Chapter 11: November 2018

On the morning of the first of November, Ramona invited me to English class. I would experience a special Zarina show and certainly learn a lot of new things about Halloween, for example. I was curious. What did our Chinese know about this pagan festival where children were forced into scary costumes and masses of farmers grew pumpkins to make extra profit? I certainly had reservations about this festival; felt that commercialism had completely alienated the original church festival before All Saints’ Day.

Zarina had prepared a PowerPoint presentation and used the beamer. I would have liked to work with a beamer for my physics class, but honestly, I hadn’t taken the time for it until that day, especially since we didn’t have an Internet connection, so no suitable material could be downloaded from the worldwide web. Similarly, I was not able to create a PowerPoint presentation for myself, had never needed it in my life. So, I was eager to hear Zarina’s presentation and how she had mastered the software without any help.

The lecture began by saying that ‘Halloween’ came from the Catholic festival ‘All Hallows’ Eve,’ and the tradition of dressing up was brought to America by Irish immigrants. I was amazed when she explained how superstitious the Irish used to be and dressed up on the night in such a way that disgruntled deceased people could not cause them trouble. That was completely new to me.

When Zarina pressed a button, the image came to life, showing flickering candles in hollowed-out pumpkins, in front of which our dressed-up and painted girls danced to eerie music, almost floating ghost-like. Someone had made video recordings last night. Until the lecture, I had not known that videos or audios could be included in a PP presentation, but our Chinese girl was very well prepared. Only the pictures copied from encyclopaedias were of poor quality, detracting somewhat from the impression of the lecture, but the lecturer had no better photos available.

Later, Zarina explained the customs in the home countries of her friends, all of whom she had asked. Four of them had never heard of Halloween. In her native China, the festival was completely unknown for a long time, until enterprising traders recognised it as an additional source of income, as her stepparents had explained to her. In her hometown of Qingdao, Zarina remembered parties in restaurants and hotels and also at the international school. But begging from house to house demanding ‘trick or treat’ did not exist in China.

At the end of the lecture, the focus was on the new vocabulary. Zarina explained the tenses that her classmates often did not use correctly, especially the ‘completed past,’ the ‘completed present,’ and ‘continuous forms’. Finally, Sula sang a little song from her school days in Kenya: “Hello, it’s Halloween, hello it’s Halloween,” and all the students joined in the childlike singing.

After high praise for Zarina from her English teacher, there was approving tapping on the big table until some overdid the volume. Of course, the presentation was graded ‘1’, means in some countries ‘A’.

I hurried to Zarina, praised her and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Zarina, I still have to practise the tenses too. It would be nice if we could find time for that now and then.”

“Sure, Michael, it would be my pleasure.” She gave me a quick smack on the mouth, obviously proud of how much everyone appreciated her self-acquired grammar skills.

But there was no time for that at the moment. The villagers had asked me, as their chosen one, to take part in the celebration for their deceased. On the first day of November, All Saints’ Day, the graves were decorated and certain rites of veneration were carried out. For the Catholic feast of ‘All Souls’ on the following day, the Indians celebrated the ‘Feast of the dead,’ in Peru named ‘Todos Santos’ The Indios called it ‘Wanusqakuna’, a family celebration. Among our Indios, however, there was another tradition. All those who had lost relatives in the mining accident celebrated together in front of the entrance to the collapsed mine. My task, as Carmen explained to me, was to ask the souls of the men who had died to visit their relatives the next day.

Olivia practised a long spell with me in Quechua. ‘Nuna ... nuna ... Llapan nuna mikutsun, uputsun y alli trabajanqampita kushikutsun.’ This meant ‘You souls - come to us. We say thank you for your hard work.’ At least that’s how the youngest of the Peruvians explained it to me.

All the villagers were active on the forecourt of the mine. The ox cart was unloaded; the mine entrance was decorated with laurel branches. The seat stones, warmed by the sun, were covered with moss. Cantuta flowers and Coca leaves formed a kind of carpet on which the souls were to join their relatives. Firewood was stacked between two stones and a rotating spit was placed on top of it for testing. It was only at that moment that I understood the significance of the Indios’ worship of the dead.

