Thier is a river that runs through the town of Alguilar. The town depends upon it. It comes from the mountains, winds through the houses of color and leaves again someplace beyond the man bathing his horse. Perhaps it meets another town between the fields of swamp frogs and cattle. It drags the smells and stains of clothes, chicken parts deprived of their meat, and crap far away. Sometimes I think it is the only thing that leaves that town. For all that effort and abuse, that river didn’t even seem to have a name.
We, like the river, came and went in the town of Alguilar. Where the river met thier worldly needs, we aimed to meet thier spiritual ones. When we first arrived, we asked and asked what we could do for the people of the pueblo. The only answer we ever got was prayer, so we prayed. We prayed for their crap, thier stains, their trash and unneeded parts. We prayed for cleansing really. A man should never be hindered by things unseen, only strengthened. We pray for thier strength.
A moment.
A tiny one, scared so many times before, clutches the shin and yells up “ultra”. She wants a quick spin. I pull her up to find a open pocket knife in her grasp to which she says in a small but stern voice. “Cuchilla!” I laugh and we spin again.
A man catches my eyes and pulls me out of the passing conversation in the road. “Tenemos fiesta a la seis..” My head hurts he quickly interrupts. We prayed hard over him, we put the responsibility on God. No other time have I felt helpless in my language barrier.
I look up and see the dress of blue black with the white spots grasping three greenish oranges. Eyes of curiosity follow her from the cracks of wooden structures with smoke rising. She walks with timid steps like a dog to an outstretched strangers hand. A gentile smile cracks as she reaches up and delivers the prize only to walk back in the same manner. The taste of food is often greatly enhanced by presentation. That was a really good orange.
I scraped over the rocks and gargled the water and growled like an alligator. I searched for food, an harm or a head of those that swam near. They taunted with “Come and eat me!” cheers and screams and eventually laughs. I drug many into the deep, except for Marta. Her spirit was too free.
I sat alone outside, next to Alfredo as the ladies cooked the slabs of cow for our last day. I chewed fiercely on the carne asada jerky like meat, and listened to them talk about the gringos. They talked a bit about me, perhaps underestimating my spanish. “Contento” they said…”happy”. And I was.
