Of Human Interest

It was June 1982. I was working on a great gringa tan when my slanted eyes opened long enough to the site of a girl straining with each step in the San Felipe sand. A few minutes passed by and there she stood, shading my face. I said “No Gracias”.



Several years now, I have hardened myself not to even make eye contact. But, this woman said “Especial”. Bring forward her warn and tattered bundle, it was the most beautifully woven fabric with a very unique pattern. Before me laid primitive clay masks hand painted in the most interesting design. I know I had seen this style before. Just where, I couldn’t remember. So, I dismissed it.



I could only understand every other word and the woman’s pronunciation or dialect was really foreign to my ears. So, I called my disinterested and annoyed Mother-in-Law over to translate the negotiations for one of the beautiful masks.

After the transaction, I offered her one of the popular Mexican soft drinks. She declined by vigorously waving her hand side-by-side. Having a second thought, I offered her some water. She smiled and said “jes, peas”. I started by filling the cup up with ice from the cooler. Again, she waving her hand side-by-side. So, I dumped the ice and filled it full of water from our large water jug. (For you younger readers, this was back-in-the-day before mass marketing of individual bottles, now littering our beaches).

Receiving the cup, she said “dank ju”, and drank without pausing for a breath. Both standing together, I also asked if my Mother-in-Law wanted one. Presenting her with a cup (with ice), they began a conversation.

I could only get a few words my Mother-in-Law was saying, “how long... when did you leave... that‘s too bad... and, good luck.” Then, she was on her way.

That night at dinner, I brought up her visit to our little cabana and asked what was their conversation. I come to find out that this woman was from Guatemala. She lived high in the mountains near a lake. Her family had lived there for hundreds of years. Her Father was a farmer and her Mother and sisters weaved and made clothing. Once a week, her family would walk for hours to the next village where they would sell their goods.

She and her son had walked all the way, ferried across, then started walking north again. She was in search of her Mexican husband who left the village two years prior.

When asked why didn’t she just write him off and stay put with her family? She explained that all her family was killed and there was no one left. Bad men raided the village. Her and her son ran into the county side and when they returned, they found their village burned to the ground. That’s when she decided she was no better off staying or looking for her husband in a foreign county. So, she started walking.

Just then my memory jolted. She was Mayan. That explained the familiar design on that mask. I had seen it in books studying Cultural Anthropology. I had also read about their horrific demise. One could spend a lifetime in the United States and never meet a true American Indian. It can also be said for Mexico and their indigenous people.

Several years thereafter, I would see her from a far. After that, she must have started walking north again.

Thank you for reading,
Deb

Thank You Deb........Wonderful story. Its the majical people you can meet while traveling if you keep a positive attitude and an open heart that makes for all the fond memories. Your Mayan friend is special. She has determination, and believes she will find her husband. Hope she did. She deserves a good turn in life now. ++C++

Ice water