Nuria and Alonso led me a little way into the dangerous cavity. Leonie and Florence framed the eerie moment with burning torches and a melodic chant. Nuria spoke a few words; Alonso sang some verses in a brittle voice I couldn’t understand. Nuria pushed me forward; the two women with torches positioned themselves to my left and right. As Olivia had instructed me, I called out to the souls of the departed. “Nuna!” – “Nuna!” All at once I called out “Almakuna!”, a word I had never heard before, but which spoke out of me as if by itself. Another “Almakuna” was followed by Olivia’s saying, “Llapan nuna mikutsun, uputsun y alli trabajanqampita kushikutsun.”

Devoutly we listened into the darkness. As if of my own accord I spoke the words unknown to me: “Yakuchö miratsun kawaq almakuna, y volaq animalkuna patsa hanampa volayätsun.” No one could translate the words properly. Luisa, however, had understood the meaning, even if it was formulated in a complicated way: “The mountains shall bring forth a throng of living souls. They may come to the front of the opening of their tomb to the Earthmen fly.” Then Nuria whimpered loudly, screamed painful words, and finally uttered guttural sounds to which some Indios joined in. My chest ached with excitement. My heart was beating wildly. Dream images of the dead appeared before my eyes, of translucent bodies convulsing in pain. It didn’t seem like a mirage to me, it was like a supernatural apparition.

Walking backwards, we left the site where hundreds of Indios had died many years ago. Outside the cave was an eerie, sad atmosphere. There were only laments, no tears. Nuria knelt down and stretched out her trembling hands in the direction of the oversized natural grave, all the Indians and I followed suit her example.

Suddenly, a completely new atmosphere arose. Leonie, Florence, and Alonso’s wife Sofia beat an ever-stronger rhythm with tambourines. The Indios stood up and carefully danced a few warming steps before the crowd clapped, sang and danced without restraint. All of a sudden, the four girls danced in front of us, dressed in yellow robes, which according to Nuria had been taught sacred thoughts in the grotto. Didn’t they have lessons? I looked at my mobile phone. It was already three in the afternoon. Somehow time had raced or I hadn’t realised how long we had been obeying our befuddled senses in the cave. Unbelievable! Then I remembered how often the torches had been changed; I had perceived it as if in a trance. Somehow, what I had experienced seemed even more unreal, completely mysterious.

However, I had no time to brood. Luisa handed me a large jug of wine and toasted me. Everyone cheered and praised the welcome drinks. In the midst of the heated atmosphere, Luisa stood in the opening of the buried mine and began a loud chanting song that echoed beautifully from the cavity to us. Devoutly everyone listened to the naturally amplified singing of our cook. Finally, most of the women joined Luisa in chanting their departed relatives. “Nuna - nuna - nuna!” Fittingly, some stones in the mine trickled onto the rubble.

Olivia said with complete conviction, “They heard us and promised to join us tomorrow.” She kissed me gratefully and praised my great appearance as high priest.

When Alonso pointed a Catholic cross in the direction of the dead and shouted ‘Rest in Peace’ in Spanish and several villagers crossed themselves, I suddenly realised of how the indigenous people had mixed their myths and rituals with the medieval Christian customs, how their lives had been positively influenced by them and what strength grew out of this common ground. Unfortunately, modern life had almost destroyed this primordiality, the ‘American way of life’ dominated the world, but here in the mountains I felt the power of the primitive, the positive influence of the religious interpretation of natural events by the simple people and the inspiration of their well-being and their psyche through their rites and their folk art.

Moved, I embraced Nuria. Without her, I would never have experienced this feeling of well-being, this understanding of the Indios, nor the knowledge of how they knew to deal with their infinite pain, what kindness was in them and radiated from them. And I was a part of them. I became fully aware of that on that day and it made me joyful, even happy.

On the second Saturday in November, we celebrated the fifteenth birthdays of Kira and Sula. Congratulating them on the actual day of their birth, Wednesday for Kira, Friday for Sula, I again experienced impressive moments. As if they had agreed, Kira demanded more rest for her child from her congratulating and celebrating friends early in the morning, finally sending them to breakfast, but asking me as the father of her son to help her breastfeed. The same thing happened two days later in Sula’s room. I had taken far too little time for this so far, but the two chocolate-brown boys had turned out extremely well for us. Kira’s Harrison lay in my arms after the meal and Kira squatted in front of us and spoke childish words to her son. With Sula it was a little different, but just as beautiful. She sang a children song during breastfeeding, a lullaby from her home country, not very beautifully sung, but full of love for her son Ken. Sula softened my heart. I stroked her wispy hair and kissed her forehead. When Ken was resting in bed, I still had to do my assistant a favour.

