite, Terminal Classic residence (Newman and Menéndez 2011:152); and c) a Postclassic domestic midden, which ceramic types indicate was accumulated over a span of more than three centuries (Kingsley and Gámez, n.d.). Although an admittedly rough comparison, the sherds recovered from the midden are noticeably more weathered and fragmented than sherds from either the provisional discard or the Acropolis assemblages, despite the fact that they were deposited several centuries later. The images emphasize the physical differences in weathering patterns, reflecting their 274 different depositional histories: discard in an open pit, some degree of protection offered by the thatch roof overhang of the residence, or the immediate burial beneath mud and fill atop Str. L7-1. Although the assessment of sherd size is based largely on qualitative comparisons, the average sherd weight for all diagnostic sherds from the midden context (i.e., those that provided type-variety or modal information) was 27.29g/sherd, compared to an average of 31.62g/sherd for the Acropolis deposit. The potential reuse of artifacts is often cited as a factor that complicates archaeological deposits, but is rarely considered in analyses (e.g., Deal and Hagstrum 2000:121; Sullivan 1989:111). As Hayden and Cannon (1983:131) write, “since almost all implements in sedentary communities are curated and represent some significant investment of time, labor, or money, broken artifacts of all kinds tend to be kept around for varying lengths of time in the event that the fragments might still be useful for something.” What the evidence from El Zotz suggests, however, and what remains generally overlooked even by those who acknowledge the presence of reused artifacts in archaeological deposits, is that the “something useful” for which fragments are curated may be ritual in nature. The details of objects’ pre- and post-depositional histories reconstructed in this study are the result of micro-scale investigations of taphonomy and formation processes, generally the domain of behavioral archaeologists. Somewhat ironically, however, those results reveal deliberate human actions and meaningful engagements with objects in the realm of refuse and architectural fill – contexts that behavioral archaeologists view as the furthest from interaction and use (e.g., Schiffer 1985:211). Moreover, the causal explanations generated by behavioral archaeology seem to be at odds with the variability that is at the heart of practice-oriented approaches centered on change. Timothy Pauketat, for example, describes behavioral archaeology and what he calls “an archaeology of historical processes” as antithetical. He writes, “behavior (abstract, goal- 275 oriented human activity) is not practice (homologous actions and representations that vary between contexts or events even if the routinized forms … seem to remain the same)” (2001:86). The analyses employed in this study, however, offer a potential way of bridging this divide, employing methods drawn from behavioral archaeology’s detailed attention to formation processes in order to move beyond context as the defining characteristic of depositional practices and broach questions of agency and intentionality. In a reevaluation of the concept of “structured deposition,” Garrow (2012:107- 109) calls attention to what he sees as two ends of a continuous spectrum of deposits: “odd deposits” and “material cultural patterning.” Odd deposits are those consciously made “different” from others, designed and orchestrated to distinguish and privilege certain activities in comparison to other, more quotidian, ones (Bell 1992:74). Material culture patterning, on the other hand, refers more simply to differential distributions of artifact types. As Garrow (2012:105) argues, an emphasis on ritualized activities often leads to assumptions that most or all material culture patterning is evidence of an odd deposit, and therefore intentionally created, symbolically relevant, and culturally meaningful. Brück (1999:325) raises a similar point, suggesting that interest in the social and ideological aspects of human existence influence the interpretation of the material products of human action, privileging metaphorical representations and abstract symbolic schemes over practical considerations and aspects of day-to-day life. The repurposing of rubbish for offerings at El Zotz complicates this preferential treatment of ritual over rationality. In the Acropolis deposit, material culture patterning is evident in the relative proportions of ceramic sherds, faunal remains, figurines, etc. At the same time, the assemblage falls neatly within Garrow’s concept of an odd deposit: the vessels placed upright, perhaps filled with organic materials, atop the final phase floors of Str. L7-1, focused areas of burning at the corners of the building, and the careful 276 packing of mud between the placement of artifacts and subsequent levels of construction fill point to orchestrated efforts of deposition that were distinct from both discard in middens and haphazard accumulation in fill. Yet the pre-depositional histories of the objects interred, particularly their various stages of use and provisional discard, blur the intentionality reflected in the deposit. The inclusion of broken, repurposed, and discarded items is clearly deliberate, as it required the physical movement of objects to the specific location atop Str. L7-1, but the breakage and weathering patterns assessed in this chapter are the result of natural, unintentional processes. This means that although specific materials were chosen for deposition, their particular forms and condition were not so carefully controlled. Similarly, the accumulation of materials in the El Zotz deposit represents the result of intentional, deliberate actions (primarily sweeping), but the specific artifacts brought together are defined by daily activities (and accidents) of production and consumption. The Acropolis assemblage thus simultaneously represents what Shennan (1993:55) describes as the two extremes provided by the archaeological record: an important event that affected the way social space was structure and the routinized activity of individuals. An analogous example exists at Tikal, where very large deposits of lithic debitage (clusters and scatters of chert and obsidian flakes from the production of stone tools) are found exterior to several elite or royal burials. Moholy-Nagy (1997:306-307) interprets these deposits of debitage (some including upwards of 157,000 pieces of chert and 380,000 pieces of obsidian) as the purely functional discard of chipping waste generated by craft specialists producing artifacts for the burial chambers and accompanying caches. In her explicitly rational view, these production activities generated more waste than the household middens of knappers could accommodate, so the excess was removed and interred opportunistically in the construction fill of monumental architecture. Hruby (2007:71-73, 83), however, sees craft production among the ancient Maya, including 277 “mundane” blade manufacture, as ritualized and ideologically loaded. Elements of worldview, religion, and mythology are an indelible part of technological performance. Technology embodies relationships between people and the world around them. The human skill, knowledge, and effort of craft production become inherent characteristics of both the process itself and the objects that result (e.g., Inomata 2001:332), but also impart value to the by-products and waste generated, the often-ignored remainders of creative investments. Chapman (2000a:26) extends this argument to deliberate processes of object fragmentation. For him, a fragmented object stands not only for the rest of the artifact, but also the persons involved in its creation, use, and exchange. In this way, fragments served as mnemonic, metaphorical, and metonymic references, relating the division and accumulation of objects to mutual relationships among people, things, and places. The social value of those references is evident in the deliberate ways that discard occurs. As Lucas (2002:18) writes, “the more care we take to dispose of something, the more we are contradicting the act of disposal.” Refuse goes through a graduated process of alienation that is as complex as processes of acquisition or appropriation. Lingering senses of attachment to creator, energy, and use-life must be stripped away, objects structurally and symbolically deconstituted as they deteriorate and disappear. In this way, the deposits of buried objects incorporated into in the renewal and renovation of pre-existing structures serve as ongoing cues to place-making and remembrance, much like the malanggan of Papua New Guinea described by Küchler (1999:62, see Chapter 2), the effect all the more powerful for their hidden nature. The objects that circulate through places, as well as the discourses that surround them, invest those places with accumulative, if changing, social values (Papadopoulos and Urton 2012:22). Kosiba (2012) provides an example analogous to the kind of renewal deposits discussed in this chapter and Chapter 5. He describes depositional events in Cuzco, Peru, 278 marking the onset of Inka occupation at the significant pre-Inka town of Wat’a. Dense concentrations of rapidly-burned materials, deposited in a plaza at the core of the pre- Inka settlement, served to “cleanse” the space, “an agriculturalist’s way of clearing the area before it was to be further ‘cultivated’ through the construction of new architecture” (Kosiba 2012:115). In subsequent constructions, stones, bones, and broken objects were incorporated in architectural fill, the materials of the preceding order converted into the foundations of the new order, accruing meaning through the controlled destruction and reconstitution of a particular place. As discussed in Chapter 2, refuse actively frames social action and interaction as a result of how and where it is placed via disposal. This discretionary locating of objects in space, including those with histories of use, discard, and repurposing, defines and divides places. They create the backdrop to both everyday and extraordinary encounters and experiences, cuing appropriate behaviors through ongoing commemoration not only of the ritual act of deposition, but also of the many stages and cycles of human investment and interaction that preceded and produced an archaeological assemblage. Rather than seeing discarded or buried objects as acts of finality, then, understanding them as objects specifically arranged and intentionally incorporated into places enables them to continue to act – in constructing values, retaining memories, and maintaining interactions and relations. Hamann (2002:353) describes this continued entanglement of the social lives of objects, places, and humans as functioning through both explicit or implicit pedagogic action. Explicitly, objects and places serve as mnemonic pegs, prompts for narratives that explain the relevance of the past to the present (see also Alcock 2001 and Basso 1996). Implicitly, meaning-coded things serve as background for and shape day-to-day existence, as in Bourdieu’s (1977:77-90) discussion of habitus. Hamann (2002:353) writes, “[i]n Mesoamerican social theory, then, the social lives of objects and locations, the supernatural forces they house, and the 279 social identity of communities are all closely linked … Humans and ancient objects did not simply co-occur in the same space. They coinhabited the same space; they were both part of daily life.” The El Zotz deposit becomes less “problematical” when understood in this context. Whatever event precipitated the major architectural alterations made to the Acropolis – the 10th bak’tun ending in AD 830 commemorated on El Zotz Stela 4? The death of a king? Perhaps even the dissolution of dynastic rulership? - the renovations marked a period during which the structures of authority at El Zotz were quite literally dismantled and the royal court was displaced. Rituals of renewal within the El Zotz Acropolis harnessed the value still embodied by broken, obsolete, or discarded objects to not only accomplish the ongoing “work” of transforming and maintaining Str. L7-1, but to ensure success and continuity. 280 Whole 3% <3/8 circumference present (sliver) >3/4 8% present 4% 1/2 - 3/4 present 6% 1/4 - 1/2 present 14% 281 <1/4 present 65% Figure 7.1. Fragmentation of faunal remains in the deposit from the El Zotz Acropolis (represented as portions of complete elements recovered; N = 222). 282 Figure 7.2. Repetitive cut marks at the proximal end of a left turkey (Meleagris ocellata) humerus (white arrow) illustrate craft production, rather than butchery, techniques. The articular end has been removed, leaving the smooth shaft for further working. Scale represents 1 cm increments. 283 Figure 7.3. The first stage of bone craft production: primary and secondary debitage removal. Here, the proximal end of an ocellated turkey’s (Meleagris ocellata) right humerus has been removed from the diaphysis. Scale represents 1 cm increments. 284 Figure 7.4. The second stage of bone craft production: core production and finishing. This diaphysis from a large mammal (likely Odocoileus virginianus) shows a finished, smoothed cortical core. Scale represents 1 cm increments. 285 Figure 7.5. The third stage of bone craft production: primary and secondary blank production. Here, longitudinal slicing has created a primary wide blank with smoothed longitudinal edges. Scale represents 1 cm increments. 286 Figure 7.6. The fourth stage of bone craft production: blank finishing. This blank shows both cortical and edge finishing, as well as tertiary thinning. Scale represents 1 cm increments. 287 Figure 7.7. The fifth stage of bone craft production: artifact production and finishing. Finished blanks and perforators form the artifacts from this stage. Scale represents 1 cm increments. Calcined 13% Burned (not yet carbonized) 43% 288 Carbonized 44% Figure 7.8. Degrees of burning observed on faunal remains within the El Zotz Acropolis deposit (N = 107). 289 Figure 7.9. Many bone artifacts from the El Zotz deposit show signs of dry burning, such as the burning of the interior surface of the medullary cavity shown here (also extending into the break at the right hand side of the photo). 290 Figure 7.10. Burnt ceramics from the northern sectors (A, B, and C) of lot EZ 2G-6-4 contain residues of potential organic materials, possibly offerings burned within the vessels. Scale represents 1 cm increments. 291 Figure 7.11. Many chert flakes from the Acropolis deposit display distinctive color changes and potlid fractures (indicated by white arrows), evidence that the specimens were exposed directly to open flame. Figure 7.12. Anthropomorphic figurine heads from the El Zotz deposit: (a) dwarf from EZ 2G-6-4-I1; (b) EZ 2H-5-4-Lvl 3; (c) figure with broad-brimmed hat from EZ 2H-5-4-Lvl 6B; (d) EZ 2H-3-4; (e) dwarf from EZ 2H-3-4; (f) EZ 2H-5-4 North Profile; (g) possible Xipe-like figure (slack eyes and lips) from EZ 2H-5-4-Lvl 3; and (h) possible Xipe-like figure from EZ 2H-5-4-Lvl 6A. 292 Figure 7.13. Zoomorphic figurines and figurine heads from the deposit: (a) frog from EZ 2G-2-2; (b) small bird (complete whistle) from EZ 2H-5-4 Lvl 6C; (c) creature with feline features from EZ 2G-2-2; (d) owl from EZ 2H-3-4; and (e) owl (partially complete whistle) from EZ 2G-6-4-C2. 293 294 Figure 7.14. Additional figurines from the El Zotz deposit reported by Lukach and Garrido (2010): (a) anthropomorphic figure with straight hair pulled back and (b) anthropomorphic figure with straight hair and headband. Photographs by Arturo Godoy. 295 Figure 7.15. Examples of the variety of “vessels” from Operation 2G, conjoined through refitting analyses. Figure 7.16. A nearly complete conjoined jar from the El Zotz deposit, designated “Vessel 1.” Scale represents 1 cm increments. 296 297 Figure 7.17. A nearly complete thin-walled bowl from the El Zotz deposit, designated “Vessel 3.” Scale represents 1 cm increments. 298 Figure 7.18. A reworked body sherd with a portion of the base included, designated “Vessel 64,” which may have been used as a scoop. Scale represents 1 cm increments. 299 Figure 7.19. Reworked sherds included in the Acropolis deposit show a variety of forms and stages of reuse. 300 Figure 7.20. Sherds from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit showing unfinished attempts at reworking. 301 Figure 7.21. The vessel designated “Vessel 31” includes both reworked and unworked sherds: (a) Vessel 31’s exterior and (b) interior. 302 Figure 7.22. Variability in breakage and weathering patterns for sherds from three distinct contexts at El Zotz: a) the deposit atop Str. L7-1; b) provisional discard stored beneath the thatched eaves of an elite, Terminal Classic residence; and c) a Postclassic domestic midden, which ceramic types indicate was accumulated over a span of more than three centuries. CHAPTER 8 CONCLUSION In the highlands of Guatemala, the town of Momostenango is well known for its traditions. A K’iche’ community where ancient 260-day and solar calendrical cycles continue to be kept, the aptly named “town of altars” is surrounded by a large number of outdoor shrines, which are still used by thousands of local practitioners (Tedlock 1992:22). In 2013, I witnessed a ceremony conducted by Doña Sabina Vicente, an influential local daykeeper – though she prefers to call it a costumbre (“tradition”). Doña Sabina performed her costumbre in low, mumbling mix of K’iche’ and some Spanish, pausing at various points to add offerings to a carefully arranged fire. Candles, cigars, incense, eggs, cane sugar, rum, and Coca-Cola cracked and melded, simultaneously drawing bees with the sharp, sweet smell and keeping them at bay with a dark cloud of black smoke (Figure 8.1). The altar where Doña Sabina made her offering was covered in thick layers of ash and soot, a testament to the consistent and ongoing use of Momostenango’s many shrines. Even more intriguing, however, were the regularly piled fragments of broken pottery, neatly stacked along the edges of the altar (Figure 8.2). Recounting the initiation ceremony for a new daykeeper, Barbara Tedlock (1992:65-66) describes a moment in which a large, unused cooking pot is broken into pieces, each of which serves as an incense burner, filled with small black disks of copal incense and tallow candles. Part of the ceremony involves placing these potsherds around the edges of the hearth where the new daykeeper was initiated; some local shrines have accumulated piles of potsherds over three meters high (Figure 8.3). 303 I tried to ask Doña Sabina why the pots were broken in the initiation ritual, a question that was difficult for her to answer. Her costumbre was just that: tradition. The correct performance of prayers and actions at the appropriate time and in the appropriate place was at once the ritual itself and the product of that ritual (see Christenson 2014:9). Eventually, however, she explained that the offering – which she indicated to mean the complete assemblage of candles, incense, Coca-Cola, potsherds and variable other objects employed – was like an egg. One would never offer a guest a raw egg, she chided. Of course one needed to cook it, to prepare it, to make it pleasing and palatable. “El regalo tiene que ser transformado,” she told me. “The gift has to be transformed.” Themes of the Dissertation In words and actions, Doña Sabina’s costumbre succinctly summarizes many of the major themes examined in this dissertation. Trash is relative, as Mary Douglas (2002) made clear more than half a century ago. Daily habits, social norms, symbolic meaning, and cultural and economic values constantly define and redefine what is kept and what is discarded. The piles of potsherds where Doña Sabina stoked her ceremonial fire are clear examples of the ways that cultural understandings affect what is ordered and disordered, appropriate and inappropriate, valuable and wasted. The burnt and broken jar fragments, which in other circumstances might be considered obsolete, or at best potential raw material for repurposing, serve as crucial ritual paraphernalia in the ceremonies initiating new daykeepers in Momostenango. The major goal of this research is to question the application of modern, categorical modes of understanding to ancient societies, particularly notions of refuse. William Rathje, for example, called archaeology “the discipline that tries to understand 304 garbage, and to learn from that garbage something about ancient societies and ancient behaviors” (Rathje and Murphy 2001:10). Yet archaeological deposits are much more than the static remnants of practical discard or ambivalent abandonment. Current perceptions of waste as merely obsolete items to be disposed of as efficiently as possible are deeply rooted in the context of industrialism (Hawkins 2006; Strasser 1999). And although trash certainly provides a reflection of interactions with the material world, it is more than a passive recipient of culturally and historically variable human practices. The relationship between humans and our garbage is dynamic: waste is encountered and experienced, prompts and results from specific actions, and mediates daily habits, disciplines, and relations. As such, evaluating what trash was and meant in ancient Mesoamerica, as well as how those perceptions responded to the changes wrought by colonization, opens up new possibilities for understanding the meaning underlying acts of deposition and disposal in the past and their material correlates in the present. Wasting and Wanting Waste and the ways we manage it are constantly defined and redefined by the shifting relations between human beings and the garbage we continually produce. Trash is a distinctive category of objects, simultaneously a representation of established social orders and a key player in the relations that define those norms. But there is fluidity between garbage and non-garbage, too – obsolete objects have the potential to move in and out of those categories, while also possessing special qualities to retain memory or incite reuse. Trash is part of an ongoing social process, which incorporates not only the different pathways that unwanted things might follow, but also the historical and cultural contexts in which the disposal of rubbish is situated. These actions form a 305 complex set of habits that result from the intersection of bodily, symbolic, and ethical concerns. Trash, in the past and in the present, is more than a simple indicator or byproduct of daily life. Rather, waste actively constitutes the repeated practices required to define and dispose of it, as well as the specific moral codes and forms of reason that make such actions meaningful. Disposal, the act of getting rid of things, is both a process and a practice. The rules that define what becomes waste and how it is gotten rid of, the active, structured, and spatially important ways in which items are discarded, and the necessity of a means of discard in constructing value and alienating objects help us organize not only the world around us, but our appropriate place within it. The discretion we exercise, from moment to moment, in choosing appropriate locations for the things we keep and the things we throw away results in the production and recreation of specific “places.” Through this selective process that includes and excludes, values and compares, we arrange material objects and ourselves. Place is not simply an abstract set of relations or a container for actions, but an ongoing encounter through the relationships that materials and persons have to one another over time. Memory brings those relationships to hand and represents them as a sense of place, identity, and belonging. This, in turn, affects our moral sensibilities: the places we create incite us in what we wish to do. Disposal is the process by which we demarcate places, separating the world into discrete arrangements of materials subjects and objects that can recall or create the frames of identity and behavior we wish to occupy. The continued presence of the potsherds at the shrines of Momostenango not only recalls memories of rituals past and the individual daykeepers represented by the fragments, but the simple sight of the stacked sherds demarcates the sacred space of the altar, cuing proper performances and tradition. To consider the potsherds as no more than blackened, jagged pieces of fired clay would be to overlook many layers of meaning 306 and purpose, not only in the fragments themselves, but also in the place defined by the altar and the act of the ceremony. Approaching disposal as a means of place-making, of delineating and arranging the conditions for social behaviors and ethical identities, opens up new possibilities for understanding archaeological deposits. Rather than seeing discarded or buried objects as acts of finality, understanding them as objects specifically arranged and intentionally incorporated into places enables them to continue to act – in constructing values, retaining memories, and maintaining interactions and relations. The chapters of this dissertation have taken this approach, re-examining established depositional categories and analyzing artifact histories to try to understand ancient depositional behaviors in terms of their intended experiences and effects, prior to, at the moment of discard, and long after. Everyday Purification and Deposition: Mesoamerican Ritual “Work” The historically and culturally variable forms that conceptions and treatments of trash may take underscore the need to understand archaeological trash within its appropriate context. Rubbish disposal need not be efficient in a way that makes sense to an observer, but may serve a purpose in a way that appears logical from within a particular social, phenomenological, or cosmological framework. Moving toward a better understanding of what trash was and what it meant for the Maya relies on the incorporation of multiple sources of evidence. Lexical terms used to label refuse and its associations in Mayan languages, documented in colonial and modern dictionaries, provide rich insight into indigenous categories and connections. Ethnoarchaeological and archaeological case studies offer comparative models for certain classifications of refuse and methods and locations of disposal. Finally, particular examples of broken, burned, dispersed or buried objects that display unusual characteristics (such as 307 intentional breakage) or are found in unexpected locations (e.g., above-floor deposits in residential structures or accumulations placed in deep cave recesses) complicate contemporary dichotomies between rubbish and value, ritual and refuse. Combining these varied lines of evidence enables a reconsideration of Maya refuse, one that engages with broader Mesoamerican and Maya concepts of productive work and incorporates intentional deposition, even in the mundane realm of trash, into processes of place- and memory-making. Among the Maya and other Mesoamerican peoples, ordinary tasks of everyday life provided a basic somatic and material vocabulary through which other kinds of behaviors and intentions could be understood. Royal or palace work in Maya texts involved a perceived equivalence to the manual labor of peasants in the manuring and cultivation of agricultural fields (Houston et al. 2006:225), while the Yukateko term meyah, glossed as “work,” applies equally well to the shaman’s work in performing, the farmer’s in burning his fields, and the woman’s in cleaning the house (Hanks 1990:364). Sweeping and bathing are particularly perceived as purifying acts, “work” necessary to the creation and maintenance of socially constructed spaces, whether temples or roads (Burkhart 1977:33; Monaghan 2000:34). In fact, it is not clear that a discrete category of ritual action ever existed in Mesoamerica (Monaghan 1998:48; 2000:25-26, see also Astor-Aguilera 2009). Rather than radically separating faith and practice, ritual and religion are construed as work in active terms in traditional Mesoamerican thought. Broad Mesoamerican practices of house-dedication rituals are understood as providing nourishment for the animus of a new house, “feeding” its rafters, corner, and center. Depositional or ritual acts can also serve as methods of payment or repayment. Rather than original sin, traditional Maya cosmology was based on “original debt” (McAnany 2010:67). Ancestors and deities, having done the work necessary to bring human beings into existence and having shared the material world with them, require a debt that must 308 be repaid to the extent possible throughout a human lifetime. Frequent dialogues with deities, through daily practice and ritual, are required to constantly ameliorate this debt. For the Maya, even activities as mundane as refuse management might also accomplish alternative, metaphorical, or “ritual” work. Deposits of materials and objects, including those that appear fragmented or forgotten, may serve