When mountains walked, p.18
When Mountains Walked, page 18
…
Clorinda led Maggie all the way back to the roofed patio. Klaus sat working at a laptop computer at one end of the long, deeply varnished wooden table where the Wechslers ate their meals. A greenish light filtered in from the walled garden. Above the barbed wire Maggie could see the sky, a pale, lowering gray. Liliana’s honeycreepers flitted in their cages. The parrot on its T-stand scratched its pale blue eyelid with one claw.
Klaus closed the computer. It beeped, turning itself off. He reversed the stack of papers and weighted it with a carved black stone that Maggie had once held in her palm. An obsidian alpaca, an offering to the Earth Mother, with a hole in its back for fat. Klaus often found Inca things in his test plots. In this country, he said, you could hardly scratch the ground without turning up some fragment of pottery, cloth, bone.
He stood up to greet her. “Maggie! What a nice surprise. You look wonderful.” Harder to imagine Klaus naked on a beach, stoned out of his mind, than Carson. Klaus’s hair was prematurely gray, and he dressed like a missionary, in khakis and a plain blue shirt.
“Liar,” Maggie said, kissing the air left and right of his cheeks. “I haven’t slept.”
“I never lie.” Klaus’s English was so good that he avoided all the normal German mistakes, even rounding the tight corners of his w’s with a barely compressed whistling sound. No “vash-and-vear” from Klaus. “Where is Carson? How long do we have the pleasure of your company?”
“He’s down at the clinic. I decided to take a break,” Maggie lied. “Go back tomorrow.”
“How can you call this a break? Twenty-four hours on a bus? No, stay longer!”
“The clinic’s heating up,” Maggie said, realizing the truth of this. Her life was becoming a rats’ nest, which she’d created. “I sort of need to call my parents. It’s been six months.”
“That will be good,” said Klaus. “Your mother calls every few weeks and gets a bit hysterical. Liliana keeps on saying you’re fine, even though we haven’t seen you. You have letters also. I don’t know where Liliana has kept them.”
“God, how embarrassing,” Maggie said. “Sorry you’ve had to deal with Julia.”
“All mothers are like that,” said Klaus. “You should see Liliana. If the kids are late? Bwaaah!”
Liliana was out shopping. Klaus hoped Maggie didn’t mind relying on memory to find her way around the house. His eyes flashed upward, and she was sure he was observing her hair, a solid slab of bus dust.
“I’d love to wash up.” Hot water, European shampoo.
When she was clean she must come out for coffee on the patio.
At the bathroom sink, Maggie washed her face, neck, waist, and arms in warm water with green herbal soap from Germany. Grime had infiltrated everywhere. The soap smelled clean and delicate, not fake perfumey like Peruvian soaps. Still, she’d lived in this country long enough that its green flecks looked like defects that should have been removed. She felt proud of this perception and stored it up for Carson.
“Why don’t you just take a bath?” Clorinda was standing in the doorway with fresh towels. Apparently she’d been watching for some time. Maggie almost lost her balance; she’d been standing on one leg, the other leg bent, holding her foot under the tap.
“Gringos are special,” Maggie said preemptively. “Special” was a mild, teasing insult in Peru.
“Very special,” Clorinda agreed, smiling rather darkly, Maggie thought.
Now they heard the front gate clatter, and the rumble of the Jeep. Clorinda made a caught-in-the-act face and sped off down the hallway, and Maggie sat on the edge of the tub to put on her crusty, crumpled socks. In the living room Liliana was arriving, wearing her hat and sunglasses from the market. Behind her came the driver carrying two large baskets full of produce. “Maggie! You came!” Liliana cried, rushing toward her. “Oh, I’m so happy! Your mother is very worried. We were both wondering when we would ever see you again.”
Maggie kissed her cheek, bright as metal. Liliana’s hands on her shoulders were strong. It felt nice, all this enthusiasm. Where was Carson? Would she like something to drink? Breakfast? Did she need a shower? Rest? Panchito was at school in Buenos Aires, so Maggie could have his room for as long as she cared to stay. She hoped Maggie didn’t mind a boy’s room, the girl’s was being used for storage.
Lunch was shredded flank steak and cabbage in a warm vinaigrette; boiled yams; a salad of watercress, red onion, farmer cheese, and tomato; French rolls and Gouda cheese and real butter, because Cajamarca was a dairy area; and Chilean wine thick as blood, furry from the heat of its desert. For dessert Liliana promised one of the guanábana meringue pies that made Clorinda irreplaceable.
