The Lost One (p. 2)
1 | 2 | 3 It became obvious as the afternoon progressed that EIvir was not going to reach Lima that day. His amly training had helped him to come out of his fall from the truck with just a few bumps and scrapes, none of which hurt for more than five minutes. But even his healthy legs couldn't traverse the miles -- however many there were -- to Lima before dark.
Descending into a narrow valley between ridges colored dull gray by the weather, Elvir began searching the hazy mountainsides for signs of habitation. He remembered discouragingly that the lure of a better life and the pressure of failing land had created large empty belts between the cities, swaths of deserted farmland left to wither untended.
Yet on the slope ahead and to Elvir's right, there seemed to be rows of some plant. He left the road and approached them, discovering that they were like overgrown shoots of crabgrass, long veined ends drooping down from the central stalk. But jutting out from the sides were ears of corn.
"So this is what a corn plant looks like," he muttered, feeling a wet leaf whose broad green surface was scarred with brown.
He raised his head, looking for the house of the person responsible for the crop. On the knee of the mountain, nestled back against the hillside, Elvir made out a smudge that soon resolved into a roof, walls, and a door. He traced the footpath that ran from it down through the cornfield to a point some meters further down the road.
Elvir reached the house breathing heavily from jogging up the path with his pack dragging his shoulders back toward the paved road, toward Lima and Johnson-Stutz's ship. The house, he could now see, was made of crumbling adobe brick shorn up with pockmarked field stone. The roof was a thick, dirty, and disheveled mat of thatch, sagging at spots and ragged where it jutted out from the walls. A porch had been made out of a sheet of warped plywood tied to two rough posts and propped against the roof. Under this shelter sat a weathered man in a woolen poncho and knit cap. An odd wooden shaft, with a cap of black iron sticking out at right angles to one end, was clamped between his knees while he yanked on the cord that he wrapping around it.
Elvir walked around to approach the man from the front. Barely pausing in his work, and not lifting his head from the wrappings of cord, the man said, "Allillanchu."
"Buenos dias," replied Elvir, guessing that he had been greeted in Quechua, the nearly extinct native language of the highlands.
"Ah!" exclaimed the man, lifting his head to observe Elvir's urban garb -- a worn brown sweater and faded jeans -- and carefully setting his item down on the earth. He rose and clasped Elvir's hand. "iBuenos dias! What brings you here, good sir? I am Pascual Yupanqui de Santa Cruz."
"I'm Alfonso Arriaga Elvir. I was headed for Lima, but I fell from the truck and I need a roof for the night."
"Ah, yes you would," replied Santa Cruz, his face dropping into a smile whose creases were not well-established. "This house is small, but it may be that we can find room for a third person. It has been some time since we have had a guest." Santa Cruz drew Elvir under the porch, then paused to pick up the item he had been working on. Elvir's foot was nearly on the doorstep when he realized that Santa Cruz had returned to his repairs. Elvir looked from the open door to Santa Cruz and back several times, not sure if it would be rude to invite himself in.
"I am sorry I cannot offer you the wannth of a hearth and a cup of chicha," apologized Santa Cruz. "My wife has taken a meal out to those helping to harvest the potatoes on my brother-in-law's land and has not yet returned. I would be there also, but my kuti broke earlier today." He gestured to the L-shaped tool -- a sort of hoe, it seemed -- that he was repairing.
"Your wife?" asked Elvir, not sure he saw the connection.
Santa Cruz responded with a chuckle. "Well, of course. You don't think I would let you into her house and then serve you chicha like a woman." He turned back to his work. "But then again, maybe it is done differently in the city."
Elvir sat down on his heels. Of course it was done differently in the city. Anyone with enough sense to move off the land knew that you couldn't get very far if you had to continually be waiting in the rain for your wife to come open the door for you and pour you a drink.
