Chapter 3: March 2018

At the beginning of March, the continuous rain subsided, every now and then the main road, still smeared and covered with branches and bushes in some places, dried. The palazzo garden was finally completely finished, new grass had been sown, the ball playground with red sand had been smoothed out, and the piled-up water in the back had dried up. Everyone had been hard at work. I was so grateful for the camaraderie and help of all the residents in the valley.

For the first Saturday in March, it was the third of March; I had suggested to everyone that we celebrate the victory over the flood with a little party. For me it was a victory, a great success. The initial despair had dissolved into new courage and optimism. Ramona had come to bed with me in the middle of the last night, overjoyed at how we had managed the last few days. “Now we are succeeding in everything, no one and nothing is stopping us. I thank you. Your optimism, your example has done it, pulled us all forward with you.” A momentous statement followed the kiss. “Michael, I want a second child, preferably a girl. Please, be so kind. Producing a child is fun for you too, isn’t it?”

Almost nine months had passed since the birth of our Bruno, more than the six months our doctor said we had to wait before a new mating. Of course, I agreed, looking forward to spending time with my Ramona. I’m a particularly weak man in that area lately, but with strong powers in my loins. We were diligent, made love without much fanfare, but with a lot of heart and intimacy. The next day, the first Saturday in March, however, clearly showed that our life would not run smoothly.

In the morning we had helped the village once again to tidy up the potato fields and to supply the rinsed beds with soil and humus. On the way to lunch, the first bad news came. In the guesthouse, the sewage was no longer draining away; the two cesspits were apparently overfilled. Fortunately, we had two 50-metre extension cord rolled up to use an electric pump. After less than five minutes, the pump stopped. The big pit was completely filled with mud and leaves, had to be scooped out by hand, surely a job for several days. The stench had been unpleasantly in our nostrils for days, but we had not found the cause. The second, somewhat smaller pit had no water at all to pump out. It was filled to the brim with rubbish and smelled even worse. Oh, God, we were in for a hell of a job.

I immediately thought of the sewage system in the Palazzo. The two huge floor tanks could hold a lot of water, but had that been enough during the flood? Before dinner, I opened the cover. The tank was filled to the brim, didn’t smell that bad, but needed to be pumped out urgently. We immediately set to work. After pumping out only eight inches, the pump was at the end of its strength, only mud and leaves filled most of the huge tank.

But unfortunately, that was not all on this day. With the sunlight and the light wind from the canyon, a terrible stench reached us. A short time later, the whole valley smelled of decay, of slurry and somehow acridly sweet. Some of the women had to vomit repeatedly. It was simply unbearable and intensified. Daja was not as irritated by the smell as the others. So, she accompanied me on the search for the cause. The entire hilly part next to the more than one-kilometre-long road to the destroyed bridge had been flooded. Here, pressed against the rock walls, was tons of rubbish, animal carcasses, in some cases whole trees and huge branches. Obviously, the water level next to the road had dropped slightly, releasing carcasses whose stench of decay irritated our airways.

First, we discovered ducks and geese from the village swimming in puddles between the hills. The water couldn’t run off because of the slightly higher road. Daja wanted to get two ducks, took a few steps towards the animals, then she was gone. I immediately jumped after her, found no reason, held on to a branch. Underneath, our youngest gurgled for her life. I dived, held on to a mighty branch with one hand and managed to grab Daja by one leg. She had got caught between branches and twigs, would have had no chance to free herself alone. Finally, I had her in a place where I could stand again. We both spat out leaves and bits of dirt were covered from head to toe in mud. Daja was shaking, still struggling for breath, and vomiting several times. We sat down briefly on the raised roadside and wiped the worst of the dirt from our faces.

Regardless of the dirt, I lifted Daja into the golf cart and sped off to the palazzo. We showered at the pool, standing stark naked in the warming sun. Sula and Esther took care of us, brought us towels and used a tub to collect our laundry. Finally, Daja smiled, slightly embarrassed, wanting to apologise or thank me. I just took her in my arms, so happy that we had both escaped death.