purposes other than, or in addition to, disposal. A consideration of ritual as one of many forms of “work” and deposition as “feeding” or “care-taking” in traditional Mesoamerican thought are similarly encompassed by Doña Sabina’s modern costumbre. Not only did she use the word regalo or “gift” to describe the assortment of items burned at the altar, but she emphasized the transformation of those materials by means of her interaction with them, saying, “the gift has to be transformed.” She also explicitly equated the broken potsherds with feeding, analogous to an egg that must be properly cooked before it can be offered to a guest. John Monaghan (1998:49-50) describes similar examples drawn from the Mixtec of Oaxaca, in which the construction of a house, the process of turning limestone into lime, the act of making clay into a pot, and the development of a fetus in a woman’s womb are all understood as “cooking.” Anything that is the result of combinations and transformations of materials by human intent is, in Mixtec metaphor, a dish that has been cooked. This kind of production, as Monaghan argues, is not a phenomenologically distinct kind of activity, but rather just one of a set of behaviors through which people create and maintain the conditions of their existence. Sowing and Dawning: Refuse and Renewal The conceptual conflation of ordinary tasks and ritual acts in traditional Mesoamerican thought not only blurs the dichotomy between the sacred and the 309 profane, but shifts analytical focus from ritual as a specific type of action to ritual as a mode of interaction, emphasizing the variable and creative ways that humans relate to and interact with non-human entities (e.g., Brown 2000; Brown and Emery 2008; Brown and Walker 2008). It’s not difficult to imagine the puzzling deposits that Momostenango’s shrines might present to future archaeologists. Doña Sabina’s ritual practice co-exists with and informs her everyday life. Her costumbre is accomplished through the very same objects that she makes use of on a daily basis – eggs, Coca Cola, plain clay water jars. Everyday objects become appropriate offerings to the divine simply by her proper, ancestral engagements with them. Scattered among toppled piles of burnt and broken pottery, the remains of a well-used daykeeper’s altar would easily resemble abandoned trash, gathered and dumped beyond the borders of the modern town. Often-ambiguous termination or “problematical” deposits make manifest questions concerning the ways that shared immaterial goals may be achieved through differing interactions with the material world. Although they can be inconsistent with respect to their contents, context, and condition, they may represent efforts to accomplish a singular kind of ritual work, their differences the result of choices made and specific ideas of how particular goals should be achieved. Attention to such differences, then, not only examines the details and extent of variability, but can also reveal shared underlying tenets. Although the criteria by which deposits are classified as problematical or termination-related are poorly defined, archaeologists find themselves employing these categories to describe their finds, suggesting practices and purposes that are somehow linked. Despite key differences in artifact assemblages, locations of recovery, and the condition of associated objects, these deposits bear a kind of family resemblance: a connection that is immediately recognizable, if not easily describable. The problem, however, is that analysis often begins and ends with these vague impressions of similarity. Commonly used terms like “termination” or “problematical” 310 can be helpful in conveying the ubiquity of certain practices or relating specific finds, but they can also mask many of the distinctive nuances of ancient Maya depositional behaviors. Moreover, these broad and ill-defined categories run the risk of serving as interpretive ends in themselves, rather than analytical aids to further understanding (see Brudenell and Cooper 2008; Garrow 2012). This dissertation examined examples of complex assemblages similar to the archaeological case study from the El Zotz palace in detail, evaluating the often- ambiguous categories created to define and interpret these deposits. Compiling examples from across the Maya region to look at the myriad ways these finds have been excavated, described, and interpreted, I argued that these assemblages, though distinct, represent shared underlying principles and goals; that they serve to accomplish the same ritual “work.” By examining artifacts not only individually or according to material class, but also in relation to other objects within a given assemblage, nuanced details of the use-life and depositional histories of objects emerge. Extending techniques drawn from osteological studies to all artifact types illuminated patterns of breakage, burning, and dispersal, observed for each class of artifact found in the El Zotz deposit (i.e., osteological materials, ceramic sherds, lithics, and figurines). Drawing on evidence of individual artifacts’ post-depositional histories, some of the actions responsible for the formation of the deposit could be reconstructed, including the reuse of stored refuse for ritual purposes. Rituals of renewal, carried out from Yucatan to highland Guatemala to Central Mexico, provide a context in which to situate the deposits from El Zotz and other Maya sites. Such rites show considerable variation, yet speak to shared purposes and accomplish similar goals through their ritual “work,” a theme that similarly characterizes complex assemblages. Major events and changes, whether cyclical or unexpected, local or widespread, require preparation, recognition, or respect to ensure success and 311 continuity. Through burning and deposition, used, worn-out, and broken objects were transformed, “fed” to the earth and the animating forces of houses and temples built upon it. Rather than attempting to delineate a boundary between dedication and termination, understanding problematical or termination deposits as ritual “work,” as necessary acts of renewal, enables an understanding of these interments as simultaneously looking to the past and the future, bridging endings and beginnings, maintaining and perpetuating not only a worldview, but the actual world itself. Buried beneath levels of new construction fill or arranged in abandoned buildings, the materials assembled to form such deposits nonetheless exert an “absent presence” (Hetherington 2004:159). Transformations of objects and architecture, whether palaces, temples, households or shrines, enable the constant recreation and rearticulation of places, cuing appropriate behaviors or inciting specific actions. The objects that circulate through places, as well as the discourses that surround them, invest those places with accumulative, if changing, social values (Papadopoulos and Urton 2012:22). The dense concentrations of materials deposited in elite residential areas, often associated with architectural destruction, serve to “cleanse” spaces. I argue that these offerings serve as agricultural metaphors, drawn from traditional milpa farming, and that broken, discarded, or obsolete items are particularly suited to such incorporation. Not only does refuse’s transient state allow it to be repurposed, to unexpectedly gain in value or meaning, while still retaining vestige’s of human interaction in the traces of production of use physically inscribed on material surfaces, but distributing the burnt, broken, and used-up is what allows new things to grow in traditional Mesoamerican thought. An area must be cleared and seeded before it can be further cultivated through the construction of new architecture (see also Kosiba 2012:115). 312 Transforming Trash A long-term perspective on waste management practices can reveal changing norms of social and ethical behavior, economic fluctuations at local and regional scales, and instances of remarkable creativity and resilience encountered among the used-up, the dirty, the broken, and the (seemingly) obsolete. It would be impossible to understand the repeated acts of destruction embodied by the broken vessels in Momostenango as the individual new beginnings they actually represent without access to the traditional Mesoamerican beliefs at work in such offerings. It is the “tradition” of Doña Sabina’s ceremony – the deeply rooted, ancestral practices that dictate appropriate behaviors and offerings – that is at once the ritual itself, the motivation behind it, and the desired outcome. This core, this “hard nucleus” as López Austin (2001:267) call it, is the continuity that ties contemporary Maya ceremonialism to devotional concepts that extend across a millennium. Although major social, political, and economic changes have transformed the structure of the theological system and the material ways in which certain practices, this nucleus remains and evolves. As Christenson (2014:13) explains, “as we learn a second language, we tend to interpret unfamiliar phrases in terms of the grammar and vocabulary of our mother tongue. … Maya ceremonialism thus evolves over time by accumulation, adding newer elements to older traditions rather than replacing them by substitution.” This core of traditional ways of relating the material and immaterial worlds is also what enables the analytical approach taken in this dissertation, one that combines archaeological, ethnohistoric, and ethnographic evidence to examine both continuity and change, at scales large and small. Many of the successful waste management strategies that had been employed by indigenous Mesoamericans prior to the arrival of Europeans 313 were deeply rooted in ambivalent understandings about waste. That is, human excreta and material refuse were meaningful and symbolically charged in ways that embraced both negative and positive qualities. Waste was a resource that could be employed for material and immaterial purposes. The colonial project of conversion, however, targeted many of the underlying principles of Mesoamerican thought. Redefining concepts of good and bad in terms of cleanliness and filth, the Christians that arrived in the New World could not help but affect both the spiritual and physical worlds of their native converts, which were not as clearly separated as in the European mindset (Astor- Aguilera 2009). Trash, dirt and disorder became one of many realms of colonial contestation that shaped the trajectory of Latin America. Moral associations with filth, heightened by concerns for social control, racism, and public health scares, became tied to (and justification for) social and economic hierarchies. Variably described as the “direct historical approach” (Marcus and Flannery 1994), “ethnography for archaeology” (Fox et al. 1996), or “interpretive interfaces” (Charlton 1981), drawing the deep, distant, and recent past together with contemporary observations allows each line of evidence to complement the other, bridging gaps and identifying transformations. Here, the archaeological data recovered from El Zotz and the analyses employed to understand specific histories of deposited artifacts demonstrated a blurring of the traditional Western dichotomy between ritual and rubbish, the sacred and the profane. Through ethnohistoric and ethnographic analogies, however, this particular reuse of refuse appears as a logical component of broader Maya and Mesoamerican notions of objects and animism, of purity and pollution, and of the “work” of caring for and “feeding” gods and ancestors through offerings accumulated and interred. Moreover, rather than blurring chronological or local variation, a wide-ranging geographical and temporal approach actually highlights change, intervention, and innovation. As Chapter 3 illustrated, incorporating culturally specific practices into the 314 interpretation of written documents reveals both the impact of particular events on longstanding traditions and the ways in which those deeply held beliefs shaped interaction and cultural contestation. Ernest Hooton (1938:218) once described archaeologists as “the senile playboys of science rooting in the rubbish heaps of antiquity.” As the chapters of this dissertation have shown, however, such “rubbish heaps” can convey cultural notions of order and disorder, engage with systems of meaning and value, and reflect daily choices of divestment, enactments of ethical responsibility, and human relations with the material world. Viewing the activities that form archaeological assemblages as dichotomous practices of either trash disposal or ritual deposition masks the complexity of the flow of material objects from and through cultural systems to the archaeological record (Walker and Lucero 2000:130). It also reduces the importance and ignores the potential of broken, buried, or discarded objects by assuming that the intentional choices made regarding locations and methods of their disposal aim only to separate objects that are not longer useful from everyday living spaces. The application of categorical classifications to past societies must be considered in light of the culturally and historically variable ways that humans have understood and interacted with the material world, even its most mundane aspects. Even in the realm of waste disposal, the underlying tenets that shape daily practice need to be understood within their cultural context, rather than through the lens of a Western perspective heavily influenced by its own cultural and historical trajectory. This dissertation not only questions the application of modern categorical understandings to other times and places, but offers potential approaches for exploring the alternatives to such classifications. 315 Figure 8.1. Doña Sabina performing her costumbre at one of Momostenango's many hilltop altars. 316 Figure 8.2. Broken, burnt potsherds surround individual altars in Momostenango. 317 Figure 8.3. Over time, accumulations of potsherds around shrines can reach many meters in height. Photo courtesy of Linda Brown. 318 REFERENCES CITED Aguirre Beltrán, Gonzalo 1963 Medicina y magia: El proceso de aculturación en la estructura colonial. Instituto Nacional Indigenista, Mexico. 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The sub-operation, another letter code, designates the specific structure within the operation that is being investigated (e.g., Str. L7-1 = G, Str. L7-6 = H), which is followed by another numerical code to represent the unit. Normally, a lot is designated by a final number and represents the minimal provenience unit. In the case of the deposit from Str. L7-1 of the Acropolis, however, excavators added an additional alphanumeric code to represent specific levels of gridded areas within a lot. Thus, EZ- 2G-6-4-H1 refers to the first level of sector H within the fourth lot of the sixth unit excavated within Str. L7-1 of the Acropolis at El Zotz. Investigations in structures associated with the El Zotz Acropolis, including the Northwest Courtyard and the L7-11 pyramid, took place during the 2006 and 2008-2012 field seasons of the El Zotz Archaeological Project. In 2006, Juan Carlos Meléndez and Ana Lucía Arroyave documented three looters’ tunnels and Str. L7-2’s exposed architecture. In 2008, Meléndez carried out test pitting excavations in the Acropolis, directed by Stephen Houston (designated Operation 2), while Ernesto Arredondo Leiva, Stephen Houston, and Caitlin Walker excavated within and atop Str. L7-11 (Operation 3). Griselda Pérez Robles and Fabiola Quiroa Flores conducted vertical, horizontal, and tunneling excavations in the Acropolis proper in 2009, again directed by Stephen Houston, while Varinia Matute Rodríguez investigated the intersection between the 360 western edge of the Acropolis and the Northwest Courtyard (Operation 12). In 2010, Elizabeth Marroquín and José Luis Garrido López built upon the work of Pérez Robles and Quiroa Flores, extending tunnels and pits to additional structures within the Acropolis. Also in 2010, Pedro Aragón oversaw excavations in Str. L7-18 of the Northwest Courtyard. In 2011, I directed operations in the Acropolis and Northwest Courtyard alongside Elsa Dámaris Menéndez. In 2012, I cleaned and documented visible architecture in four additional looters’ tunnels in the Acropolis (Operation 22 1). Variations in the recording and reporting styles of each excavator are responsible for any slight differences in the data presented here (e.g., providing the thickness of a stratum versus the depth of each corner below it). Table A.1 lists the sub-operation, number of units, and excavators for each structure, while Figure A.1 shows the location of each unit. Multiple seasons of excavations focused on the Acropolis during both Phase I and Phase II of the El Zotz Archaeological Project and numerous excavators contributed archaeological information. This appendix provides detailed data for the sub-operations of structures within the El Zotz Acropolis, which are listed in Table A.12. Excavations associated with ritual deposits are highlighted in bold in the table. The unit and lot details provided here are meant to complement Chapter 6’s descriptions and conclusions regarding the architectural features and occupational history of the El Zotz Acropolis. In most cases, the data presented here are English translations of Spanish-language reports prepared by various archaeologists (the excavator of each unit is indicated). Occasionally, however, subsequent excavations or laboratory analyses have changed the initial suppositions made by archaeologists in the field. In such instances, the original conclusions and new interpretations are both included in the text. 1 The El Zotz Archaeological Project began a new phase of excavations in 2012, under new leadership and sponsorship. Operation codes were changed to reflect the shift from Phase I to Phase II (i.e., excavations in the Acropolis, previously Operation 2, became Operation 22). 2 Additional data from other excavations in and around the Acropolis, as well as the rest of the site of El Zotz and regional investigations undertaken by the El Zotz Archaeological Project, are available (in Spanish) online at: http://www.mesoweb.com/informes/informes.html 361 Table A.1. Excavations carried out in and around the Acropolis by the El Zotz Archaeological Project, 2008-2012. Bold text indicates units associated with ritual deposits. Structure Year Excavator(s) Operation Sub- # of operation Units Str. L7-1 2009 Pérez Robles 2 G 6 2010 Garrido López & 2 G 24 Marroquín Str. L7-2 2008 Meléndez 2 B 1 2009 Quiroa Flores 2 B 7 2010 Marroquín 2 B 2 Str. L7-3 2008 Meléndez 2 F 1 2009 Quiroa Flores 2 F 2 Str. L7-4 2012 Newman 22 C 1 Str. L7-6 2008 Meléndez 2 A 5 2009 Pérez Robles 2 A 13 Str. L7-7 2008 Meléndez 2 D 1 2009 Quiroa Flores 2 D 1 2012 Newman 22 B 1 Str. L7-8 2010 Garrido López 2 J 2 2011 Newman 2 J 2 2012 Newman 22 D 1 Str. L7-9 2012 Newman 22 A 1 Str. L7-24 2012 Newman 22 E 2 Restricted Patio 2009 Pérez Robles 2 H 4 2010 Marroquín 2 H 5 362 Figure A.1. Map of the El Zotz Acropolis showing excavation units from the 2008-2012 field seasons, including those detailed in the text. Map by Thomas Garrison. 363 Excavations in Str. L7-1 (Operation 2, Sub-operation G) Sub-operation 2G includes 30 units in total, the majority of which were excavated during tunneling operations into Str. L7-1. Others include vertical pit excavations and the cleaning of debris from illicit looters’ trenches. EZ 2G-1 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) EZ 2G-1 involved the cleaning of a looters’ trench at the northern end of Str. L7-1, with dimensions of approximately 1 m (north-south) by 4 m (east-west). The looters’ trench penetrated the northernmost room of Str. L7-1, extending slightly into the back wall of the structure. The goal in cleaning out the debris left by the looters was to ascertain dates and forms for the architecture visible within the illicit excavations. The unit was oriented to approximately 262°, with the datum from which depth measurements were taken located at the northwest corner of the unit (Figure A.2). Lot X3: Level of looters’ debris (7.5 YR 6/2). Ceramics: 96; chert: 11; shell: 1; faunal remains: 11; carbon samples: 1. Depth (in m, taken at each corner): 5.60 NW; 4.45 NE; 4.49 SW; 4.45 SE. Additional Notes: At 4.1 m below the unit’s datum, the remains of the rear wall of the northernmost room of Str. L7-1 appeared in the northwest profile of the trench. Unfortunately, the looting nearly completely destroyed the room and the part of the back wall that could be identified couldn’t be followed via excavations without collapsing the wall. 3 Some excavators working in the Acropolis used the letter “X” as a unit or lot designation to indicate that a context is mixed or uncertain due to looting activities, a system initiated by Arredondo. Although the use of the “X” code no longer follows the recording protocol established for the El Zotz Archaeological Project, I have maintained the original labels for units and lots used by excavators in the field. 364 Figure A.2. EZ 2G-1. West (O) and North (N) profiles. Drawing by Griselda Pérez Robles. 365 EZ 2G-2 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) EZ 2G-2 involved the cleaning of a looters’ trench approximately along the centerline of Str. L7-1, with dimensions of approximately 1.40 m (north-south) by 4.25 m (east-west). The looters’ trench penetrated the central room of Str. L7-1. The depth measurements were taken located at the northwest corner of the unit (Figure A.3). Lot X: Level of looters’ debris (10YR 8/1). Ceramics: 42; chert: 15; obsidian: 2; shell: 1; faunal remains: 2; carbon samples: 1. Depth: 2.65 NW; 3.01 NE; 2.50 SW; 2.98 SE. Results: The lower levels of the debris revealed a wall aligned with that found in EZ 2G-1, at the western side of the room. The western wall was then followed to reveal the eastern and northern walls as well. Lot 1: Upper level of mixed ritual termination deposit, containing soil, limestone, and ash (5YR 7/1). Ceramics: 731; chert: 193; obsidian: 15; shell: 4; figurines: 9; faunal remains: 41; soil samples: 1; carbon samples: 4. Depth: 3.80 NW; 3.45 NE; 3.70 SW; 3.50 SE. Lot 2: Lower level of mixed ritual termination deposit, a continuation of Lot 1 (10YR 6/2). Ceramics: 319; chert: 67: obsidian: 2; shell: 2; figurines: 4; faunal remains: 37; soil samples: 1; carbon samples: 3; special finds: 1 (a well-preserved, burnt maize cob). Depth: 3.95 NW; 4.07 NE; 3.98 SW; 4.05 SE. Additional Notes: Materials from the deposit were placed atop the floor of the central room of the structure, which showed signs of cracks running from north to south, beginning at the northern wall of the room, probably due to the weight of objects and construction fill piled atop the plaster surface. 366 Figure A.3. EZ 2G-2. South (S), West (O), and North (N) profiles. Drawing by Griselda Pérez Robles. 367 EZ 2G-3 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) EZ 2G-3 involved the cleaning of a looters’ trench toward the southern end of Str. L7-1, with dimensions of approximately 1.40 m (north-south) by 3.50 m (east-west). The looters’ trench penetrated the southernmost room of Str. L7-1 (a three-room building). The depth measurements were taken located at the northwest corner of the unit (Figure A.4). Lot X: Level of looters’ debris, including many worked limestone blocks, mortar, and stucco (10YR 7/2). Ceramics: 90; chert: 6; shell: 4; faunal remains: 3; carbon samples: 1. Depth: 3.25 NW; 3.60 NE; 3.12 SW; 3.65 SE. Additional Notes: Neither the size of the room nor the actual walls of the structure could be ascertained by cleaning the looters’ trench in EZ 2G-3. Destruction was so complete, even the floor had been broken through and removed, and could not be detected within the trench. 368 Figure A.4. EZ 2G-3. South (S) and West (O) Profiles. Drawing by Griselda Pérez Robles. 369 EZ 2G-4 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) EZ 2G-4 was a pit excavated to the east of the looters’ trench in EZ 2G-2, at the central room of the structure. The unit, measuring 1.5 m (north-south) by 1.5 m (east- west), was excavated in order to define the exterior walls of Str. L7-1, the floor of the platform before it, and to see whether the ritual deposit identified within the central room of the structure was also found outside the building. The depth measurements were taken located at the northwest corner of the unit (Figures A.5, A.6). Lot 1: Level of looters’ debris (2.5YR 4/2). Ceramics: 15. Depth: 0.44 NW; 1.0 NE; 0.42 SW; 0.94 SE. Lot 2: Construction fill, including soil and worked limestone blocks from the walls and vault of Str. L7-1, which appear to have been intentionally cut or destroyed (7.5YR 6/1). Ceramics: 15; chert: 3; faunal remains: 1. Depth: 0.65 NW; 1.45 NE; 0.82 SW; 1.61 SE. Lot 3: Level of earth fill, including limestone and mortar, similar to Lot 2 but more compact (7.5 YR 7/1). This lot ended in a thick, packed seal of mud covering the ritual termination deposit. In this unit, the deposit also appeared to be separated into two distinct areas by a line of stones. Ceramics: 32. Depth: 2.0 NW; 2.49 NE; 2.31 SW; 2.26 SE. Lot 4: The area of the deposit to the north of the aligned stones in Lot 3, in a matrix primarily comprised of soil and ash (10YR 4/1). This lot ended at the plastered floor outside the structure, the platform on which Str. L7-1 stood. Ceramics: 77; soil samples: 1; carbon samples: 1. Lot 5: This lot represents the portion of the deposit within the aligned stones from Lot 3, toward the southern end of the unit (seemingly the main area of deposition), in a fine soil and ash matrix (2.5YR 5/2). This lot also ended at the plastered surface of the platform beneath Str. L7-1. Ceramics: 415; chert: 34; obsidian: 6; shell: 6; faunal remains: 26; soil samples: 4; carbon samples: 2. 370 Figure A.5. EZ 2G-4. East (E) and South (S) profiles. Drawing by Griselda Pérez Robles. 371 Figure A.6. Excavation of the deposit in lot EZ 2G-4-5. Photo by Arturo Godoy. 372 EZ 2G-5 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) EZ 2G-5 was a pit excavated along the central axis of Str. L7-1, about 3 m south of EZ 2G-4. The unit, measuring 1.5 m (north-south) by 1.5 m (east-west), was excavated with the goal of locating the access stairway to Str. L7-1 and to test the extent of the ritual deposit. The depth measurements were taken located at the northwest corner of the unit (Figure A.7). Lot 1: Humic level (10YR 4/2). Ceramics: 4; chert: 1; shell: 1. Depth: 0.28 NW; 1.14 NE; 0.36 SW; 1.28 SE. Lot 2: Level of construction fill formed of soil and limestone (10YR 7/1). The exterior wall of the central room of Str. L7-1 was observed in this lot, which appeared to be intentionally cut or destroyed like the wall in EZ 2G-4. Ceramics: 50; chert: 2; obsidian: 1; shell: 1. Depth: 0.71 NW; 1.67 NE; 1.57 SW; 2.01 SE. Lot 3: An additional layer of construction fill, very similar to Lot 2 (10YR 6/2). Pérez Robles describes this lot as having a room wall, destroyed nearly down to its base, and a well-preserved stucco bench attached to the exterior wall of the structure. Although she provides the drawing shown in Figure A.7, no photos were taken of this unit in the field. Based on the rest of the visible architecture in units associated with Str. L7-1, it seems much more plausible that what Pérez Robles describes as a bench is actually a structure platform upon which the walls of the three-room building were erected. What she describes as a mutilated wall, then, is more likely the deep levels of construction fill placed atop Str. L7-1 in preparation for architectural renovations. Ceramics: 29; carbon samples: 1. Depth: 2.67 NW; 2.67 NE; 2.66 SW; 2.59 SE. Lot 4: This lot focused on the excavation of the soil covering the structure platform identified in Lot 3 (7.5YR 6/2). The visible edge of the platform measured 0.62 m wide and 0.3 m high, measured from the surface of the basal platform beneath Str. L7-1 (the 373 bulk beneath the access stairs). Ceramics: 47 (though none appeared to be associated with the ritual termination deposit). Depth: 2.96 NW; 2.99 NE; 2.97 SW; 3.0 SE. 374 Figure A.7. EZ 2G-5. North (N) and East (E) profiles. Drawing by Griselda Pérez Robles. 