Chapter 13: Early May

On Wednesday 1st May I was violently awakened. It wasn’t even 6am.The gang of girls were screaming like mad through my bedroom. I looked up sleepily. “Happy birthday, dear Mikel, happy birthday to you.”

My first kiss was from my dear Luisa, then I lost count. So many young women hugged and kissed me. When I held our doctor in my arms, everything suddenly went quiet. I could only hear a few of the teenagers whispering. Luca and Diego came into my bedroom. They were carrying something heavy, covered by a blanket.

Suddenly there was complete silence. Lenya and Babette came forward. “Michael, we wanted to make you very happy on your 44th birthday. We had started to make a symbolic figure for you and us shortly after Christmas.” Lenya nodded to her friend.

Babette continued. “The first thing that burned you into our hearts and into the hearts of the villagers was averting the danger posed by the two wild pumas. The women in the village were especially grateful to you.”

Now Sula continued. “Just as cool was the fact that I, or rather we, were allowed to raise the puma cubs. My puma girl Hana was then the model for your gift. Luca and Diego finished it after they came to the valley. Thank you, Luca, thank you, Diego. Show Michael our gift.”

Diego pulled the cloth off the figure. The girls shouted in unison: “Happy birthday!”

It was a beautifully carved, uniquely wonderful wooden figure of a young mountain lioness, shaded in the reddish tones of her fur. It was carved from a single piece of wood, more than thirty centimetres high. Where had my girls found such a thick tree? How had they managed to create the shape? Speechless at first, I stroked the wonderfully smooth surface, then looked at my well-wishers with gratitude.

Daja proudly reported that she, along with Luca and Diego, had done the finishing work, sanding and polishing everything. But it was Babette who had the idea, who had found the piece of wood and taken it to the plumber’s workshop with the digger, where she had worked out the basic shape with the chain saw. Ananda had drawn the figure beforehand and helped with the design.

“Thank you. You are all so incredibly kind, full of feeling for what is the right gift. Where shall we put the figure? You should see it every day.”

My birthday present found its place on the large coffee table in the foyer. Mayari gave me a crocheted blanket from the women of the village, just the right size for the wooden figure. They had thought of everything.

That evening Esther invited us to a party in the village ‘saloon’. The women would prepare a wonderful meal, but we were to bring the Sirtaki music.

I’d rather not write about the fantastic birthday party that night. It was only in bed that I was able to let go of my emotions. I was full of happiness and joy after thanking every woman in the palazzo with love. Shortly afterwards, Ramona cried with me when she went to check on me. We kissed, giggled, and laughed like teenagers, tears rolling down our cheeks again and again. Finally, I relaxed in her arms in her bed. Today, I wonder how I, how anyone, could emotionally withstand so much joy, so much love, so much happiness.

The time we spent together in the valley gave me not only inner joy, but also strength, inner peace, and a positive kind of self-confidence. There was only one basic attitude for me: not to disappoint anyone, to give back joy, strength, and happiness to every person in the valley as often as possible. I felt so incredibly good. What God had given me this life? Who was watching over us and helping us with every problem? I was sure that here in the mountains of the Andes there was a divine power that supported us with love. My heart was warm with gratitude. My senses relaxed.

When Moni’s son Martin called for his morning meal, I woke up relaxed and smiling. For the first time, I felt the need to express my gratitude for my uniquely beautiful life, but I didn’t know if a prayer, a dance of joy or a loud shout into the mountains would reach our protector. So, I decided to generously share my happiness beyond the borders of the valley. I wanted as many people as possible to feel that those who receive love should also give love. This was certainly the right message for our patron saint.

Finally, I retired to the terrace with a notepad. Cara brought me a cup of tea and an ashtray. As I smoked a cigarette, I jotted down important questions, as was my habit:

1. What will happen to Daryna? If she stays, what tasks will she take on?

2. How do we organise the next few weeks with the expected births? How do we organise childcare?

3. When is the right time to bring the ten girls to us? Their board and lodging have only been paid for until 21 May.

4. What happened to Heidy? Was her treatment correct or did I overdo it?

5. What will happen to the other families in the mountain village? I had already heard since Enzo and Juan had disappeared from the village and that other families wanted to move in with us because important helpers were no longer there.

6. What about the strange Katharina? Who does she work for or whom has she sold information about us to?

7. Should we expect another attack and if so, when and by which enemy forces?

The next day I emailed Ernesto about Heidy. He confirmed that a little blonde girl had been found. She had been robbed and raped, despite being almost two months pregnant. She is now in a children’s home in Trujillo.

Now I was worried. Pregnant? How could that be? Only Claudio was left. Then he wasn’t the man for us in the valley, was he? Everything remained a little vague. I had to deal with it on my next trip to Trujillo.