In no time at all, she stood before me almost naked, proudly showed me the scarred wound from the Caesarean section and said as if casually, “You know, Michael, I’m so pleased, everything has healed perfectly and Mrs Liebknecht assured me I could have another child without any problems.”

Startled, I looked into her questioning eyes. “Sula, no, that’s not an issue right now. I was so scared for you. Your Ken is only ten weeks old. You don’t even have to think about it yet. Thank Daja for her gift, for her blood donation, which has made you fit again so quickly. My request is that you help her to cope with her pregnancy. She still has the most strenuous eight weeks ahead of her herself.”

Sula smiled. “I do that every day. In the evenings she often sits with me and helps me with Ken and is happy when she gets to change him. But please, don’t forget me. Esther has worked it out for me, next March we can do it again. We’ll have a daughter there. Please, promise me that.”

“No, Sula, I can’t promise you that. We’ll see how you are then and how our situation is overall. Please, come to breakfast now.” Like a monkey, she clung to me with all four limbs.

“Please, Michael. I need the hope of a daughter. Please say yes.”

“Su, that is my final word. When the time comes, we’ll know what to do. Now I have only one thing, great hunger.”

During the party on Saturday, the girls danced to ‘Kidz Bop 25’. Especially the song ‘Eye of the Tiger’ was repeated several times. Many could sing along with the chorus. The mood rose. We adults watched the hilarity. Turning to me, Luisa said in a firm voice, “My love, I trust you. Please say yes when my Cara asks you.”

At first I didn’t understand the meaning of her words, drummed the rhythm to the song until it jolted me. ’Cara wanted a second child too. Damn! Was little Gabriela already six months old too?’ Ramona confirmed this to me immediately.

Cara was really fit, an athletic slim young woman full of joie de vivre and strength. She was so hard-working, modest, and without airs and graces. Without her, Luisa would be overwhelmed in the kitchen. I couldn’t give her a negative answer without upsetting her or Luisa. I counted them in my mind. Four of the young mothers were already pregnant for the second time. Did Cara really want to be the fifth? I had realised again that the first promise of a partnership with Zarina had been a mistake and had given all the other young mothers the wrong idea.

When I said that out loud, Ramona laughed. “Michael, you can do whatever you want. Everyone wants a second child, even Sula and Lenya. Our valley makes all girls willing and fertile, affects their urges. I felt that with myself, I was hot as a bitch in heat. We just have to be careful that it doesn’t become the main motive for their lives. I promise you one thing. When every woman has borne two children, I’ll help you end this madness. Esther calculated once. If everything goes, as it seems to, we would have almost forty children in the valley next year. I think we will all run out of strength to take care of more children then.”

I hadn’t thought that far ahead. If another woman gave birth to twins and everything went as our doctor predicted, we would have exactly forty small cildren and a lot of babies in the valley, total madness. But was I able to prevent that without upsetting some of the young women? Probably not. There would be discussions and many tears before I would finally agree. I was really weak in that area. It turned out that I couldn’t refuse the lovely and hard-working young women in the end. But they were also each lovable in their own special way and had grown up so quickly. Just the way they loved their children, looked after them, fulfilled all their tasks at the same time and achieved the best results in their studies, no, they deserved to realise their dreams, even if they were not the right dreams from my point of view.

Inwardly, I had already surrendered to my fate when Cara took the microphone. She delivered an unusual masterpiece of personality development today, one could only marvel.

“Hey, guys, quiet down for a second, please. A question for Zarina. How are you, my dear?”

Zarina looked a little uncertain, not immediately knowing what it was about. Fahsai called out to her. “Oh, yes, I’m fine, Cara. I’m in my thirteenth week and feeling like a million bucks.”

Everyone clapped and laughed. “And how is it with you, Mayari.”

“Only the ninth week, Cara, but everything is in the green.”