375 EZ 2G-6 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) EZ 2G-6 was a pit excavated immediately to the south of EZ 2G-4, approximately in the center of the platform underlying Str. L7-1. The unit, measuring 1 m (north-south) by 1 m (east-west), was excavated in order to find the doorway to the central room of Str. L7-1, recover more of the materials associated with the ritual deposit, and excavate beneath the floor of Str. L7-1 for chronology. The depth measurements were taken located at the northwest corner of the unit (Figure A.8). Lot 1: Humic level (5YR 7/1). Ceramics: 15; chert: 3. Depth: 0.28 NW; 0.57 NE; 0.28 SW; 0.57 SE. Lot 2: Level of construction fill, including soil, large worked limestone blocks, mortar, and stucco (7.5YR 4/2). Ceramics: 14. Depth: 0.92 NW; 0.92 NE; 0.94 SW; 0.92 SE. Lot 3: Lower levels of construction fill from Lot 2 (7.5YR 4/2). Along the eastern wall (the western edge of the unit) a floor was found that terminated just at the exterior of the wall, with one large, cut limestone block from the structure’s façade apparently in its original location. The rest of the wall was destroyed as in other excavations of Str. L7-1. Ceramics: 7; chert: 1. Depth: 1.86 NW; 1.71 NE; 1.61 SW; 1.73 SE. Lot 4: More of the same ritual termination deposit located at the southern end of EZ 2G- 4, within the same area divided by the aligned stones from Lot 3 of that unit (2.5YR 5/2). Ceramics: 2053; chert: 190; obsidian: 14; figurines: 5; jade: 3; shell: 56; grinding stones: 7; faunal remains: 197; human remains: 3; stucco fragments: 2; unidentified objects: 1; soil samples: 3; carbon samples: 10. Lot 5: Construction fill beneath the floor of the platform underlying Str. L7-1, beneath the ritual termination deposit (2.5Y 5/2). The floor itself was fairly thick, measuring 15 cm. Ceramics: 467; chert: 38; obsidian: 3; shell: 31; faunal remains: 12; carbon samples: 1. Depth: 3.91 NW; 3.87 NE; 3.96 SW; 3.82 SE. 376 Lot 6: Another level of soil fill, associated with the wall of a badly deteriorated substructure (10YR 5/2). The substructure appeared to pertain to the interior of a room, perhaps an internal dividing wall (the interior door jamb could be identified). At the western edge of the unit, just in front of the doorjamb, another substructure appeared, which could not be investigated due to time constraints and issues of stability. Ceramics: 70; chert: 2; obsidian: 1; faunal remains: 2; carbon samples: 1. Depth: 4.59 NW; 4.45 NE; 4.64 SW; 4.47 SE. Additional Notes: As described at the beginning of this appendix, Lot 4 of EZ 2G-6 was excavated using an additional grid system to record the locations of artifacts within the deposit more precisely. The grid consisted of 9 square sectors, each measuring approximately 0.35 m per side. From left to right, north to south, the sectors were designated using letters (i.e., the northern edge of the unit featured sectors A, B, and C), each excavated in two levels (numbered 1 and 2). The first layer of the northwestern sector within the unit was thus designated EZ 2G-6-4-A1. Sectors were excavated in alphabetical order. Table A.2 shows the kinds and quantities of artifacts recovered from each sector. 377 Figure A.8. EZ 2G-6. East (E) and South (S) profiles. Drawing by Griselda Pérez Robles. 378 A1 A2 B1 B2 C1 C2 D1 D2 E1 E2 F1 F2 G1 G2 H1 H2 I1 I2 Misc. Total Ceramics 135 51 89 93 157 129 143 68 158 20 197 65 119 6 203 8 210 6 196 2053 Faunal Remains 13 9 11 3 2 3 22 10 14 8 14 3 14 0 17 1 20 1 32 197 Chert 18 2 11 7 6 7 9 14 16 9 15 17 4 2 6 3 14 7 23 150 Obsidian 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 2 2 0 2 0 4 0 0 1 1 14 Figurines 1 0 0 1 0 2 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 6 Jade 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 3 Carbon 1 0 0 0 1 0 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 1 0 10 Shell 0 1 0 1 1 0 4 2 4 3 2 2 6 14 4 0 10 1 1 56 Worked/Cut Stone 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 Grinding Stones 0 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 3 Stucco Fragments 0 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 2 Human Remains 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 3 Soil Samples 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 2 0 3 Unidentified Objects 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 Table A.2. Artifacts recovered, by sector, from the gridded excavations in EZ 2G-6-4 (after Pérez Robles et al. 2010:Tabla 1.1). 379 EZ 2G-7 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) EZ 2G-7 marks the beginning of a tunnel excavated into Structure L7-1, along the base of its central axis (running from east to west). The tunnel was located directly beneath where EZ 2G-4 had been excavated, in an effort to reach earlier construction phases of Str. L7-1. Unit EZ 2G-7, oriented to 88°, measured 1.5 m (east-west) by 1 m (north-south). The datum was located at the southwest corner of the unit (Figures A.9, A.10, A.11). Lot 1: Humic layer of brown soil (7.5YR 3/3). Ceramics: 11; chert: 3. Depth: 0.28 NW; 0.90 NE; 0.24 SW; 0.90 SE. Lot 2: Layer of collapse filled with small pebbles and destroyed limestone blocks, which may have been part of the access stairway to the upper levels of Str. L7-1 (10R 6/1). Ceramics: 19; chert: 4; obsidian: 2. Depth: 0.33 NW; 0.90 NE; 0.42 SW; 0.90SE. Lot 3: Fill of limestone and soil, forming the base for the access stairway to Str. L7-1 (2.5R 6/1). Ceramics: 12; chert: 2. Depth: 0.65 NW; 1.20 NE; 0.68 SW; 1.15 SE. Lot 4: Very compact level of construction fill mixed with small pebbles and soil (7.5R 6/1). Ceramics: 34. Depth: 1.02 NW; 1.02 NE; 1.06 SW; 1.03 SE. Lot 5: Large stones and soil fill beneath the stairs of the access stairway along the central axis of Str. L7-1 (10YR 6/2). Ceramics: 11; chert: 1. Depth: 1.30 NW; 1.35 NE; 1.3 SW; 1.32 SE. Lot 6: Fine soil atop a stucco floor (Floor 1), with a level of worked, rectangular stones placed atop the floor. No artifacts were recovered. Depth: 1.66 NW; 1.73 NE; 1.66 SW; 1.62 SE. Lot 7: Layer of construction fill in preparation for Floor 1 from Lot 6, including a layer of cut stones arranged in a semi-circle (5Y 7/1). Ceramics: 52. Depth not provided. 380 Lot 8: Burial (El Zotz Burial 5), placed in the axis of the façade of Str. L7-1. The interment was intrusive – Floors 1 and 2 were cut in order to place the body. The semi- circle of stones noted in Lot 7 served to cover the deceased; the body found below was in in a flexed position on its right side, probably originally placed in a bundle. The head of the skeleton was oriented to the north (1°). The area of the burial measures 0.85 m long (north-south) by 0.49 m wide (east-west). Osteological analysis by Andrew Scherer (2011:413-414) indicated that the body was likely male and an adult between 21 and 50 years of age. A few areas of periostitis were noted on the right femur and tibial diaphysis. The cranium of the individual was modified, possible in tabular oblique style, while many of the teeth exhibited notching modifications. A small, complete ceramic vessel was placed to the northeast of the cranium. No other artifacts were found within the burial cist. Depth: 1.95 NW; 1.93 NE; 2.02 SW; 1.93 SE. 381 382 Figure A.9. EZ 2G-7 through EZ 2G-27. Tunnel excavated from the eastern façade of Str. L7-1. Drawing by Jóse Luis Garrido. Figure A.10. El Zotz Burial 5. Photo by Arturo Godoy. 383 Figure A.11. El Zotz Burial 5. Drawing by Stephen Houston. 384 EZ 2G-8 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) EZ 2G-8 represents an extension of EZ 2G-7 to the east, in order to provide additional space for the excavation of El Zotz Burial 5 encountered in that unit. Unit EZ 2G-8, oriented to 88°, measured 1.5 m (east-west) by 1 m (north-south). The datum was located at the southwest corner of the unit (Figure A.9). Lot 1: Brown soil mixed with roots (7.5YR 3/3). Chert: 1; obsidian: 1. Depth: 0.24 NW; 0.62 NE; 0.21 SW; 0.60 SE. Lot 2: Fine gray soil fill mixed with small pebbles and worked stones, possibly from the final version of the central access stairway to Str. L7-1, though badly deteriorated (5Y 6/1). No artifacts recovered. Depth: 0.45 NW; 0.92 NE; 0.41 SW; 0.85 SE. Lot 3: Rough, compact fill of large stones beneath possible cut limestone (7.5YR 7/1). Ceramics: 11. Depth: 0.91 NO; 1.03 NE; 0.80 SW; 1.00 SE. Lot 4: White soils mixed with limestone, just above Floor 1 (also found in EZ 2G-7). No artifacts recovered. Depth: 0.90 NW; 1.04 NE; 0.90 SW; 1.00 SE. Lot 5: Fill layer in preparation for Floor 1, ending at Floor 2 (10R 6/1). No artifacts recovered. Depth not provided. EZ 2G-9 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) EZ 2G-9 represents another extension to the east, adjacent to EZ 2G-8. Unit EZ 2G-9, oriented to 88°, measured 1.5 m (east-west) by 1 m (north-south). The datum was located at the southwest corner of the unit (Figure A.9). Lot 1: Humic level with small roots (2.5YR 3/2). Ceramics: 34. Depth: 0.27 NW; 0.40 NE; 0.27 SW; 0.40 SE. Lot 2: Level of brown soil mixed with pebbles and the remains of limestone blocks. Ceramics: 63; chert: 5. Depth: 0.44 NW; 0.50 NE; 0.38 SW; 0.50 SE. 385 Lot 3: Fill of small pebbles and brownish-gray soil (2.5YR 5/2). Ceramics: 22; chert: 2. Depth: 0.60 NW; 0.56 NE; 0.60 SW; 0.60 SE. Lot 4: Poorly preserved floor, probably at one time the surface of Patio 1, and its fill of brown soil and pebbles (2.5YR 6/1). Ceramics: 9. Depths: 0.60 NW; 0.66 NE; 0.68 SW; 0.70 SE. Lot 5: Preparation for the floor of Patio 1, consisting of pulverized pebbles and limestone, just above bedrock (2.5YR 2/2). No artifacts recovered. Depth: 0.70 NW; 0.96 NE; 0.72 SW; 0.76 SE. EZ 2G-10 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) EZ 2G-10 represents a unit excavated to the north of EZ 2G-9, adjacent to the line of the tunnel begun with EZ 2G-7. The unit, measuring 1.50 m (north-south) by 0.75 m (east-west), was excavated in order to see if any additional architectural features or cultural objects associated with El Zotz Burial 5 could be found to the north of the three units already excavated. The datum was located at the southwest corner of the unit. Lot 1: Level of brown soil and roots (7.5YR 3/3). Ceramics: 11. Depth: 0.36 NW; 0.86 NE; 0.36 SW; 0.88 SE. Lot 2: Fill of fine brown soil and small pebbles (10R 6/1). No artifacts recovered. Depth: 0.92 NW; 0.90 NE; 0.92 SW; 1.05 SE. Lot 3: Fill of soil and medium-sized pebbles (2.5YR 6/1). Ceramics: 3. Depth: 1.35 NW; 1.38 NE; 1.32 SW; 1.39 SE. Lot 4: Large worked blocks appeared in the west and northwest of this lot, possibly related to the interment of Burial 5 (their positions did not seem to conform with the access stair to Str. L7-1). Ceramics: 35, human remains: 2. Depth: 1.35 NW; 1.38 NE; 1.32 SW; 1.39 SE. 386 Lot 5: Gray soil mixed with large stones (10YR 6/2). Ceramics: 5. Depth not provided. Lot 6: Fill of rough, but compact gray soil mixed with pebbles (10YR 8/1). No artifacts recovered. Depth: 1.62m NW; 1.63 NE; 1.60 SW; 1.60 SE. Lot 7: This lot connected EZ 2G-10 with EX 2G-7, providing additional space for the excavation of Burial 5. No additional artifacts recovered. Depth: 1.70 NW; 1.76 NE; 1.70 SW 1.70 SE. EZ 2G-11 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) EZ 2G-11 represents another extension to the north, adjacent to EZ 2G-10. Unit EZ 2G-11 measured 1.5 m (east-west) by 0.75 m (north-south). The datum was located at the southwest corner of the unit. Lot 1: Humic level of brown soil and small, natural stones (no Munsell color provided). Ceramics: 8. Depth: 0.39 NW; 0.90 NE; 0.40 SW; 0.92 SE. Lot 2: Mix of gray soil, pebbles, and large stones (no Munsell color provided). No artifacts recovered. Depth: 0.60 NW; 1.00 NE; 0.60 SW; 1.04 SE. Lot 3: Level of soil and pebble fill (no Munsell color provided), along with some large stones without any signs of construction-related patterning. Ceramics: 8. Depth: 0.96 NW; 1.17 NE; 0.98 SW; 1.14 SE. Lot 4: Fill of soil and pebbles (no Munsell color provided). Ceramics: 4. Depth: 1.26 NW; 1.27 NE; 1.26 SW; 1.37 SE. Lot 5: Gray soil mixed with stones (no Munsell color provided). Blocks forming the final version of the access stairway to Str. L7-1 were located at the western edge of the unit. No artifacts recovered. Depth: 1.54 NW; 1.54 NE; 1.54 SW; 1.54 SE. 387 EZ 2G-12 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) EZ 2G-12 was a unit placed into the underlying platform beneath Sr. L7-1, close to where EZ 2G-4 had been excavated in 2009. The unit, measuring 2 m by 2 m, was excavated with the goal of determining whether the ritual termination deposit extended beyond the immediate edges of Str. L7-1. The datum was located at the southwest corner of the unit. Lot 1: Humic level of brown soil with roots (10R 4/3). Ceramics: 11. Depth: 0.32 NW; 1.10 NE; 0.20 SW; 0.90 SE. Lot 2: Continued level of humus, but mixed with some small pebbles (no Munsell color provided). Ceramics: 14; human remains: 2. Depth: 0.70 NW; 1.15 NE; 0.68 SW; 1.13 SE. Lot 3: Natural post-abandonment fill level of brown soil with roots, mixed with sand and small pebbles (10YR 7/1). Ceramics: 7; chert: 1. Depth: 0.80 NW; 1.19 NE; 0.85 SW; 1.27 SE. Lot 4: Fine brown soil with some small stones (no Munsell color provided). Ceramics: 8. Depth: 1.02 NW; 1.34 NE; 1.00 SW; 1.32 SE. Lot 5: Fill of gray soil with some stones (10 YR 7/2). No artifacts recovered. Depth: 1.23 NW; 1.40 NE; 1.20 SW; 1.40 SE. Lot 6: Fine fill of soil and pebbles (10YR 7/2), with some large worked stones, although their position and orientation were unclear. Ceramics: 8; chert: 5; obsidian: 1. Depth: 1.50 NW; 1.50 NE; 1.42 SW; 1.45 SE. Lot 7: Fill of gray soil with pebbles (5& 8/1), along with more of the large stones from the previous lot, again without clear orientation or position. Ceramics: 5. Depth: 1.53 NW; 1.52 NE; 1.60 SW; 1.58 SE. Lot 8: Grayish brown soil mixed with small pebbles (no Munsell color provided). In this lot, four facing stones were found, although again the orientation and position of the 388 blocks in this unit were unclear. Garrido López concluded that the stones could have been brought from another area of the Acropolis. It seems probable that the stones observed by Garrido López in this lot and the bulk Pérez Robles interpreted as a mutilated wall in EZ 2G-5 are both examples of the massing of construction fill atop Str. L7-1 in preparation for architectural modifications, which, like the uppermost levels, included many of the stones that had been used in earlier iterations of the building. Ceramics: 5; obsidian: 1. Depth: 1.70 NW; 1.87 NE; 2.00 SW; 2.01 SE. Lot 9: Loose fill of pulverized limestone and large blocks (no Munsell color provided). Garrido López writes that the western edge of the unit includes the wall of a structure atop the basal platform of Str. L7-1. Although no drawings of the excavations were provided by Garrido López, photos again suggest that the cut stones found in the unit are reused as architectural fill in preparation for a subsequent construction phase, rather than an aligned wall joined with mortar (see Figure A.13). Ceramics: 22; chert: 1. Depth: 2.05 NW; 2.09 NE; 2.09 SW; 2.16 SE. Lot 10: Fill of large stones, worked blocks, and mortar (no Munsell color provided). Ceramics: 46; carbon samples: 1. Only the depth as the center of the unit (2.30) provided. EZ 2G-13 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) EZ 2G-13 marks the continuation of the tunnel excavated into Structure L7-1, along the base of its central axis (running from east to west). Unit EZ 2G-7, oriented to 90°, measured 1 m (east-west) by 1 m (north-south) and extended to the west of EZ 2G-7. Lots within this and other units of the tunnel were divided into arbitrary 20 cm levels as the units were excavated vertically. Unfortunately, this means than some lots may include multiple chronological phases, i.e., post-abandonment collapse, a staircase, and 389 the architectural fill beneath the stairs. In other cases, it means some cultural levels, such as a single fill episode, were unnecessarily divided into multiple lots (as in unit EZ 2G-18, for example). Depths and Munsell color designations were not provided for units within the tunnel (Figure A.9). Lot 1: Fill of consistently sized, though irregularly shaped stones, as well as two blocks that formed the access stair to Str. L7-1. Ceramics: 65; chert: 1. Lot 2: Architectural fill of brown-gray soil mixed with pebbles behind the blocks of the staircase. Ceramics: 19. Lot 3: Pebble fill, mixed with brown and gray soil, as well as worked limestone blocks from the central access stair to Str. L7-1. Ceramics: 36. Lot 4: Brown and gray soil fill of the structure. Ceramics: 38. Lot 5: Fill of irregular stones and gray and brown soil. Ceramics: 29. Lot 6: Mostly mortar. Floor 1, also observed in units EZ 2G-7, 8, 9, 10, and 11, appeared in this lot. Ceramics: 20. Lot 7: Fill for the preparation of Floor 1 (the floor of Patio 1). Within this fill and above Floor 2 (identified, though possibly cut, at the lower limit of the unit), an eroded concentration of bones, possibly human, was found. Garrido López’s drawing (Figure A.10) indicates these two floors as Floor 2 and Floor 3, but in the text of his report they are referred to as Floors 1 and 2. I use the designations from the text, with Floor 1 above Floor 2 (thus, later). Unfortunately, the bones were so poorly preserved that it was not possible to determine whether the bones represented a burial. Ceramics: 68; chert: 1. EZ 2G-14 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) EZ 2G-14 represents a continuation of the tunnel excavated into Structure L7-1, along the base of its central axis (running from east to west). Unit EZ 2G-14, oriented to 390 90°, measured 1 m (east-west) by 1 m (north-south) and extended to the west of existing units (Figure A.9). Lot 1: Architectural fill of small stones, mixed with compact mortar and brownish-gray soil. Worked stone blocks were also found. Garrido López suggests that these may be the staircase of an earlier substructure, but Figure A.10 and the placement and timing of El Zotz Burial 5 (dating to the Terminal Classic period) point clearly to the staircase in this lot being that of the final iteration of Str. L7-1. Ceramics: 50. Lot 2: Loose gray soil with mortar. Thin preparation floors were visible in the northern and southern profiles of the unit, used during construction to contain the bulky architectural fill within Str. L7-1. Ceramics: 76. Lot 3: Brown and gray soil fill, along with an additional preparation floor. Ceramics: 76. Lot 4: Architectural fill formed by gray, compact soil, as well as some irregular limestone rocks. Ceramics: 43. Lot 5: Soil fill, without evidence of architectural features. Ceramics: 35; chert: 2; obsidian: 2; human remains: 2. Lot 6: Grayish-brown soil fill and Floor 1, with a well preserved plaster cap (the same identified in other tunnel units). Ceramics: 21. Lot 7: Fill and preparation for Floor 1, made of a compact mixture of soil and small pebbles. More of the skeletal remains observed in Lot 7 of EZ 2G-13, possibly a poorly preserved burial. Chert: 4; obsidian: 1. EZ 2G-15 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) EZ 2G-15 represents a continuation of the tunnel excavated into Structure L7-1, along the base of its central axis (running from east to west). Unit EZ 2G-14, oriented to 391 90°, measured 1 m (east-west) by 1 m (north-south) and extended to the west of existing units (Figure A.9). Lot 1: Fill of gray soil and slightly compacted pebbles. Worked stone blocks found in this unit again represent the staircase of the final version of Str. L7-1 (contrary to the staircase of the substructure, as initially proposed by Garrido López). The western edge of the unit was marked by a solid retaining wall, used during the construction of the bulk of Str. L7-1. Ceramics: 106; chert: 3. Lot 2: Fill of soft gray soil mixed with mortar and pebbles, again ending in a wall of roughly cut and stacked limestone blocks, with thick layers of mortar between them. Ceramics: 84; chert: 3; faunal remains: 1. Lot 3: Fill of grey and brown soil just before the retaining wall. Ceramics: 22. Lot 4: Fill of fairly compact grey soil in front of the retaining wall running north to south at the western edge of the unit. Ceramics: 41 (including a polychrome sherd of the Saxche-Palmar type bearing the emblem glyph of the Pa’ Chan dynasty). Lot 5: Fill of fine gray soil just above Floor 1, although at this point the floor was found largely destroyed (probably by the construction activities taking place atop it). The same retaining wall was visible at the western edge of the unit. Ceramics: 7. Lot 6: Layer of gray soil and pebbles forming Floor 1. No artifacts recovered. Lot 7: Rough, compact fill of soil and crushed limestone forming the preparation level for Floor 1, immediately atop Floor 2. Some irregular stones were found placed in front of the retaining wall at the western edge of the unit. Ceramics: 38; human remains: 1. EZ 2G-16 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) EZ 2G-16 represents a continuation of the tunnel excavated into Structure L7-1, along the base of its central axis (running from east to west). Unit EZ 2G-16, oriented to 392 90°, measured 1 m (east-west) by 1 m (north-south) and extended to the west of existing units, on the other side of the retaining wall identified in EZ 2G-15 (Figure A.9). Lot 1: Similar fill to earlier units, formed by loose gray soil. Ceramics: 17. Lot 2: Fill of gray soil and compact pebbles. Ceramics: 17; human remains: 2. Lot 3: Fill of smooth gray soil, slightly compacted and relatively looser than that on the eastern side of the retaining wall. Ceramics: 33; chert: 1. Lot 4: Gray soil with loose pebbles and a few irregularly formed limestone rocks. Ceramics: 22; chert: 1. Lot 5: Compact fill of soil and pebbles, forming the major bulk of Str. L7-1 and ending atop Floor 1. Ceramics: 15. Lot 6: Levels including Floor 1 and the materials used in preparation for its plaster surface. Ceramics: 10. EZ 2G-17 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) EZ 2G-17 represents a continuation of the tunnel excavated into Structure L7-1, along the base of its central axis (running from east to west). Unit EZ 2G-17, oriented to 90°, measured 1 m (east-west) by 1 m (north-south) and extended to the west of existing units, on the other side of the retaining wall identified in EZ 2G-15 (Figure A.9). Lot 1: Dark gray soil forming a relatively compact fill. Ceramics: 40; faunal remains: 1. Lot 2: Dark gray soil forming a rough fill with irregular stones. Ceramics: 40. Lot 3: Compact gray soil mixed with irregular stones, forming a uniform fill throughout the unit. Ceramics: 33. Lot 4: Fill of whitish soil, with irregular stones. Like earlier lots in this unit, the fill appeared uniform throughout. Ceramics: 20; carbon samples: 1. 393 Lot 5: Slightly compacted gray soil with irregular rocks, immediately atop Floor 1. Ceramics: 27. Lot 6: Floor 1 and its associated preparation layers and fill atop Floor 2. Ceramics: 15. Lot 7: Compact soil and pebbles immediately atop Floor 2, in preparation for Floor 1. No artifacts recovered. EZ 2G-18 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) EZ 2G-18 represents a continuation of the tunnel excavated into Structure L7-1, along the base of its central axis (running from east to west). Unit EZ 2G-18, oriented to 90°, measured 1 m (east-west) by 1 m (north-south) and extended to the west of existing units, on the other side of the retaining wall identified in EZ 2G-15, adjacent to EZ 2G-17 (Figure A.9). Lot 1: Fill of gray soil and irregular stones. Ceramics: 19. Lot 2: Uniform fill similar to the previous lot, formed of gray soil and pebbles. Ceramics: 15. Lot 3: Uniform fill, similar to previous lots. Ceramics: 21. Lot 4: Uniform fill, the same as in previous lots from this unit. Ceramics: 24. Lot 5: Fill of gray soil with pebbles. An unspecified number of indeterminate skeletal remains were found in this lot. Lot 6: Architectural fill of gray soil. At the base of this lot, the plaster surface of Floor 1 showed evidence of burning. Ceramics: 3. Lot 7: Fill and preparation layers of Floor 1. Ceramics: 3. 394 EZ 2G-19 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) EZ 2G-19 represents a continuation of the tunnel excavated into Structure L7-1, along the base of its central axis (running from east to west). Unit EZ 2G-19, oriented to 90°, measured 1 m (east-west) by 1 m (north-south) and extended to the west of existing units (Figure A.9). Lot 1: A compact mix of gray soil, with some limestone blocks (though without defined orientations or positions). Ceramics: 63; chert: 2. Lot 2: Irregular fill made of rough limestone blocks, as well as gray and brown soil. Ceramics: 32. Lot 3: The same fill from earlier lots, with gray and brown soil and irregular stones. Ceramics: 47. Lot 4: Slightly compact fill, mixed with large, amorphous stones and brown soil. Ceramics: 24; obsidian: 1. Lot 5: Fill of soil, pebbles, and blocks atop Floor 1. A possible burnt preparatory floor was noted in Garrido López’s report, though it is not included in his profile drawing of the tunnel excavations or in any photos from the excavations. Ceramics: 39 (34 directly atop Floor 1). Lot 6: Burnt fill directly atop Floor 1. Ceramics: 37; chert: 2. Lot 7: Compact preparatory and fill layers for Floor 1, above Floor 2. No artifacts recovered. EZ 2G-20 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) EZ 2G-20 represents a continuation of the tunnel excavated into Structure L7-1, along the base of its central axis (running from east to west). Unit EZ 2G-20, oriented to 395 90°, measured 1 m (east-west) by 1 m (north-south) and extended to the west of existing units (Figure A.9). Lot 1: Loose fill, formed by grayish-brown soil, pebbles, and irregularly shaped limestone blocks. No artifacts recovered. Lot 2: The same lot as the previous one, formed of pebbled and mixed with irregular limestone rocks. No artifacts recovered. Lot 3: Relatively loose fill of soil and small pebbles. No artifacts recovered. Lot 4: Homogenous fill, seemingly the same as in previous lots from the same unit, formed of small stones and dark soil, slightly compacted. No artifacts recovered. Lots 5-7: Garrido López gives identical descriptions to that provided for Lot 4 for Lots 5, 6, and 7. No artifacts recovered. EZ 2G-21 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) EZ 2G-21 represents a continuation of the tunnel excavated into Structure L7-1, along the base of its central axis (running from east to west). Unit EZ 2G-21, oriented to 90°, measured 1 m (east-west) by 1 m (north-south) and extended to the west of existing units, adjacent to EZ 2G-20 (Figure A.9). Lot 1: Homogenous level of fill identical to the previous unit (EZ 2G-20), with lightly compacted soil and pebbles, as well as some irregular stones. Ceramics: 33. An unspecified number of indeterminate skeletal remains were also found in this lot. Lot 2: The same fill as Lot 1. Ceramics: 56; chert: 1. Lot 3: Another level of uniform fill. Ceramics: 56; chert: 1. Lot 4: The same, slightly compact fill. Ceramics: 83; chert: 3; grinding stones: 1. An unspecified number of indeterminate skeletal remains were also found in this lot. 396 Lot 5: Homogenous fill, stratigraphically identical to previous lots. Ceramics: 64; obsidian: 4. Lot 6: Identical fill to previous lots, immediately atop Floor 1 and its plaster surface (the floor is referred to as “Floor 2” in Garrido López’s description of this lot, but the drawing of the tunnel clearly shows it should be Floor 1). Ceramics: 80. Lot 7: Preparatory fill levels for Floor 1, including mortar and small pebbles and Floor 2 immediately beneath this level. At the western edge of the unit, Floor 2 ended, transitioning to a dark brown soil. Ceramics: 10. EZ 2G-22 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) EZ 2G-22 represents a continuation of the tunnel excavated into Structure L7-1, along the base of its central axis (running from east to west). Unit EZ 2G-22, oriented to 90°, measured 1 m (east-west) by 1 m (north-south) and extended to the west of existing units, adjacent to EZ 2G-21. Although not included in the descriptions of the excavated lots, Garrido López’s drawing of his tunnel excavations features a second thin, preparatory floor (somewhere between Lots 1 and 6. The drawing also shows another retaining wall, with additional stones from the wall possibly fallen into EZ 2G-21 (yet also not described). No photos of the wall exist, but the drawing suggests it was likely similar to the retaining wall in EZ 2G-16. The complete disappearance of Floor 2 in this lot is likely related to the construction activities evinced by the thin floors and retaining wall (Figure A.9). Lot 1: A relatively homogenous fill of soil and pebbles, ending in a uniform preparatory construction floor. Ceramics: 4. Lot 2: Construction fill of soil and pebbles, similar to the previous lot, but found beneath the preparatory floor. Ceramics: 22; faunal remains: 1. 