At the moment, all I could think about was the possible attack and what we should do next to counter it. My thoughts soon went round and round and didn’t let me rest the following night.

The way my night went was to be expected. I was filled with inner unrest as I thought about whether an attack was to be expected. It was the beginning of a particularly bad time for me, but I didn’t want to worry or burden anyone in the valley too much. During a break in my sleep, I whispered words to myself: “Be strong and smile at everyone, no matter how you feel. We need optimism and strength.” And “Don’t panic, old man, plan wisely, prepare thoroughly. They will come.”

The following Saturday we checked our weapons. All the Wieger submachine guns, the advanced Kalashnikov, were tested and then thoroughly cleaned. Daja and Isabella took over the maintenance and testing of the sirens. We agreed on a regular test alarm every Saturday at 11am.

Then I made an overview of which of the young women could be useful in a fight, despite being pregnant. Five of the teenagers were in their first to third month of pregnancy and could potentially be helpful. Daja, who had already proved herself in the fight against the planes last year, was the only one of the young women who was not pregnant. And Olivia had given birth to her second son in February and was almost fully recovered. She was good with the pistol. Luca and Diego could also be used, as well as the two older Indio boys, Marc (15) and Amru, Juan’s 18-year-old son.

That’s why I wanted to do a test with Enzo, Juan, Marc, and Amru where they could be used. I wanted to train Luca together with Daja in the MPi. But the most important thing was to train the correct behaviour in a raid with all the inhabitants of the valley.

In the village I had a nice meeting with Enzo, his wife Marta, and their children. They proudly showed me their newly built shed and the newly planted beds. It was a great joy for all of us that they had moved to us. Enzo’s parents had also changed completely since we had first met. His mother, Lima, rushed up to me with big steps, said a few kind words and bowed deeply.

Unfortunately, I soon realised that Enzo’s extreme shortsightedness meant that he could not be trained with a gun. Juan was not ready to handle a gun. With Olivia, Daja, and the four Indian boys, I spent the afternoon practicing the handling of a pistol and the correct way to strike the weapon. Each of them had three test shots. Eleven-year-old Diego was the best and had no problems with the 700-gram Makarov, a Russian model of which we had two. Luca also did well with the pistol but was not as confident as his younger brother. That’s why I wanted to train the thirteen-year-old on the submachine gun. Yes, they were children, but I would never be able to defend our community against a group of attackers. Mark had a hard time with the gun, flinching every time the butt was ejected. Amru, like his father, did not want to pick up a gun, but at least he made his trial shots.

Finally, Daja practised with the smaller and lighter PSM pistol we had taken from the Kuklina. She hit the target surprisingly well and was also very good with this weapon. She enjoyed my kiss but shrugged when Luca looked shocked. She was an absolute beauty, slim and elegant with an irresistible smile, which she now gave to ‘her’ Luca.

The subsequent cleaning of the weapons with disassembly and reassembly worked flawlessly after several attempts. I was very pleased. Even Diego, the youngest, did exceptionally well. I gave him a kiss on the forehead, which he enjoyed as praise. Daja had translated my words, and the little Indio boy was beaming with joy.

Enzo and Juan, along with their older sons, were given the task of building rainproof shelters for the villagers near the bat cave. By Sunday, the work was in full swing, with some young women helping. The outside camp rose like magic. And the two old men from the two Indian families lent their full support.

Late in the afternoon, Babette took charge of instructing the villagers on what to do when the siren went off. Carmen tried her best to translate, but Miguel and some of the older women saw no point, especially as they had already had a few glasses of wine.

Babette called me and Olivia to help. We described an imminent raid in the darkest colours, referring to the bomb attack last year and the fight with Kuklina and her two mercenaries. But we did not get through to the drunken Indios.

Olivia made it very simple. “If you want to die in the next attack, stay here. The rest of you, pack some food as soon as you can and come with me.”

This had little effect either. Quite unexpectedly, Juan’s father took the floor. Olivia translated for me his explanation how his former village had been attacked by Maoists from the so-called ‘Shining Path’, and many people who had not immediately agreed to join the guerrillas had been shot. Hualpa, as this elder man was called, had to take part in punitive actions against other Indio villages, killing and threatening people. After a few weeks, he and his family managed to escape. Since then, they have lived in the mountain village and have vowed never to touch a gun again. The grey-haired man’s words had an effect.

Soon the whole village was gathered in the new shelters. There were some suggestions for improvement, particularly the lack of seating and a latrine for human needs. Despite the smell of bat droppings in the cave, some people wanted to hide there. Hualpa agreed to expand the satellite camp. He would lead the evacuation of the village and, if necessary, take command of the camp.