As they ate, Liliana said that anorexia was the style in Buenos Aires—even Panchito was looking very thin. No, argued Klaus, he refused to believe Panchito had a psychiatric condition. He was just a slave of fashion.
Klaus’s experiments were either failures or successes, depending on how you looked at them. In his most recent field test, he’d set loose a thousand beetles hoping they’d eat another type of beetle. In no time, a flock of birds had swooped down and devoured the good and bad species alike. An unexpected result, an experiment worth repeating! Then, when it was Maggie’s turn to talk, the Wechslers were proud of her for saving a baby, but said she’d been brave or foolish to treat an infant all alone. Had it died, the villagers might have stoned her. Did she know that unattractive legend about the Pishtaco, a white man in uniform who ate the fat off children? Had she heard how mothers threatened their children: “Do what I say or else the gringa will come and give you an injection”?
“Along those lines . . .” Maggie told them about the Canadian mine and Lady Maggy’s poor reflexes. She’d combed through every statement in advance to make sure it bore no hint of Vicente.
“Report to the health officer immediately,” said Klaus. “For your own protection.”
“But he won’t do anything, and we aren’t sure it’s real.”
“You know it is real,” Klaus assured her. “How can it not be real? Even if he does nothing, if there is any complaint? Better he has your report.”
“We’ll get kicked out for interfering with foreign exchange.”
Klaus and Liliana both admitted this was possible. “In Peru,” Klaus began, but then he stopped because Clorinda had tiptoed in to remove the plates smeared with yellow and red oils. He continued speaking when the maid had barely stepped away. In Peru, he said, it was never important to find out the cause of a problem, only to assign blame.
Maggie had always hated this gringo habit of talking on, deprecating local flaws in the presence of the servants, even if the servants didn’t speak the language. Now she saw that a sudden silence was just as damaging. There was no solution. Looking at Clorinda’s bra strap cutting into her retreating back, she knew all of their existences to be unjustified.
She asked Klaus and Liliana how they’d navigated their lives here, especially during the years of violence. Had they never been tempted to leave?
“Klaus refuses,” said Liliana, smiling brilliantly.
“I minded my business,” Klaus said. Reaching for his wife’s hand, he added that they were both lucky enough to lack personal enemies. Klaus also believed that the Sendero had noticed that his work benefited campesinos. He began a long story about how they’d sent a cell member to accost him at a bank window just as he drew his paycheck. Meanwhile, Liliana cut huge slabs of pie, and Maggie protested, and Liliana insisted she was too thin, as anorexic as Panchito.
Then Klaus declared: “You and Carson better buy a two-way radio.”
“We’d need a mighty big transmitter to get out of the canyon walls,” Maggie said, taking a bite of pie. The fruit had a slick, collapsing texture. It tasted like roses and corruption, smoke and perfume. Its slight bitterness was masked by four layers of sweet meringue.
“What are Mommy and Daddy giving you for Christmas?”
Klaus would never speak to Carson so disrespectfully. Maggie explained that Carson believed it better not to own a radio. “You know how people are. They already think we’re from the CIA, the DEA, and the FBI.” She changed the subject, inviting Klaus and Liliana down to visit, to see the clinic. “I’ll get Fortunata to make her green corn soup.”
“Green corn is not in season until January,” said Klaus.
“Stuffed hot peppers, then.”
He nodded and smiled, but Maggie didn’t think he was agreeing.
“More pie,” Liliana commanded.
“I have reasons for what I say,” said Klaus.
“Klaus, this poor girl is eck-sausted,” Liliana said. “Maggie, Klaus is right, but he will save his lecture for later on. Yes?”
Under clean sheets, beneath Panchito’s poster of a sweating, straining Michael Jordan, Maggie fell asleep like a child come home from the wars. Even the smell of Panchito’s sneakers, piled messily in the closet, was reassuring. When she woke up it was cold and the light had changed. Her first coherent thought was of Vicente. She couldn’t remember whether he was staying in Cajamarca overnight or not.
Her watch said four-thirty. She dressed rapidly and went out to the patio, where Klaus was still working. Liliana had gone to pick up the children, and the government health office closed for the day at lunch. With some satisfaction Klaus told her that if she wanted to go to the phone office to call her parents, she could not, since a bomb threat had just been placed on all the Entel offices in the country.