“And how about you, Priya? Are you fit and happy?”

Priya laughed. “This time everything is much easier. It won’t be twins again, I can tell. I didn’t do that well with the first pregnancy. Everything’s fine.”

“Isabella, you’re still struggling with morning sickness. Can I help you, for example, with a special food?”

“Well meant, Cara. No, thanks. I am only at the beginning of the fourth week, I had slight problems for the first time this morning, I broke out part of the meal. If it gets worse, I’ll take you up on your offer. But no, I’m fine. It’s much better than the first time.”

Then Cara came to our table. “Michael, you’ve already given your four older wives and four of us younger ones the pleasure of becoming mothers for the second time. How are you doing with that?”

We adults had to laugh. “Cara, this is cleverly set up. You’re quite the little schemer, a young woman heading for exactly her target. Yes, I know what your agenda is, and yes, I won’t let you down.”

The cheers knew no bounds. Cara received the green ribbon around her neck from Luisa and got a big kiss from me.

Cara freaked out. “Awesome, thanks. What are we going to do now? Are we going to my place or yours?” Roaring laughter rang out. She must have caught these words in one of the tearjerkers that had been playing more and more in our cinema recently. Esther had been asked to record more romantic films from the few television programmes. Often, they were Spanish movies or Bollywood films with Indian English and Spanish subtitles. I had no interest in this and often used the time in the evenings to sift through more Rus material or to visit one of my dear wives. But especially Ananda and Isabella were enthusiastic about the kind of films.

The first night of love with Cara was unspectacular and without any great highlights. After a shared bath, I quickly surrendered to her efforts and gave her the desired gift. The side cook was simply grateful, kissed me lovingly, was apparently satisfied with the prelude, but showed none of her Italian temperament. That was to change in the next few days, honestly, already on Sunday I was hardly a match for her desire and lust.

After lunch, she took me by the hand and pulled me towards the exit, calling out quickly, “See you tomorrow morning, and thank you, Ananda, for taking care of my Gabriela. Sorry, I meant our Gabriela, of course.” She laughed, nudged me and we waved to those who were left behind.

Olivia was at the Palazzo for the garden party with her Michael on the Sunday off but had prepared everything perfectly for us. There were two plump bath towels ready in the Casa shower room. In the Room ‘13’ the beds were uncovered. A bouquet of wild flowers spread pleasant smells. Cara simply dropped her bath towel in the room and presented her dreamlike body to me, tore the towel from my body and threw it carelessly on the floor, jumped at me lustfully and wooed me with a loving kiss.

First, I covered the beds with our bath towels. The bed linen should not have to be cleaned every day. Wrapped under the light duvet, I held the excited Cara tightly in my arms for minutes. It was so extremely pleasant to feel the comforting warmth of her body, the peppermint-lavender smell of her hair, the wonderful effect of our homemade shampoo. Her shapely breasts bounced against my chest with every breath, her legs encircled my thighs and her womb sought contact, wanting to feel if I was aroused enough.

Of course, I was aroused. Wild urges animated my body, I felt powerless as if in a powerful whirlpool of a river, helplessly at the mercy of nature. The only thing that filled me was the desire to unite with the youthful beauty. I wanted, better, I had to control myself. I managed to place my kisses in a less demanding way, to keep my hands on Cara’s back, just gently stroking her, taming the restless creature beside me. Soon my partner could stand it no longer, freed one arm and strolled without diversions to my sceptre.

“Take your time, Cara, my dear, enjoy our togetherness, let’s be together some more, cuddle.”

“Gladly, my love, but first I want to feel you inside me. Show me that you also desire a child, give me your seed. Afterwards you can spend hours with cuddling me.”

Smiling, our second cook looked me in. It seemed to me that her eyes not only showed me lust and anticipation, but somehow blinked cunningly, cat-like. Last year’s almost-child had changed, was womanly demanding, made her desires abundantly clear. Fortunately, I was not a schoolboy whom she could dominate at will, but she had the initiative, wanted only one thing, to let my heated penis explode inside her.

Finally, I released her body, turned onto my back and gave free rein to her desires. She was undecided, had certainly had another plan, but my face showed that it was like this or not at all. “Micha, that’s not nice. I wanted it to be different, to feel your power, to be ridden properly. It was always so beautiful when you lay on top of me, when I was enchanted by the swing of your hips.”