I gratefully extended my hand. His strong handshake showed me that, despite his 65 years, this man had strength and energy. His experience could come in handy one day. Olivia embraced him in her natural way, but the man dropped his hands helplessly. Hugs between strangers, even from a young woman, were completely unheard of among the Indios.

Miguel now wanted to contribute to the security of his villagers. He suggested that they plant potatoes and vegetables near the camp so that they would have something to eat in the event of a prolonged occupation of the valley. I thought this was an exaggeration but thanked him and supported his proposal.

Later I sat with the men of the village and drank some of their very sweet wine. Carmen translated eagerly. Her twins were playing with the three youngest children in the village. As I looked after them, I noticed that the five little ones were also in desperate need of better clothes and shoes. Damn it, I had to go back to the provincial capital, but my fears of an attack were growing every day.

Still, this Sunday was worth it. Once again, we had taken an important step forward in being better prepared for an attack. In my mind, I was hoping to persuade the experienced Hualpa to use a Wieger MPi to defend the village, but that evening I just enjoyed the extremely good atmosphere in the village.

On Monday, Cara, and Isabella prepared dinner in honour of Luisa’s birthday. Earlier in the morning I had lovingly wished our cook a happy birthday. She was still relatively young, just 38, and in excellent health. Luisa was delighted with my gifts, a soft winter jacket and a pair of light women’s shoes for the house. However, I had the feeling that she was happier with my kisses and caresses. Suddenly she became as cuddly as a cat in the heat, hugging me and talking about a third child. Our second son, Inca Roca, was not yet four months old, but she longed for another child, preferably a Wayra, a daughter of the mountain god Apu, she whispered to me. I did so with a few jokes, but I knew she meant it.

Like three days ago for Mayari’s sixteenth birthday, we celebrated in the ‘basement disco’, but this time with almost everyone from the village. Alonso had rebuilt an old traditional Indio stringed instrument and sang old Inca songs with his wife. Luisa usually knew the words and joined in with her expressive voice. It was a particularly impressive hour for me, but some of the young women withdrew. They were bored.

Most of the teenagers were in their rooms with their children. Only Priya and Fahsai were sitting in the anteroom with their tablets. Priya looked at me in fright, turned off her screen in an instant.

“What are you doing in secret, my pretty ones?”

“We’re exchanging some files.” Fahsai smiled at me again with her mischievous smile. This seemed strange to me. Did you do something unauthorized? They were not telling me what they were dealing with, and they clearly had a guilty conscience.

Curiously, I looked at Fahsai’s screen. She had an unfamiliar programme open, ‘ReadEra’. It was not Priya’s, but Fahsai was showing me how to read e-books with it. Naturally, I looked interested. Fahsai had eight English books and three Arabic books on her tablet, nicely sorted with a coloured cover picture.

“Priya, have you been downloading books illegally?”

“Yes, I have. I know you have forbidden me, but we need new books and up-to-date music.”

I finally learned the full extent of the dilemma. Priya had taken advantage of my absence and downloaded more than twenty books using the TOR browser, which hides the identity of the user. She had installed the aforementioned Reader app on her friends’ tablets, copied the English-language books, set up a personal email address for almost all the students, and registered several users with the illegal online library ‘z-lib’. This allowed her to download a large number of books free of charge every day.

“Priya, no, you can’t do that. Don’t you know how hard it is to write a novel? Writers deserve a decent wage. Please wait a few days until I can arrange a method of payment. Then we will buy books, as many as you want.”

Our doctor came to this. “Don’t stress, Michael. Millions of books are downloaded like this every day. If no one can keep track of who has bought books for free, we will have no problems.”

“No, Mrs Doctor Liebknecht.” I became formal. “I forbid it. It is illegal and theft. If this does not stop, I will turn off the Wi-Fi repeater.”

The three women looked at me with indignation. They refused to accept my opinion. After a long discussion, we agreed not to download any more e-books, but to keep the novels until we could buy some. Then we would delete all the illegally obtained books.

When I opened the browser history on my PC, I was shocked. Significantly more than twenty books had been downloaded, as well as a large number of erotic and pornographic stories. I was tempted to confront Priya and check her tablet, but I decided against it. She was sixteen years old, had a great personality and would certainly be very useful to us in matters of the Internet and electronics. Nevertheless, I copied the download history to a file and then deleted it. Someday, there would be an opportunity to talk to Priya about honesty and trust.

For a long time, I wondered if I had pushed too hard or if my opinion was right. I didn’t want to patronise the teenagers too much. When I thought about the fate of the girls and our community, I understood their greed for more entertainment. The girls had endured three years without books, newspapers or youth magazines, three years of deprivation and little cultural enrichment from the outside world. No, I understood Priya and Ramona, but it was still wrong, wasn’t it?