Man With A Mission
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Jake had the good grace to blush. “I didn’t say that.” By now they were crossing the plaza. Every town in Peru, he understood, had one. It was a central meeting place for the entire community and was bordered on all four sides by buildings. The cathedral was made out of gray and black granite stones, all carefully cut and laid. A testament to Inka ingenuity and skill, the stone wall was smooth and beautiful looking.
“Knowing what I know of norteamericanos,” Ana said impishly, “your people have very puritan views of human sexuality and sensuality. Down here in South America, we honor a woman’s beauty in every way, and we also embrace our sexuality as well. It’s not a taboo or dirty thing to be hidden or be ashamed of. And we don’t go around rutting like sheep, either. The Que’ro way of using the chalina signals openly a young woman’s desire. Before that, she has not had sex with anyone. So you see, it’s a very monogamous ideal and has tradition at the heart of it.”
Jake nodded. “I can see that. So is that why you are wearing it?” They moved through the square and down a hard-packed dirt slope. On his left was the roaring Urubamba River, on his right, several government buildings painted salmon and robin’s-egg blue. As they reached the bottom of the hill, Ana led him up another hill that was lined with stalls and sellers. Up ahead, he saw the train station.
“I wear it because it is a sign that I am a local. I am not a gringo. When we go into this village and I speak in Quechua to the people to try and find out information about your sister, they’ll not mistake me for an outsider.” She dug the toes of her leather boots into the hard dirt road and moved quickly toward the train station. There was a large roofed-in area, and two trains sitting on the tracks. A concrete slab provided a place for passengers to rest their luggage before boarding.
At the train office, Ana bought two tickets, handing over the soles, the Peruvian currency, necessary for the purchase. She turned and gave Jake his ticket. “We have to hurry….” she said a little breathlessly, and jogged around the building toward the first train. Jake hurried after her. They hopped on board. Ana spotted the last two seats available, in the back. As he moved toward the seat, Jake noticed the train was filled with tourists from many nations. After placing his and Ana’s packs in the overhead metal rack, he sat down beside her. Room was sparse and he was large. There was a European couple speaking German next to them, so he squeezed his bulk in, right against Ana. He had no choice. She didn’t seem to mind his nearness. Like a hungry wolf, Jake secretly absorbed her tall, firm body and the warmth of her skin against his. He shouldn’t enjoy it so much, he told himself sternly, under the circumstances.
The train jerked and started. It slowly began to leave Agua Caliente. Very quickly, it clickety-clacked into the jungle, following the Urubamba. Jake watched as Ana gently fingered the alpaca scarf with her lean, graceful hand. Knowing this wasn’t the time or place to speak of their mission, he decided to ask her personal questions instead. Anyone eavesdropping would not be any the wiser.
“So, you come from a Que’ro family? A family of healers?”
Ana enjoyed his strength and warmth against her. It was a good thing Jake couldn’t read her mind, because she was absorbing his very male energy into herself and her heart. How she missed talking with a man! She hadn’t realized how much until now. Before, she’d had Roberto, whom she met at least once a month for a weekend down in Lima, and they would chatter like two parrots to one another about so many things. Ana was now beginning to understand just how much she missed him. And when she saw the burning sincerity in Jake’s pale blue eyes, she knew she would lap up each moment of his attention like a cat being served a warm saucer of milk.
“My mother’s family has owned land in Rainbow Valley for generations. They are campesinos, farmers, close to the land and to Pachamama.”
“Pachamama?”
She smiled fondly. “Peruvian for Mother Earth. My people have a mystical and spiritual connection to all of nature.” Ana pointed upward at the green hills. “In a little while, you will see a beautiful apu, a mountain with a living spirit who resides in it. We believe that the apus are powerful guardians and keepers of our ways. Each morning, I was taught to take three perfectly formed dried coca leaves and blow into them, to honor our local apus. I would then bury the coca leaves in the soft, warm earth. It is called the Andean way, today. And it’s about honoring Mother Earth, all of nature—living in sync with them, not against them.”
“It sounds like your people have a very spiritual tie to the earth.” He saw the passion in her eyes as she spoke of what she believed in. Jake could almost see Ana sliding her long, slender fingers into the warmth of the dark, fertile earth. Just that thought sent heat tunneling through his lower body. How he’d like to be touched like that. The thought was unbidden. Moist. Full of promise. Frowning, he wondered what spell Ana was casting over him.
“Is this your first time to Peru, Jake?”
“Yes.”
“I see…. The people who farm are known as campesinos, as I said. I come from such stock, although my father is a very rich businessman, an art collector and dealer. He met my mother when he was in the Rainbow Valley looking for woven textiles to put in his galleries in Cusco and Lima.” Ana lifted her chalina and said softly, “He fell in love with my mother’s beautiful weaving ability, but even more with her. They called her the Inkan princess because she was so beautiful. All the campesinos said that she would one day give her chalina to a very rich lord. Her beauty was such that in the old days of the Inka empire, a woman like her would be taken to Cusco, to the main temple, to marry a nobleman.”
Fingering the scarf gently, Ana said, “It’s such a beautiful story that I love to tell it. My father bought every blanket my mother had ever woven. He came back every month on the pretense of seeing how she was coming on future textiles for his galleries. Here in Peru, when a man wants to court a woman and she has not given him her chalina, he may come and serenade her with song. My father, Eduardo, played the charango, an Andean mandolin made of wood, and he would sing to her as she wove on the porch of her home.
“And, over a year’s time, with visits each month, my father would talk endless hours with my mother about so many, many things. He was a city dweller, and she was tied to Pachamama and the ways of her people. He respected her for that and didn’t want to change her at all. One day, when he arrived, he brought her a doll.” Ana’s eyes sparkled as she looked over at Jake, who was hanging on every huskily spoken word.
Surprised, he said, “A doll? A man brings the woman he loves a doll?”
Ana laughed, her teeth white and even. “It’s a special doll, Jake. Around the doll’s neck was a letter with all his credentials written down on it. He told of his heritage, his family, of his financial worth, of what he owned and most of all, how he felt toward my mother. The man speaks of love in that letter, and what he will do to always honor the woman he loves, care for her and their children. He writes of his dream, his hope, for their future.”
“Well? What happened when your mother saw the doll?”