Chapter 17: Wonderful October

My travel video about Peru was completely right. October and November were indeed the most pleasant months in this area, sunshine every day, the evening rain gradually subsiding in the middle of October. Now it was pleasantly warm every evening, although the temperature never exceeded 24°C during the day.

Our doctor, who was also the English teacher, showed my travel video about Peru, the Andes, and the most famous Inca sites to our young ladies as an additional lesson. The 45-minute video took almost two hours to play. The film was stopped several times, questions were asked, and individual passages were repeated from time to time. Each of them wanted to know more about the country to which they had ended up against their will, but which was wonderfully portrayed in the film. I was pleased about the interest and curiosity of our students.

After a few minutes I had to help Cara. She was as white as a sheet, had to vomit. Her morning sickness had been going on for some time now. Babette rushed to us. She was in a similar state, perhaps also infected by Cara’s vomiting sounds. After the two pregnant women had relieved themselves in the washing machine room, I led them out onto the terrace. The fresh morning air would do them good. Luisa immediately helped with some tea and dry flatbread.

Babette was much better now, but wanted to stay with Cara, whose problems were particularly bad today. Luisa sat down with us and gave her kitchen help a milky liquid by the spoonful. As she did so, she told me it was an old home remedy of her mother’s, consisting of yellow ginger, dried mint, some Coca brew, a little salt, and crushed limestone. Luisa had kept this on hand since the first nausea problems. Except for Mayari, all the girls had received this remedy from our cook. Luisa was sure it was the reason for how quickly the pregnant women got over their morning sickness.

I had not heard about this before. Out of gratitude, Luisa received a few extra cuddles. She told me about Leonie, how splendidly she coped with the efforts of her pregnancy. The Peruvian woman, who must be 45 by now - according to Nuria, her niece was about 44 when she was conceived, but no one knew the exact year of her birth - worked flat out at the end of the seventh month of her pregnancy and helped not only Florence and her children, but also her aunt Nuria and the old couple Sofia and Alonso.

Our cook had planned a visit to the village for this morning. Lunch was prepared and on the cooker. We had one of Luisa’s best dishes, Aguadito de Pollo, a chicken soup with vegetables and rice. In addition to beans and carrots, our cook used wonderfully fragrant coriander, peppers, and lime pulp. We had to use the rice sparingly. Therefore, small cubes of a tasty type of turnip went into the huge cauldron, which gave the food additional spice. When everything was already tasty and could be described as well done, Luisa shredded the meat from two grilled chickens and stirred it in, a treat even for me, although I usually preferred potatoes.

All the inhabitants of our valley loved this dish. Luisa had prepared six portions of her food in sealable tins and made her way first to the Casa. Since Babette and Cara were well again, I accompanied the mother of my first child, my dear Luisa.

Florence welcomed us with a smile and waving both hands. I first looked at the youngest offspring. They were sleeping close together in their shared cot. They still seemed a little wizened, had also lost a little weight, but would now drink about six times a day. “Well done, Florence. They’ll be sturdy Indios one day.” Luisa translated with a smile.

Leonie joined them. Her upright and strong gait was not to be expected given the fullness of her body. Luisa translated for me. The baby would come in about two months, sometime after 20th of December, perhaps during Christmas. She enjoyed how lovingly I took her in my arms.

Repeatedly I had the feeling that Leonie would also like to be close to me and was looking for the love of a man. Sometimes she watched dreamily when I caressed and kissed Mayari in her presence. Since she knew that Isabella was also carrying a child, she liked to stay near her, joke with her and treat her like her daughter. But the Indio women did not yet really dare to show their feelings in front of the other villagers.

Florence now also received her forehead kiss, her embrace. My hands caressed her body. I didn’t dare touch the big milk breasts, but the back almost squirmed under my loving touch. In the meantime, Leonie had taken little Laia in her arms and handed her to Florence. I was supposed to leave the room because she wanted to breastfeed her daughter, but no, I didn’t want to. Luisa convinced Florence. At first it was uncanny how the women looked at each other excitedly, always talking and talking back. Then the breastfeeding woman sat down with her back to me and gave her daughter the meal she needed.

After a short while I stroked Florence’s upper arms, carefully kissed the exposed part of her neck and watched over her shoulder the most beautiful miracle of nature. How sweetly the little one suckled, how greedily she became, how she gasped for air in between to immediately seek the source of her nourishment again. My left cheek was against the breastfeeding woman’s right cheek. More and more I felt how much she liked it. The father of her child was so close to her, delighted to be feeding her daughter. Leonie’s hand was on my shoulder, stroking me very lightly, perhaps consciously, perhaps unconsciously, but we were deeply absorbed in this kind of togetherness.