“Whose threat?” Maggie tried to keep the urgency out of her voice.
“Who cares? They are all a manga de tarados, a bunch of morons,” Klaus said. “They want attention but they have no program.” In Cajamarca the bomb squad had found nothing, and surely the whole threat would be dismissed tomorrow. Entel was too expensive in any case. Maggie should make her calls from the house, though it was early yet. Maybe she wanted to read her mother’s letters first.
Klaus led her into his study, just off the patio. This was a room she hadn’t seen, ill painted an ugly, shiny tan color. Two long tables set at right angles supported a jumble of electronic equipment: a fax machine, a telephone, a radio telephone, a full-sized computer, an outmoded dot-matrix printer. All of the electrical cords played through two large, humming red boxes with luminous dials, voltage regulators. One wall was covered with maps of the departments of La Libertad and San Martin, stuck with pins that must represent Klaus’s projects.
Maggie found herself wondering whether Klaus himself was in the CIA. She often had odd, Peruvian reactions to gringos, reactions that would have included her had she been standing outside herself. She stepped closer to find Piedras on the map. No sign of it—the map had not been revised since 1960. She found that it did show the oroya crossing, a tiny stylized canoe; and the Hacienda Chigualen, a maze of structures with one lone building set apart with a rounded end and a cross—the chapel. “You’ve got three pins in the Rosario,” she observed.
“Oh, those are ten years old,” Klaus said, leaning over her shoulder. “Potatoes and bananas. Did you and Carson visit El Mirador yet?” No. “You should. It’s much more beautiful than Piedras. Their fiesta in April is quite interesting.” He handed Maggie the stack of letters, which had been imprisoned under the claws of a stuffed armadillo. The vast majority had come from her mother. She feared their content, but found the envelopes reassuring, crackling blue tissue paper addressed in Julia’s uniform, ladylike hand. Klaus recommended she station herself on the living room couch, to read them under the alpaca blanket.
12
March 13. Dear Maggie, How is everything down South? Sending loving thoughts to you each day. Excuse no paragraphs—must cram all on 1 sheet lest P. O. employees be tempted by fat envelope. Ye olde trichés of’S. America. Tulips coming in here. Dad accepted at Longwood Club on 1st March. Happy as clam, alas hurt back same weekend, practicing for Spring tournament. Abed complaining 3 days, now hobbling & cheery until reminded of entry cancellation! (Yours Truly relieved, thinks tournament too competitive, no longer a game.) How are you adapting to new life? And Carson? Happy in his healing work? Hope you are not infected with yellow fever or worse. I do long for news. Friends ask, I don’t know what to say. Please send a letter soon. Love, Mom. P. S. We phoned your Grandmother on her 79th. She forgot she had a granddaughter in Peru. Next yr. we’ll have sm. party for her 80th (despite unpleasant age reminder! Better to unite loved ones in life than at graveside). Pis. return to our hemisphere B4 then. When vacation? You’re v. v. important to us you know. TAKE CARE. Love, Mom and Dad.
April 10. Dear Mags: Sonia, Alexandre and boys here from Paris for 2 weeks. Left yesterday. Cal & I loved visit but now enjoying quiet. Boys sound like little geniuses speaking fluent French, tho’ Alfred does poorly in 2nd grade. Your sis. thinks he’d be better off in U.S. school? Pipe dream, alas, as Alexandre cld not get licensed in U.S. They took away j suitcases of sneakers and appliances. Quite worried now, no word from darling youngest in over 3 mos. Hope you’re enjoying self? All well, my letters coming? (Silly question, if not.) Spring rains, cold here, gray & damp, good for ducks, flowers. Love, your mother, Julia. [Undated, postmarked April 28.] Dear Maggie, Hate to put such news into a letter but see no alternative. Your Grandmother is in hospital. She was suffering from dizzy spells & just like her told no one. Monday, fell getting out of bed. Luckily boyfriend (!) had spent night (!), & called an ambulance. What a way (!) to learn that my mother (your Grandmother!) is involved w/someone, but we must be grateful. Name: Lester Weeks. Married 4X (at their age I spose this matters less) w/ grown children from all xcept last wife. (She, short-term, bombshell, 35!!) Owns antique shop, downtown Boston. Flexible hours, loyal to your G.M.—always at hospital when I call. On wknd. I’ll take train up to help G.M. reinstall self@ home. No bones broken. Drs. say elbow bruised with poss. nerve damage, awaiting further tests on heart & brain. How soon can you fly home? I called number you gave and Mrs. W. (lovely lady) kindly says that in a real emergency she can get driver to you in y[ a day. But she has not heard from you. If something happens (God forbid) to you, how is anyone to know f Your old Ma wishes you’d live near a phone, movie theater, grocery. What is the attraction of poverty, filth, danger? Things life is better without & most societies endeavor to outgrow. Where is nearest police station & do they have telephoneCal reading papers, says Peru on good track. NYT, WSJ report phone share speculation! No kidding, I know rural areas are “underserved.” I’ll buy stock (joke). Cal & I wonder daily how you are. Pis, pis call or write ASAP. Love, Mom.
