He held the tiny door open while Rafael and I crawled inside, then followed us and sealed it shut. Then he led us down a narrow flight of wooden steps that squeaked alarmingly underfoot We wound up in what must have been the sub-basement of the church. By the fitful light of the candle, I saw that the walls on either side of us were constructed at an odd angle—the upper part of the wall was perpendicular to the floor, but the lower wall sloped down like a ramp. Several of the stones on the upper, vertical portion were carved. Despite the fact that this carving had been defaced, I could tell that it was centuries old. I’d seen enough Mayan glyphs by now to recognize their boxy shape, even if the picture-words they once contained had long since worn away.