397 Lot 3: Fill similar to the previous lot. Ceramics: 27; obsidian: 1. Lot 4: Fill of pebbles, soil, and irregular limestone rocks. Ceramics: 13. An unspecified number of faunal remains was also recovered. Lot 5: Fill of soil, pebbles, and irregular stones. Ceramics: 13. An unspecified number of faunal remains was also recovered. Lot 6: Similar fill to previous levels, found immediately atop Floor 1. Ceramics: 3. Lot 7: Fill made of limestone and small pebbles, serving as the preparation for Floor 1. Unlike earlier units, Floor 2 was not found beneath Floor 1 in this lot. EZ 2G-23 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) EZ 2G-23 represents a continuation of the tunnel excavated into Structure L7-1, along the base of its central axis (running from east to west). Unit EZ 2G-23, oriented to 90°, measured 1 m (east-west) by 1 m (north-south) and extended to the west of existing units, adjacent to EZ 2G-22. Although the profile of the excavations does not illustrate a retaining wall in this unit, it is described in Garrido López’s accompanying text. He suggests that this particular wall may be older than the one present in EZ 2G-16 and notes a dark brown soil and clay fill, possibly brought from the El Zotz aguada, defining the wall (Figure A.9). Lot 1: Fill of soil and pebbles above a preparatory construction floor. The fill beyond the retaining wall is the same as that before it, including soil, pebbles, and some irregular stones. Ceramics: 14. Lot 2: Defined by the presence of soil, pebbles, and irregular stone blocks, seemingly placed without order. Ceramics: 40; chert: 1. Lot 3: Similar fill to previous lots. Ceramics: 24; carbon samples: 1. An unspecified number of indeterminate skeletal remains was also recovered. 398 Lot 4: Fill of irregular stones, soil, and small pebbles. Ceramics: 19; chert: 1. Lot 5: The same construction fill found in previous lots. Ceramics: 14. Lot 6: Fill of soil and pebbles atop Floor 1 (again recorded as Floor 2 by Garrido López). Ceramics: 20. Lot 7: Preparatory levels for Floor 1. No artifacts recovered. The dark mixture of soil and clay mentioned in the description of this unit is not attributed to any one lot or depicted in the profile drawing of the tunnel excavations. EZ 2G-24 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) EZ 2G-24 represents a continuation of the tunnel excavated into Structure L7-1, along the base of its central axis (running from east to west). Unit EZ 2G-24, oriented to 90°, measured 1 m (east-west) by 1 m (north-south) and extended to the west of existing units, adjacent to EZ 2G-23. Garrido López mentions that the same compact layer of dark mud and clay as that found in EZ 2G-23 was encountered in this unit, but, again, that level is not apparent in the profile from the excavations. Garrido López also describes another retaining wall within this unit, which is likewise missing from the excavation profile provided in his report (Figure A.9). Lot 1: Level of soil, pebbles, and aguada clay. Ceramics: 47. An unspecified number of human or faunal remains was also recovered. Lot 2: Fill of soil, pebbles, and clay. Ceramics: 24. Lot 3: Similar fill to the previous lot, formed of soil and pebbles. Ceramics: 59. An unspecified quantity of skeletal remains was also found. Lot 4: Another level of similar fill to previous lots, as well as additional unspecified numbers of bone fragments. 399 Lot 5: This lot was formed of the same fill found in previous lots. At 1 m from the roof of the tunnel, an opening was found atop Floor 1, running perpendicular to the tunnel’s axis (Figure A.124). This hole extended 1 m within the tunnel and another 0.47 m beyond the north wall of the excavations, with a diameter of 0.13 m. Although Garrido López describes this feature as the mark left by a horizontal post, it is possible that the channel may have served as some kind of drain, especially as it is found at the base of the only possible substructure identified within Str. L7-1 (see below). Lot 6: Architectural fill above Floor 1. Ceramics: 16; faunal remains: 1. Lot 7: Preparatory level of fill for Floor 1. Ceramics: 14. 4 Although the photo in Figure A.12 is labeled as unit EZ 2G-25, the profile drawing of the excavations labels the structure shown as occurring in EZ 2G-27. Unfortunately, the structure visible in the photo is not mentioned in Garrido López’s report on the tunneling excavations. 400 Figure A.12. The possible posthole or drainage feature in Floor 1 found in lot EZ 2G- 24-5. Photo by Arturo Godoy. 401 EZ 2G-25 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) EZ 2G-25 represents a continuation of the tunnel excavated into Structure L7-1, along the base of its central axis (running from east to west). Unit EZ 2G-25, oriented to 90°, measured 1 m (east-west) by 1 m (north-south) and extended to the west of existing units, adjacent to EZ 2G-24. Although Floor 1 is described for this unit and EZ 2G-26 and 27 in Garrido López’s report, his drawing of the Str. L7-1 tunnel shows Floor 1 disappearing in this unit (Figure A.9). Lot 1: Fill of soil, pebbles, and aguada clay. Ceramics: 7. Indeterminate skeletal remains were also recovered from this lot. Lot 2: Another level of similar fill, with soil, pebbles, and clay. Ceramics: 6. Lot 3: Similar to the previous lot’s fill, with soil and pebbles. Ceramics: 27; obsidian: 1. Lot 4: Lot 4 contained another level of homogenous fill, similar to previous lots from the unit. Ceramics: 11. Lot 5: Identical fill to previous lots. Ceramics: 19. Lot 6: Fill above Floor 1. Ceramics: 20; faunal remains: 1. Lot 7: Preparation fill for Floor 1. Ceramics: 6. EZ 2G-26 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) EZ 2G-26 represents a continuation of the tunnel excavated into Structure L7-1, along the base of its central axis (running from east to west). Unit EZ 2G-26, oriented to 90°, measured 1 m (east-west) by 1 m (north-south) and extended to the west of existing units (Figure A.9). Lot 1: Level of fill made of soil, pebbles, and aguada clay. Ceramics: 24. Indeterminate numbers of skeletal remains are also indicated in this lot description. Lot 2: Another level of fill made from soil, pebbles, and clay. Ceramics: 25. 402 Lot 3: Similar to previous lots, with soil and pebbles. Ceramics: 15. Lot 4: Another homogenous level of fill, consistent with the rest of the unit. Ceramics: 12. Lot 5: Identical level of fill to previous lots. Ceramics: 15. Lot 6: Fill immediately above Floor 1. Ceramics: 27; faunal remains: 1. Lot 7: Level formed in preparation for plastering Floor 1. Ceramics: 28; obsidian: 1. EZ 2G-27 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) EZ 2G-27 represents the final unit of the tunnel excavated into Structure L7-1, along the base of its central axis (running from east to west). Unit EZ 2G-27, oriented to 90°, measured 1 m (east-west) by 1 m (north-south) and extended to the west of existing units, adjacent to EZ 2G-26 (Figure A.9). Lot 1: Fill comprised of soil, pebbles, and aguada clay. Ceramics: 24. An indeterminate number of skeletal remains was also found. Lot 2: Similar to the previous lot, a fill of soil, pebbles, and clay. Ceramics: 25. Lot 3: Identical to the previous lot, formed of a fill of soil and pebbles. Ceramics: 15. Lot 4: Another level of homogenous fill, similar to the rest of the unit. Ceramics: 12. Lot 5: Fill level identical to the descriptions from previous lots. Ceramics: 15. Lot 6: Fill level immediately above Floor 2. Ceramics: 27; faunal remains: 1. Lot 7: The preparatory level beneath Floor 1. Ceramics: 28; obsidian: 1. 403 EZ 2G-28 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) EZ 2G-28 represents another unit within the tunnel below Str. L7-1, but was extended adjacent to EZ 2G-145, branching to the north. Garrido López’s report lists the orientation of this unit as 90, but that is obviously an error. The unit’s dimensions are listed as 1 m by 1 m. The purpose of the excavation was to extend the area where the polychrome sherd bearing the El Zotz emblem glyph was found, in hopes of encountering similar finds (Figure A.9). Lot 1: Fill of medium-textured soil, with a grayish brown color, as well as small stones mixed with compact mortar. Ceramics: 48. Lot 2: Grayish soil with a smooth texture and mortar. Thin preparatory floors could be observed to the north and south in this unit (the same floor on either side of the unit), which served to contain the massing fill during construction. Ceramics: 100. Lot 3: Fill of brown, grayish soil, as well as another preparatory floor similar to those described in the previous lot. Ceramics: 124. Lot 4: Architectural fill formed by grayish-colored, slightly compacted soil, as well as irregular limestone blocks. Ceramics: 14. EZ 2G-29 (José Luis Garrido López, 2010) EZ 2G-28 represents another unit within the tunnel below Str. L7-1, but was presumably extended adjacent to EZ 2G-28, branching to the north. Garrido López’s report again lists the orientation of this unit as 90, which, like the previous unit, must be an error (it is similarly described as to the north of EZ 2G-14). The unit’s dimensions are listed as 1 m by 1 m. The purpose of the excavation was again to extend the area 5 Garrido Lopez’s report states that EZ 2G-28 branched off of EZ 2G-14, the unit where the polychrome Pa’ Chan sherd was found. However, his report states earlier on that the sherd was found in EZ 2G-15. This northern extension of the tunnel is not visible in the excavation drawing provided, so it cannot be said which statement was made in error. Photographs were not taken of the northern branch. 404 where the polychrome sherd bearing the El Zotz emblem glyph was found, in hopes of encountering similar finds (Figure A.9). Lot 1: Medium-textured soil, brownish-gray in color, with small stones and compact mortar. Ceramics: 12. Lot 2: Grayish soil with a smooth texture, mixed with mortar. The same preparatory floors noted for Lot 2 of EZ 2G-28 are mentioned for this lot as well. Ceramics: 73. Lot 3: Fill of brown and gray soil, as well as another preparatory floor (as described for Lot 3 of the previous unit). Ceramics: 61. Lot 4: Architectural fill formed by grayish soil, slightly compacted. Blocks of irregular limestone were also observed. Ceramics: 17. EZ 2G-30 (Elizabeth Marroquín, 2010) EZ 2G-30 represents a 2 m by 2 m unit, excavated approximately at the northeast corner of Str. L7-1. The unit, oriented to 63°, had the goal of determining whether the ritual termination deposit observed atop the structure extending to its lower levels and corners as well (Figure A.16). Lot 1: Humic level, formed by the decomposition of organic materials and porous soil of a dark brown color (5YR 4/2), 0.30 m deep (measured from the northwest corner of the unit). Ceramics: 11. Lot 2: Fill of soil and pebbles, with medium-textured, porous soil of a light brown color (10YR 6/3), 0.70 m from the northwest corner of the unit. The fill covered a series of limestone blocks, reused as part of the fill within Lot 3. Ceramics: 41; chert: 5. Lot 3: Level of limestone mortar, with a porous consistency and white color (10YR 8/1), at a depth of 1.24 from the northwest corner of the unit. The compact limestone fill of this lot included a retaining wall of limestone blocks, oriented from east to west, as well 405 as other blocks deposited randomly, seeming as construction fill (as described atop Str. L7-1). Ceramics: 59. An unspecified number of chert objects was also collected. Lot 4: Stucco floor, plastered atop a fill of fine, compact, and white limestone mortar (10YR 8/1), at a depth of 1.36 m from the northwest corner of the unit. The floor was 0.4 m thick, sealed completely by the fill of limestone and large cut blocks. Ceramics: 85. Lot 5: Compact mortar, of a dark gray color (2.5Y 7/2), with large, reused limestone block, which was identified by Marroquín as a leveling fill used in construction. The fill occurred at a depth of 1.74 m from the northwest corner of the unit. Ceramics: 26. An unspecified number of chert objects was also collected. Lot 6: Stucco floor, with a matrix of fine, compact limestone mortar (10YR 8/1), 1.81 m below the southeast corner of the unit. The floor was 0.08 m thick and sealed by the leveling fill found in Lot 5. No artifacts recovered. Lot 7: Compact, dark-brown mortar (10YR 6/2), found at a depth of 2.10 from the southeast corner of the unit. This level appeared to represent another leveling fill, formed by mortar and variably sized limestone blocks, just below the stucco floor of Lot 6. Ceramics: 9. An unspecified number of chert objects was also recovered. 406 407 Figure A.13. EZ 3G-30. North (N) and East (E) profiles. Drawings by Elizabeth Marroquín. Excavations in Str. L7-2 (Operation 2, Sub-operation B) Sub-operation 2B includes a total of 10 units, excavated over the 2008, 2009, and 2010 field seasons at El Zotz. The units include the cleaning of one looters’ trench at the base of the structure, but otherwise mainly focused on standing architecture visible atop the mound of Str. L7-2. EZ 2B-1 (Juan Carlos Meléndez, 2008) EZ 2B-1 involved the cleaning of a looters’ trench at the southern face of Str. L7- 2, as well as a test pit within the trench, with the goal of identifying the architectural phases and chronology of Str. L7-2. A wall running east to west was visible in the trench prior to excavation, set atop a stucco floor that was cut by the looters (for a total of three floors observed within the unit). The unit measured 1.5 m by 1.5 m and was oriented to 0° (Figure A.14). Lot X: Level of looters’ debris and loose, light brown soil (7.5YR 6/4), with a thickness of approximately 0.68 m. Ceramics: 306; chert: 1; obsidian: 1; faunal remains: 13. Lot 1: Layer of dark grayish brown, fine, loose soil (10YR 3/2). This level appeared to have been the original surface penetrated by illicit looting activities, with a thickness of approximately 0.24 m. Ceramics: 43; chert: 1. Lot 2: Stucco floor, approximately 0.07 m thick, which probably extended into the interior of the structure. Below the stucco, this floor was made of a medium-textured, slightly loose white soil (2.5Y 8/1), with a large quantity of limestone rocks. The thickness of the floor’s fill was approximately 0.54 m. Ceramics: 52; chert: 1. Lot 3: A second stucco floor, immediately below the first, approximately 0.09 m thick (2.5Y 8/1). This floor was most likely the first built within the structure, as bedrock was found not far below it. Immediately beneath the stucco surface of the floor was a 408 compact, semi-soft soil that served as the fill of the floor and to level above the bedrock. This fill layer was approximately 0.34 m thick. Ceramics: 235. Lot 4: Bedrock. No artifacts recovered. 409 Figure A.14. EZ 2B-1. North profile. Drawing by Juan Carlos Meléndez. 410 EZ 2B-2 (Fabiola Quiroa Flores, 2009) EZ 2B-2 represents a pit excavation atop Str. L7-2, adjacent to the eastern interior wall of the standing remains of the superstructure. The unit, measuring 2 m (north-south) by 1.8 m (east-west) and oriented to 76°, was excavated with the goals of defining the visible architecture atop Str. L7-2, ascertaining chronological information about the structure, and investigating whether the ritual termination deposit identified atop Str. L7-1 could also be found along the northern edge of the Acropolis. The datum was located in the southwest corner of the unit (Figure A.15). Lot 1; Humic layer of organics and dark grayish brown soil (10YR 3/2), mixed with some construction fill and roots. No artifacts recovered. Depth: 1.08 NW; 1.05 NE; 1.05 SW; 1.05 SE. Lot 2: Construction fill of sandy, fine brown soil, mixed with clay and mortar, as well as stones of varying sizes (10YR 6/2). At 1.02 m below the datum, a wall running perpendicular to the architecture visible prior to excavation was found. Quiroa Flores describes this as the exterior, eastern wall of a room of Str. L7-2, though by the end of the 2010 field season it became clear that this and the subsequent wall defined in EZ 2B- 3 formed a pair of doorjambs added to the structure (see Chapter 5). This lot represents the final level excavated within EZ 2B-2, as opening EZ 2B-3 provided better access to define the architecture of Str. L7-2 and reach floor levels. Ceramics: 6; chert: 2. Depth: 1.76 NW; 1.71 NE; 1.77 SW; 1.78 SE. 411 412 Figure A.15. EZ 2B-2. Access to the northwest corner of the El Zotz Acropolis. Photo by Stephen Houston. EZ 2B-3 (Fabiola Quiroa Flores, 2009) EZ 2B-3 represents a pit excavation atop Str. L7-2, immediately to the west of EZ 2B-2 and the along the edge of the western, interior wall of the superstructure. The unit, measuring 2 m (north-south) by 1.8 m (east-west) and oriented to 76°, was excavated with the goals of further defining the architecture atop Str. L7-2, ascertaining chronological information, and investigating whether the ritual termination deposit identified atop Str. L7-1 could also be found. The datum was located in the southeast corner of the unit (Figure A.16). Lot 1: Humic level of organic, very dark grayish brown soil, mixed with some construction fill (10YR 3/2). Ceramics: 6. Depth: 0.51 NW; 1.15 NE; 0.40 SW; 1.09 SE. Lot 2: Construction fill of light brown-gray, sandy, fine soil, mixed with clay and mortar, with some stones of varying sizes (10YR 6/2). At 1.10 m below the datum, a wall (again, later determined to be a doorjamb) was found perpendicular to the western wall of the room. Ceramics: 12; figurines: 1. Depth: 2.01 NW; 1.96 NE; 2.03 SW; 1.9 SE. Lot 3: The remaining lots within EZ 2B-3 were excavated around the doorjamb found in Lot 2, to either the north and south of the architecture. Lot 3 represents a layer of white, sandy, and loose architectural fill, mixed with large stones and limestone pebbles, what Quiroa Flores describes as a heavy construction fill (10YR 8/1). Ceramic: 15; carbon samples: 1. Depth: 2.43 NW; 2.47 NE; 2.45 SW; 2.46 SE. Lot 4: A very pale brown architectural fill, loose and sandy, mixed with some lime, clay, and regularly sized stones and limestone pebbles (10YR 6/1). Ceramics: 5; chert: 1. Depth: 2.66 NW; 2.69 NE; 2.66 SW; 2.60 SE. Lot 5: Layer of ash, of a fine, loose texture and gray color, along with some sand, lime, and limestone pebbles (10 YR 6/1). Ceramics: 3; chert: 1; soil samples: 1; carbons samples: 1. Depth: 2.75 NW; 2.76 NE; 2.77 SW; 2.71 SE. 413 Lot 6: Stucco floor (designated as Floor 1 by Quiroa Flores), with an apparent oval- shaped cut at the southwest corner of the unit. The cut measured approximately 0.25 long and 0.15 m wide at its longest and widest points. The stucco atop the floor was burned, given it a brownish gray color (10YR 6/2), while the sandy, loose fill of soil, lime, and clay with fine limestone pebbles was a pale yellow color (2.5Y 8/2). In the northeast corner of the excavation area, a worked limestone block appeared, placed atop the floor (intruding into unexcavated areas below Lot 2 of EZ 2B-2, between EZ 2B-2 and EZ 2B- 3). The western doorjamb found with this unit was set atop Floor 1. Ceramics: 1, floor samples: 1. Depth: 2.78 NW; 2.79 NE; 2.78 SW; 2.79 SE. Lot 7: Another stucco floor, designated Floor 2. This floor was more durable and compact than Floor 1, located immediately below the first floor (the cut in Floor 1 reached the level of Floor 2). The stucco was of a light gray color (10YR 7/2), while the fill was a pale brown color, durable and compact as well, with some soil, lime, clay, and fine limestone pebbles (10YR 8/2). Ceramics: 11; chert: 1; floor samples: 1; modeled stucco: 1. Depth: 2.87 NW; 2.90 NE; 2.90 SW; 2.86 SE. Lot 8: Layer of light gray, sandy, loose fill mixed with soil, lime, clay, and medium-sized stones and pebbles (10YR 7/1). Ceramics: 6. Depth: 2.95 NW; 2.95 NE; 2.93 SW; 2.97 SE. Lot 9: This lot corresponds to a level of large stone slabs, forming a sort of paved surface (Figure A.17) in a fill of a light gray, very loose and sandy soil, mixed with some lime and clay (10YR 7/2). Below the slabs was a tangle of small roots. Ceramics: 4. Depth: 3.05 NW; 3.08 NE; 3.06 SW; 3.05 SE. Lot 10: A third stucco floor (Floor 3), which was not excavated and served as the lower limit of the unit. No artifacts recovered. Depth not provided (presumably the same as provided for the lower limits of Lot 9). 414 415 Figure A.16. EZ 2B. West profile. Drawing by Zachary Hruby. Figure A.17. EZ 2B-3-9. Paved surface. Drawing by Fabiola Quiroa Flores. 416 EZ 2B-4 (Fabiola Quiroa Flores, 2009) EZ 2B-4 represents another pit excavated atop Str. L7-2, 0.5 m to the south of EZ 2B-3. The unit, measuring 1.5 m (north-south) by 1 m (east-west) and oriented to 358°, served to investigate additional architecture of the superstructure. The datum was located in the northeast corner of the unit (Figure A.16). Lot 1: Humic layer of dark, thick organics and soil of a grayish brown color (10YR 3/2). No artifacts recovered. Depth: 1.15 NW; 1.20 NE; 1.55 SW; 1.65 SE. Lot 2: Construction fill of a pale brown color, sandy and loose, mixed with soil, lime, some clay, and limestone pebbles (10YR 8/2). At 1.25 m below the datum, the continuation of the interior, western wall of the room was found. At 1.96 m below the datum, a small circular hole was noted in the surface of the wall. The hole measure 0.07 m in diameter and 0.11 m deep, which likely served as a point to attach a means of closing off the room for privacy (perhaps a door or curtains). The southwest corner of the unit was found at 1.8m below the datum. Ceramics: 9; chert: 1; shell: 1. Depth: 2.67 NW; 2.63 NE; 2.67 SW; 2.66 SE. Lot 3: This lot contained a layer of gray ash, mixed with loose, soft, fine, soil, limes, clay, and fine pebbles (10YR 6/1). Soil samples: 1; carbon samples: 1. Depth: 2.70 NW; 2.70 NE; 2.68 SW; 2.70 SE. Lot 4: Floor 1, which was not excavated, but was noted as having a visibly burnt surface. No artifacts recovered. Depth not provided (presumably the same as provided for the lower limits of Lot 3). EZ 2B-5 (Fabiola Quiroa Flores, 2009) EZ 2B-5 represents another pit excavated atop Str. L7-2, immediately to the south of EZ 2B-4. EZ 2B-5 measured 1.5 m by 1.5 m and was oriented to 358°, with the 417 same goals as previous units atop Str. L7-2. The datum was located in the southwest corner of the unit (Figure A.16). Lot 1: Humic layer of very dark, grayish brown, organic soil with many roots. Ceramics: 5. Depth: 0.88 NW; 1.28 NE; 1.26 SW; 1.67 SE. Lot 2: Construction fill of pale brown, sandy, soil, mixed with lime, clay, and limestone pebbles. Approximately 1.85 m below the datum, the interior of the front, western doorjamb of the building (the entrance to the room) was found partially destroyed, but also supported, by a large root in the western edge of the unit (Figure A.18). Ceramics: 8; chert: 2; carbon samples: 1. Depth: 1.88 NW; 1.88 NE; 1.92 SW; 1.97 SE. Lot 3: Architectural fill of sandy, very compact soil with lime, clay, and fine pebbles of a pale brown color (10YR 8/2). At 2.10 m below the datum, the interior face of the doorjamb at the southwest corner of the structure revealed a hole similar to the one described in EZ 2B-4-2, 0.10 m in diameter and 0.10 deep. Ceramics: 23. Depth: 2.12 NW; 2.14 NE; 2.07 SW; 2.14 SE. Lot 4: Layer of soft, fine, ash, mixed with soil, limestone, and some clay, gray in color (10YR 6/1). A step was found in this unit, leading from the terrace or underlying platform up into Str. L7-2. Ceramics: 131; chert: 1; shell: 1; soil samples: 1; carbon samples: 1. Depth: 2.27 NW; 2.21 NE; 2.23 SW; 2.32 SE. Lot 5: Corresponds to Floor 1, which again was not excavated and served as the lower limit of the unit. The floor was noted as having possibly been cut in front of the step, but was also likely due to root action. No artifacts were recovered. Depth not provided (but presumably the same as provided for the lower limits of Lot 4). 418 Figure A.18. Interior of the front western doorjamb of Str. L7-2. Photo by Stephen Houston. 419 EZ 2B-6 (Fabiola Quiroa Flores, 2009) EZ 2B-6 represents another pit excavated atop Str. L7-2, adjacent to the southern edge of EZ 2B-3 and to the north of EZ 2B-4 (connecting the two units). EZ 2B-5 measured 0.5 m (north-south) by 1.0 m (east-west) and was oriented to 358°, with the same goals as previous units atop Str. L7-2. The datum was located in the northeast corner of the unit (Figure A.16). Lot 1: Humic layer of very dark grayish brown soil, mixed with organics (10YR 3/2). Ceramics: 1. Depth: 0.85 NW; 1.09 NE; 1.10 SW; SE 1.18. Lot 2: Construction fill of a sandy texture, mixed with soil, lime, and some clay, as well as some limestone pebbles and some large slabs, possibly the remains of masonry architecture (10YR 8/2). Ceramics: 9. Depth: 2.66 NW; 2.60 NE; 2.67 SW; 2.63 SE. Lot 3: Layer of ash with dusty texture, soft, fine, and mixed with soil, clay, and pebbles (10YR 6/1). Ceramics: 2. Depth: 2.77 NW; 2.71 NE; 2.70 SW; 2.70 SE. EZ 2B-7 (Fabiola Quiroa Flores, 2009) EZ 2B-7 represents another pit excavated atop Str. L7-2, immediately to the north of EZ 2B-3, continuing the exploration of the architecture atop the mound. EZ 2B- 7 measured 1.5 m by 1.5 m and was oriented to 358°. The datum was located in the southeast corner of the unit (Figure A.16). Lot 1: Humic layer of dark grayish brown soil, mixed with organics (10YR 3/2). Ceramics: 15; chert: 2; obsidian: 1. Depth: 1.47 NW; 1.56 NE; 1.15 SW; 1.10 SE. Lot 2: Construction fill of sandy, pale brown soil, mixed with lime, some clay, and limestone pebbles (10YR 8/2). An inclined wall running north-south was found in this lot, evidently belonging to an earlier, distinct architectural phase (also found in other 420 excavation of Sub-operation EZ 2B). Ceramics: 109; chert: 3; unidentified mineral: 1. Depth: 2.17 NW; 2.08 NE; 2.31 SW; 2.04 SE. Lot 3: Architectural fill with a sandy consistency, loose and mixed with lime and some clay, limestone pebbles and other medium-sized stones (10YR 7/2). This excavation ended with this lot due to the end of the field season, terminating with what appeared to be a poorly preserved floor, slightly below the level of Floor 1 found in the southern part of the structure. Ceramics: 241; chert: 15; figurines: 2; shell: 5; faunal remains: 8; carbon samples: 1. Depth: 3.17 NW; 3.20 NE; 3.17 SW; 3.16 SE. EZ 2B-8 (Fabiola Quiroa Flores, 2009) EZ 2B-8 represents another pit excavated atop Str. L7-2, adjacent to the northern edge of EZ 2B-7. EZ 2B-8 measured 1.0 m (north-south) by 1.5 m (east-west) and was oriented to 358°, with the same goals as previous units atop Str. L7-2. The datum was located in the southeast corner of the unit (Figure A.16). Lot 1: Layer of humus with organics and dark grayish-brown soil (10YR 3/2). Ceramics: 34; chert: 1; obsidian: 1. Depth: 1.80 NW; 2.02 NW; 1.62 SW; 1.65 SE. Lot 2: Construction fill of pale brown soil, mixed with lime, some clay, and some limestone pebbles. This lot included the same inclined wall, running north to south, encountered in EZ 2B-7, probably an earlier construction phase (Figure A.19). Ceramics: 38; obsidian: 1. Depth: 2.09 NW; 2.08 NE; 2.06 SW; 2.07 SE. Lot 3: Architectural fill of light gray, sandy soil, mixed with lime, clay, and limestone pebbles, as well as medium-sized stones (10YR 7/2). As in the case of EZ 2B-7-3, this lot was terminated due to the time constraints on the season and ended at the level of a poorly preserved stucco floor, slightly below Floor 1’s level at the southern end of the 421 structure. Ceramics: 121; chert: 5; grinding stones 1; shell: 1. Depth: 3.17 NW; 3.16 NE; 3.31 SW; 3.18 SE. 422 Figure A.19. Inclined wall running north-south in Lot EZ 2B-7-3. Photo by Stephen Houston. 423 EZ 2B-10 (Elizabeth Marroquín, 2010) EZ 2B-10 represents a pit located to the west of Str. L7-2, oriented to 57°. The unit, measuring 2 m by 2 m, was excavated in order to investigate whether the ritual termination deposit identified atop Str. L7-1 could be associated with Str. L7-2 as well. The datum was located at the southeast corner of the unit (Figure A.20). Lot 1: Layer of humus, formed by the deposition of organic materials and a porous soil medium of a dark brown color (5YR 4/2). Ceramics: 15; obsidian: 1. Depth: 0.22 m. Lot 2: Medium-textured mortar of a compact consistency and light brown color, including some irregular limestone block of varying sizes (10YR 6/3). This appeared to be a leveling layer, covering a white, compact mortar beneath. Ceramics: 24. Depth: 0.72 m. Lot 3: Limestone mortar of a porous consistency and white color (2.5Y 8/1). This compact fill showed a change in level toward the northern end of the unit, an area in which many large limestone blocks were found, but seemingly without any intentional order or patterning. Ceramics: 29. Depth: 1.72 m. Lot 4: Another level of construction fill, formed by a porous soil of a light gray color (10YR 7/1). This fill seemed similar to the levels associated with the deposit atop Str. L7- 1, but was only 0.10 m thick and did not include the same dense ceramic concentrations. Ceramics: 5. Depth: 1.84 m. Lot 5: Stucco floor, including its matrix of mortar and fine limestone with a compact consistency and white color (10YR 8/1). No artifacts recovered. Depth: 1.92 m. Lot 6: Level of mortar with pebbles and carbon, a compact consistency, and a light gray color below the stucco floor, including some large limestone rocks supporting the floor (2.5Y 7/1). Ceramics: 22; chert: 2. Depth: 2.30 m. 424 Lot 7: Construction fill of a porous consistency and medium texture, mixed with pebbles and carbon, dark gray in color (2.5Y 6/1). In the northeast end of the pit, a small chamber formed of irregular limestone blocks, measuring 1.0 m long (north-south) by 0.70 m wide (east-west) and 0.30 high. This cist served as the enclosure for El Zotz Burial 8, which included a mostly complete individual in a flexed position, probably wrapped in a bundle. According to Andrew Scherer (2011:414) the individual was probably over 50 years of age, possibly male. The cranium of the individual showed signs of tabular oblique modification and some parts of the skeleton showed evidence of heat exposure. Three complete vessels accompanied the deceased: a small bowl placed within a tripod plate, alongside a vase, all placed to the west side of the interred (Figures A.21 and A.22). Lot 8: Light gray soil fill of porous consistency and medium texture, mixed with carbonate rocks and medium-sized limestone blocks (10YR 7/1). This fill covered a large, rectangular limestone block, oriented from east to west, as well as a series of irregular stones. The block measure 0.14 m thick, but the length and width of the stone could not be measure due to the constraints of the unit. Ceramics: 83; chert: 4; obsidian: 1. Depth: 3.22 m. 425 Figure A.20. EZ 2B-10. North (N) and East (E) profiles. Drawings by Elizabeth Marroquín. 