When Leonie took little Josè out of the cot, I let her give me Laia, held her lovingly in my arms and spoke softly to her. As an experienced father, after all I had already held four sons like this year and waited for the little belch, I no longer felt any excitement, but only the joy of this wonderful event.

Florence sat directly opposite me, let her son suckle on the other side of her breast and smiled at me, first shyly, soon more and more confidently. Luisa told me later on the way to the village that Florence and also Leonie had enjoyed our togetherness. Within a few minutes they would have thrown off the outdated views of Indio women, absorbed how our western ways enriched a partner relationship. Leonie would already be looking forward to my being there when she was breastfeeding her child, too. Luisa kissed me with gratitude for how kind I had been to her countrywomen.

I hadn’t realised it at all, but Alejandra would also have been happy about my hug, my little kiss, and my kind words. Luisa’s soup would have been very good, as always, but being hugged once and praised for her diligence would have been much better. So, Luisa told me about her whispering with Olivia’s grandma.

“Let’s do it again with your mother, with Djamila. Maybe she’ll be happy too. Luisa laughed and only said that her mother still had too much respect, maybe even a little fear of me. I had long forgotten about the water case, but her mother would still suffer from her mistake. We soon had that cleared up. The woman’s eyes no longer looked down at the ground as they usually did, no, she rejoiced with her daughter over some joke the little wrinkles around her eyes danced full of joie de vivre. Mother and daughter had a wonderful relationship. Actually, I was a kind of son-in-law for her, even though Luisa was not my only wife due to the circumstances in our isolation.

When Luisa took her soup to the oldest couple, Sofia and Alonso, I learned a lot of new things. The 77-year-old man’s full name was Alonso Manco Cocha, born on 12.12.1938 according to the parish baptismal register. The register he showed me was unsightly, partly damaged, but it contained hundreds of names and important information about all the Indios in the valley. This was the church register of the pastors appointed in the valley by the mining company from 1942 until the great disaster in 2011, when the mine largely collapsed and tens of miners died. With the closure of the mine, the last pastor also left the valley. Luisa promised to make a new list of the available data for all the villagers still alive. She proudly told me how well she could now read and write. Cara had taught her while they were working in the kitchen.

Alonso explained to us why he had the Spanish name Alonso. In the 1920s and 1930s, many Indio families in the cities began to deny their origins, to dress like the Mestizo families, to use their names, always hoping to escape the increasing discrimination by the descendants of the Spanish conquerors. But just for that they were even more despised and ridiculed. In terms of appearance, an Indio was usually recognisable as a descendant of the Indian population. The richer Peruvians made them feel this again and again.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, I asked the aged host if there were also documents of the mining company. Alonso told me they took the computers and the most important documents away by two trucks, but he showed me a key with a profound smile, led us to the end of the villager’s dining room, pulled aside a completely dusty curtain and unlocked a concealed door. A musty, mouldy smell hit me. Contrary to expectations, even the lights could be switched on. Piles of files were piled up on two desks, just like that, as the employees left the valley almost in a hurry.

I wanted to take a closer look at these documents. I was particularly interested in the plans of the mine, the interrupted water pipeline for ore processing and the status of silver production. After all, the valley and thus the mine belonged to me. Perhaps it would be possible to resume mining at some point.

The windowless walls were completely covered by ceiling-high shelves. Presumably this was the mine’s archive. On one shelf, I found well-sorted documents about wage payments from 1991 to 2007. A miner received 990 Sol per month, less than 200 US-dollars, for the difficult and risky work. The files from 2008 until 2011 were missing, the company took it with them to its headquarters.

A crazy thought flashed through my mind. The paper of no particular quality was printed on one side but could certainly be used as toilet paper. So, I grabbed the folder from 1991, took a stack full of large drawings on parchment paper and Alonso handed me the key to the archive.

Already in the afternoon, I marched again to the mine’s filing office with the two pneumatic carts and the four youngest girls. Besides the pay folders, I took folders with letters and invoices from the last century. I was sure, no one would miss the documents up to the year 2000.

In one of the two cupboards I found a typewriter, associated ink ribbons, writing paper and carbon paper. Daja and Kira played with the obsolete writing utensil with interest. I’m sure many of our people would enjoy that. In the second cupboard were safety helmets and very sturdy work gloves, surely to be handed out to the miners. I’m sure they helped us cut the road clear. On one shelf we found rubber boots and sturdy woollen socks, still unused, as well as hard- wearing trousers and jackets, also a box with six helmet lamps. The batteries belonging to them were unfortunately eaten away from the inside, completely overlaid with acid.