Elvir took a closer look at the kuti which Santa Cruz was working so diligently on. The black iron head, set at a right angle to the long handle, was scratched and slightly dented from long years of hacking at the potato fields. The wooden handle was darkened with age, and given a satiny sheen from the abrasion of tough-skinned hands. The whole apparatus looked fragile, as if with the next stroke it aimed at the hard soil it might splinter into a thousand pieces. Confinning Elvir's analysis, a jagged crack ran across the shaft, partially obscured by and bound finnly together with the tight-wrapped cord.
"Do you think that's going to hold?" Elvir asked, breaking he uncomfortable silence.
"What? This?" asked Santa Cruz, tapping the snugged-up wraps of cord.
"Yeah. Why not just buy a new one, and save yourself this trouble?"
Santa Cruz regarded Elvir with perplexion in his eyes. "But this kuti has some years of use left in it. As long as I do not dig frantically, like a young man, I may continue to break the earth with it for a good while."
"What happens when it breaks again, and again? Each time it'll get weaker, it'll have more string and less wood on it." Elvir noticed with a touch of embarrassment that the curiosity in his voice had given way to sort of a challenging air. It was, after all, just a kuti.
Santa Cruz paused and looked up at Elvir. "Why should I not make the most of the kuti I have? And why do you care how I treat my tools?"
"No, it's ... it's just ...You can't go on fixing things forever. Eventually you'll need a new one. Just like eventually the soil will give out, no matter how much lime or how much fertilizer you dump on it."
"Ah, the land. Well, that is a different thing. The land has fed us since the days of the Incas."
"But it won't forever. The factories that process the lime are the same ones helping to poison your soil. You won't be able to keep it productive."
"You seem to have very little faith. And also a great interest in my land, which I do not understand."
"Faith!" exclaimed Elvir, getting to his feet and spreading his arms wide in exasperation.
"You are of our blood, at least somewhat," expanded Santa Cruz. "Do you not trust in God? In our father the sun or our uncles the mountains? Why would they stop caring for us?"
"They can't even care for themselves!"
Elvir began to pace to calm himself down.
"Have you seen the sun temple at Copacabana? It's a rotten lump of stone squatting above a white valley that used to be part of Lake Titicaca. And the cathedral in Huancavelica? The last earthquake knocked the roof in, and nobody bothered to put forth the money to fix it, or even sweep the rubble off the sidewalk."
"The Earth will be continually renewed." There was a bit of a sigh in Santa Cruz's voice. "They say that long ago, before the Flood, anyone who died would return to life five days later . But soon there were so many people in the world that they began to run out of food. So they cried out to God, and He decreed that all things should eventually die fully, so that something else might live."
"But what's living now?" Elvir tried to tone his voice down from a demand. "That corn with all the black scars on it? Or how about you? That dark splotch on your cheek looks like cancer, my friend, from too much unprotected exposure to your father the sun, who is now cutting through an atmosphere that is weakening all the time. Or how about the soldiers who fought to see if Peru or Bolivia would get to drink the last glass ofwater from Lake Titicaca?"
"God's will will be revealed in his own time." The words emerged from a tight jaw.
"G ... hi ... b ...," Elvir's hands clenched into claws as his brain struggled to form words. He turned away from Santa Cruz, hoping not to offend the man who had been so generous a moment ago, although he still hadn't let them into the house.
*** Several times during the meal, Santa Cruz's wife Solamina said things in Quechua which Elvir did not understand, though he had no trouble understanding her apologetic tone, or gestures toward the various dishes. He wished he knew how to assure her that the food was just fine, but he knew next to no Quechua, and Solamina quite obviously knew as little Spanish. Santa Cruz looked at his guest grimly, causing Elvir to guiltily eat everything that was set before him. The food, which came in greater quantities than he had expected, consisted of roasted potatoes, overcooked beans, and a sort of mashed corn paste thinly laced with aji pepper. He remembered the prices demanded by street vendors for the potent lowland fruit, and came to the conclusion that the aji had been brought out to commemorate the presence of their guest. He felt even guiltier now At least she hadn't cooked any of the guinea pigs that he could hear, if not see, running around the packed-earth floor in the relative silence that had been globbed onto the dinner ambiance with a large spoon like the one that had deposited the aji and corn onto his plate.