‘Yes, Cara, you say ‘I wanted’ -please think about what I wanted. I wanted to feel really good, cuddle you, caress you, be like man and wife with you, not ram off like there was nothing else between us.”

Cara closed my lips with her sweet mouth, crawled on top of me and began to join without further foreplay. She pressed her lower abdomen against me and breathed heavily, not with pleasure but with effort. But I was not willing to accommodate her in any way, to be helpful. When Cara wanted to kiss me, I stretched even more so that she couldn’t reach my mouth without our bodies decoupling.

She leaned on me with her elbows and looked irritated. But her play had cooled my senses slightly, especially the pain on my glans as she brought my hard-on awkwardly inside her. “Michael, please. You have to help me. Please.”

“Cara, no, partners do everything together, coordinate. Not just one side says what to do.”

She pouted, but I pulled her up and kissed her. My member was free of its powerful sheath, but bleeding slightly. Startled, Cara looked as I carefully dabbed at my member.

“Oh, God, what have I done. Sorry, Michael, I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s all right, my little witch. You’ve noticed it doesn’t go like that with the head through the wall. I need a break first now.”

From that moment on, Cara was very sweet again, cuddled up to me, wanted to make up for the damage. I didn’t tell her how minor the injury was, but reeled off my programme: kisses -cuddles -caress -kind words -kisses and so on.

But that didn’t calm either of us; it stimulated our desire for each other. Then I decided to spoil her with my mouth, to stimulate her body, to make her willing and wet. Her sensitive breasts rose against my caressing fingers. Cara closed her eyes as my mouth caressed her nipples. The first kiss on her navel did not make her laugh this time, on the contrary. As my tongue visited the remnants of her intimate connection with her mother before birth, she braced her feet and stretched towards me, spreading her thighs apart expectantly. I sought her approval once more, placed my lips on her sweet mouth. Cara wrapped her arms around my neck and sucked my tongue into her mouth, sucking on it and playing tenderly with the tip of her tongue.

She made a soft gasping sound as my hand touched her womanhood. I began to stroke her and opened her labia wider. She kissed me even more wildly, full of passion. As my head wandered over her body again, her pretty eyes watched me intently, sending me a soft, encouraging smile.

Cara’s pussy was incredible. Her round labia felt plump under my touch. There was nothing to indicate that she had survived childbirth; on the contrary, my two fingers barely found access, were tightly enveloped. When I touched her already slightly swollen clitoris with my tongue, she twitched briefly, no doubt from excitement, as a small stream of urine wetted my fingers. She was so excited, as if it was her first time.

Cara sighed softly as I stroked her clit with a feather-light touch, stretching towards me. But a wild greed had gripped me too. My partner’s arousal transferred to me, sending spurts of pleasure through me. My precum moistened the bath towel. I had to struggle to control myself, because first I wanted to reach her full climax before I wanted to fulfil the actual purpose of the lovemaking.

My fingers applied gentle pressure to her vagina and I felt her plump labia embrace my fingers. More and more heat and moisture surrounded the tip of my probing finger; her muscles were on fire. I kissed her beautiful pussy, one of nature’s most glorious creations, letting my tongue explore the exciting opening of her vagina, tasting her seductive ambrosia that was beginning to form. Then I sucked her pleasure nerve between my lips, letting my tongue dance on it until the first scream sounded. Never before had a woman’s climax gripped me so. The triumph of my victory over her sensations, later felt by me to be unseemly and tactless, however, heightened my oral activities, brought her to a state absolute lack of will, the exaggeration of her senses. Completely exhausted, she sank down, although my fingers continued to be wildly pressed and massaged by her body. My mind triumphed over my pent-up lust. My beloved had to calm down, catch her breath, before I could fulfil her desire to be mated.