The young women came from everywhere. Some made stupid remarks at first, until they found out what had happened to us. Esther fetched us both water bottles to rinse the remaining dirt out of our mouths, Sula handed us two construction workers’ jackets to put on, everyone wanted to help us somehow. While I hurried to Ramona and Luisa, I saw Daja tearfully telling her friends about the traumatic experience.

No sooner had I got dressed than shouts rang out in the large hall. The girls wanted to celebrate me as a lifesaver, but I didn’t feel like it. I ordered Daja into my bathroom. She should relax in the warm water after her fright. Kira kept her company. Daja needed someone to talk her mind off the experience. Her ‘boss’ Mayari, usually Daja’s ‘big sister’, with whom she discussed everything, was lying in the doctor’s room. The subsequent fear for her friend had knocked her over, overloaded her circulation. About ten days before the due date, our doctor was very worried about our Brazilian, especially as she had already felt unwell several times because of the stench. By the evening, thank God, she was feeling better again.

Sula accompanied me to the accident site again. We had taken a shovel, a spade, and a three-metre-long steel pole. There was so much water to the right of the road, at least the size of ten football fields. A swamp would probably form here, especially as heavy rain was expected every day. The water masses had obviously washed a deep trench into the ground next to the road towards the end of the valley, exactly where Daja had sunk. How far it went and how deep it was remained a mystery for the time being. The pole found no bottom when I tried to explore the course of the gully from a dry spot, so it was deeper than three metres. What were we to do? Actually, we were left with one solution, to rip up the road with the excavator and divert parts of the water to where the terrain to the left of the road was still slightly deeper than in the flooded area.

Sula discovered a deeper spot next to the road where water emerged as if from a small spring. The road was more than a metre higher. With the spade, Sula widened the opening. The loamy water bubbled a little more now, but it wouldn’t do us much good with the huge amount of water and mud. Together we pushed the pole a bit under the road, back a bit, further again. Suddenly the water was flowing almost as thick as an arm. After we had removed the pole, we could watch how the water first covered the ground, rose higher and higher, and also apparently enlarged the opening, because the inflow increased. Later, we found a few more places where the water seeped under the road.

With spade and shovel we created a little channel where the water could flow into a depression. Since there was no more water from the giant wave here, the water probably seeped away without any problems. Still, it would take weeks before larger parts of the flooded area were drained. A little rain and a lot of sun could help, but there was no hope of that until the second half of March.

Suddenly, Sula puked. She vomited, struggling for breath. During work we had hardly minded the foul smell, but now I felt the same. We were racing each other. I had tears in my eyes, barely regaining my temper. Sula had only gotten over her morning sickness a few days ago, was four months pregnant now, but today her nausea found no end. I supported her and said a few distracting words.

It was necessary for survival to get rid of the decaying animal corpses. There were probably many more here than at the palazzo fence. Would the smell of decay go away on its own at some point? I had no idea; I had to ask our doctor.

Instead of the planned party in the evening, I took care of the sewage problems in the guesthouse with Olivia and Alejandra. While I pumped the dirty water towards the potato field, Olivia flushed the pit with a hose. We hoped that this would help us to loosen some mud and pump it away. Alejandra took turns operating the downstairs toilet flushes. The water flowed down the toilets, with only a brief backwater. This loosened additional mud in the pits, which we were able to pump out easily.

Carmen began shortly afterwards to lift mud out of the second pit with a long scoop, a very strenuous job, plus the foul smell. Soon I swapped places with Carmen, she pumped, I scooped. After an hour I was at the end. At least the work to make it possible to use the drains in the Casa again had been worthwhile, but many days of exhausting work on these two pits alone were ahead of us.

Rock music was blaring in the Palazzo, just too loud for me. I almost started swearing, but fortunately I took a deep breath first. It would have been unfair to impose my opinion when everyone liked it. Some danced, many sat together and made funny gestures, cut masks, so good mood. Mayari was visibly exhausted, was still very pale. I beckoned to Priya to turn down the volume of the music. Fahsai dashed to the remote control and fulfilled my wish.

“Guys, thank you for today. Please be considerate of Mayari and Priya and their children. They are listening to the music while still in the womb. The following stipulation: Mayari may sleep in my bedroom from today. How many days are left, May? Ten?” The very pregnant woman nodded in agreement and I brought her into the room, helped her to shower and bedded her, dressed in one of the hospital nightshirts, in my double king-size bed.

