Chiapas ~ Part I

Diane Sloane arrived at the Café Mitla in the early morning. Sitting quietly by herself she ordered a Café Americano. Luis took her order. 

“Are you waiting for Mr. Ben?” he asked. 

“No,” said Diane. “I don’t know… have you seen him?

“Not since that day he was here with you. He may have left Oaxaca.”

 “You think?” she said.

“After you left the other morning he asked me what I knew about San Cristobal de las Casas.”

“Is that a place?”

“It’s a city,” said Luis. “In Chiapas.”

 “South of here.”

“Yes. I told him I haven’t been there but if he should go, he must be careful.” 

“Careful of what?”

“El Conflicto,” said Luis. “It is civil war there.”

“My God.”

“The Zapatistas and the Federales. They are fighting each other in Chiapas.” 

“By any chance, would you know how to contact him?” 

“No Ma’am,” said Luis. “We weren’t that well acquainted.”

The crisp, morning air greeted Ben as he stepped off the bus at the terminal in San Cristobal de las Casas. It had been a night to remember, a journey within a journey. He could still feel Amparo’s lingering proximity. Leaving his baggage at the check-stand he ventured out on foot to get first impressions and to find a proper cup of coffee. Wandering through a district of shops and stores, he liked what he saw. The city retained much of it’s Spanish colonial sensibilities. 

Narrow cobblestone streets and foot-worn granite sidewalks fronted stone and adobe structures with red tiled roofs and wrought iron balconies. Colorful adornments of flowers and potted plants were everywhere amidst buildings of baroque and Moorish facades. Bustling auto and pedestrian traffic included horses and donkeys pulling carts filled with produce and firewood. Gentry found himself a head taller than most of the people he encountered on the sidewalks. Nearly all he encountered were Mayan Indians. As he walked along he saw a small sign in the window of a store, which read “Café Aqui”. 

Gentry spent his first week at the Posada de la Luz. Formerly a monastery, the two hundred year old structure was converted to a hotel in the 1920s. Ben’s room was adequate but cold. At 7,200 feet the city was situated high in the Sierra Madre, thus the prevalence of donkey carts loaded with firewood.

As days went by Ben continued his routine of long walks through the different barrios of the city. Unlike other places he’d been in Mexico, he encountered very few people who spoke English. He was comfortable speaking Spanish and enjoyed the culture he was discovering in the city. 

On his fourth day in San Cristobal, Ben was pleased to find ‘The American Bookstore’ on a backstreet. On a bulletin board in the store, he saw three notices for “casita rentals”. Each notice stipulated “month-to-month”. It occurred to him that it might be a good idea to stay put for awhile. The first two places he looked at were situated far from the central plaza. They were shabby and not to his liking. As it happened the third place was only a few blocks from the Posada where he was staying in Barrio Cerrillos. 

Ben rang the doorbell at the front gate of the private home. The day before he’d spoken on the phone with an American woman who gave him the address and time to arrive for an interview. He could hear footsteps in the outer courtyard and then the gate opened, revealing a young Mexican woman. She wore a white apron and motioned for Ben to follow her into the house. 

Upon entering the front hallway the young woman led Ben through another, narrow hallway into the kitchen. Spacious and well appointed it had tasteful tile work and a large center island where Virginia Salcido was chopping carrots. A woman in her mid forties, Virginia greeted Ben with a smile and “Buenos Dias”. 

“Buenos Dias,” responded Ben. “Are you Virginia?”

“Yes, and you’re Ben?”

“I am.”

“Let me just finish this one,” Virginia said as she chopped away on a large carrot. She gave instructions to the young Mexican woman and then walked over to Ben while drying her hands with a towel. She extended her right hand saying, “How do you do?” 

Ben shook her hand saying, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Do you plan to be here for awhile?” said Virginia.

“I don’t know,” said Ben. “A month or two, maybe more.”

“That’s good. We like to rent to people who will stay at least a month. Are you here doing research?”

“Not really,” said Ben. “I’m having a… Wander-year.”

“Interesting,” said Virginia.

“My plan is to spend a year taking buses down through the Americas.” 

“How far down?” she said. “Tierra del Fuego?”

“If I can,” he said.

“My husband and I went there, last December.”

“You did?” said Ben. “You’re the first person I’ve met who’s been that far south. Why did you go there?”

“We were with a group that went on to Antarctica.”

“Wow. What was that like?”

“Like being on another planet.” Ben was silent while Virginia retrieved a jacket from a closet. “Let’s walk over to the casita,” she said.