426 Figure A.21. El Zotz Burial 8. Photo by Arturo Godoy. 427 Figure A.22. El Zotz Burial 8. Drawing by Elizabeth Marroquín. 428 EZ 2B-11 (Elizabeth Marroquín, 2010) EZ 2B-11 represents a pit excavated to the northeast of EZ 2B-10, still on the western side of Str. L-2. Oriented to 57°, the 1 m (north-south) by 2 m (east-west) unit was excavated in order to amplify the excavations from EZ 2B-10 and to connect the excavations with Str. L7-2’s western wall. The datum was located at the southeast corner of the unit (Figure A.23). Lot 1: Layer of humus formed by the decomposition of organic materials and porous, dark brown soil (5YR 4/2). Ceramics: 3. Depth: 0.30 m. Lot 2: Fill of soil and pebbles, of a light brown color (10YR 6/3). This lot appeared to be the same leveling fill atop compact mortar observed in EZ 2B-10. Ceramics: 32. Depth: 0.46 m. Lot 3: White limestone mortar, including a series of limestone blocks (10YR 8/1). Ceramics: 23. Depth: 2.20 m. Lot 4: Porous, light gray limestone mortar (10YR 7/1). Marroquín states that the fill levels associated with the ritual termination deposit were found in this level atop the stucco floor beneath, but as this layer was only 0.06 m thick and did not include any cultural materials, it seems that its association with the events atop Str. L7-1 is unlikely. No artifacts recovered. Depth: 2.26 m. Lot 5: Stucco floor and fine, compact, white mortar below (10YR 8/1). The floor was 0.06 m thick, widening to 0.14 m thick in some areas, and well preserved. No artifacts recovered. Depth: 2.40 m. Lot 6: Dark gray, compact mortar (2.5Y 7/2). This lot represents a leveling above a stucco floor, within which limestone rocks and reused architectural stones were found as part of the architectural fill. Ceramics: 11. Depth: 2.74 m. Lot 7: Stucco floor in good condition, including a white mortar of fine limestone below (10YR 8/1). No artifacts recovered. Depth: 2.74 m. 429 Figure A.23. EZ 2B-11. North (N) and East (E) profiles. Drawings by Elizabeth Marroquín. 430 Excavations in Str. L7-3 (Operation 2, Sub-operation F) Sub-operation 2F includes only 3 units, excavated during the 2008 and 2009 field seasons at El Zotz. The units include were focused at the base of the structure and atop the mound formed by the architecture, with the goals of obtaining information about Str. L7-3’s form and chronology. EZ 2F-1 (Juan Carlos Meléndez, 2008) EZ 2F-1, located at the southern base of Str. L7-3, measured 1.50 m by 1.50 and was oriented to 0°. The goal of the unit was to identify construction stages and determine a preliminary chronology for the structure (Figures A.24, A.25). Lot 1: Humus of a very dark grayish brown color, thick but loose (10YR 3/2), with a thickness of 0.14 m. Ceramics: 46; chert: 6; faunal remains: 2. Lot 2: Medium-textured, loose soil of a dark grayish brown color (10YR 4/2), with a thickness of 0.34 m. In this lot, a wall running east to west and formed of large, worked limestone blocks was found. Ceramics: 25, obsidian: 1. Lot 3: Stucco floor, with a thickness of 0.07 m, in a stratum of 0.28 m. The preservation of the floor was generally poor, fragments of it visible only at the foot of the wall identified in Lot 2. Ceramics: 33; chert: 4; shell: 1. Lot 4: Very well preserved floor, with a thickness of 0.06 m, in a stratum of 0.23 m. At the southern end of the lot, part of the floor was cut, forming a sort of corridor. Ceramics: 473; chert: 9; obsidian: 1; faunal remains: 3. Lot 5: Fill of compact of white limestone rocks of various sizes, combined with a pale, loose brown soil, with a thickness of 0.15 m. Ceramics: 234; chert: 8; faunal remains: 6. Lot 6: Soil of rusted gray color, with a loose, soft texture and consistency (7.5YR 6/2) and a thickness of 0.39 m. This lot represents only half of EZ 2F-1, divided due to changes in the consistency of the soil (looser to the east side of the unit). The following 431 level, Lot 7, continues the excavation of only the eastern half of the unit. Ceramics: 250; chert: 8; faunal remains: 5. Lot 7: This lot contained a dense concentration of materials, unprecedented in earlier lots, described by Meléndez as a potential problematic deposit. The fill surrounding the artifact consisted of a soft, loose gray soil (7.5YR 6/1) and was 0.53 m thick. Ceramics: 1446 (including at least one semi-complete vessel); chert: 19; obsidian: 4; faunal remains: 73. Lot 8: A pale yellow fill of soft, loose soil, combined with limestone pebbles (2.5Y 8/2), notably different from the previous lot in color, with a thickness of 0.10 m. Ceramics: 69; chert: 10; faunal remains: 5. Lot 9: Level of loose gray soil (10YR 5/2), 0.18 m thick. Ceramics: 185; chert: 1. Lot 10: Bedrock. No artifacts recovered. 432 Figure A.24. EZ 2F-1. East profile. Drawing by Juan Carlos Meléndez. 433 Figure A.25. EZ 2F-1. South profile. Drawing by Juan Carlos Meléndez. 434 EZ 2F-2 (Fabiola Quiroa Flores, 2009) EZ 2F-2 was a pit excavation atop Str. L7-3, more or less along the central axis of the structure, measuring 1.50 m by 1.50 and oriented to 5°. The goal of the unit was to provide additional chronological details of the structure’s history and it’s construction phases, as well as to investigate whether the ritual termination deposit found atop Str. L7-1 had also been interred atop Str. L7-3. The datum was located in the northeast corner of the unit (Figure A.26). Lot 1: Humic layer of organics and very dark grayish brown soil (10YR 3/2). Ceramics: 42; chert: 2; obsidian: 2; figurines: 1. Depth: 0.28 NW; 0.26 NE, 0.43 SW; 0.48 SE. Lot 2: A layer of natural soil, probably a deeper level of organic humus, characterized by a dark grayish brown color and a clay-like texture with limestone pebbles (10YR 4/2). Ceramics: 67; chert: 2; obsidian: 1. Depth: 0.45 NW; 0.52 NE; 0.50 SW; 0.50 SE. Lot 3: A poorly preserved stucco floor (designated Floor 1) and the fill beneath it, possibly the underlying platform to the superstructure. The stucco was of a gray color (10YR 6/1), while the loose, sandy fill mixed with soil, lime, clay and limestone pebbles was of a light brown color (10YR 6/2). Ceramics: 6; chert: 1; faunal remains: 1; floor samples: 1. Depth: 0.60 NW; 0.60 NE; 0.63 SW; 0.63 SE. Lot 4: This lot corresponds to a second stucco floor (Floor 2), with a poorly preserved surface (although in better condition than Floor 1) of a light gray color (10YR 7/1). The fill of the floor was of sandy, loose soil mixed with lime, some clay, and some limestone pebbles, of a very pale brown color (10YR 8/2). Ceramics: 9; floor samples: 1. Depth: 0.68 NW; 0.70 NE; 0.70 SW; 0.72 SE. Lot 5: Architectural fill of a very hard, compact mix of soil, lime, and clay, light gray in color (10YR 7/1), with large stones and limestone pebbles. Ceramics: 47. Depth: 1.0 NW; 1.03 NE; 1.02 SW; 1.02 SE. 435 Lot 6: Another stucco floor (Floor 3), showing a cut running north to south along the better part of the western half of the pit. The floor was not excavated in this unit, given the possibility of a burial, and instead an extension of 0.5 m (north-south) and 1.5 m (east-west) was opened at the southern edge of the unit. Lot 7: This lot represents the matrix within the cut apparent in Floor 3. The soil, sandy, fine, and loose was of a light gray color (10YR 7/1). The lot ended at a depth of 1.10 m below the datum, just above a series of limestone slabs. Ceramics: 10; chert: 1. Lot 8: Lot 8 represents El Zotz Burial 4 (Figures A.27), placed in an intrusive, roughly rectangular cist cut into Floor 3 (from EZ 2F-6). Irregularly sized and shaped limestone blocks were used to form the walls and roof of the chamber, which was filled with a loose, fine mix of gray soil, lime, clay, and fine limestone pebbles (10YR 7/1), probably the same matrix above the cist. The space provided for the burial was 1.9 m long, 0.5 m wide, and 0.3 m high. The skeleton in the cist was largely complete, but badly fragmented and eroded. The individual was buried in an extended position, with the head to the north and the arms crossed over the chest. According to Andrew Scherer (2011:325-327), although the cranium was fragmented, various diagnostic aspects, the shape of the sciatic notch, and the gracile nature of the remains indicate the interred was a female, while other characteristics suggest she was between 20-35 years of age at the time of death. The cranium also showed evidence of tabular oblique modification. Tuberosities visible on the humerus and clavicle suggest focused activity at the articulation of the shoulder, perhaps from the repetitive grinding of grain. Two whole vessels were included in the burial chamber, a small bowl (found complete, but fragile) and an even smaller bowl in good condition. The first bowl was places behind the head, at the northern end of the cist, while the smaller bowl was placed at the left side of the cranium. Ceramics: 26 (not including the two complete vessels); soil samples: 2. Depth: 1.41 m. 436 Lot 9: Continued excavations in EZ 2F-3 took place only within the cut, beneath El Zotz Burial 4. This lot corresponds to a layer of architectural fill formed of gray ash, fine and loose, with lime, soil, and clay (10YR 6/1). Ceramics: 145; chert: 9; carbon samples: 1. Depth: 1.63 m. Lot 10: Construction fill mixed with ash, though less concentrated than in Lot 9. The consistency of the matrix was sandy and loose, with a fine texture and some soil, lime, clay, and limestone pebbles (10YR 7/1). Ceramics: 74; chert: 5; obsidian: 1; shell: 1. Depth: 1.78 m. Lot 11: An increase in the quantity of ash within the architectural fill, within a grayish brown soil with a sandy, loose consistency (10YR 5/2). Ceramics: 115; chert: 13; obsidian: 1; faunal remains: 1 (burnt); ceramic seal: 1; carbon samples: 1. Depth: 1.96 m. Lot 12: Another layer of dusty ash, which Quiroa Flores describes as “very organic”, mixed with carbon, clay, and some fine limestone pebbles (10YR 5/1). This lot appeared very similar to the previous level, but slightly denser in its organic content. This level represents the lower limit of EZ 2F-2, on account of time constraints on the field season. Ceramics: 212 (including sherds with fragments of glyphs or pseudoglyphs); chert: 10; obsidian: 6; faunal remains: 10; shell: 3; unidentified worked stone: 2; soil samples: 1; carbon samples: 1. Depth: 2.40 m. 437 Figure A.26. EZ 2F-2. West (oeste) and North (norte) profiles. Drawings by Fabiola Quiroa Flores. 438 Figure A.27. El Zotz Burial 4. Photo by Arturo Godoy. 439 EZ 2F-3 (Fabiola Quiroa Flores) EZ 2F-3 designates a pit excavated at the base of the southern face of Str. L7-3, at the level of Patio 1 within the Acropolis and along the central axis of the structure. The unit, measuring 1.0 m (north-south) by 1.5 m (east-west), was oriented to 354°. The datum was located in the northeast corner of the unit (Figure A.28). Lot 1: Humic layer of organics and very dark grayish brown soil (10YR 3/1). Ceramics: 14. Depth: 0.43 NW; 0.59 NE; 0.60 SW; 0.63 SE. Lot 2: A layer of naturally accumulating soil, probably the same as Lot 1 but more degraded, with a sandy, loose texture and a mix of clay, soil, scarce limestone pebbles and some construction fill, grayish in color (10YR 5/2). About 0.60 m below the datum, a poorly preserved step was found, running east to west and resting atop a poorly preserved floor at a depth of 0.80 m. The rest of the excavations in this unit occurred in front of the step. Ceramics: 48; faunal remains: 6. Depth: 0.78 NW; 0.84 NE; 0.79 SW; 0.86 SE. Lot 3: A poorly preserved stucco floor, of a light gray color (10YR 7/2), with a sandy, fine fill of lime and limestone pebbles, pale yellow in color (2.5Y 8/2). Floor samples: 1. Depth: 0.83 NW; 0.90 NE; 0.87 SW; 0.89 SE. Lot 4: A light gray, sandy, loose fill, formed by a mix of clay, lime, sand, and limestone pebbles (10YR 7/2). Ceramics: 17. Depth: 1.10 NW; 1.11 NE; 1.11 SW; 1.12 SE. Lot 5: Another layer of sandy, but slightly hard and compact plaza fill, made of some clay, sand, lime, and abundant limestone pebbles (2.5Y 7/1). Ceramics: 182; chert: 2; obsidian: 1; faunal remains: 2. Depth: 1.49 NW; 1.50 NE; 1.45 SW; 1.52 SE. Lot 6: Layer of loose, fine ash, mixed with some sand, lime, and pebbles from the previous lot (10YR 6/1). This lot appears to have been a similar kind of termination deposit to that atop Str. L7-1, but dating to the Early Classic period. Despite the quantity of finds, it represents the last level excavated in EZ 2F-3, due to time constraints. Quiroa 440 Flores notes that there appeared to be a second floor (which she calls a “plaza floor”) below Lot 6. Ceramics: 1,043; chert: 4; obsidian: 2; faunal remains: 44; figurines: 1; soil samples: 1. 441 Figure A.28. EZ 2F-3. West (oeste) and North (north) profiles. Drawings by Fabiola Quiroa Flores. 442 Excavations in Str. L7-4 (Operation 22, Sub-operation C) Sub-operation 22C includes only 1 unit, excavated during the 2012 field season (the first season of Phase II of the El Zotz Archaeological Project). The units involved the cleaning of a looters’ trench in the south face of Str. L7-4, combined with a test pit within the trench to the bedrock below the Acropolis, and cursory cleaning around the trench to collect surface ceramics left behind by looters. EZ 22C-1 (Sarah Newman, 2012) EZ 22C-1 represents the cleaning and documentation of a looters’ trench penetrating Str. L7-4 from the south, measuring 7.70 m in long, 1.06 m wide, and 4.04 m high and oriented to 2° (Figure A.29). Lot 1: A mix of collapse and looters’ debris amidst visible standing architecture (10 YR 5/2). Ceramics: 124; chert: 3; obsidian: 2; faunal remains: 3. Lot 2: A stucco floor (Floor 1), located beneath the looters’ debris and representing the first level of a 1.0 m (north-south) by 0.50 m (east-west) test pit within Str. L7-4 (7.5YR 8/1). The datum for the unit was located at the southwest corner, beginning at the level untouched by looting. Ceramics: 4. Depth: 0.12 NW; 0.12 NE; 0.15 SW; 0.15 SE. Lot 3: A level of large stones between Floor 1 and a second stucco floor, Floor 2. The stones were not cut, but were arranged as if a leveling layer in preparation for Floor 1. No artifacts recovered. Depth: 0.22 NW; 0.23 NE; 0.22 SW; 0.23 SE. Lot 4: Another stucco floor (Floor 2), very similar in thickness and roughness to Floor 1 (10YR 8/1). Ceramics: 24; chert: 1. Depth: 0.40 NW; 0.43 NE; 0.43 SW; 0.44 SE. Lot 5: Another stucco floor (Floor 3), with a slightly darker, more pebbled, and loose texture (10YR 8/1). Floor 3 may be only a leveling layer, although it was about as thick 443 as Floor 1 and Floor 2. A retaining wall appeared in this lot, continuing below Floor 3. Ceramics: 2. Depth: 0.55 NW; 0.58 NE; 0.58 SW; 0.44 SE. Lot 6: This lot represents another stucco floor, Floor 4, immediately below Floor 3, with a similar texture (10YR 8/1). Ceramics: 6; chert: 1. Depth: 0.71 NW; 0.68 NE; 0.70 SW; 0.70 SE. Lot 7: Another stucco floor, with a thickness of approximately 0.10 m and a very compact fill (10YR 8/1). The floor ended immediately above a series of stone slabs, some of which showed signs of burning. Ceramics: 3; chert: 1; carbon samples: 1. Depth: 1.0 NW; 0.83 NE; 0.88 SW; 0.77 SE. Lot 8: Level of compact construction fill, formed of soil and stones, including the large slabs exposed at the end of the previous lot (7.5YR 8/1). The slabs did not seem to be arranged in any particular order or pattern, but rather placed in order to cover a substructure and support the structure atop them. Ceramics: 8; carbon samples: 1. Depth: 1.23 NW; 0.83 NE (ending at the same stone found in Lot 7); 1.21 SW; 1.22 SE. Lot 9: A level of compact construction fill, made up of cut stones within a gray matrix, with evidence of burning on the stones (10YR 7/2). Ceramics: 3; carbon samples: 3. Lot 10: Another level of stone slabs, in this case flat, thin stones (10YR 7/2). Ceramics: 2; modeled stucco 1 (incised and painted red); carbon samples: 1. Depth: 1.48 NW; 1.48 NE; 1.64 SW; 1.55 SE. Lot 11: This lot represents the final level of construction fill and stone slabs within the test pit (10YR 6.2). The level reached another burned stucco floor, 2.10 m below Floor 1 and the beginning of the unit. Ceramics: 101; chert: 1; obsidian: 2; shells: 2; faunal remains: 31; painted stucco: 1. This floor may represent part of an Early Classic substructure within Str. L7-4, based on the quantity of artifacts found above the floor. Depth: 1.80 NW; 1.85 NE; 2.10 SW; 2.10 SE. 444 Lot 12: A thin, rustic floor was found in this level, also burned (10YR 6/2). Ceramics: 14. The floor began at a depth of 2.10 m and ended at 2.20. Lot 13: This lot includes a stucco floor (immediately below the burnt floor from the previous lot) and its construction fill, all placed above bedrock. A small wall was found above the bedrock, with a thin layer of stucco. The bedrock also appeared to have a thin layer of stucco atop it, presumably creating a smooth surface for either construction or use. Ceramics: 346; chert: 6; obsidian: 1; faunal remains: 3; carbon samples: 2. Depth: 3.24 NW; 3.23 NE; 3.24 SW; 3.21 SE. 445 Figure A.29. EZ 22C-1. West Profile. 446 Excavations in Str. L7-6 (Operation 2, Sub-operation A) Sub-operation 2A includes 18 units, excavated during the 2008 and 2009 field season. The units include both test pits and a tunnel excavated into the southern face of Str. L7-6, the largest structure within the Acropolis, in order to gain a better understanding of its architectural history and occupational chronology. EZ 2A-1 (Juan Carlos Meléndez, 2008) EZ 2A-1 represents a test pit, excavated to the south of Str. L7-6, more or less along its central axis. The unit measured 2 m by 2 m and was oriented to 0°, with the goal of locating the access stairway to the structure (Figure A.30). Lot 1: Humic level of dark grayish brown soil, with a thick, loose texture and numerous tree roots (10YR 4/2), with a thickness of approximately 0.13 m. Ceramics: 36; shell: 3; figurines: 1. Lot 2: Level of brown, loose soil, also penetrated by tree roots (7.5YR 5/3). This lot was approximately 0.29 m thick. At the southern end of the unit, a small wall formed by two lines of worked limestone blocks. The wall was only visible on the western side of the unit due to the destructive root action. Ceramics: 59; chert: 5; shell: 1. Lot 3: Consists of a poorly preserved stucco floor, which was only detected in the area close to the wall mentioned in the previous lot. No artifacts recovered. No depths provided. EZ 2A-2 (Juan Carlos Meléndez, 2008) EZ 2A-2 represents another test pit, excavated to the south of Str. L7-6 and immediately south of EZ 2A-1. The unit measured 1.0 m (north-south) by 1.50 m (east- west) and was oriented to 0°, with the goal of identifying the construction stages of Str. 447 L7-6 and providing chronology for the structure through ceramics recovered (Figure A.31). Lot 1: Humic level of a dark grayish brown, loose, thick soil (10YR 4/2), with a thickness of approximately 0.09 m. Ceramics: 25; chert: 1. Lot 2: A level of light grayish brown, loose soil, combined with a large quantity of regularly sized limestone pebbles (10YR 6/2), with a thickness of approximately 0.22 m. Ceramics: 42; shell: 1. Lot 3: A deteriorated stucco floor, approximately 0.02 m thick and white in color (2.5Y 8/1). Remains of the floor were not detected in the northern side of the unit. The lot measured approximately 0.12 m. Ceramic: 68. Lot 4: A well preserved stucco floor, 0.08 m thick and white in color (10YR 8/1), which was cut along the west side of the unit. The lot was approximately 0.09 m thick. Ceramics: 27; chert: 1. Lot 5: Another white, well preserved stucco floor, 0.09 m thick (10YR 8/1) and 0.10 m below the floor from the previous lot. Beneath the floor, a large quantity of compact fill was found, formed of small stones and light gray soil (7.5YR 7/1). The thickness of the lot was approximately 0.28 m. Ceramics: 115; chert: 1. Lot 6: Leveling layer of gray soil, with a medium texture and hard consistency, combined with limestone pebbles (10YR 5/1), measuring approximately 0.25 m thick. Ceramics: 66; chert: 5. Lot 7: Leveling layer of dark gray, fine soil, combined with compact limestone pebbles (10YR 4/1), measuring approximately 0.15 m. Toward the eastern side of the unit, a line of 4 large, amorphous stones of limestone, oriented from north-south. Ceramics: 39; chert: 5. Lot 8: Bedrock, which was reached first on the western side of the unit. No artifacts recovered. No depths provided. 448 EZ 2A-3 (Juan Carlos Meléndez, 2008) EZ 2A-3 represents another pit, excavated to the south of Str. L7-6 and immediately to the east of EZ 2A-1. The unit measured 2.0 m by 2.0 m and was oriented to 0°, with the goal of better defining the aligned stones in EZ 2A-2 (Figure A.30). Lot 1: Humic level of dark tawny brown, loose soil (10YR 4/2), with many roots and a thickness of approximately 0.14 m. Ceramics: 24. Lot 2: A level of light gray soil, of medium texture and loose consistency, combined with limestone pebbles, with a thickness of approximately 0.21 m. A worked limestone block was found in this lot, which appeared to have been placed and to have formed part of a small doorjamb or some small platform access to the center of Str. L7-6. Toward the southwest corner of the unit, the same small wall identified in EZ2A-1-2 was found. Ceramics: 42. Lot 3: A poorly preserved stucco floor, which could only be defined in the area close to the small wall or platform. No artifacts recovered. No depths provided. EZ 2A-4 (Juan Carlos Meléndez, 2008) EZ 2A-4 represents another test pit, excavated to the south of Str. L7-6, immediately to the east of EZ 2A-2 and to the south of EZ 2A-3. The unit measured 1.0 m (north-south) by 1.50 m (east-west) and was oriented to 0°, with the goal of further identifying the find (the aligned stones above bedrock) in Lot 7 of EZ 2A-2 (Figures A.31). Lot 1: A humic layer of thick, loose, dark grayish brown soil with many root (10YR 4/2) and a thickness of approximately 0.10 m. Ceramics: 17. 449 Lot 2: Layer of soil of light tawny brown, medium texture, and loose consistency mixed with limestone pebbles (10YR 6/2), with a thickness of approximately 0.14 m. Ceramics: 15. Lot 3: Badly deteriorated white stucco floor (2.5Y 8/1), identified only in the northern side of the unit, with at thickness of approximately 0.18 m. Ceramics: 74. Lot 4: A well-preserved stucco floor, white in color (10YR 8/1), with a thickness of approximately 0.08 m. The lot was approximately 0.10 m thick. Ceramics: 85; obsidian: 1. Lot 5: Another stucco floor, also in good condition and white in color (10YR 8/1), with a thickness of 0.09 m. The thickness of the lot was approximately 0.22 m. Ceramics: 80; shell: 1 (a species of Spondylus measuring approximately 0.10 m x 0.05 m). Lot 6: A level of fill formed of gray, hard soil combined with limestone pebbles (10YR 5/1). The lot was approximately 0.14 m thick. Ceramics: 20. Lot 7: Fill layer comprised of dark gray, hard soil combined with limestone pebbles (10YR 4/1), with a thickness of 0.09 m. Toward the eastern end of this unit a wall of limestone blocks was found, which were worked on their interior surface and aligned atop the exterior axis of Str. L7-6. Ceramics: 69. Lot 8: A level of very dark gray, medium-textured soil (2.5Y 3/1), with a thickness of approximately 0.20 m. Ceramics: 199; obsidian: 1. Lot 9: Bedrock. No artifacts recovered. No depths provided. EZ 2A-5 (Juan Carlos Meléndez, 2008) EZ 2A-5 is a test pit located to the northwest of Str. L7-6, within Patio 1 of the palatial complex. The unit measured 1.50 m by 1.50 m and was oriented to 0°, wit the 450 goal of identifying and dating the different construction stages within Patio 1 of the Acropolis (Figure A.32). Lot 1: A humic layer of dark brown, loose, thick soil, with many roots (10YR 3/3), measuring approximately 0.12 m thick. Ceramics: 13; chert: 1. Lot 2: A level of grayish brown soil, with many stones (10YR 5/2) and a thickness of approximately 0.14 m. Ceramics: 96; chert: 4; obsidian: 1; figurines: 1. Lot 3: A layer of dark grayish brown soil, with a medium and loose consistency (10YR 4/2) and a thickness of approximately 0.18 m. The level appears to have been a fill level for a no longer visible plaza/patio floor, due to the large quantities of limestone pebbles within it. Ceramics: 584; chert: 1. Lot 4: A level of very dark gray, hard and pasty soil, with a thickness of 0.22 m. Above the northeast corner in the unit a regularly sized limestone block was found. No artifacts recovered. Lot 5: Bedrock. No artifacts recovered. No depths provided. 451 452 Figure A.30. EZ 2A-1 and EZ 2A-3. North profile. Drawing by Juan Carlos Meléndez. 453 Figure A.31. EZ 2A-2 and EZ 2A-4. East profile. Drawing by Juan Carlos Meléndez. 454 Figure A.32. EZ 2A-5. West (a) and North (b) profiles. Drawing by Juan Carlos Meléndez. EZ 2A-6 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) EZ 2A-6 represents the start of a tunnel penetrating the southern face of Str. L7- 6, just to the north of the units excavated by Meléndez in 2008. The tunnel followed the central axis of the structure, oriented to 352°. The unit measured 3.80 m (north-south) by 1.0 m (east-west), with the goal of defining the central access stairway of Str. L7-6 and its interior composition. The datum was located at the southwest corner of the unit (Figure A.33). Lot 1: Humic level of organic, brown soil (7.5YR 5/2). At 1.30 m below the surface, an alignment of stones was found running more or less north-south, although the stones were somewhat irregular and not definitively a feature. Ceramics: 48; chert: 3. Lot 2: A level of construction fill placed atop the central access stairway to the structure. The matrix consisted of a thick, dark gray soil (7.5YR 4/1). Ceramics: 145; chert: 21; obsidian: 2; shell: 1; figurines: 1. Lot 3: A stucco floor (Floor 1), the same found by Meléndez in 2008, surrounded by a matrix of fine, sandy soil with a pinkish color (7.5YR 6/2). At 1.13 m to the north, two worked limestone blocks appeared in this unit, possibly placed as a balustrade to a central staircase, but as part of a later remodeling than the floor. Ceramics: 51; chert: 13. Lot 4: A second stucco floor (Floor 2) and the first step of the stairway to Str. L7-6, with a sandy, light brownish gray matrix (10YR 6/2). This first step was only 10.5 cm high, possibly representing only a small platform of some sort. However, Floor 2, a later addition, covered about 0.20 m of the original stair (making the complete height of the stone 30.5 cm). At the same level, slightly more than a half meter to the north, another large stone (35 cm high) placed atop a thick layer of mortar formed the third step of the stairway. Between the two steps, the second step had been damaged, leaving only blocks and cut stucco. The fourth stone appeared to have been ruined as well, leaving only a mark atop the floor. Pérez Robles suggests that the stairs may have been dismantled to 455 change the orientation of the building or during subsequent modifications to the structure. Ceramics: 32. Lot 5: The fill of the first, second, and third steps of the staircase to Str. L7-6, consisting of a loose, white soil (10YR 8/1). Pérez Robles mentions that this layer of fill ends atop another stucco floor (which she calls Floor 3), but that floor does not appear in the drawing of the tunnel profile or in subsequent units. Ceramics: 126; chert: 2; shell: 1. EZ 2A-7 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) EZ 2A-7 represents another unit in the tunnel penetrating the southern face of Str. L7-6, just to the north of EZ 2A-6. The tunnel followed the central axis of the structure, oriented to 352°. The unit measured 1.50 m (north-south) by 1.0 m (east- west), with the goal of defining the central access stairway of Str. L7-6 and its interior composition. The datum was located at the southwest corner of EZ 2A-6 (Figure A.33). Lot 1: Level of fill or debris from the final occupational phase, with a loose consistency and light gray color (10YR 7/2). Ceramics: 250; chert: 14; shell: 1; carbon samples: 1. Depths not provided. Lot 2: Part of the construction fill of Str. L7-6, corresponding to the third stair in the central access stairway, with a thick limestone matrix (7.5YR 6/1). Ceramics: 209; chert: 7; obsidian: 4; shell: 3; carbon samples: 1. Depths not provided. Lot 3: A leveling layer within the construction fill, comprised of a type of mortar with a thin covering of soil (7.5YR 7/1). Ceramics: 145; chert: 8; shell: 1; faunal remains: 3; carbon samples: 1. Depths not provided. Lot 4: Another layer of leveling, similar to the previous lot, with a sandy consistency and pinkish gray color (7.5YR 6/2). Ceramics: 106; chert: 3; carbon samples: 1. Depths not provided. 