Elvir took another gulp of the chicha Santa Cruz's chicha resembled an alcoholic corn milkshake, far thicker and more filling than the watery brew offered in the streets of Huancavelica. As he lowered the cup, he saw Santa Cruz looking at him, one hand holding his own cup by the rim and turning it restlessly.
"You have yet to explain to us what brings you to our home," he said bluntly.
"I am on my way to Lima, to board the ship going to the Colony."
"Colony?"
"Yes. The Colony. The new Earth, out in space." Elvir gestured vaguely at the ceiling.
Santa Cruz frowned disapprovingly.
"Look." Elvir groped in his back pocket until he found the brochure. He unfolded it and shoved it toward Santa Cruz, who carefully lifted it off the table. He held the battered paper away from his face so that his eyes could focus on it. He contemplated the drawing of the rocket and the Johnson-Stutz logo, then began to slowly page through it. Elvir saw that Santa Cruz's eyes rested on one spot and then another, rather than scanning back and forth. Naturally, anyone with enough education to be functionally literate had remained in the cities, where there was money to be made teaching in the schools that Elvir had never been able to afford to attend.
Having examined all of the illustrations, Santa Cruz deposited the brochure in front of Elvir.
"So what does it say?"
Elvir sighed. "The Americans have discovered a new world, and set up a colony there. To make it run, they need men who are willing to work to establish a new and better life there. Their company, Johnson-Stutz Resources Development, is offering jobs to anyone who can afford a seat on the ship that is scheduled to launch from outside Lima in a few days.
"And you intend to go?" Santa Cruz's voice was cold and featureless.
"Yes." Elvir strove to match Santa Cruz's detachment, not desiring an emotional outburst like the one in front of the house that Santa Cruz had luckily taken in good humor.
"Do you have any money?" Santa Cruz regarded Elvir's well-wom sweater with raised eyebrows.
"While I was in the anny, my family died in the Epidemic," Elvir replied, somewhat more defensively than he would have liked. "They left me their savings."
He wished his brother's wallet was with him at the table, rather than securely hidden in his pack, which sat next to the pallet that Solamina had arranged for him to sleep on (though several guinea pigs were using it now). He had an urge to touch the wallet, to reassure himself that the money so fortuitously gained had not slipped away as easily.
Santa Cruz fixed Elvir with an unnervingly unwavering gaze as he raised his cup and took a leisurely draught. Then lowering the chicha, he asked:
"Why?"
"Why? Why do I want a job? Why do I want to make something of my life? Why do I want to rise above the smog-shrouded tin and plywood shacks, lined up along narrow alleys like drunks in a public restroom, where I was born?"
"Why ," cut in Santa Cruz as Elvir began to gesture exasperatedly, "do you want to leave the Earth?"
"What?" Elvir couldn't believe Santa Cruz's question, or the naively uncomprehending tone in which it had been asked. "Because the jobs are in the Colony, not on the Earth! Johnson-Stutz is even closing down its plants here, like the tin refineries in Puno or the zinc smelter in Huancavelica."
You would leave the Earth for such a job?" Santa Cruz's tone made it sound like the proposed trip were a betrayal of some sort, the way he might say, "You would leave your wife and your sick mother for a job?"
Elvir squinted at his host. "What's wrong with leaving the Earth? You make it sound like some sort of sin! But the Earth is all screwed up. We can't breathe its air, we can't drink its water, and we can't afford its food. The Colony is untouched. We can do it right, make it last longer and work better than the Earth."
"You would lose yourself to gain a few more years?"
"Lose myself?" Elvir stifled a chuckle of disbelief. "But I'm gaining everything! I would lose myself if I passed up this opportunity and stayed here, waiting for the air and food to get too expensive to refine, and I die poor and unnoticed."