When they arrived at the gate, Virginia unlocked it and they climbed up six tiled steps to the courtyard of a spacious Quinta. To the right, Ben observed a large, two story house. Directly ahead was a one-story house. Both structures were whitewashed adobe with red tile roofs. The grounds were lush with trees, landscaping and weathered red brick paths. Virginia led Ben on a path to the left taking them past a hedgerow which revealed a third dwelling.

 With a covered flagstone patio, the casita featured large French windows and at the center an old carved wooden door. The door was unlocked and Virginia motioned for Ben to open it and go inside. 

Stepping inside Ben had a shock of recognition. It felt like a home in Rustic Canyon, California where he lived when he was a student at UCLA. The place had scale and elegance with a 1950s sensibility. Opposite the front door n the living room was a kiva fireplace that appeared well used. To his right up three brick steps, Ben could see the kitchen and dining area. To the left was a large couch, a corner table and chair. Behind these furnishings a floor to ceiling bookcase was filled with books. He stepped over and scanned the books, seeing Spanish, English, German and French titles. 

“Over the years, many of our guests have left books here,” said Virginia. “You’re welcome to read any of them.” 

“I see,” said Ben. 

Gesturing to the right of the bookcase she said, “Now if you’ll step through that doorway.” The two of them passed into the master bedroom and viewed the attached bathroom. 

“Would you mind if I sat in the living room for a couple of minutes?” said Ben.

“By all means,” said Virginia. “I’ll be out in the courtyard.”

The casita was pleasing to Ben. He was road-weary and he knew it. He needed this place, already had a sense about how it would be… the familiar shelf where you keep a loaf of bread, the fragrance of the bar of soap that sits on the edge of the tub in the bathroom, the sticking door you know just how to nudge, the window through which the sun announces the morning. The safe place on the earth that somehow belongs to you and no one else. “Home,” he heard himself say.

Doing a quick calculation in his head, Ben figured the rent for the casita would amount to a little less than less than eight US dollars a day. His hotel room was thirty dollars a day. He walked out into the courtyard and, seeing Virginia, said “I would like to stay here for a while, at least a month, and probably longer.” 

“Well good,” said Virginia.

“It’s eighteen hundred pesos a month?” said Ben.

“Yes,” said Virginia.

“Do you need a further deposit?”

“No. Just the first month’s rent. I suppose you’d like to move in right away.”

 “Right away is fine,” said Ben. 

The sun was setting over the Pacific Ocean when Gunther’s Mercedes arrived at his brother’s hacienda in the coastal city of Juchitán de Zaragoza. A rugged passage over the rough roads from Oaxaca had taken the better part of the day. As the three weary travelers emerged from the car, Gunther set up Lucy’s wheelchair and helped her into it. From the front door of the house there appeared a beautifully dressed and made up woman who proceeded to walk towards them. As she came closer, Gunther let out a laugh.

“Ah… guten abend mein bruder,” said Gunther. “Wie geht es Ihnen?”

“Ich bin wunderbar,” said Dieter. “Immer wunderbar!”

Diane and Lucy looked at Dieter, then at Gunther, then at each other.

“Ladies,” said Gunther, “let me introduce my brother. Dieter, this is Lucy Olguin and Diane Sloane. Ladies, this is my eccentric brother… Dieter Hoffmann.”

An awkward moment of silence, then; “Yah, Lucy,” said Dieter, “I feel like I know you. Gunther has spoken of you often, and now we finally meet.”

“How do you do, Dieter,” Lucy said. “He’s told me a lot about you.”

“And Diane Sloane,” said Dieter, “How do you know these two?”

“Lucy and I are old friends. Long ago we were in college together in the States.”

“And now you’re here on holiday?” said Dieter.

“I guess you could say that.”

“Well,” said Dieter, “you folks must be tired. It’s a rough road from Oaxaca. Come let’s go in the house and have refreshments. Juana, my cook, is preparing a delicious dinner. I hope you’re all hungry. Also, for the ladies, I hope my attire isn’t too distracting. I’ve just returned from a festival celebrating los Muxes. Gunther knows about this.”

“I know of the Muxes,” said Lucy.

“Good,” said Dieter. “Let us tell stories over dinner.” 

Gunther went to the trunk of the Mercedes to fetch suitcases. 

“Oh Gunther, don’t.” said Dieter, ‘I have Pedro to bring in your equipaje.”

“I’ll just take this one,” said Gunther, retrieving a briefcase. 

As the four entered the hacienda, Dieter said, “You must be thirsty, then he called out, “Juana, por favor, trae té helado y cuatro vasos al solárium.”

“SI Don Diego,” said Juana from another room.