Leaning over her sweaty body, I bent towards her and waited when her beautiful eyes would open again, when she would be back in earthly life. Blinking, Cara smiled at me. Carefully I kissed her luscious lips. The tip of my tongue sought contact, spreading a little moisture on her lips, which were parched from heavy breathing. As I sucked and gently nibbled on her lower lip, her mouth opened and her tongue touched mine. This time I winced as her hand touched my now slippery organ, gripping it hard, and rubbing it over her pubic. She was ready again and I could hardly hold on, enjoying the way she gave in to my excitement. Halfway to happiness, I felt the firm embrace of my intruder. Her hand gave way and I slid into her as if on my own, until our pubic hairs met, tickling each other.

Honestly, there was no stopping me; I was finally seeking release for my pent-up urge. It was far from being a loving ministration; there were no more controlled movements for me. Although I felt Cara coming towards me with every thrust, so she was also enjoying the actual act, I was only aware of that subconsciously. I only wanted one thing, to get my seed into the young woman, to copulate with her as much as possible, as Mother Nature had deeply anchored in the male genes. Cara gurgled out her orgasm before I did, but mine was wilder, more uninhibited, accompanied by inhuman noises, as my beloved told me shortly afterwards. With each discharge I pressed my member far into her, withdrawing it to enjoy the next outpouring as I thrust in again. Again, and again, what was wrong with me? So often I had never felt this sensation of the explosion of my lust, at least I couldn’t remember.

When I finally sank down on my Cara out of breath, struggling to catch my breath, and come to my senses, I felt tender hands caressing me. Her lips sought mine. Then followed the simple words, “That was nice, Michael, really nice.”

That was all I needed. Cara showed me that she had fallen for me, that she had surrendered, that she was tired but filled with the happiness of love. I was overcome by a sense of well-being, an all-encompassing bliss. The feeling of having had perfect sex, a racy woman under me, already heating herself up again, yet so sweet and tender to me, that warmed my heart and my spirit.

I bent down and kissed her gently. “Turn over, my love.”

With an exaggerated wiggle of her bottom, Cara rolled onto her stomach enthusiastically and put her head on the pillow. She was just as exciting and desirable from behind as she was from the front. I rolled up the second pillow and the blanket, slid them under her body and enjoyed the wonderful sight. After carrying her child, Cara had a beautiful apple-shaped bottom that made my mouth water just looking at it. My hands grasped her tight waist, adjusting it, bringing my re-excited sex close to the entrance to her paradise, from which drops of our previous encounter were still seeping. The beautiful back, the protruding buttocks, the slightly spread thighs, they all invited me to caress and kiss them, which I did at length to let my playmate languish a little longer.

That only lasted a short while, and then I lost my temper again. Without hesitation, I pushed myself into my darling, gripping her tight hips tightly. Gradually my thrusts gained depth; the movements became more sweeping and faster. Cara needed no prompting. Her right hand, caressing, increased her own feeling of happiness, gasping after only a short time, stimulating me to more violent movements. As an old man who had just spent himself in lovemaking, I could not follow her rush to climax, but enjoyed her lust, the twitching of her hips and the quivering vaginal walls. I felt my glans being gripped, Cara’s desire for my love juices, so I wanted to orgasm too, but it took time. Still, I felt it, I was in paradise. I enjoyed every one of the following seconds as my beloved recovered. Of course, my waiting had a decisive advantage for her, her lust was building up again, and how. She fought for renewed happiness; I did my best. When I finally released myself, came inside her, it intoxicated her. Cara screamed out her renewed orgasm, clenching her thighs, wanting to keep my gift inside her.

Exhausted, I dropped down beside her. That was no activity for a forty-three-year-old in the long run, copulating with a vigorous teenage girl twice in such a short time. But Cara showed me her gratitude. Her kisses and her hands spoke of love and happiness. Her sweet words sank into my befuddled mind. Later, all I knew was how I had enjoyed it as a young woman full of happiness sighed and whispered her lingering arousal lovingly in my ear.

The next few days with my partner in love were magnificent. She totally surrendered to my guidance, showed me how she enjoyed every touch, melted every time, let herself be moulded like wax and gave me one pleasure after another. The two weeks we spent together were incredibly beautiful. When I dabbed her sweaty face after wild lust, kissing and caressing her again and again, her eyes shone with affection. Cara also gave me endless pleasure, had learned to satisfy me orally perfectly, didn’t let up even when I surrendered to her, apparently sensed that I couldn’t get enough of her, and pampered my manhood until I usually withdrew exhausted.