Small Lives, Big World

by R. M. Green

  Just behind the garage was a long low metal building looking for all the world like a couple of shipping containers bolted together and painted in Coca-Cola red and white livery. Gathered around a raised hatch was a small crowd of local men and women all of whom seemed to be angry and directing that anger through the hatch. Being over six feet tall, Matt had no difficulty seeing over the heads of the vexed mob and peering into the dark recesses of the hatch, he saw a very flustered, old Chinese man gesturing and pointing to different products on the shelves behind him and looking as if he wanted the ground to open and swallow him up.

  Just when it seemed that the mob were about to launch themselves through the hatch and drag the unfortunate Chinese pensioner out and vent their frustrations on him physically, a little girl with raven-black hair loose down to her waist and dark skin but with high cheekbones and sparkling brown almond shaped eyes came running around the corner, saying a few words in unmistakeable Chinese to the old man, she smiled sweetly and began talking to the small crowd in Spanish. Matt watched in fascination as the little girl conveyed the various requests for drinks and bread, cigarettes and eggs to what he supposed must have been her grandfather and the old man, relieved and cheerful again, busily gathered the needed items and chattered away merrily to the little girl.

  Calm restored, Matt found himself alone with the little girl outside the hatch and the old man ducked inside the hatch then emerged, walking with a very heavy limp to stand beside them.

  “Err… hola… un agua, por favor” Matt said using five of the twelve Spanish words he knew. The little girl didn’t need to translate because the drinking from a bottle gesture that went with the request was evident to the Chinese man and he made to go back into the shop but the girl ran inside and a heartbeat later returned with an ice-cold bottle of water. Strangers were rare in San Juan and tall foreign ones even rarer and the little girl stood at her grandfather’s side shyly looking at the new arrival. Matt smiled and took a five-dollar bill to hand to the little girl who took it and gestured for him to wait for his change.

  “It’s ok. Es bueno,” Matt said indicating she should keep the change.

  He was rewarded with a broad gap-toothed grin and a, “Gracias Señor,” from the little girl and an equally broad and equally gap-toothed grin from the old man.

  There is a moment each of us experiences when we make a sudden connection with someone irrespective of differences in gender, age, culture, language or location. It is perhaps some sort of empathetic chemistry when friendship and trust spontaneously appear and an immediate sense of comfort and companionship arise. Just such a moment now seemed to occur between Matt Marshall, the old and lame Chinese man and the pretty little girl by his side. Rather than taking his leave and heading back to get his car, Matt stayed and drank his water and sweeping his arm around in an arc and said, “Es bueno… mucho err… sol. Muy bella.” He had no idea what he was saying really but he knew he wanted to stay a while and try to communicate. This village looked exactly the kind of place he had in mind for the opening scenes of Duel.

  The little girl and the old man spoke together in Chinese for a moment then the little girl offering her hand and pointing at her chest said, “Soy Clara,” then pointing to her grandfather, “Es mi abuelo, Pascal.”

  The old man placed his palm on his chest and, bowing slightly with his head, repeated, “Pascal.”

  Matt repeated the gesture and said, “Matt. Hola!”

  Suddenly, Matt felt little Clara’s hand slip into his own and she guided him away from the hatch followed by Pascal, who seemed to be protesting mildly, and around the corner.

  Rounding the corner of the Angel Mart, Matt could see the small town with its white-painted houses and was already imagining where the opening shot would be filmed when feeling a tug on his hand he looked down and realised that Clara wanted him to look at something on her left.

  He stared in amazement at around twenty pieces of carved wood, some finished in a high polish, others left in their natural state, but carving such as he had never seen before. They were all around two to three feet high and each piece was instantly recognisable as a bird, or a deer or a tree or something from nature but each piece also defied description as they were fashioned in beautiful, haunting shapes displaying a subtlety and emotion as if they were living embodiments of the carver’s own soul not just his imagination. Matt was dumbstruck and moved with the sheer power of the pieces.

  Clara, observing the deep impression the carvings had made on Matt, pointed to Pascal and then back at the carvings. Matt couldn’t believe that this old Chinese man, who was actually blushing, was the creator of such incredible art.

  “Es magnifico! I err… yo… quiero mucho!” Matt clumsily enthused. In fact, he had forgotten all about his overheating car, his drunken location manager and Duel in the Dust as he stood transfixed by the sheer beauty of the carvings. He had to take some pictures, this guy was a genius and the world needed to know. He had to get these pieces shown and his head was spinning with images of an exhibition in his gallery or in a Chinatown venue, of a book, of a documentary, of a million things and at the centre of it all, an unassuming, limping, gap-toothed old Chinese man with kind eyes and the heart and soul of a poet.

  Clara could see that something strange was happening to Matt. She had seen it before as people, even the rather unsophisticated folk of San Juan fell under the spell of Pascal’s carving and she was thrilled this tall foreigner was so impressed. Guessing he must be American, Clara had an idea. She ran into the shop and came back with a cheap cordless phone and pressed a few keys and a moment or two later was chatting excitedly to someone on the other end of the line.