“Don Diego?” said Gunther

“My nom de Mejico,” said Dieter, then pointing towards the solarium, “It’s through that doorway. And if you’ll excuse me, I’l go and change into something less extravagant.”  Dieter walked down a hallway as the other three crossed over into the solarium. 

Dieter’s home was expansive and lavishly decorated with furnishings, paintings and artifacts from all over the world. By contrast, the dining room was without decor except for an elegant chandelier hanging above a surprisingly small dining table. The table was round and could seat six people comfortably. The walls had dark stained wood paneling and the floor, earth toned tiles. French windows looked out onto a tropical garden.

Juana had set the dining room table and was placing entrees at its center when Dieter and his guests entered the room.

“Ah, gracias Juana,” said Dieter. “¿Qué vamos a tener esta noche?”

“Sí, señor,” said Juana. “Lubina, arroz y ensalada.”

“Wunderbar.” said Dieter, “Eat simple, live long. Now, everyone sit where you like.” 

Once seated, Dieter began filling plates with food and passing them around to his guests. “I hope everybody likes fish,” he said. 

There were four people at the table, but there was a place setting for a fifth person. Noticing this, Lucy said, “Are we expecting someone else?”

“What?” said Dieter.

“The other place set,” said Lucy. “Will someone join us?”

“Oh that,” said Dieter. This is something Gunther and I grew up with in Germany. Our parents followed an old family custom and at every meal there would be an extra place set for the unexpected guest.”

“Unexpected guest?” said Diane.

“Jesus,” said Gunther. Diane and Lucy gave each other a quick look.

“No, we’re not crazy,” said Dieter, “and we’re not zealots.”

There was a pause in the conversation. 

“Actually,” said Dieter, “I wake up every morning and I thank God that I’m an atheist.”

“Oh,” said Lucy. Gunther smiled at Dieter.

“Now having said this,” said Dieter, “I must confess that many of the stories from the Bible still resonate with my deepest sensibilities. After all, atheism is no bar to spiritual experience.”

“We were raised in the Lutheran Church,” said Gunther. “Martin Luther was a lawyer and Lutheran children were trained to be little ecclesiastical lawyers so they could give arguments to any Papist who would try to lure them back to the mother church.”

“My father was Lutheran,” said Diane.

“Is that right?” said Dieter.

“Lapsed,” said Diane. “He liked to tell the story of the Lutheran elders who met in the church basement. They sat in a circle wringing their hands and shaking their heads, dreading that somewhere, someone might be having a good time.”

“Tell me Dieter,” said Lucy, “why is this table so.. modest?”

“You mean small.”

“Yes.”

“It’s by design,” said Dieter. “With six or seven people a meal can be an intimate occasion. Any more and it becomes theater.”

“Of course,” said Diane.

“Diane, tell me about yourself,” said Dieter. 

“Oh gosh, I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Well like the King said to Alice, start at the beginning and go on until you’re finished, then stop.”

Later in the evening Diane was alone with Gunther and Lucy.

*Dieter is obviously gay,” said Gunther. “He embraces the Muxe culture of Juchitán. It’s pronounced Moo-she. The Muxes are an acknowledged, other category of gender. These people combine elements of both male and female and fill a unique role within the community.”

“So they’re accepted?” said Diane.

“Oh yes. Local acceptance of these people is rooted in ancient culture and can be traced back to the cross-dressing priests and hermaphrodite gods of Aztec and Maya civilizations.”

“Goodness,” said Diane.

“What a world, huh?” said Gunther.

The next morning Lucy and Diane remained on the dock and waved as Dieter’s fishing boat  pulled away. Dieter, Gunther and a few friends were bound for a deep sea fishing excursion. 

As the two women made their way back off the dock, Diane remarked, “Lucy I’m not comfortable here.”

“You’re not? Why’s that?”

“I don’t mean to offend Gunther or Dieter but…”

“I know. Gunther prepared me for this. I should’ve said something about it to you.”

“You think?”

“I figured it better to just get here and then sort things out. Besides you were always tolerant and accepting of people.”

“I suppose. I guess I’m not what I used to be.”

“It’s OK hermana, I love you. And you’ve been through a lot.”

“Oh Lucy, sometimes I feel so lost.”

“You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known. You’ll get through this. This evening I’ll urge Gunther to be on our way in the next day or two. Let’s get down to San Cristobal and maybe you’ll find your friend.’

“You mean Ben?  He’s not really a friend, I hardly know the man. Besides it’s a long shot I’ll ever see him again.” 

“Still, it could happen and that might cheer you up. Y’know, any port in a storm.”

“Oh Lucy.”

to be continued…