456 Lot 5: A third leveling layer of compact fill, the same as the two previous lots, with a medium texture and light gray-brown color (10YR 6/2). Ceramics: 16; chert: 1. Depths not provided. Lot 6: Final leveling layer in the fill, placed immediately atop Floor 3, with a fine texture and light gray color (10YR 7/1). Ceramics: 70; chert: 5. Depths not provided. EZ 2A-8 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) EZ 2A-8 represents another unit in the tunnel penetrating the southern face of Str. L7-6, just to the north of EZ 2A-7. The tunnel followed the central axis of the structure, oriented to 352°. The unit measured 2.0 m (north-south) by 1.0 m (east-west), with the goal of locating the surface of a substructure of Str. L7-6. The datum was located at the southwest corner of EZ 2A-6 (Figure A.33). Lot 1: A level of soil and limestone fill, with a sandy consistency and light gray color (7.5YR 7/1). Ceramics: 114; chert: 14; carbon samples: 1. Depths not provided. Lot 2: A level of fill or a leveling layer, with a medium texture and light gray-brown color (10YR 6/2). Ceramics: 24; chert: 2; faunal remains: 2. Depths not provided. Lot 3: Corresponds to a third leveling layer, with a sandy consistency and grayish brown color (10YR 5/2). Ceramics: 39; chert: 6. Depths not provided. Lot 4: The lower limit of the architectural fill of the final phase of Str. L7-6, just atop the first step of the stairway of a substructure, with a medium texture and light gray color (10YR 7/1). No artifacts recovered. No depths provided. EZ 2A-9 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) EZ 2A-9 represents another unit in the tunnel penetrating the southern face of Str. L7-6, just to the north of EZ 2A-8. The tunnel followed the central axis of the 457 structure, oriented to 352°. The unit measured 2.0 m (north-south) by 1.0 m (east-west), with the goal of uncovering the substructure immediately below the final phase of Str. L7-6. The datum was located at the southwest corner of EZ 2A-6 (Figure A.33). Lot 1: Layer of fill, comprised of soil and mortar that reached the fourth step of the substructure’s central stairway, with a fine texture, smooth consistency and light gray color (2.5Y 7/1). Ceramics: 70; chert: 4; shell: 5; carbon samples: 1. No depths provided. Lot 2: A layer of soil and mortar covering the third step of the substructure’s central stairway, with a medium consistency and light gray-brown color (10YR 6/2). Ceramics: 35; chert: 5; obsidian: 1; shell: 3; faunal remains: 3; carbon samples: 1. No depths provided. Lot 3: Level of soil and mortar placed atop the second step of the substructure, with a light gray-brown color (10YR 6/2). Ceramics: 165; chert: 26; obsidian: 6; faunal remains: 7. No depths provided. Lot 4: Corresponds to a level of fill placed atop the first step of the substructure, with a pinkish gray color (7.5YR 6/2). No artifacts recovered. No depths provided. EZ 2A-10 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) EZ 2A-10 represents another unit in the tunnel penetrating the southern face of Str. L7-6, just to the north of EZ 2A-9. The tunnel followed the central axis of the structure, oriented to 352°. The unit measured 2.0 m (north-south) by 1.0 m (east-west), with the goal of dating the construction of the first substructure of Str. L7-6. The datum was located at the southwest corner of EZ 2A-6 (Figure A.33). Lot 1: Corresponds to the fill below the fourth step of the substructure, with a matrix of soil and fine limestone, white in color (10YR 8/1). Ceramics: 26; chert: 1; carbon samples: 1. Depths not provided. 458 Lot 2: The fill of the third step of the staircase of Str. L7-6, with a fine matrix of soil and limestone and a light gray color (10YR 7/1). Ceramics: 106; chert: 11; obsidian: 2; shell: 1; faunal remains: 5; carbon samples: 1. Depths not provided. Lot 3: The fill of the second step of the substructure, with a finely textured matrix of soil and mortar, light gray in color (10YR 7/1). Ceramics: 145; chert: 10; shell: 1; grinding stones: 1; faunal remains: 3; carbon samples: 1. Depths not provided. Lot 4: Corresponds to the fill of the first step, the only stair from the lot found in good condition. The step ended approximately 4 cm beneath Floor 3 and was filled with a medium-textured matrix of a light gray color (10YR 7/2). Ceramics: 131; chert: 6; carbon samples: 1. Depths not provided. Lot 5: This lot represents El Zotz Burial 2, which was excavated and removed by Stephen Houston (Figure A.34). The burial was located 2 m to the north of the first step of the substructure, in a small cist covered with stone slabs, measuring 0.5m long and 0.3 m wide and located within the fill used in the construction of the substructure. The cist was filled with a sandy, fine matrix of a light gray color (10YR 7/2). The interment represents the remains of an infant, between 6-12 months in age, buried with only a small shell bead that was probably worn as a pendant. Evidence of cribra orbitalia visible on the right orbit of the skull and active porotic hyperostosis above the occipital suggest either anemia or scurvy, though no postcranial pathologies were observed (Scherer 2010:323). The placement of the burial along the central axis of the structure and the paucity of grave goods within it suggest it represents a dedicatory offering for the substructure, rather than a mortuary motivation for its construction. Shell: 1; soil samples: 1; carbon samples: 1. Depths not provided. Lot 6: Level of fill placed beneath Burial 2, with a thick, compact texture, clayey consistency and black color (7.5YR 2.5/1). Ceramics: 5; chert: 2; soil samples: 1. 459 EZ 2A-11 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) EZ 2A-11 represents another unit in the tunnel penetrating the southern face of Str. L7-6, just to the north of EZ 2A-10. The tunnel followed the central axis of the structure, oriented to 352°. The unit measured 2.0 m (north-south) by 1.0 m (east-west), with the goal of investigating further sub-structures beneath the final phase of Str. L7-6. The datum was located at the southwest corner of EZ 2A-6 (Figure A.33). Lot 1: A level of fill comprised of thick soil and limestone, with a muddy consistency and very pale brown color (10YR 8/2). Ceramics: 75; chert: 11; obsidian: 2; human remains: 2; shell: 1; stucco fragments: 10; carbon samples: 1. No depths provided. Lot 2: Another layer of soil and limestone fill, with a muddy texture and white color (10YR 8/1). Ceramics: 26; chert: 5. No depths provided. Lot 3: A third level of medium-textured fill of soil and limestone, with a pale brown color (10YR 8/2). Ceramics: 214; chert: 21; obsidian: 5; faunal remains: 9; carbon samples: 1. No depths provided. EZ 2A-12 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) EZ 2A-12 represents another unit in the tunnel penetrating the southern face of Str. L7-6, just to the north of EZ 2A-11. Unlike other tunnel units, however, EZ 2A-12 followed a small wall of a second substructure found within the tunnel, which appeared to have been cut to a height of only 1 m and completely sealed (including the doorway) in order to remodel Str. L7-6. The unit still followed the central axis of the structure, oriented to 352°, but measured 1.0 m (north-south) by 6.0 m (east-west). The datum was located at the southwest corner of EZ 2A-6 (Figures A.33, A.35). Lot 1: Level of soil and limestone immediately to the south of the wall, with a muddy consistency and white color (10YR 8/1). Ceramics: 19; chert: 4. No depths provided. 460 Lot 2: Second level of thick, muddy fill, with a pale brown color (10YR 8/2). Ceramics: 74; chert: 3; faunal remains: 6; stucco fragments: 10. No depths provided. Lot 3: Corresponds to a third level of fill comprised of soil and limestone, with a medium texture and light gray color (10YR 7/2) Ceramics: 105; chert: 8; obsidian: 1; faunal remains: 8; carbon samples: 2. Lot 4: A fourth level of soil and limestone, light gray in color (10YR 7/2). The mutilated wall of the second substructure beneath L7-6 formed the northern limit of this lot, as in all others from this unit. Ceramics: 10; chert: 1. No depths provided, though Pérez Robles states that the lower limit of this lot was defined by Floor 3 (as are the other units of the tunnel)6. Lot 5: This lot represents the material associated with the sealing of the doorway of the substructure found within this unit, largely within a matrix of mortar and worked stone, with a light gray-pink color (7.5YR 6/2). Ceramics: 57; chert: 1; faunal remains:1; carbon samples: 1. Lot 6: Represents the level of fill immediately surrounding the substructure, as the lot was excavated toward the east along the wall. The matrix of soil and limestone was largely the same as previous lots in this unit. The extension of the tunnel to the east revealed a basal molding extending 0.98 m high from the substructure. At 5.3 m from the sealed doorway, a wall running north-south was found, possibly related to a separate structure superimposed over the sealed building encountered along the principal tunnel. However, this represents the final lot of EZ 2A-12 due to time constraints. 6Although Pérez Robles states that the units within the tunnel ended atop Floor 3, that floor disappears beyond EZ 2A-10 in Zachary Hruby’s profile drawing of the tunnel within Str. L7-6. 461 EZ 2A-13 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) EZ 2A-13 represents another unit in the tunnel penetrating the southern face of Str. L7-6, just to the north of EZ 2A-12. The tunnel followed the central axis of the structure, oriented to 352°. The unit measured 3.0 m (north-south) by 1.0 m (east-west), with the goal of dating the construction stages and remodeling episodes of the second substructure of L7-6 (Figure A.33). Lot 1: Level of fill inside the room of the second substructure, beginning beneath a burned floor7 and ending above another floor, designated as Floor 1 within the substructure. The fill was very compact, comprised of soil, mortar, and stucco, with a pinkish gray color (7.5YR 6/2). Ceramics: 396; chert: 19; obsidian: 2; human remains: 5; faunal remains: 9; stucco fragments: 22; carbon samples: 2. No depths provided. Lot 2: Floor 1 within the second substructure beneath L7-6, with a fastidiously stuccoed and well-preserved surface and a matrix of soil, mortar, and stucco with a light gray color (10YR 7/2). Ceramics: 53; chert: 8; obsidian: 1; shell: 1; faunal remains: 1; carbon samples: 1. No depths provided. Lot 3: Related to the level of a second floor, designated as Floor 2 within the substructure, with a compact matrix of soil, limestone, and stucco, light gray in color (10YR 7/2). Ceramics: 211; chert: 9; obsidian: 6; shell: 1; faunal remains: 17; carbon samples: 1. No depths provided. Lot 4: Corresponds to the third floor, Floor 3, within the substructure found in EZ 2A- 12, which rests atop a small wall to the north (0.80 m high on its western end and 0.69 m high on the eastern edge). The floor and wall were found within a matrix of soil, mortar, 7 Although Pérez Robles states that this floor was found within the room of the second substructure, Hruby’s profile drawing of the tunnel excavated below Str. L7-6 shows it extending out beyond the sealed doorway of the substructure, into EZ 2A-12. Pérez Robles does not explicitly state why the floor is not included in the numbered sequence used for other floors within the tunnel and substructure. 462 and stucco, with a light gray color (10YR 7/2). Ceramics: 17; chert: 1. No depths provided. EZ 2A-14 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) EZ 2A-14 represents a unit located to the west of EZ 2A-6 and EZ 2A-7. The unit measured 1.0 m (north-south) by 2.0 m (east-west), with the objective of further defining the final phase of Str. L7-6 and its central access stairway. The unit was oriented to 172°, with the datum at the southwest corner of EZ 2A-6 (Figure A.36). Lot 1: Humic layer, with a medium-textured, organic matrix, brown in color (7.5YR 5/2). Ceramics: 39; chert: 5. No depths provided. Lot 2: Fill level that appeared to correspond to the final stage of remodeling for Str. L7- 6, with a thick soil and limestone matrix of a dark gray color (7.5YR 4/1). A small retaining wall was found within this lot, formed by worked stones arranged atop the central stairway, probably to extend the length of the steps and create a wider platform in a subsequent architectural phase. Ceramics: 22; chert: 3. No depths provided. Lot 3: Another level of fill, very similar to the previous lot but separated by the stones forming the steps of the final phase of Str. L7-6, but still formed by thick soil and limestone with a dark gray color (7.5YR 4/1). The stones primarily served to form the stairway of the final architectural phase of Str. L7-6, but also as retaining walls during the filling of the penultimate phase. Ceramics: 3. No depths provided. EZ 2A-15 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) EZ 2A-15 represents a unit located within the tunnel excavated beneath Str. L7-6, to the west of EZ 2A-13 and inside the room of the second substructure. The unit 463 measured 1.0 m (north-south) by 1.5 m (east-west), with the objective of following the small wall found to the north of EZ 2A-13. The unit was oriented to 172° (Figure A.36). Lot 1: Corresponds to a level of fill located just below the burned floor found within the room of the substructure, formed by a matrix of mortar and limestone with a pinkish gray color (7.5YR 6/2). Ceramics: 67; chert: 4; human remains: 2; stucco fragments: 6; soil samples: 2. No depths provided. Lot 2: This lot represents Floor 1 and its fill within the room of the substructure, comprised of soil, mortar, and stucco with a muddy consistency and light gray color (10YR 7/2). Within this floor, a posthole was observed, measuring 15 cm in diameter. Ceramics: 86; chert: 5; faunal remains: 5; soil samples: 3; carbon samples: 2. No depths provided. Lot 3: Corresponds to the material related to Floor 2 within the room of the substructure, with a matrix of mortar and stucco, light gray in color (10YR 7/2), largely the same as the previous lot. Another two postholes were found in this lot, measuring 12 cm and 18 cm in diameter. In the first posthole, a fragment of a human humerus was found. Ceramics: 6. No depths provided. EZ 2A-16 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) EZ 2A-16 represents a unit located to the north of EZ 2A-15, returning to the central axis of the tunnel penetrating Str. L7-6. The unit measured 1.0 m (north-south) by 1.0 m (east-west), with the objective of continuing the tunnel deeper into Str. L7-6 and identifying the earliest construction phases therein. The unit was oriented to 352°, with the datum at the southwest corner of EZ 2A-6 (Figure A.33). Lot 1: A level of construction fill located directly below the burned floor, comprised of mortar and stucco with a pinkish-gray color (7.5YR 6/2). Toward the northern edge of 464 this lot, another alignment of stones was found, parallel to the small wall encountered in EZ 2A-13 (the two small stone alignments were separated by 43 cm). The two alignments extend along the surface of Floor 2, suggesting that they represent remodeling episodes to the small room of the structure, rather than a bench of back wall of the structure (due to their small size and irregular composition). Ceramics: 20; shell: 1; faunal remains: 1; stucco fragments: 1. No depths provided. Lot 2: Defined by Floor 1 within the room of the substructure, formed by soil and stucco with a muddy consistency and a light gray color (7.5YR 5/2). Ceramics: 58; chert: 2; stucco fragments: 1. No depths provided. Lot 3: Related to the level of Floor 2 within the substructure, with a matrix of soil and mortar of a brown color (7.5YR 5/2). This lot was defined by a stucco step, with traces of red paint atop its stuccoed surface, which represents an access to the second substructure of L7-6 from the northern side. Stucco fragments: 3. No depths provided. EZ 2A-15/16 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) EZ 2A-15/16 represents a vertical extension of units EZ 2A-15 and EZ 2A-16, with the objective of locating the first construction phase of Str. L7-6 and establishing the depth of the natural bedrock beneath. The unit measured 2.0 m (north-south) by 1.0 m (east-west), with an orientation to 352° and the datum at the southwest corner of EZ 2A- 6. The lots continue beneath those previously described (Figure A.33). Lot 4: Corresponds to Floor 3 within the room of the substructure, with a thick matrix of mortar and stucco, a muddy consistency, and a light gray color (10YR 5/2). Ceramics: 25; faunal remains: 1; stucco sample: 1. Lot 5: Consists of a layer of fill placed beneath Floor 3, with a matrix of soil and sand, of a grayish brown color (10 YR 5/2). Ceramics: 25; faunal remains: 1; stucco fragments: 1. 465 Lot 6: Represents a layer of clayey fill, with a thick, compact texture and very dark gray color (5YR 3/1). This clay level was found directly atop the bedrock. Ceramics: 120; chert: 5; carbon samples: 1. EZ 2A-17 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) EZ 2A-17 represents a unit located to the north of EZ 2A-16, returning to the central axis of the tunnel penetrating Str. L7-6. The unit measured 2.0 m (north-south) by 1.0 m (east-west), with the objective of continuing the tunnel deeper into Str. L7-6 and identifying the form of the northern side of the second substructure. The unit was oriented to 352°, with the datum at the southwest corner of EZ 2A-6 (Figure A.33). Lot 1: Constituted specifically by the fill outside the substructure, as well as the stuccoed stairway, with a thick matrix of white soil and mortar (10YR 8/1). The second step of the northern side of the substructure connects directly with the burned floor found within the room and with another floor extended to the north beyond the substructure. The two visible steps measured approximately 50 cm in height and were found with well- preserved stucco and traces of red paint. A possible drain was found just beyond the step atop the lower floor, to the northeast corner of the unit. Ceramics: 87; chert: 5; faunal remains: 6; stucco fragments: 46. No depths provided. Lot 2: This lots corresponds to the excavation of the possible drain in the northeast corner of the unit, filled with a fine, sandy matrix with a light gray color (10YR 7/2). Ceramics: 9; chert: 2; obsidian: 1; faunal remains: 51; shell: 1; stucco fragments: 8; carbon samples: 1. No depths provided. 466 EZ 2A-18 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) EZ 2A-18 represents a unit located atop the final phase of Str. L7-6, approximately between the two rooms of the superstructure. The unit measured 2.0 m (north-south) by 1.0 m (east-west), with the objective of finding the floor beneath the rooms of the final construction phase of Str. L7-6, as well as investigate whether the termination deposit atop Str. L7-1 extended to this southernmost structure of the Acropolis as well. The unit was oriented to 352°, with the datum at the southwest corner (Figure A.37). Lot 1: Humic layer covering the mound, with a large quantity of roots and an organic, gray-brown soil (7.5YR 4/2). Ceramics: 12; chert: 1; obsidian: 1. Depth: 1.29 NW; 1.38 NE; 0.16 SW; 0.38 SE. Lot 2: A massive level of fill and debris, including a large quantity of large, worked stones that formed part of the masonry of the building, as well as some of the collapse vault stones from the structure. The fall patterns suggest that Str. L7-6 was likely in the process of being refilled, as in the case of Str. L7-1, and that its walls were cut short to facilitate remodeling efforts. Large stucco fragments, some with black paint, were also found within the fill, which had a thick texture, muddy consistency, and pinkish gray color (7.5YR 7/2). Ceramics: 103; chert: 19; shell: 3; faunal remains: 3. Depth: 3.62 NW; 3.60 NE; 3.77 SW; 3.78 SE. Lot 3: This lot was identified as a level of ritual termination, constituted by a thin layer with a high concentration of ash and fine soil, with a light grayish brown color (10YR 6/2). Ceramics: 23; chert: 119 (including several small arrowheads); obsidian: 33; faunal remains: 67; shell: 28; soil samples: 1; carbon samples: 1. Depth: 3.78 NW; 3.76 NE; 3.85 SW; 3.84 SE. Lot 4: Formed by an irregular layer of mortar and ash, with a fine texture, muddy consistency, and very pale brown color (7.5YR 6/2). This layer of mortar was found atop 467 the floor of the rooms of the final phase of Str. L7-6, probably as a protective layer atop the termination deposit, as in Str. L7-1. Stucco fragments: 61. Depth: 3.91 NW; 3.87 NE; 3.93 SW; 3.93 SE. Lot 5: The floor of the superstructure atop Str. L7-6, which was well-preserved and showed evidence of burning, though it could not be excavated due to time constraints. No artifacts recovered. No depths provided. 468 469 Figure A.33. Tunnel excavated within Str. L7-6. East profile. Drawing by Zachary Hruby. Figure A.34. El Zotz Burial 2. Drawing by Stephen Houston. 470 471 Figure A.35. EZ 2A-12. Sealed access buried beneath later versions of Str. L7-6. Drawing by Griselda Pérez Robles. 472 Figure A.36. EZ 2A-14. Plan (above) and West (S) and North (N) profiles (below). Drawings by Zachary Hruby, Ever Sánchez, and Griselda Pérez Robles. Figure A.37. EZ 2A-18. South (S) and West (O) profiles. Drawing by Griselda Pérez Robles. 473 Excavations in Str. L7-7 (Operation 2, Sub-operation D & Operation 22, Sub-operation B) Sub-operations 2D & 22D include four units, excavated during the 2010, 2011 and 2012 field seasons. The units include both test pits and the cleaning and documentation of looters’ trenches in the western façade of Str. L7-8. This structure, along with Str. L7-9, housed a vaulted tunnel providing limited access to the Acropolis from the east. Excavations served to gain a better understanding of the structure’s architectural history, and occupational chronology, including the sealing of the tunnel. EZ 2J-1 (Jóse Luis Garrido, 2010) EZ 2J-1 represents a test pit adjacent to the western exit of the vaulted tunnel running beneath Strs. L7-8 and L7-9 and the limit of the eastern courtyard of the Acropolis. The unit measured 2 m by 2 m, with the goal of identifying the western end of the vaulted passageway (Figure A.38). Lot 1: Lot comprised of soil (2.5YR 4/2), with tree roots and small stone. Toward the southern end of the unit, the soil appeared to be mixed with debris from a looters’ tunnel penetrating Str. L7-8. Ceramics: 24. Depth: 0.48 NW; 0.20 NE; 0.70 SW; 0.35 SE. Lot 2: Brown soil mixed with soil of a gray tone (5YR 6/2), most apparent in the unit toward the southeast. Ceramics: 28; obsidian 4. Depth: 0.65 NW; 0.62 NE; 0.75 SW; 0.69 SE. Lot 3: Construction fill comprised of gray-toned soil (5YR 6/2) that began in the rest of the southeast of the unit, but was dispersed throughout the rest of the unit. The gray appeared to be a layer of ash. Ceramics: 12; human remains: 1. 474 Lot 4: Construction fill comprised of gray-toned soil (5YR 6/2), the same as in the previous two lots, formed by soil and some small stones, along with irregular limestone blocks. Depth: 1.20 NW; 1.20 NE; 1.20 SW; 1.20 SE. Lot 5: Another lot of the same gray construction fill (5YR 6/2), although the tone of the soil was slightly darker, more of an ash tone. Ceramics: 30; chert: 2. Depth: 1.48 NW; 1.40 NE; 1.44 SW; 1.53 SE. Lot 6: In this lot, ash began to appear throughout the entire unit, along with irregular limestone blocks. Although Garrido suggests it would be a premature interpretation, he posits that this lot and the rest of the unit may be associated with a ritual termination deposit, possibly the same one atop Str. L7-1 of the Acropolis. Depth: 1.68 NW; 1.68 NE; 1.68 SW; 1.68 SE. Lot 7: Lot of ash throughout the unit, with abundant cultural material. Ceramics: 355; obsidian: 5; chert: 53; some faunal remains. Depth: 2.10 NW; 2.10 NE; 2.10 SW; 2.10 SE. Lot 8: Lot comprised of abundant finds of ash, with irregular limestone blocks. At the base of this lot, the floor from the vaulted passageway was found, which extended throughout the patio on the eastern side of the Acropolis. Ceramics: 187; chert: 3; some burned bone. Depth: 3.10 NW; 3.10 NE; 3.10 SW; 3.10 SE. Lot 9: This special lot was defined by the presence of material recovered from the debris produced by a looters’ tunnel in the vaulted passageway. In order to avoid mixing the materials from the looters’ tunnel with this debris, the debris from directly within the western access to the passageway was registered and materials recovered. Ceramics: 121. Lot 10: A stucco floor, identified as Floor 1, including the preparatory layers. Ceramics: 97; obsidian: 1. Depth: 3.40 NW; 3.40 NE; 3.40 SW; 3.40 SE. Lot 11: A second stucco floor, Floor 2, and its preparatory layers. Floor 3 was found immediately below Floor 2 at the bottom of the lot. Ceramics: 91; obsidian: 2. Depth: 3.60 NW; 3.60 NE; 3.60 SW; 3.60 SE. 475 Lot 12: Lot comprised of Floor 3, along with its preparatory layers, which ended at the level of a tamped earth floor. No artifacts were recovered. Depth: 3.80 NW; 3.80 NE; 3.80 SW; 3.80 SE. Lot 13: Lot comprised of a tamped floor of earth and clay, without cultural materials. At the end of this lot, bedrock was encountered throughout the unit. Depth: 4.05 NW; 4.05 NE; 4.05 SW; 4.05 SE. EZ 2J-2 (Jóse Luis Garrido, 2010) EZ 2J-2 represents a test pit just to the north of EZ 2J-1, at the western exit of the vaulted tunnel running beneath Strs. L7-8 and L7-9 and the limit of the eastern courtyard of the Acropolis. The unit measured 2 m (east-west) by 1.2 m (north-south), with the goal of identifying the western doorjamb to the vaulted passageway (Figure A.38). Lot 1: Lot comprised of soil (2.5YR 4/2), with tree roots and small stone. Ceramics: 26; some possible human remains. Depth: 0.57 NW; 0.58 NE; 0.71 SW; 0.58 SE. Lot 2: Level of brown soil (5YR 6/2), especially toward the southeast of the unit. Ceramics: 70; chert: 1. Depth: 0.71 NW; 0.72 NE; 0.71 SW; 0.58 SE. Lot 3: Construction fill comprised of dark gray soil. Ceramics: 4. Depth: 0.79 NW; 0.77 NE; 0.83 SW; 0.86 SE. Lot 4: Level comprised of grayish-toned soil, almost ashy. Ceramics: 52. Depth: 1.10 NW; 1.10 NE; 1.10 SW; 1.20 SE. Unit ended here. 476 Figure A.38. EZ 2J-1 and EZ-2J-2. East profile. Drawing by Jóse Luis Garrido. 