I had Sula put on a mining outfit, helmet on, rubber boots on. That’s how we marched to Alonso. With gestures I asked where the miners had stored their clothes. Somewhere they must have changed before entering the mine. Alonso led me to the entrance of the mine, pointing to a collapsed wall on the right. In the glow of my mobile phone, I could see overturned metallic cupboards, almost completely covered with rubble and a thick layer of dust.

The girls brought their treasures into our home while I fetched two long ropes from the ore processing plant. I knotted these to the cupboard feet closest to the entrance, moved far enough away from the dangerous opening and tried to pull the first cupboard outwards. Unsuccessfully. Alonso put on his smile again, told me to wait. Soon Miguel and he were back with an ox. It rattled immensely, but the first locker was outside. The whole village came running. I had them open the lockers, which were pulled out one by one. Soon there were terrible scenes. Emma and Cristina had found their husbands’ things, were crying bitterly, and wailing to the heavens.

That’s why I wanted to finish salvaging the cupboards, but the women protested vehemently. Each of the widows wanted to find a memory of her husband. Often, we had to wait until the dust cleared and I could tie up more cupboards without too much danger. Finally, Miguel took over the job. In the evening I learned the result of the work. The two men had pulled out more than fifty metal lockers, unfortunately also uncovering the skeletons of two dead men who were ceremoniously buried in one of the rock caves the next day. They could not be identified but were treated by the women as if they were each one of their husbands. A night of wailing and mourning had not allowed our valley to rest. Luisa told me, “Michael, this is the best thing that could have happened to the women. Each one now believes that she has given her husband over to the gods, that she has freed him from his diabolical prison. That calms their peace of mind.”

In the evening, each palace resident was given a folder with the printed paper. Ramona quartered the letter pages, crumpled them slightly and indicated how to use them. With great joy, the girls began to make toilet paper for themselves. The three scissors in stock were not enough in front and behind. Soon some of us were folding the paper and tearing quarters to fit our asses. We all had a lot of fun with this useful activity. From time to time, fragments of the printed material were read aloud. It was in Spanish, but each time it was followed by laughter or clapping. We were all like children and it gave us unexpected pleasure to be really silly for once.

It was Sunday, beautiful mild spring weather, ideal for a walk along the cleared part of the mountain road. Babette was already on her way together with Fahsai, Kira, and Daja on the four BMX- bikes, while I walked with Sula to measure the cleared road. We practised one-metre steps, marked the beginning of the road with a first line across the lane, and marched off. The first, particularly steep stretch was exhausting. After 500 metres, Sula sprayed a ‘0.5’ on the rock. We wanted to put a mark like that after every half kilometre.

Gradually we made progress. Again and again, we cut off small shoots that sprouted from the roots remaining in the ground, demonstrating the power of Mother Nature again and again. After five kilometres we had our first break. It had taken us almost one and a half hours to get here. It was still uphill, but with flat stretches in between. Now we managed the next five kilometres in just a little more than an hour. In the distance we heard a chainsaw screech. Babette must have been very active again. Hopefully she didn’t overdo it.

We hurried to get to the four girls. With “Hello!” Babette and Fahsai greeted us. Exactly where Babette was now standing, according to our measurement, we had reached twelve kilometres, twelve of the forty-five kilometres of overgrown road calculated on the Maps print found in the study. Oh, God, we had probably taken on too much. Would we ever make the breakthrough?

Babette had sent Kira and Daja ahead to extend as far as possible the passage they had started in order to make progress with a bicycle. My Romanian assistant explained her plan to me. She wanted to continue to cut the road passably for cars, but two workers could each try to make faster progress while checking whether the road could be made passable at all. Babette told me how often Sula and she had to clear away big stones and earth, but so far everything was going well.

Sula and I followed the easily accessible corridor to the girls working ahead. They were happy about our relief. Sweaty, but proud of what they had achieved, they greeted us. Sula hurried ahead through the thicket while I cleared the path she had marked with my freshly sharpened machete. Then came the first major obstacle. A mighty boulder hung almost over the slope but was stuck between two trees. Nothing could be done here without a saw, but Sula drove a passage through the slope with a spade. It was unclear whether we could get through here on the bike, but the nimble Kenyan kept hurrying ahead. She wanted to make at least one more kilometre; she had called out to me when I no longer managed to follow her. Soon, Daja relieved me again and widened the path.

Sula suddenly came back. She had slipped and fallen into a cactus. Her back was full of thorns. Kira helped her out of her embarrassment but increased the pain of our injured woman when pulling out the sharp ones. Sula was visibly in trouble, asking for my lighter, grabbed it when I looked at her hesitantly, grabbed the spade and ran forward again. Soon we heard her furiously smashing the cactus, shouting at the plant remains. Then she came back to us. We should hurry; the fire she had set would soon be here. Scolding was pointless; Sula had lit a mighty fire in several places. We could already hear it crackling in the distance.