"God made men to live on the Earth, and made Earth to support men," explained Santa Cruz with an air of drawn patience. "If God had meant for men to live on the Colony, would they not have been there to greet the American ships?"
Elvir let out a disbelieving sigh.
"The Colony is a great opportunity -- a gift from God, if you like. It's the only thing that can save the men who are so divinely suited to the Earth." Elvir tried not to put quotation marks around "divinely suited," but was not entirely successful. "Does the Earth exist to support us now? Ask yourself that next time you run your drinking water through a filter, or you harvest potatoes no bigger than your own nose." He brandished one of the diminutive tubers from the meal in progress.
"That is not God's fault," replied Santa Cruz, irritation beginning to show in his carefully controlled voice. "And I have not lost faith in the earth, in the mountains, in the springs which were put there to provide for us. God will care for his children, but he cannot help those who run away from the place that He made for them."
"That's what your problem is," Elvir declared, realizing that he should not have pounced on such an accusatory statement only after he had stabbed his finger at Santa Cruz and nearly risen from his chair. Struggling to compose himself, he went on. "You just wait for somebody else to fix your problems. Your world is dying, and all you can say is, 'Oh, God will handle it.' But I'm going to take the initiative. I'm going to find a way to survive and to make progress, while you die of cancer waiting for God to ... kiss your boo-boo and make it all better." A flash of anger, quickly subdued, in Santa Cruz's eyes immediately made Elvir regret that last bit.
"That attitude is why we have a problem," replied Santa Cruz in a voice turned frighteningly cold. "Had people been content to let God provide for them what he willed -- we used to say 'Give us this day our daily bread' -- and not been so consumed with grabbing for a better spot, a fancier house, and a thicker wallet, there would be no scars on my corn. There would be no poison in my water. My brother in law's potatoes would be bigger than my fist." He brandished the aforementioned organ in a strangely non-threatening way.
"Don't start blaming me," growled Elvir. "The Earth had to wear out eventually, and we have found a new home just in time. Now those of us with any sense, with any desire to better our lot, are going to get out of here and the human race will survive. But those of you who are content to let God handle things will die here."
"And the mountains there, will they be your uncles? Will the streams know your name? Will your father the sun light your way? Will God even know where you are?"
"My father is not the sun! He's a corpse piled with a thousand others in a grave in Huancavelica! And the rest of my family, uncles and all, are in there with him!" Elvir realized he was shouting. He cradled his head in his hand and took a deep breath. "The mountains are just lumps of stone. The sun is a ball of burning gas." He took a gulp ofhis chicha, the alcohol in the thick drink flaming in his throat in harmony with his thoughts.
"Then you are lost already. Chinkan. You have forgotten God here. Why should he bother to look for you, to look out for you, there?"
"When the Earth is a grave and the Colony thrives, we shall see who is chinkan." Elvir did his best to imitate Santa Cruz's fluid Quechua pronunciation, hoping that the word had been said in Quechua for emphasis, rather than for any difference in meaning from the Spanish perdido. It was actually rather appropriate that a word from the dying rural Quechua language be used to describe someone who was unable to take his fate into his own hands and make progress toward a new and better life.
"¡Dejen!" shouted Solarnina suddenly, her Spanish rough but recognizable as a command to stop.
Elvir's gaze went instantly to her as he realized, with some embarrassment, that he had forgotten the woman's presence since she had stopped apologizing for the quality of the food. She stood up, glaring alternately at the two men.
"No ...speak my husband -- to my husband -- all night!" she ordered, in a voice firm and far less shrill than her initial outburst. Then she turned to Santa Cruz and began to speak rapidly in Quechua. Santa Cruz nodded slowly, all the while glaring injuredly out of one eye at Elvir. Elvir guiltily averted his eyes as he made his way over to the pallet near his pack, scaring off the guinea pigs that had been napping there.
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