477 EZ 2J-3 (Sarah Newman, 2011) EZ 2J-3 represents a unit located within a looters’ tunnel penetrating the western façade of Str. L7-8, passing through much of the structure’s masonry and ending almost at the center of the building (approximately 12.42 m long) and oriented to 75°. The unit measured 12.42 (east-west) by 1.20 (north-south) by 1.25 (height). The principal objectives of the unit were to investigate the architectural sequence of the construction and occupation of the structure (Figure A.39). Lot 1: The first lot of the unit consisted of the cleaning of the central looters’ tunnel, which ran 9.85 m into the structure from the modern surface (1.10 m wide and 1.25 m high). The lot was comprised of a matrix of large stones, mortar, stucco, and some architectural elements from walls and floors (10YR 8/1). Ceramics: 752 (including 17 polychrome and diagnostic fragments dated to the Saquij phase at El Zotz, AD 300-378); obsidian:6; chert: 23; shell: 2; stucco fragments: 40 (some including red paint); faunal remains: 36; spindle whorl: 1. Lot 2: This lot represents the first archaeological extension of the looters’ tunnel within Str. L7-8. The tunnel extended 10.63 m, with a height of 1.0 m and a width of 0.8 m. The matrix consisted of a mix of mortar, small pebbles, stucco, and large stones, including some painted blocks which appeared to have been reused from an earlier stage of the building (10YR 8/1). A wall of cut and stuccoed stone was found to the eastern side of this lot, which appeared to correspond with a wall outside of the looters’ trench and a late phase of construction (probably the enlargement of the Acropolis during the second half of the Late Classic period). Ceramics: 28 (including 3 polychrome, diagnostic sherds from the Late Classic Caal phase at El Zotz); chert: 1; faunal remains: 1. Lot 3: This lot represents a continuation of the tunnel through a layer of mud and fill that comprised one of the final stages of construction of Str. L7-8. This lot was 11.11 m deep 478 (measured from the start of the looters’ tunnel and including the original extent of the illicit excavations and the extension of EZ 2J-3-2), with a width of 0.8 m and a height of 1.10 m. The matrix consisted of a mix of mortar, small pebbles, and large stones beneath a layer of mud, with lots of bajo mud (10YR 6/2). Ceramics: 92; chert: 8; faunal remains: 1. Lot 4: This lot consisted of a 2.5 m (east-west) by 0.5 m (north-south) pit dug into the floor of the looters’ tunnel, which included fill of bajo mud just above bedrock and a rustic stucco floor. The pit was excavated 8.12 m from the surface (along the tunnel excavations) and reached a depth of 0.1 m beneath the stucco floor, 0.25 m to the surface of the bedrock (the floor only extended 1.9 m from the east side of the pit, not across the entire excavated area). Ceramics: 120; obsidian: 3 (include a blade of green Pachuca obsidian from Central Mexico); faunal remains: 4; chert: 883 debitage fragments. Lot 5: This lot represents the cleaning and documentation of a looted tomb to the south of the central lot represented by EZ 2J-3-1. The space enclosed by the tomb measured 2.1 m to the south of the central (east-west) looters’ tunnel within Str. L7-8, with a width of 1.1 m and a height of 1.25 m. The tomb was an intrusive deposit into the penultimate construction phase of Str. L7-8, with a mix of diagnostic ceramic sherds from the Early Classic (Saquij phase) and the Late Classic (Caal phase). Ceramics: 229; obsidian: 1; chert: 3; human remains: 50 (including a modified incisor); shell: 5 (including an ear flare worked from Spondylus shell); faunal remains:1. EZ 2J-4 (Sarah Newman, 2011) EZ 2J-4 represents another unit within the same looters’ trench represented by Lot EZ 2J-3 within Str. L7-8. This unit, a pit, was located immediately to the north of the entrance to the looted tomb represented by Lot 2J-3-5, with the goal of investigating the 479 sequence of floors beyond the looters’ trench and connecting their sequence to the visible architecture within the illicit and continued archaeological excavations to gain an understanding of the entire sequence of construction of Str. L7-8 (Figure A.39). Lot 1: This lot consists of a very thin floor formed at the based of the looted tomb (EZ 2J- 3-5) and the entrance to the central looters’ tunnel. The floor width was only 0.01 m (10YR 8/1). Ceramics: 8. Lot 2: Another floor and its fill below, immediately below the floor in Lot 1. This floor was 0.05 m thick (10YR 8/1). No artifacts were recovered. Lot 3: A fill level comprised of compact stones, between the floors represented by Lots 2 and 4. This level was 0.11 m thick (10YR 8/1). No artifacts were recovered. Lot 4: Another stucco floor, the third within the unit. The lot had a thickness of 0.11 m (10YR 8/1). Ceramics: 6. Lot 5: Another stucco floor and the fill beneath it, with a thickness of 0.13 m (10YR 8/1). Chert:3. 480 481 Figure A.39. EZ 2J-3 and EZ 2J-4. South profile. EZ 22D-1 (Sarah Newman, 2012) EZ 22D-1 corresponds to surface collections of ceramics near a looters’ trench penetrating Str. L7-8. The objective of this sub-operation was the salvage and documentation of these cultural materials, removed and left behind by illegal looting activities, in hopes of adding more information to the general Acropolis chronology. Lot 1: This lot consisted of the collection of ceramics form the surface of Looters’ Trench 1 of Str. L7-8. Ceramics: 18 (dated to the Early Classic period). Excavations in Str. L7-9 (Operation 22, Sub-operation A) Sub-operation 22A corresponds to the intensive cleaning of a looters’ trench located in Str. L7-9, the building at the eastern border of the Acropolis. The sub- operation includes only a single unit, with the objective of understanding its sequence of construction, in particular its earliest phase, in order to know if it formed the eastern border of the palace complex throughout its history. An additional objective was to determine if the structure had a more open form of access into the Acropolis, apart from the vaulted passageway running beneath it and str. L7-8. The sub-operation included the cleaning of collapse and debris caused by illicit looting activities, registration and documentation of the materials left behind by looting, and two small samples taken from visible levels of construction fill within the tunnel. EZ 22A-1 (Sarah Newman, 2012) This unit was located within the looters’ trench penetrating Str. L7-9. The tunnel ran from the eastern side of the structure, through the midpoint, and ended after approximately 7.9 m, with a long extension (also illegal) to the north of about 4.4 m. The center of the tunnel was oriented toward approximately 276° (Figure A.40). 482 Lot 1: This lot represents the rubble and collapse outside the looters’ trench, a mix of soil and fill (7.5YR 4/2). A large tree growing atop the structure appeared to have fallen in recent years, exposing stones and artifacts from within the structure and mixing many levels of occupation. The lot ended at the point where the tunnel entered the structure (approximately 4 m), to separate the debris outside the structure from that within. Ceramics: 285 (some diagnostic of the Early Classic period); chert: 2; obsidian: 3; shell: 4; faunal remains: 2; stucco fragments: 1 (painted red). Lot 2: This lot represents the artifacts, debris, and fill removed within the structure, still within the same looters’ tunnel of Str. L7-9. Although this lot represents a mix of construction phases, it is possible that the earliest ceramics indicate the first occupation of the building, as the looters’ trench reached the bedrock below. Ceramics: 740 (including some diagnostic of the Tzakol 2 and 3 phases of the Early Classic period and 6 polychrome sherds); obsidian: 1; chert: 11; faunal remains: 2; figurines: 1. Lot 3: This lot represents a small sample (measuring 0.25 m long, wide, and deep) taken from a level of dark fill beneath a clear stucco floor in the southern wall of the looters’ tunnel beneath Str. L7-9. This small excavation started with its upper left corner 1.26m to the west of the start of the looters’ trench and 0.55 m beneath the base of the exterior wall marking the start of the tunnel. The goal of this excavation was to obtain ceramics to date the phase prior to the penultimate construction stage for comparative dating purposes. Ceramics: 53 (33 diagnostic of the Early and Late Classic phases); chert: 3. Lot 4: This lot represents another small sample taken from fill above the same floor used as a marker in Lot 3, representing the final phase of construction of Str. L7-9. This again had dimensions of 0.25 m for length, width, and depth, with its upper left corner 1.09 m to the west and 0.39 m above the wall marking the start of the tunnel. Ceramics: 4 (including one sherd diagnostic of the Late Classic period). 483 484 Figure A.40. EZ 22A-1. South profile. Excavations in Str. L7-24 (Operation 22, Sub-operation E) Sub-operation 22E corresponds to the intensive cleaning and documentation of a looters’ trench located in Str. L7-24, a small building located on the northwestern side of the Acropolis. The goals of this sub-operation were to understand the form of this structure throughout its occupation, date the construction stages, and possibly define the presence of an access route into the Acropolis from the north (in addition to that found in Str. L7-2, described above and excavated by Fabiola Quiroa Flores in 2009). This sub- operation included two units, the first being the cleaning of a looters’ trench and its associated debris and the second a pit to the south of that trench, in the center of one of the structure’s rooms, in order to recover artifacts in situ. EZ 22E-1 (Sarah Newman, 2012) This unit was located within a looters’ trench penetrating Str. L7-24 from the north, approximately 3.8 m long, 2.88 m high, and 0.62 m wide. The center of the trench was oriented to approximately 344° (Figure A.41). Lot 1: This lot consisted of the debris from illicit looting activities, including collapse and artifacts left behind by looters. Within the trench, the limit of the platform beneath the rooms of the structure’s final phase and a stucco floor, brightly painted red, of the penultimate phase. Ceramics: 262 (dated to the Early and Late Classic periods, including 17 Late Classic polychrome sherds); chert: 17; faunal remains: 17. EZ 22E-2 (Sarah Newman, 2012) This unit represents a pit located just to the south of the looters’ trench in Str. L7- 24, cleaned in EZ 22E-1, with dimensions of 1 m on each side. The objective of this unit 485 was to better understand the shape of Str. L7-24 and to recover in situ artifacts to date the building’s architectural phases (Figure A.41). Lot 1: This lot represents a humic level (7.5YR 4/2). Ceramics: 19; obsidian: 1. Depth: 0.2 NW; 0.18 NE, 0.24 SW; 0.23 SE. Lot 2: A lot comprised of collapse and rubble (10YR 6/2) that ended more or less at the level of a bench within the southern room of Str. L7-24 and a level of burned fill beneath. Ceramics: 38 (dating to the Terminal Classic period); chert: 1; shells: 2; stucco fragments 2 (burned); faunal remains: 6 (including one bone worked into an awl); carbon samples: 2. Depth: 1.05 NW; 1.07 NE; 1.40 SW; 1.41 SE. Lot 3: This lot consisted of a mix of fill and ash, with large quantities of carbon and artifacts (10YR 5/1). This deposit of burnt objects ran approximate 0.5 m in an east-west line, at a depth of 0.4 m below the surface of the bench within Str. L7-24. The deposit was found more than 1.8 m below the surface and appeared to possibly be related to the same Terminal Classic deposit found in other sectors of the Acropolis, namely Str. L7-6 and the Restricted Patio (Figure A.42). Ceramics: 134 (dating to the Terminal Classic period); obsidian: 1; shell: 4; faunal remains: 3; carbon samples: 1. Lot 4: This lot represents a layer of stucco covering the extension of a bench within Str. L7-24 and a fill of ash 0.08 m thick (10YR 7/1). Ceramics: 18 (dating to the Early Classic period), faunal remains: 1; carbon samples: 1. This lot had dimensions of 0.15 m (east- west) and 0.26 m (north-south), between the final version of the bench and its original length. Lot 5: This lot consisted of a fill of ash between the original bench in Str. L7-24 and its later amplification (10YR 7/1). This lot ended at the level of a rustic, stuccoed floor (the first floor of the room), at a depth of 0.53 m below the surface of the bench. Ceramics: 100 (dating to the Late Classic), obsidian: 5; chert: 11; faunal remains: 6; greenstone: 1 (burned); as well as carbon and ash samples. 486 Lot 6: This lot represents a burned stucco floor within the room atop Str. L7-24, to the south of the bench and beneath a possible ritual deposit. This lot represents a small excavation of 0.5 m on each side (7.5YR 8/2). Ceramics: 1 (dated to the Late Classic period). Depth: 0.08 NW; 0.08 NE; 0.06 SW; 0.05 SE. Lot 7: This lot represents a small tunnel excavation at the southern edge of the unit in order to find the entrance into the small room atop Str. L7-24. The tunnel measured 0.85 m high, 0.7 m wide, and reached a depth of 1.5 m from the southern end of the amplified bench. This lot also revealed a step to enter the room from the interior of the Acropolis. The matrix consisted of fill packed atop the ritual deposit in antiquity, with cut, arranged stones, similar to patterns noted in other parts of the Acropolis. Ceramics: 34 (32 datable to the Late Classic period); chert: 1; faunal remains: 4. Lot 8: This lot represents a level of dark fill, which continued until the leveling beneath the room of the structure, a depth of 13 cm beneath the final phase floor. Ceramics: 7. 487 488 Figure A.41. EZ 22E-1 and EZ 22E-2. West profile. 489 Figure A.42. Plan of EZ 22E-2-3 and possible ritual deposit. Excavations in the Restricted Patio (Operation 2, Sub-operation H) Sub-operation 2H includes 9 units in total, representing a series of vertical pits excavated within a small patio space at the southwestern corner of the El Zotz Acropolis, between Strs. L7-1 and L7-6. The 9 units were excavated in 2009 (4 units) by Griselda Pérez Robles and in 2010 (5 units) by Elizabeth Marroquín. EZ 2H-1 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) This unit represents a 1 m by 1 m test pit excavated just to the south of Str. L7-1, with the goal of obtaining the chronology of the patio space and understanding its relationship to Str. L7-1. The unit was oriented to 352° with the datum in the northwestern corner (Figure A.43). Lot 1: A level of humus with a soil matrix, organic and brown in color (7.5YR 4/2). The lot began at 0 NW; 0.04 NE; 0.01 SW; and 0.06 SE. No artifacts were recovered. Depth: 0.32 NW; 0.35 NE; 0.31 SW; 0.33 SE. Lot 2: This lot consisted of a level of fill of soil and limestone, with a silty texture and light brown color (10YR 7/2). Ceramics: 11 (dating to the Terminal Classic or possibly Postclassic period); obsidian: 3; chert: 1; carbon sample: 1. Depth: 0.46 NW; 0.44 NE; 0.43 SW; 0.51 SE. Lot 3: This lot formed part of another level of fine-textured limestone, with a silty consistency and a light gray color (2.5YR 7/1). Beneath this layer of fill, the floor of the patio was found, badly damaged by the roots of nearby trees. Following the level of this floor, excavations were amplified to the north (EZ 2H-2) in order to find the southern wall of Str. L7-1 and its association with the patio. Ceramics: 10 (probably dating to the Terminal Classic period). Depth: 0.79 NW; 0.81 NE; 0.76 SW; 0.80 SE. 490 EZ 2H-2 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) This unit was located just to the north of EZ 2H-1, with the goal of tracing the floor of the restricted patio to its intersection with Str. L7-1 to the north, defining the wall of the structure and its association with the patio. The unit was oriented to 352° with the datum in the northwest corner of the unit, elevated 0.58 m above the datum from EZ 2H-1 (Figure A.43). Lot 1: Level of humus comprised of a thick soil matrix, with an organic consistency and brown color (7.5YR 4/2). The lot began at 0 NW; 0.02 NW; 0.54 SW; 0.57 SE. Ceramics: 13 (badly eroded). Depth: 0.25 NW; 0.28 NE; 1.01 SW; 0.92 SE. Lot 2: This lot consisted of a fill of medium-textured soil, with an organic consistency and a light brown color (10YR 7/3). Ceramics: 40 (dated preliminarily to the Terminal Classic period). Depth: 1.24 NW; 1.27 NE; 1.43 SW; 1.42 SE. Lot 3: This lot consisted of a level of mortar mixed with limestone of a fine texture, with a silty consistency and a white color (10YR 8/1). This lot marked the beginning of a layer covering an alignment of rocks running in a single-file line from east to west. Ceramics: 16 (dating to the Terminal Classic period); obsidian: 2; chert: 2. EZ 2H-3 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) This unit, measuring 0.5 m (east-west) by 1.70 m (north-south) was located adjacent to EZ 2H-2, with the objective of continuing that excavation to follow the alignment of mortar and stones just before the southern wall of Str. L7-1. The unit was oriented to 352° with the datum in the northwest corner of the unit, elevated 1.06 m above the datum from EZ 2H-2 (Figure A.43). 491 Lot 1: Humic level, consisting of a soil matric of a thick texture, organic consistency and brown color (7.5YR 4/2). The lot began at 0 NW; 0.02 NE; 1.04 SW; and 1.06 SE. Ceramics: 6; chert: 9; figurines: 2. Depth: 0.49 NW; 0.47 NW; 1.31 SW; 1.29 SE. Lot 2: Formed by a level of collapse consisting of medium-textured soil, with an organic consistency and a light brown color (10YR 7/3). Ceramics: 30 (preliminarily dated to the Terminal Classic period). Depth: 1.60 NW; 1.57 NE; 2.19 SW; 2.16 SE. Lot 3: Level of mortar mixed with fine limestone, with a silty consistency and a white color (10YR 8/1). Beneath this level a Terminal Classic termination deposit was found, similar to that reported for EZ 2G-2, 2G-4, and 2G-6, with this cap of mortar functioning to cover the deposit, sealing it and the items deposited there. The level reached the southern wall of Str. L7-1, which was found in a normal state of preservation. Ceramics: 31 (dating to the Terminal Classic period); chert: 3; faunal remains: 3. Depth: 1.83 NW; 1.82 NE; 2.31 SW; 2.32 SE. Lot 4: This lot represents the assemblage of materials related to the termination deposit at the southern end of Str. L7-1, found within a matrix of fine ash and soil, of a gray, darkish red color (5YR 4/3). The deposit was found directly atop a final-phase floor, similar to those found at the east of Str. L7-1, though ceramics were smaller and less abundant than in the earlier identified deposits. Ceramics: 476 (dating to the Terminal Classic), obsidian: 39; chert: 56; shell: 3; figurines: 17; metate fragments: 1; faunal remains: 21; soil sample: 1. Depth: 2.23 NW; 2.23 NE; 2.32 SW; 2.33 SE. 492 493 Figure A.43. EZ 2H-1, EZ 2H-2, and EZ 2H-3. North (N) and East (E) profiles. Drawing by Griselda Pérez Robles. EZ 2H-4 (Griselda Pérez Robles, 2009) This unit, measuring 1.5 m on each side, was located at the corner of the patio, approximately at the join between Strs. L7-1 and L7-6. The goal of this unit was to find the northeastern corner of the restricted patio and to identify the intersection of Strs. L7- 1 and L7-6 with the patio. The unit was oriented to 351° with the datum in the northeast corner of the unit (Figure A.44). Lot 1: Corresponds to a level of humus with a medium-textured soil matrix, organic consistency, and dark reddish-gray color (5YR 4/2). The lot began at 0.09 NW; 0 NE; 0.33 SW; and 0.37 SE. Ceramics: 6. Depth: 0.31 NW; 0.32 NE; 0.58 SE; 0.77 SE. Lot 2: Level of large collapse, including soil and large, worked limestone blocks that could pertain to the collapse of Str. L7-6. The matrix consisted of a medium-textured, silty soil of a light gray color (10YR 7/2). Ceramics: 15 (probably dating to the Terminal Classic period); chert: 10. Depth: 1.75 NW; 1.67 NE; 1.83 SW; 1.88 SE. Lot 3: Formed by a level of soil and mortar mixed with fine-texture limestone, with a silty consistency and a grayish color (2.5Y 7/1). This layer is very irregular, but seems similar to the layer of mortar found in 2H-3-3, which covered the ritual termination deposit and, due to the weight of the materials that fell atop it, was destroyed and lost its original form. Ceramics: 91 (Terminal Classic period). Depth: 2.04 NW; 2.16 NE; 2.23 SW; 2.44 SE. Lot 4: Lot 4 corresponds to the same ritual termination deposit discovered to the south of L7-1, with a matrix of fine soil and ash and a dark gray color (7.5YR 4/1). This level was located atop a final phase floor, though like 2H-3-4 it included fewer cultural materials than the deposits at the center of Str. L7-1. Ceramics: 138 (dating to the Terminal Classic period); obsidian: 3; chert: 43; human remains: 1; shell: 1; metate fragments: 1; faunal remains: 4 (including one bone worked into a flute); carbon samples: 1; soil samples: 1. Depth: 2.45 NW; 2.49 NE; 2.64 SW; 2.57 SE. 494 Lot 5: This lot refers to the floor of the patio, atop which the termination deposit at the southern end of Str. L7-1 was found, with a matrix of medium-textured mortar and limestone of a white color (10YR 8/1). The lower limit of this lot, and the unit overall, consisted of the floor and excavations did not continue beyond this level due to time constraints. Ceramics: 29 (Terminal Classic period); chert: 1; faunal remains: 2; shell: 1 (worked). Depth: 2.55 NW; 2.58 NE; 2.74 SW; 2.67 SE. 495 Figure A.44. EZ 2H-4. North(N) and East (E) profiles. Drawing by Elizabeth Marroquín. 496 EZ 2H-5 (Elizabeth Marroquín, 2010) This unit was located just to the west of 2H-4, though during the following field season, close to the southeastern corner of the southernmost room of Str. L7-1. The unit, measuring 2.0 m (east-west) by 2.5 m (north-south) and oriented to 4°, was placed with the goal of identifying more of the ritual deposit encountered in the area during the 2009 field season, and to define the limits of that deposit, its context, and its relationship to the architectural elements around it (Figure A.45). The datum was located in the northwest corner of the unit. Lot 1: Level of humus with a matrix of medium-textured soil, formed by the decomposition of organic materials, with a dark brown color (5YR 4/2). Ceramics: 39; chert: 10. Depth: 0.23 NW. Lot 2: This lot consisted of collapse formed by soil and limestone blocks of different sizes and irregular shapes, and possibly associated with the southern wall of Str. L7-1. This fill had a medium texture and loose consistency, with a light brown color (10YR 7/2). Ceramics: 86; chert: 10. Depth: 0.7 m NW. Lot 3: Formed by a mortar of limestone blocks of different sizes and a fine-textured fill with a compact consistency and a light gray color (2.5Y 7/1). Within this fill, large, square limestone blocks (0.4 m long, 0.4 m wide, and 0.24 m thick) were found, along with worked stones in the shape of spikes (0.66 m long, 0.44 m wide, and 0.26 m thick), which may indicate intentional dismantling of the walls to use as part of the fill. This dismantling and fill of the structures surrounding the patio may have had symbolic implications associated with the closure or final use of this space. Ceramics: 199 (dating to the Terminal Classic period); obsidian: 6; chert: 18; figurines: 2; faunal and human remains; shell: 1 (worked); and an ornamental object made of ceramic. Depth: 2.0 m NW. 497 Lot 4: This lot refers to the ritual termination deposit encountered in other units in this area. The matrix was of a fine-texture soil and ash mix, of a dark gray color (7.5YR 4/1). In this lot, the excavator decided to continue digging in arbitrary levels, between 8-10 cm thick, which resulted in eight levels (each drawn and photographed), which were further divided into four sections labeled A, B, C, and D. The idea behind this system was to have better control over the provenance and context of cultural materials, though the unique nature of this excavation system also prohibited certain kinds comparisons with other investigations. The excavations in this lot yielded a dense concentration of ceramics, lithic materials, and fragments of human and animal bone (sometimes with evidence of burning). The northern end of the unit yielded particularly high concentrations of carbon and ash (sections A and B). Although specific counts of materials are not provided by Marroquín, she notes a great quantity of utilitarian ceramic fragments (pitchers and jars), as well as fine paste ceramics (vases, plates, and bowls) dating to the Terminal Classic period, a sherd reused as a spindle whorl, fragments of anthropomorphic and zoomorphic figurines, semi-complete vessels (including a miniature vessel), fragments of whistles, bone fragments (the majority being phalanges), faunal remains (including teeth, some burnt bone, and some with cutmarks), cutting tools such as blades and points, obsidian knives, an axe of greenstone, shells made into rings and pendants, and a jade incrustation. The floor below the deposit was 0.34 m thick, with two square limestone blocks set atop the floor at an orientation of 72°, possibly an altar for the termination rituals associated with the deposits. These stones appeared to be painted red, suggesting that they may have come from a painted substructure. Depth: 2.64 NW. Lot 5: A stucco floor, with a matrix of mortar and limestone of a compact consistency and white color (10YR 8/1). This floor completely sealed a substructure below, with sloping talud walls, oriented to 81°. Ceramics: 94; chert: 3; human remains. Depth: 3.02 SE. 498 Lot 6: This lot represents another stucco floor, with a matrix of mortar and limestone of a medium texture, compact consistency, and white color (10YR 8/1). This floor partially sealed the wall of the talud-shaped substructure, leaving 0.3m of the sloping surface exposed above the floor, perhaps transforming the substructure into a kind of bench. No artifacts were recovered. Depth: 3.14 SE. Lot 7: This lot represents a level of fill of mortar with small, medium, and large stones, with a matrix of medium texture and compact consistency, of a gray color (2.5Y 7/1). This fill was approximately 0.5 m thick, supporting the floor above. Ceramics: 129; chert: 2; bone fragments; mano fragments: 1; carbon samples. Depth: 3.06 NW. Lot 8: Fill of soil, finely textured with a soft consistency and gray color (5Y 7/1). This fill was approximately 0.44m thick, placed directly atop a stucco floor below and partially covering the wall of the substructure. Ceramics: 513; figurines: 1; chert: 4; obsidian: 1; human bone fragments; carbon samples. Depth: 5.1 m NW. Lot 9: Stucco floor, with a matrix of mortar and limestone, of a medium texture, compact consistency, and white color (10YR 8/1). This floor ran below the substructure with the talud shape, which was oriented to 81° and measured 2.5 m high and 2 m wide. Ceramics: 87; chert: 5; carbon samples. Depth: 5.54m (NW). Lot 10: This lot represents a small excavation of 0.7 m on each side in the upper part of the substructure, in order to identify its construction fill. The fill consisted of a mortar with pebbles, of a medium texture, compact consistency, and light gray color (2.5Y 7/1). Ceramics: 69; chert: 2. Depth: 3.12 m NW. 499 Figure A.45. EZ 2H-5. North (N) and East (E) profiles. Drawings by Elizabeth Marroquín. 