May 10. Dear Mag, Your Grandmother discharged from hospital after only 4 days, all tests neg., don’t relax yet, see below. 1st the good news, Cal’s back fully healed & he’s having swing videotaped as preventive. Yr. 2 nephews building model space station in tiny Paris living room. Cal & I ordered from toy catalog, unaware of size, now Sonia unsure it will fit thru door! May have to hang from ceiling—boys forbid slicing. Here in CT, drought & heat. ‘Tis but May, already given up on lawn, don’t care what neighbors think! Yr Grandpa Johnny pooh-poohed climate change. Wish he were here to explain why shade plants die. I planted bachelor’s buttons and African marigolds so at least we’ll have some flowers. Does it ever rain on you? I try to imagine your’S.A. honeymoon cottage. Tile roof? Bougainvilleaf You, or maid, keeping spic and span? Tropical abodes are charming, tho’ yrs. truly never liked small sharers (bats cucarachas lizards, r— —and’s— —). Ok, now bad news, I did call Mrs. W. again but not wanting to mention family trials to stranger said nothing xcept when did she plan to see you. Again she did not know. If we don’t hear from you by 31st May I must ask her to send driver doum and fetch. Well here goes a 2nd page.
After what I saw at yr Grandmother’s house it is my feeling and your Father’s that she is deteriorating, despite tests, no longer competent to live alone. Says anything—filler for memory lapses—filth and impropriety—insulting fabrications, all symptoms of mental waning. For ex. while I was there, neighbor paid visit, professional woman, lawyer, to show off recently adopted baby from Colombia thinking G.M. would be interested. G.M. spoke Spanish to baby, made it cry, tho’ ‘twas only 10 months old, and then G.M. accused new Mother of slave trading! Rude, volatile is one thing but then also gets out in car and drives. Has killed the balsam in her drive w! much backing into. House not thoroughly cleaned. ETC ETC ETC No sense of own condition. You’ll believe when you see, if not from my lips. We must take steps before serious problem occurs. I am asking you to return to the U.S. no later than July 4 to help, advise. Will pay for Carson too ifnec. (Flyer miles.) (Can hardly ask Sonia, considering job, 2 boys in school, plus recent long visit w/boys and hubby in tow.) Have not mentioned anything to your G.M., you know how stubborn she is & resistant. Am also thinking: soft spot for you, listens more to you than anyone, you can ease transition. Solution could be simple, hiring Salvadoran, free rent to a student as you had. Must also consider, visit homes, sunset villages, communities, nice older professional people lectures, activities, doctors, etc. Do keep open mind! Plan to stay at least 3 wks. American ticket counter at Lima has prepaid tix for you. RSVP-ASAP-PPP (extra p’s = pleases). Your loving mother and father.
…
At five-fifteen, Laurita and Klaus Junior clattered in wearing school smocks. Maggie smiled and sat up, and the children greeted her as cheerfully as trained seals, but before she could think of something fun to say, they disappeared, backing swiftly from the room, as if she were a sick person they’d never met before.
Minutes behind them, Liliana found Maggie immersed in an anthropology book she had discovered in the wall unit. One of the Wechslers’ few books in English, it explained all cultures in terms of their consumption of animal protein, even Aztec human sacrifices.
“Qué tal?” Liliana perched at the edge of an armchair, glancing at the envelopes and papers scattered across the coffee table. Now she was dressed in a nubbly, dark green silk pantsuit with a heavy silver necklace.