I took a bath to relax but found no peace. Thoughts went round in circles. Because of the huge swampy area and the decomposition processes, I was afraid of diseases, but also of the increase of mosquitoes in the valley, which could also transmit diseases. Only shortly before my trip to Peru, I had read about skull deformities of new-borns in Brazil. The cause was the Zika virus transmitted by mosquitoes. We had to do something urgently. That was more important to me than the sewage pits, although there was some danger from it too. We had hardly any chlorinated lime left; we had to do something to disinfect it. How could you burn lime with simple means?

During my studies I had worked in a lime works for a few weeks. There was good money in lime burning. Limestone was stored in two places in the valley, but lime burning required greater heat, at least 800 °C. We would have to create a wood-burning kiln with a burn-out point. But this way we could produce quicklime and use it for disinfection. That was a very important task for me. Tomorrow, on Sunday, I wanted to start.

Dressed in pyjamas, I crept into my bedroom, trying not to disturb Mayari. But laughter was coming from the bed. Daja was with her friend and wanted to prove to her how well she had overcome the accident. She begged me if she could sleep with Mayari tonight. Soon I snuggled up to the little girl and fell asleep very quickly, while the friends were still whispering and caressing each other. An exhausting day came to a very pleasant end.

The next few days were very exhausting but are quickly told. The water level in the swamp area had dropped. The small drain and the sun had done a lot. Sula and Babette had built a larger campfire on the road, kept throwing burning sheaths on the washed-up, sluggishly drying broken wood. I had not thought it possible, but soon small fires were burning in several places. Shortly afterwards I was worried when the flames became too big and a huge cloud of smoke drifted towards the village, but that was only momentary. Some small mounds of earth were passable again. The water continued to sink, only the two deep flood grooves, up to five metres wide, remained filled. Some ducks had unfortunately not survived the fire, but all the geese had been coaxed out with grains of maize. We had been able to pull out some of the animal carcasses and dispose of them in the direction of Tiso. The rest was done by the rat-like burrows, the ants, and flocks of small birds with reddish plumage, which seemed to grow in number every day and gleefully consumed the stinking meat.

By the seventh of March, the kiln was ready and we were making lime for disinfection the very next day. In the Casa, one septic tank was fully usable again. The other one was in the process of drying and only needed to be shovelled out, which was of course exhausting works. We had pumped out about half of one pit in the palazzo and it was receiving our wastewater. The other was drying and had to be emptied.

Then it happened unexpectedly, Mayari moaning next to me in bed at night. Her contractions had started three days early. We took her to the doctor’s room for delivery. She struggled with utmost effort for eight hours, then her Neymar was born, named after her favourite footballer from her home country Brazil. We were all happy when May had given birth. Especially her three friends had not been able to stand the sounds of pain.

Actually, the new school year would have started on 5^th of March, but we had postponed the start of classes by a week, and that was a good thing. The stench in the valley weakened, was soon banished. Sufficient disinfectants were ready and there was no increase in the low number of mosquitoes in the valley, a great victory across the board.

Finally, I had time to chat with Mayari, to praise her tiny Neymar. He was the lightest new-born yet, just 2,600 grams, but already had a voice like a lion. When he called for his food, it roared especially loudly through the house.

I often found Daja at Mayari’s side. She was constantly asking about the birth, Mayari’s pain, and the sequence of contractions, caressing the little one and marvelling at the miracle of breastfeeding. Shortly afterwards, she told me she was determined to carry a child as well. I tried to talk her out of it, begging her to postpone the matter for at least a few more months, to no avail. “I’ll make the official application tonight, and you’ll see, everyone is in favour, wishing me success and happiness.” And so, it came to pass.

After dinner, Daja had made her official application to become my partner. Everyone had jubilantly agreed. My reservations were blown away. A little hastily, I had brought up the argument that not all young women could be pregnant at the same time. First, I restrained, then a stronger laugh showed me my mistake. As we all knew, three of the young ladies had already given birth, breaking the pregnancy so to speak. Before Daja could be pregnant, Priya would also be a mother, according to the plan. This would mean that at most nine young women would be pregnant, but all in different months.