500 EZ 2H-6 (Elizabeth Marroquín, 2010) This unit was located 1.8 m to the west of 2H-5, at the southwest of the southernmost room of Str. L7-1, and oriented to 278°. The objective for this unit was to identify the western limit of the ritual deposit, its context, and its relationship to other areas of the deposit (Figure A.46). Lot 1: Humus with a matrix of medium texture, formed by organic decomposition and with a dark brown color (5YR 4/2). Ceramics: 24; chert: 4. Depth: 0.34 m NE. Lot 2: Collapse formed by soil and limestone blocks of distinct sizes and irregular forms, which might have come from the southern wall of Str. L7-1. The matrix consisted of a medium-texture, loose consistency, light brown soil (10YR 7/2). Ceramics: 46; chert: 14; obsidian: 1. Depth: 0.74 m NE. Lot 3: Formed by a mortar of limestone blocks of varying sizes, with a fine-textured matrix of a compact consistency and light gray color (2.5Y 7/1). This fill represents a leveling layer which completely covered a staircase, formed by five steps of limestone blocks, which was found in a poor state of preservation with some blocks moved from their original location. Ceramics: 125; ceramic spindle whorl: 1 (burned, with a 0.03 m diameter); human and faunal remains; mano fragments: 1; metate fragments: 2. Depth: 1.52 m NE. Lot 4: This lot represents a poorly preserved stucco floor, with a matrix of mortar and limestone of a medium consistency, with a white color (10YR 8/1). Atop this floor was an added staircase, along the central axis of a low perimeter wall along the western edge of the restricted patio. Only five stairs could be identified of this staircase, each with a footprint of 0.26 m to 0.3 m by 0.14m to 0.16 m. These limestone blocks were found fragmented, eroded, and often moved from their original positions. No cultural materials were found. Depth: 1.6 m NE. 501 Lot 5: Leveling layer of fill, with a matrix of soil, gravel, and small and medium limestone blocks, a porous consistency, and light gray color (10YR 8/1). This construction fill served to support the stucco floor of Lot 4, which covered a retaining wall oriented east- west and formed by three lines of limestone blocks with small stones functioning as wedges to fill the spaces between blocks. Ceramics: 129; chert: 4; obsidian: 1; human remains. Depth: 2.8 m. 502 503 Figure A.46. EZ 2H-6. East (E) and South (S) profiles. Drawings by Elizabeth Marroquín. EZ 2H-7 (Elizabeth Marroquín, 2010) EZ 2H-7 was located to the west of 2H-6, in the exterior part of the small perimeter wall running along the edge of the restricted patio. This 2.0 m (east-west) by 1.4 m (north-south) unit was oriented to 272°. The objective for this unit was to follow the perimeter wall and the added staircase identified in 2H-6 to trace means of access into the Acropolis from the southwest corner (Figure A.47). Lot 1: Humic level formed by organic decomposition, with a medium-textured matrix of dark brown soil (5YR 4/2). Ceramics: 10; chert: 1. Depth: 0.2 m NE. Lot 2: Collapse formed by soil and limestone blocks of distinct sizes. The fill consisted of a medium-textured matrix of loose, light brown soil (10YR 7/2). Ceramics: 60; ornamental objects made of ceramic: 3; human remains: 1. Depth: 0.52m. Lot 3: This lot represents a wall formed by rectangular blocks of limestone, measuring 1.0 m wide by 1.4 m long and 0.8 m high. The construction technique used in erecting this wall was to place a line of blocks, oriented vertically, from north to south. The second line of stone was placed again in vertical form, but running east to west, and a final line again oriented north to south. The measurements of the stones varied from 0.5- 0.8 m long, 0.35 to 0.40 m wide, and 0.15 to 0.20 m thick. Depth: 0.96 m NE. Lot 4: Stucco floor, with a mortar matrix of limestone of a medium texture, compact consistency, and white color (10YR 8/1). The perimeter wall sat atop this floor, encircling the restricted patio. The floor, like the wall above, was in a poor state of preservation due to root growth and collapse, though the wall may have also been cut or mutilated as observed for other parts of nearby structures. No artifacts were recovered from this lot. Depth: 1.04 m NE. Lot 5: Leveling layer beneath the stucco floor from Lot 4, with a matrix of mortar and limestone of medium, compact consistency, and white color (10YR 8/1). Some blocks 504 were reused as part of this fill. No artifacts were recovered, though one small area of this lot may have been burned. Depth: 1.34 m NE. Lot 6: Stucco floor, made of a matrix of mortar and limestone with a medium texture, compact consistency, and white color (10YR 8/1). No artifacts were recovered. Depth: 1.42 m NE. Lot 7: This lot consisted of a layer of construction fill formed by soil and different sizes of limestone blocks, with soil of a porous consistency and light gray color (2.5Y 7/1). No artifacts were recovered. Depth: 1.88m NE. 505 506 Figure A.47. EZ 2H-7. North (N) and East (E) profiles. Drawings by Elizabeth Marroquín. EZ 2H-8 (Elizabeth Marroquín, 2010) EZ 2H-8 was located to the west of 2H-7, in the exterior part of the small perimeter wall running along the edge of the restricted patio. This 1.5 m (east-west) by 1.5 m (north-south) unit was oriented to 272°. The objective for this unit was to continue the work of 2H-7, investigating the underlying platform of the Acropolis and determining the form of floors and stairs in this area. Lot 1: Humic level formed by organic decomposition, with a medium-textured matrix of dark brown soil (5YR 4/2). Ceramics: 14; obsidian: 1. Depth: 0.2 m NE. Lot 2: Collapse formed by soil and limestone blocks of distinct sizes. The fill consisted of a medium-textured matrix of loose, light brown soil (10YR 7/2). Ceramics: 84; chert:3. Depth: 0.5m. Lot 3: Construction fill formed by soil and various sizes of limestone blocks, with a medium texture, porous consistency, and light gray color (2.5Y 7/1). Ceramics: 91; chert: 5. Depth: 1.8 m NW. EZ 2H-9 (Elizabeth Marroquín, 2010, Figure A.58) EZ 2H-9 was located between Strs. L7-1 and L7-6, in a small passageway opening into the interior courtyard on the western side of the Acropolis. The unit, 1.5 m (east- west) by 2.0 m (north-south), was oriented to 25° and placed with the objective of determining if a stairway or point of access to the restricted patio could be found at its northeast corner. Lot 1: Humic level formed by organic decomposition, with a medium-textured matrix of dark brown soil (5YR 4/2). Ceramics: 6. Depth: 0.22 m NE. 507 Lot 2: Collapse formed by soil and limestone blocks of distinct sizes. The fill consisted of a medium-textured matrix of loose, light brown soil (10YR 7/2). Ceramics: 30. Depth: 0.80 m NW. Lot 3: Construction fill formed by soil and various sizes of limestone blocks, with a medium texture, porous consistency, and light gray color (2.5Y 7/1). This fill included collapsed limestone blocks from nearby walls and other irregularly shaped stones. These blocks and spikes bore traces of stucco, suggesting they may have been part of the façades of Strs. L7-1 or L7-6. Ceramics: 141; chert: 14; faunal remains; human remains: 1; carbon samples. Depth: 2.70 m NW. Lot 4: This lot consists of a mortar of medium-textured, compact, white limestone (10YR 8/1). This fill was found only in the eastern profile of the unit, close to the northwest corner Str. L7-6, where collapsed blocks from that structure’s walls were found with irregular blocks. Ceramics: 20; chert: 3; faunal remains. Depth: 2.70 m NE. Lot 5: A stucco floor, with a matrix of mortar and limestone of a medium consistency, white in color (10YR 8/1). This floor ran below the walls of Strs. L7-1 an dL7-6. Ceramics: 12. Depth: 2.80 m. Lot 6: Fill of soil of a fine texture, porous consistency, and brown color (10YR 5/3). This fill was found only in the western profile of the excavations, associated with Lot 3 and a series of limestone blocks. Ceramics: 5. Depth: 2.40 m SW. Lot 7: Mortar with inclusions of a small or medium size, medium texture, compact consistency, and dark gray color (10 YR 7/1). This represents a solid, compact level layer for the floor found in Lot 5. Ceramics: 21. Depth: 2.92 m NW. Lot 8: Another stucco floor, with a matrix of mortar and medium-textured, compact, white limestone (10YR 8/1). No artifacts were recovered. Depth: 3.02 m NW. Lot 9: Mortar with small and large inclusions, of a medium texture, compact consistency, and dark gray color (10YR 6/1). This fill represents a solid, compact layer in preparation 508 for the stucco floor placed atop it and encountered in Lot 8. Ceramics: 20; chert. Depth: 3.66m NW. 509 Figure A.48. EZ 2H-9. North (N) and East (E) profiles. Drawings by Elizabeth Marroquín. 510 APPENDIX B CONJOINED VESSELS FROM THE EL ZOTZ DEPOSIT As detailed in Chapter 7, the methodology used here extends beyond reuniting fracture edges and surfaces to include ceramic sherds that cannot be conjoined, but clearly come from the same vessel based on their morphological characteristics (i.e., ceramic type, vessel form, decoration style, temper type, density and distribution of temper, wall thickness, core color, and finishing techniques such as direction and depth of scraping or polishing striations). During the analysis, I largely followed procedures outlined by Charles Bollong (1994) in his analysis of hunter-forager pottery from South Africa. Although Bollong describes six possible refitting stages, I used only the first five (see Table 5.4). The final stage identifies sherds that are too fragmentary, variable or damaged to allow judgment regarding association with other fragments in the assemblage, which I removed as a whole during the first stage of the analysis. Unslipped vessels were also not included in refitting attempts, as the rough pastes often used in their production break easily and unevenly, often prohibiting rejoins between even fresh breaks. Moreover, the high degree of similarity among these types of vessels makes distinguishing one pot from another difficult without the aid of additional techniques (such as petrographic analysis of paste composition). Following Sullivan (1989:104), a single attribute mismatch was sufficient to warrant segregation of sherds into different vessels and the term “vessels” is used here to refer to reconstructed pottery and to singular fragments. 511 Some of the individual vessels identified in the El Zotz Acropolis deposit were represented by only a handful of sherds. Depending on the size of those fragments, a “vessel” could comprise, for example, a significant portion of the base and body of a globular jar or simply the rim of a large-diameter bowl. In total, refitting produced 23 mostly complete or semi-complete vessels, as well as numerous other “vessels” consisting of small numbers of conjoined sherds. The reconstructed vessels include tall jars with outflaring necks (commonly referred to as ollas), wide plates with low, sloping sides, deep, globular bowls with restricted orifices (also known as tecomates), and smaller bowls with thin-walls and highly burnished slips. Photos of the reconstructed vessels are paired with profile drawings. In cases where profile drawings are absent, they can be found in Appendix D. 512 513 Figure B.1. Reconstructed Vessel 1 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. Figure B.2. Profile of Reconstructed Vessel 1 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. 514 515 Figure B.3. Reconstructed Vessel 2 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. 516 517 Figure B.4. Reconstructed Vessel 3 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. Figure B.5. Profile of Reconstructed Vessel 3 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. 518 519 Figure B.6. Reconstructed Vessel 4 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. Figure B.7. Profile of Reconstructed Vessel 4 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. 520 521 Figure B.8. Reconstructed Vessel 5 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. 522 Figure B.9. Reconstructed Vessel 6 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. Figure B.10. Profile of Reconstructed Vessel 6 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. 523 524 Figure B.11. Reconstructed Vessel 7 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. Figure B.12. Profile of Reconstructed Vessel 7 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. 525 526 Figure B.13. Reconstructed Vessel 8 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. 527 Figure B.14. Profile of Reconstructed Vessel 8 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. 528 Figure B.15. Reconstructed Vessel 9 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. 529 Figure B.16. Reconstructed Vessel 10 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. 530 Figure B.17. Reconstructed Vessel 11 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. Figure B.18. Profile for reconstructed Vessel 11 from the El Zotz deposit. 531 532 Figure B.19. Reconstructed Vessel 12 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. 533 Figure B.20. Reconstructed Vessel 13 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. 534 Figure B.21. Reconstructed Vessel 14 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. 535 Figure B.22. Profile of Reconstructed Vessel 14 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. 536 Figure B.23. Reconstructed Vessel 15 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. 537 Figure B.24. Reconstructed Vessel 16 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. 538 Figure B.25. Reconstructed Vessel 17 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. Figure B.26. Profile of Reconstructed Vessel 17 from the El Zotz Acropolis Deposit. 539 540 Figure B.27. Reconstructed Vessel 18 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. 541 Figure B.28. Reconstructed Vessel 19 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. 542 Figure B.29. Reconstructed Vessel 20 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit. 543 Figure B.30. Reconstructed Vessels 21 & 22 from the El Zotz Acropolis deposit, along with individual fragments constituting "vessels." APPENDIX C CERAMIC RIM PROFILES FROM THE EL ZOTZ DEPOSIT Although many vessels from the El Zotz deposit could be partially reconstructed, several “vessels” consisted of only single or handfuls of sherds. Including the rim profiles of those vessels here provides a (rough) gauge of the quantities of vessels included in the depositional activities atop Str. L7-1. The vessels are predominantly utilitarian – simple monochromes or unslipped wares. The forms tend toward tecomates (wide diameter, deep bowls), ollas (narrow-necked water jars), and occasional thin-walled bowls and vases. As the focus of this project was on the reconstruction of individual vessels in order to understand the patterns of breakage, weathering, and dispersion in the El Zotz deposit, ceramic types descriptors are included, but are superficial characteristics considered secondary to other qualities of ceramic sherds recovered. 544 545 546 547 548 549 550 551 552 553 554 555 556 557 558 559 560 561 562 563 564 565 566 567 568 569 570 571 572 APPENDIX D FAUNAL RECORDING FORMS AND ANALYSIS Figure D.1. Recording forms used in analysis of the El Zotz faunal assemblage, including remains from the Acropolis deposit. 573 Table D.1. Results of faunal analysis of the El Zotz Acropolis deposit.* Sub. Op.- Px Ds Complet Burni Rodent Carnivo Etchi Weath # of Wt. Worked Taxon Elem. Side Unit-Lot (Cr) (CD) eness ng Gnaw re Chew ng ering Frags (g) Bone 2G-2-1 Iguana sp. Dentary/Tth -- -- Left 4 0 0 0 0 0 2 0.2 0 2G-2-1 Iguana sp. Maxilla/Tth -- -- Right 3 0 0 0 0 0 1 <0.1 0 Lg. Bird 2G-2-1 (Meleagris- Scapula Yes -- Right 3 0 0 0 0 1 1 1.2 0 size) Lg. Mam 2G-2-1 Lumbar UF UF Center 5 0 0 0 1 0 1 4.9 0 (Odocoileus?) Costal 2G-2-1 Md. Mam -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 1 0 1 <0.1 1 cartilage frag 2G-2-1 Md. Mam Ribs -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 1 2 0.7 0 2G-2-1 Md. Mam Tibia -- -- ND 2 8 0 0 0 2 1 2.7 0 Odocoileus 2G-2-1 virginianus Antler -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 1 1 5.9 0 yucatanensis Odocoileus 2G-2-1 virginianus Antler -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 1 1 7 1.3 0 yucatanensis Odocoileus 2G-2-1 virginianus Antler -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 1 1 13 7.6 0 yucatanensis Odocoileus 574 2G-2-1 virginianus Antler -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 1 1 2 1.3 0 yucatanensis 2G-2-1 Sm. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 1 0 0 0 0 1 1 0.4 0 Trachemys Shell 2G-2-1 -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 1 2 2.3 1 scripta (Carapace) 2G-2-2 Lg. Bird Pelvis -- -- Center 2 0 0 0 1 1 1 0.8 0 2G-2-2 Lg. Mam Lumbar UF UF Center 2 0 0 0 0 0 1 3.1 0 2G-2-2 Lg. Mam Lumbar -- -- Center 2 0 0 0 0 1 1 0.8 0 2G-2-2 Lg. Mam Lumbar -- -- Center 2 0 0 0 0 1 1 0.5 0 *Codes for “Completeness,” “Burning,” and “Weathering” are indicated in the faunal analysis recording form. “Rodent Gnaw,” “Carnivore Chew,” “Etching,” and “Worked Bone” are indicated by presence (1) or absence (0). 2G-2-2 Lg. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 5 0 0 0 0 1 3 6.2 1 2G-2-2 Lg. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 1 3 3.3 1 2G-2-2 Lg. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 1 4 2.6 1 2G-2-2 Lg. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 0 1 0.6 1 LL/R 2G-2-2 Mazama sp. Ph1 Yes Yes 5 0 0 0 1 0 1 0.8 0 M 2G-2-2 Md. Bird Coracoid Yes Yes Right 3 0 0 0 0 0 1 0.2 0 2G-2-2 Md. Bird Coracoid -- Yes ND 5 0 0 0 1 0 1 <0.1 0 2G-2-2 Md. Bird Humerus -- Yes Right 3 0 0 0 0 0 1 0.2 0 2G-2-2 Md. Bird Humerus -- Yes Right 2 0 0 0 1 1 1 0.2 0 2G-2-2 Md. Bird Humerus -- Yes Right 3 0 0 0 0 0 1 0.2 0 2G-2-2 Md. Bird Scapula Yes -- Left 2 0 0 0 0 0 1 <0.1 0 Tarsometata 2G-2-2 Md. Bird -- Yes Right 3 0 0 0 0 1 1 0.2 0 rsus 2G-2-2 Md. Mam Femur -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 0 1 0.7 1 2G-2-2 Md. Mam Lumbar -- UF Center 6 0 0 0 0 0 2 0.6 0 2G-2-2 Md. Mam Ribs -- -- ND 2 1 0 0 0 1 1 0.5 0 575 2G-2-2 Md. Mam Ribs FU -- Right 3 0 0 0 0 1 1 1 0 2G-2-2 Md. Mam Ribs? -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 0 2 1.1 1 2G-2-2 Md. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 1 3 0.9 0 2G-2-2 Md. Mam Thoracic UF UF Center 4 0 0 0 0 2 1 5.4 0 2G-2-2 Md. Mam Tibia? -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 1 1 2 3.3 0 2G-2-2 Meleagris sp. Humerus -- Yes Right 3 0 1 0 0 0 1 5.7 1 2G-2-2 Meleagris sp. Humerus -- Yes Left 3 0 0 0 0 0 1 5.2 1 2G-2-2 Meleagris sp. Humerus Yes -- Left 2 0 0 0 0 0 1 0.9 0 Odocoileus 2G-2-2 virginianus Femur -- Yes Right 2 0 0 0 0 0 1 7.8 0 yucatanensis Odocoileus 2G-2-2 virginianus Mp -- UF ND 2 0 0 0 1 1 1 1.7 1 yucatanensis Odocoileus 2G-2-2 virginianus Mt Yes -- Left 2 0 0 0 0 1 1 1.9 1 yucatanensis Odocoileus 2G-2-2 virginianus Tth Lw -- -- Left 5 0 0 0 0 0 1 1.1 0 yucatanensis Sm. Bird 2G-2-2 Femur -- Yes Left 4 0 0 0 0 0 1 <0.1 0 (Colinus sp.?) Sm. Bird 2G-2-2 Femur -- Yes Right 4 0 0 0 0 0 1 <0.1 0 (Colinus sp.?) Sm. Bird Tarsometata 2G-2-2 -- Yes Left 2 0 0 0 1 0 1 0.1 0 (Colinus sp.?) rsus Sm. Bird 2G-2-2 Ulna -- Yes Left 4 0 0 0 0 0 1 0.2 0 (Colinus sp.?) 2G-2-2 Sm. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 1 0 0 0 0 0 5 2 0 2G-2-2 Tayassuidae Fibula -- UF ND 3 0 0 0 0 1 1 0.6 0 Very Sm. Mam 2G-2-2 Femur FU -- Right 4 0 0 0 0 0 1 <0.1 0 (Rat-sized) Dasyprocta 2G-4-5 Tth Lw -- -- ND 4 0 0 0 1 0 2 0.5 0 punctata Shell 2G-4-5 Kinosternon sp. -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 1 1 1.4 0 (Plastron) 576 Lg. Bird 2G-4-5 Femur -- Yes Right 2 0 0 0 1 0 1 0.8 0 (Meleagris?) 2G-4-5 Lg. Mam Femur? -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 2 1 5.9 1 Femur? 2G-4-5 Lg. Mam -- -- ND 2 3 0 0 0 0 1 2.7 1 Tibia? 2G-4-5 Mazama sp. Skull -- -- Left 3 0 0 0 0 1 1 0.5 0 2G-4-5 Md. Mam ND Frags -- -- ND 1 0 0 0 0 1 2 1.5 0 2G-4-5 Md. Mam Radius? -- -- ND 2 0 1 0 1 0 1 4.2 0 2G-4-5 Md. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 7 0 0 0 1 1 1.1 0 2G-4-5 Md. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 0 1 0 1 0 1 0.7 0 2G-4-5 Md. Mam Skull? -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 0 1 0.3 0 2G-4-5 Md. Mam Tibia -- -- ND 2 1 0 0 0 1 1 1.9 0 2G-4-5 ND Taxon Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 1 0 2 2.3 1 Odocoileus 2G-4-5 virginianus Ilium FU -- Right 2 3 0 0 0 3 1 3.1 0 yucatanensis Odocoileus 2G-4-5 virginianus Skull -- -- ND 2 4 0 0 1 0 1 0.9 0 yucatanensis Odocoileus 2G-4-5 virginianus Tibia -- -- Left 2 0 0 0 1 1 1 8.8 0 yucatanensis 2G-4-5 Sm. Mam Skull -- -- ND 1 5 0 0 1 0 5 2.2 0 Sm. Mam 2G-4-5 (Dasyprocta- Tth ? -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 1 0 1 <0.1 0 size) 2G-4-5 Sm. Mam? ND Frags -- -- ND 2 2 0 0 0 0 1 <0.1 0 Trachemys Shell 2G-4-5 -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 1 1 7 9.4 0 scripta (Plastron) 2G-6-4 Canidae? Tibia? -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 1 1 3.4 1 Dermatemys Shell 2G-6-4 -- -- Right 2 2 0 0 1 0 2 39.6 1 mawii (Plastron) 2G-6-4 Lg. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 1 2 3.9 0 577 2G-6-4 Md. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 1 0 0 0 0 0 11 3.5 0 2G-6-4 Md. Mam Skull -- -- ND 1 0 0 0 0 1 7 2.3 0 2G-6-4 Md. Mam? ND Frags -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 1 0 1 0.1 0 Odocoileus 2G-6-4 virginianus Antler -- -- ND 2 1 0 0 1 1 1 12.3 0 yucatanensis Odocoileus 2G-6-4 virginianus Antler -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 1 1 7 11.7 0 yucatanensis Odocoileus 2G-6-4 virginianus Mc -- FU ND 3 0 0 0 1 3 2 4.3 1 yucatanensis Odocoileus 2G-6-4 Radius -- FU Left 3 2 0 0 0 2 1 11.3 0 virginianus yucatanensis Odocoileus 2G-6-4 virginianus Radius -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 1 1 1 2.3 0 yucatanensis Odocoileus 2G-6-4 virginianus Scapula -- FU Left 3 0 0 0 1 0 1 14.4 0 yucatanensis Odocoileus 2G-6-4 virginianus Skull -- -- ND 2 2 0 0 1 0 3 4.5 0 yucatanensis 2G-6-4 Sm. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 1 2 0.6 0 Lg. Felid (slightly larger 2G-6-4 Ph1 -- Yes ND 4 0 0 0 0 1 1 0.6 0 than Leopardus pardalis) 2G-6-4-A1 Lg. Mam Ribs Yes -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 0 1 2.1 1 2G-6-4-A1 Mazama sp. Mandible -- -- Right 2 4 0 0 1 0 1 0.8 0 2G-6-4-A1 Md. Mam ND Vert -- -- Center 2 6 0 0 0 1 2 0.7 0 Odocoileus 2G-6-4-A1 virginianus Ischium -- -- Right 2 4 0 0 0 0 1 2.8 0 yucatanensis Odocoileus Centra 2G-6-4-A1 virginianus Sacrum -- -- 2 4 0 0 0 1 1 1.9 0 l yucatanensis Odocoileus 578 2G-6-4-A1 virginianus Ulna -- -- Left 2 0 0 0 1 1 1 0.7 0 yucatanensis Md. Mam 2G-6-4-A1 Ilium -- -- Left 2 4 0 0 0 1 1 1.4 0 (Mazama-size) Odocoileus 2G-6-4-A2 virginianus Humerus UF -- ND 2 5 0 0 0 0 3 4.6 0 yucatanensis Odocoileus 2G-6-4-A2 virginianus Scapula -- FU Left 3 1 0 0 1 0 5 21.7 0 yucatanensis Odocoileus 2G-6-4-A2 virginianus Skull/Ant -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 1 1 5 15.1 0 yucatanensis 2G-6-4-B1 Lg. Mam Mandible -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 0 1 0.5 0 2G-6-4-B1 Lg. Mam Ribs -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 1 1 0.3 0 2G-6-4-B1 Lg. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 1 1 2.6 1 2G-6-4-B1 Lg. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 2 3 4.1 0 2G-6-4-B1 Lg. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 1 0 2 1 0 2G-6-4-B1 Lg. Mam Skull -- -- ND 2 2 0 0 1 0 1 1.1 0 2G-6-4-B1 Lg. Mam Thoracic FU FU Center 5 0 0 0 0 1 1 4.6 0 2G-6-4-B1 Lg. Mam Thoracic -- -- Center 2 0 0 0 1 0 2 2.2 0 Odocoileus 2G-6-4-B1 virginianus Radius FU -- Left 2 0 0 0 1 2 1 18.9 0 yucatanensis Odocoileus 2G-6-4-B1 virginianus Tibia Yes -- Left 3 0 0 0 0 1 2 27.1 1 yucatanensis 2G-6-4-B1 Sm. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 0 1 <0.1 0 Dasyprocta 2G-6-4-B2 Femur -- -- ND 2 8 0 0 0 1 2 2.6 0 punctata Odocoileus 2G-6-4-B2 virginianus Ulna FU -- Left 2 1 0 0 0 2 1 9.9 0 yucatanensis 2G-6-4-C1 Lg. Mam Ribs -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 1 1 1.5 0 2G-6-4-C1 Tayassuidae Skull -- -- Left 2 0 0 0 1 0 1 4.5 0 579 2G-6-4-C2 Md. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 1 0 1 0.6 0 2G-6-4-C2 Tayassuidae Ulna -- -- Left 2 8 0 0 0 1 1 3.9 0 2G-6-4-D1 Lg. Felid Mt FU -- Left 3 0 0 0 0 1 1 1.6 1 2G-6-4-D1 Sm. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 1 2 0 0 0 1 1 <0.1 0 2G-6-4-D2 Md. Mam Mandible -- -- Right 2 0 0 0 1 0 1 0.5 0 2G-6-4-D2 Md. Mam Tibia -- -- ND 1 5 0 0 1 0 1 <0.1 0 2G-6-4-D2 Md. Mam? ND Frags -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 1 4 0.6 0 Odocoileus 2G-6-4-D2 virginianus Antler -- -- ND 2 2 0 0 0 0 1 0.9 1 yucatanensis Sm. Bird Tarsometata 2G-6-4-D2 -- Yes Left? 3 0 0 0 0 1 1 <0.1 0 (Colinus sp.?) rsus 2G-6-4-D2 Sm. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 1 6 0 0 1 2 1 0.1 0 2G-6-4-D2 Sm. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 1 5 0.2 0 Trachemys Shell 2G-6-4-D2 -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 1 1 1 <0.1 0 scripta (Carapace) Shell 2G-6-4-E1 Kinosternon sp. -- -- ND 2 5 0 0 0 1 2 1.5 1 (Carapace) Lg. Bird Carpometaca 2G-6-4-E1 (Penelope Yes -- Left 2 0 0 0 1 0 1 0.3 0 rpus purpurascens?) 2G-6-4-E1 Md. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 1 0 0 0 0 1 2 0.2 0 Odocoileus 2G-6-4-E1 virginianus Humerus -- FU Left 4 1 0 0 1 0 1 44.7 0 yucatanensis 2G-6-4-E1 Sm. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 3 0 0 0 0 0 2 1.8 1 2G-6-4-E1 Sm. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 0 1 0.2 1 2G-6-4-E1 Sm. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 3 0 0 0 0 1 0.3 0 2G-6-4-E1 Tayassuidae Tth Lw -- -- Right 8 0 0 0 0 1 1 3.5 1 Very Sm. Mam 2G-6-4-E1 Femur Yes -- ND 3 0 0 0 0 0 1 <0.1 0 (Mouse-size) Very Sm. Mam 2G-6-4-E1 Femur -- -- Left 3 0 0 0 0 0 1 <0.1 0 (Rat-size) 580 Kinosternon Shell 2G-6-4-E2 -- -- ND 2 5 0 0 0 1 1 1 0 sp.? (Carapace) Shell 2G-6-4-E2 Sm. Turtle? -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 1 2 0.6 0 (Carapace?) Dasyprocta 2G-6-4-F1 Humerus -- -- Right 2 0 0 0 1 0 1 0.4 0 punctata Lg. Felid (slightly larger 2G-6-4-F1 Femur -- -- Left 3 0 0 0 1 0 1 2.9 0 than Leopardus pardalis) 2G-6-4-F1 Md. Mam ND Frags -- -- ND 1 3 0 0 1 1 1 <0.1 0 2G-6-4-F1 Md. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 1 0 0 0 0 2 2 2.1 0 2G-6-4-F1 Md. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 1 1 1 0.3 0 2G-6-4-F1 Sm. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 1 3 0.4 0 2G-6-4-F1 Sm. Mam Skull -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 0 1 <0.1 0 2G-6-4-F2 Lg. Mam Femur -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 1 0 1 4.6 1 2G-6-4-F2 Sm. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 3 0 0 0 0 1 0.2 1 Shell 2G-6-4-F2 Sm. Turtle -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 1 1 1 0.4 0 (Carapace) 2G-6-4-G1 Lg. Mam Femur? -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 0 1 9.6 1 2G-6-4-G1 Sm. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 1 0 0 0 1 1 4 0.7 0 2G-6-4-H1 Lg. Bird Innominate -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 0 1 0.2 0 2G-6-4-H1 Lg. Mam? Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 0 1 0.7 1 2G-6-4-H1 Md.-Lg. Bird ND Frags -- -- ND 1 0 0 0 0 1 7 0.1 0 2G-6-4-H1 Meleagris sp. Synsacrum -- -- Center 3 0 0 0 0 0 2 0.9 0 Tarsometata 2G-6-4-H1 Meleagris sp. -- Yes Right 3 0 1 0 1 0 1 4.7 0 rsus 2G-6-4-H1 Sm. Mam Lumbar FU FU Center 4 0 0 0 0 0 1 <0.1 0 2G-6-4-H1 Sm. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 5 0 0 0 1 1 0.4 0 2G-6-4-H1 Sm. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 1 0 0 0 1 2 0.3 0 581 Very Sm. Mam 2G-6-4-H1 Femur -- FU Left 3 0 0 0 0 0 1 0.3 0 (Rat-size) 2G-6-4-H1 Sm. Turtle Shell (ND) -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 1 1 <0.1 0 2G-6-4-I1 Lg. Bird? Skull? -- -- ND 1 0 0 0 1 0 1 <0.1 0 2G-6-4-I1 Lg. Mam Skull -- -- ND 2 4 0 0 1 0 1 0.7 0 2G-6-4-I1 Md. Mam Skull -- -- ND 2 2 0 0 1 2 8 3.4 0 2G-6-4-I1 Sm. Mam ND Frags -- -- ND 1 4 0 0 0 1 4 0.1 0 2G-6-4-I1 Sm. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 0 4 0.6 0 2G-6-4-I1 Tayassuidae Skull -- -- Right? 2 0 0 0 1 0 1 3.6 0 Trachemys Shell 2G-6-4-I1 -- -- Left 2 0 0 0 0 1 1 0.7 0 scripta (Plastron) 2H-3-4-1 Lg. Mam Femur -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 1 1 2.7 0 2H-3-4-1 Meleagris Humerus Yes -- Left 2 0 0 0 0 0 1 3.4 1 Odocoileus 2H-3-4-1 virginianus Ilium FU -- Left 2 0 0 0 1 1 2 2.6 0 yucatanensis Odocoileus 2H-3-4-1 virginianus Ilium FU -- Left 2 0 0 0 0 3 2 3.3 0 yucatanensis Odocoileus 2H-3-4-1 virginianus Ischium FU -- Left 2 0 0 0 0 0 2 2.8 0 yucatanensis 2H-3-4-2 Lg. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 0 1 1.8 0 2H-3-4-2 Mazama sp. Ilium -- -- Left 2 0 0 0 1 1 1 1.2 0 2H-3-4-2 Mazama sp. Ulna -- -- ND 2 4 0 0 0 2 1 0.1 0 Md. Mam 2H-3-4-2 (Mazama- Mandible -- -- Right 2 5 0 0 0 1 1 3.1 0 sized) Odocoileus LL/R 2H-3-4-2 virginianus Ph1 UF -- 3 3 0 0 1 2 1 3.8 0 M yucatanensis 2H-3-4-3 Mazama sp. Tibia -- -- Right 4 0 0 0 0 1 2 16.6 0 582 2H-3-4-3 Md. Mam Ilium -- -- ND 2 6 0 0 0 1 1 1.6 0 2H-3-4-3 Md. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 4 0 0 0 1 1 0.3 0 Odocoileus 2H-3-4-3 virginianus Mt -- -- ND 2 5 0 0 1 1 2 3.6 0 yucatanensis Sm. Mam 2H-3-4-3 (Cuniculus- Tibia -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 1 1 1.8 1 size) 2H-3-4-4 Mazama sp. Tibia -- UF Right 6 0 0 0 1 0 1 1.5 0 2H-5-4-6 Lg. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 0 1 0.4 0 Md. Bird (between 2H-5-4-6 Femur Yes Yes Left 8 0 0 0 1 0 1 0.6 0 Meleagris and Colinus) 2H-5-4-6 Md. Mam Lumbar -- Yes Center 2 0 0 0 0 0 2 0.8 0 Odocoileus 2H-5-4-6 virginianus Tibia UF -- Right 2 0 0 0 1 1 3 8.3 0 yucatanensis 2H-5-4-7 Lg. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 1 0 1 1.2 0 2H-5-4-7 Lg. Mam Skull -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 1 1 0.5 0 Odocoileus 2H-5-4-7 virginianus Mc -- FU ND 2 4 0 0 0 1 1 3.1 0 yucatanensis Odocoileus 2H-5-4-7 virginianus Mt FU -- Right 2 4 0 0 0 1 1 1 1 yucatanensis 2H-5-4-7 Sm. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 0 1 0.5 0 2H-3-4 Canidae Tth Lw -- -- Right 5 0 0 0 1 0 1 2.3 1 2H-3-4 Lg. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 1 0 1 1.2 1 Odocoileus 2H-3-4 virginianus Femur UF -- Left 2 0 0 0 1 0 1 3.4 1 yucatanensis Odocoileus 2H-3-4 virginianus Mc -- FU ND 2 2 0 0 0 1 1 5.6 1 yucatanensis 2H-4-4 Md. Mam Ribs -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 2 4 2.4 0 Odocoileus 583 2H-4-4 virginianus Femur UF UF Right 5 0 0 0 0 1 2 77.6 0 yucatanensis Lg. Bird 2H-5-4 (Meleagris- Sternum Yes -- Right 2 0 0 0 1 0 1 0.3 0 size) Md. Bird 2H-5-4 (smaller than Tibiotarsus -- -- ND 3 0 0 0 0 0 1 0.6 0 Meleagris) 2H-5-4 ND Taxon Shaft Frags -- -- ND 1 0 0 0 1 0 1 0.4 1 Odocoileus 2H-5-4 virginianus Mc -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 1 1 3 0 yucatanensis Dermatemys Shell 2H-5-4 (1-3) -- -- Right 2 4 0 0 0 1 1 0.7 0 mawii (Plastron) Dermatemys Shell 2H-5-4-1A -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 1 1 3 7.2 0 mawii (Carapace) Odocoileus 2H-5-4-1B virginianus Mt -- -- ND 2 3 0 0 0 1 1 3 1 yucatanensis 2H-5-4-3A Lg. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 4 0 0 0 1 1 0.5 1 2H-5-4-3A Lg. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 5 0 0 0 1 2 1.6 0 Lg. Turtle Shell 2H-5-4-3A (Dermatemys -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 1 1 4 3 0 (Plastron) or Staurotypus) 2H-5-4-3A Meleagris Ribs Yes -- ND 3 0 0 0 1 0 1 0.2 0 Odocoileus 2H-5-4-3A virginianus Radius FU -- Left 2 4 0 0 1 0 1 4.1 0 yucatanensis Odocoileus 2H-5-4-3A virginianus Tth Lw -- -- Left 5 0 0 0 0 0 1 2.9 0 yucatanensis 2H-5-4-4A Lg. Bird Skull -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 0 0 1 0.4 0 2H-5-4-4A Lg. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 5 0 0 0 1 3 3.8 1 2H-5-4-4A Lg. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 4 0 0 0 1 1 1.3 0 2H-5-4-4A Mazama sp. Calcaneus UF -- Right 3 0 0 0 0 1 1 1.4 0 Lg. Felid 2H-5-4-7A (Panthera Ph1 FU Yes Left 8 0 0 0 1 0 1 4.6 0 onca?) 584 2H-5-4-7B Lg. Mam Shaft Frags -- -- ND 2 0 0 0 1 0 1 0.8 1 2H-5-4-7B Md. Mam Tibia UF -- Right 2 0 0 0 1 0 1 1.8 0 Yes Odocoileus (towa 2H-5-4-7B virginianus Femur -- Left 3 2 0 0 0 0 2 6.1 0 rd Ds yucatanensis end) 2H-5-4-8C Canidae Radius -- -- Left 3 0 0 0 1 0 1 5.3 0 2J-1-7 Lg. Mam Cervical -- -- UF 4 0 0 0 0 1 1 16 0 2J-1-7 Md. Mam Ribs -- Yes -- 2 0 0 0 1 0 1 0.6 0 2J-1-7 Md. Mam Shaft Frags -- Yes -- 2 0 0 0 1 0 5 3.4 0 Odocoileus 2J-1-7 Calcaneus -- Yes Yes 4 0 0 0 0 1 1 12.9 0 virginianus yucatanensis Odocoileus 2J-1-7 virginianus Femur -- Yes -- 3 0 0 0 1 0 1 25.2 1 yucatanensis 2J-1-7 Tayassuidae Skull -- -- -- 2 0 1 0 1 0 1 2.2 0 585