As I was checking at the terrace how far the golf carts were loaded to go to the Casa with my new partner, she came prancing towards me, short little dress that barely fit, slim like a top model, radiant gaze. My God, she was an angel, beautiful. Her expectant expression melted my still slight inner resistance. I spread my arms, smiling at her uncertainly as she hurried to me with quick steps. Her hair shimmered in the evening sun. She was aroused now, her face glowing. One cause was surely how she was partly other-directed, knowing her friends were watching her every move and mine. She especially wanted to impress her Mayari.

Everyone was still giving her hints, really egging her on. I took her in my arms and enjoyed the unique feeling of her warm, youthful body nestling against me. She smelled so good. Luisa had certainly prepared the love lotion of the Incas for her, perhaps rubbed her with it herself. All the women in the palace seemed to have been waiting for Daja to be the last young woman to lose her sexual innocence, perhaps to father a child with me. For days I had felt the effort of all the women to push me, to convince me, yes, they also used their charms to stimulate me. They didn’t even give me the chance to at least delay the moment. Their pressure was permanent, and honestly, my resistance had long since been broken. The sexual urge in me was ignited, and it was stronger than my mind.

I breathed in Daja’s sweet scent deeply, feeling my masculine lust increase by the second. The girl in my arms was trembling. Up in the mountains she had shed this fear; here in front of her friends she was additionally insecure, which at the same time increased the attraction for me.

I lifted her effortlessly; she was so slender, almost as light as a feather. With a kiss I carried her to the buggy. A small cheer in the distance, Sula ran to open the gate for us despite her tummy, off we went towards the casa. Several shrill whistles rang out. Like little boys in the lowest classes, the young women had been practising the loud whistle for the last few days, audibly with success. I smiled, waved to the crowd, and stroked my bride, my partner for a fortnight, over her silky hair.

Olivia was informed of our arrival by radio and greeted us with a smile at the wide-open door. I carried my angel up the stairs. Room ‘13’ was open, formally awaiting us, two small lamps to the left and right of the bed glowing dimly, a small musky smell in the air. Olivia had apparently experimented again, hopefully not as effectively as almost a year ago.

Gently I laid Daja down as if she were a fragile treasure. Actually, she was, precious, vulnerable, but beautiful. Her big brown eyes looked up at me, now loving, the excitement seemed to have faded. I admired the young Indonesian woman, cut off from her family and her culture, but so full of life, a great teeny on her way to womanhood. She had become even more involved in the team over the last few months. Something like fatherly love flowed through me briefly, overriding my already awakened sexual urges. But when I saw her lying in front of me, full of expectation, full of willingness to surrender, the man in me won again. I bent over her, touched her lips only briefly, almost stammering, “Are you okay, Daja, my darling? Do we really want to dare?”

Instead of an answer, her arms clasped my neck, her lips sought my mouth, found it, and then we were done. Our tongues danced together in courtship my hands exposed her youthful body. Daja was hot; her body seemed to be steaming. Who knows how long her friends had kept her hot with words and advice.

While I undressed myself, I looked at my angel, saw her sensual lips, her expectant smile. In front of me was the youth I had once so desired but sorely missed. Her nakedness, her pubescent breasts made me even greedier to finally possess her, to take her without any qualms, to make her my plaything of love, but in the process to give her as much happiness and lust as possible.

Daja trembled with excitement when she noticed my erection, almost didn’t dare look. She stretched out both hands, apparently there was only one thing for her at that moment too, desiring love. She wanted to be held, loved, kissed. The bed creaked under my weight as I lay down beside her. Immediately she turned to me, put one leg over mine. Her breasts tickled the sides of my torso. She smelled so sexy, her pussy now giving off pleasant scents. My index finger tapped her nose lightly, then went wandering, tracing her eyebrows, and playing with her lips. Both hands caressed her cheeks, held her head, delaying the fulfilment of her lust for an intimate kiss. At the same time, she was sending me a clear message; I want it, now, right now. I wasn’t even sure if her eyes, their joyful radiance, were sending me this message, or if it was again some kind of thought transmission.