  It turned out that the sensitive and smart little girl was calling her classmate, Eliza. Eliza was Clara’s best friend but more importantly on a day like today, she was also the daughter of Helga. Helga was born in Denmark and her parents had brought her out when she was a teenager to follow her father’s dream to open a chain of patisseries and upmarket bakers in the New World. Unfortunately, Helga’s mother couldn’t stand the heat and the dust and her father’s plan never got further than a provincial bakery. After several years, her parents decided to return to Copenhagen but Helga, by then nineteen years old and in love with the local doctor’s son wanted to stay. Her parents objected strongly, but Helga was determined and her fiancé, Maximo, was a kind, loving and devoted partner from a modest but respectable family and promised to look after her. Helga’s parents reluctantly gave their blessing and left but came back to visit every couple of years and Helga did go back to Denmark once in a while. By the time Eliza was nine, Maximo was the only vet in the region and they owned one of the nicer two-storey brick houses in San Juan. Clara knew that Eliza’s mother was foreign and therefore must be able to understand English and maybe she and Eliza would come over to help speak to the man. It was still not going to be easy; Helga had been deaf since she had meningitis when she was eleven. Before she became ill, Helga could speak five languages. As many Scandinavians do, she grew up knowing not only her native Danish but Swedish, Norwegian, German and English and she still read whatever books and magazines she could lay her hands on in English and she could read and write Spanish perfectly. Maximo and Eliza learned sign language and Helga worked as Maximo’s veterinary nurse and was blissfully content with her family and her life in sleepy San Juan.

  Clara ended her phone call with Eliza and signalled for a bemused Matt to wait and held up her hand with fingers splayed wide to show five minutes. Pascal and Matt lingered over the carvings and Matt ran his hands over the wood, which was warm and smooth to the touch and added to the seeming liquidity of the pieces. He was entranced and thrilled and felt a sense of childlike wonder.

  Just under ten minutes later a white Toyota pick-up swung into view and an attractive, tall, blonde woman and an excited little girl, who looked very like Clara except for her grey eyes, emerged fr
om the vehicle. The woman had a notepad and pen in her hand and the two little girls chattered away for a moment. Clara took Helga by the hand and led her over to where Matt and Pascal were standing. Matt was surprised that such a beautiful and clearly European woman was living in this little backwater but before he could say anything, Helga scribbled in the notepad and handed it to him.

  “Hello. My name is Helga. I am Eliza’s mother. I am sorry I cannot speak or hear but we can write notes and Clara tells me you have some questions for Pascal?”

  Matt read the note and was touched that everyone was going to so much trouble. He nodded and smiled at Helga and mouthed a, “Thank you.” Then taking the pen he paused because he didn’t know where to begin. He had so many questions for Pascal, about his art about how he had come to live in San Juan and about his family and he had plenty of questions for Helga too. However, by way of experiment he jotted down a simple opening question.

  “Did you do all of these carvings, Pascal?”

  Helga read the question and signed to Eliza who asked the question in Spanish to Clara who in turn, asked the same question to Pascal in Chinese.

  Pascal beamed and nodded and answered with a few sentences before Clara stopped him and turned to Eliza who was taking her task very seriously with her tongue between her teeth in concentration. Clara translated Pascal’s answer into Spanish and the conscientious Eliza signed to her mother who wrote in the notepad in English and handed it again to Matt. As each person fulfilled their role the others watched them studiously and occasionally would burst into smiles and giggles and the long-winded process continued.

  After the initial exchanges, it was clear it was going to be a long morning, so Pascal and Matt fetched a white plastic table from inside the shop and sitting on a few fold-away deckchairs with bottles of cold soda and water before them, Matt learned a little of Pascal’s life with the delightfully enthusiastic help of two little girls and a beautiful Danish woman. Three hours later with the notepad full on both sides of the paper and the covers, Matt Marshall took his leave promising to return soon with an interpreter and some books for Helga. Before he left, Matt begged Pascal to let him buy one of his pieces; it was in the form of a swan as if emerging from the water and the entire piece did indeed look as if it were moving and the fluidity was breath-taking. Matt opened his wallet and offered the entire contents to Pascal, which must have been about four hundred dollars. Pascal gently but insistently pushed the money back at Matt. Then saying a couple of words to Clara, Pascal stood back as the little girl picked up the carving which was almost as tall as she was and handed it to Matt.

  “Un regalo de mi abuelo.”

  Matt did not need a translation and touching his heart with his hand he bowed at Pascal who bowed in return.

  Although she didn’t let on, Helga recognised Matt from the DVDs she occasionally bought that had subtitles and thought he was very handsome and not at all like a movie star, as she imagined. He was so gentle and kind and interested in everyone else and did not say a single thing about himself. Helga was looking forward to his next visit to San Juan and that night after Eliza was in bed, she cooked a big steak for Maximo and dragged him off before dessert for an early night. She adored her husband but allowed herself a little fantasy and Maximo was certainly not complaining.

  Alfonso Dominguez was a vain, somewhat quick-tempered man. In his early fifties, short and stocky with a thick mop of black curly hair and strangely, rather feminine eyes, Alfonso was also kind, hard-working and rarely for this part of the world, enjoyed a reputation as both an honest and effective administrator of the province in which he had been placed in charge. Bereft of big cities or ports and with only a small cluster of coastal retirement towns in his domain, notably Santa Cruz, Alfonso was leader of the smallest and poorest province in the country but worked tirelessly to try and better the lot of its people. In the three years of his governorship, he had managed to bring electricity and clean water to every village between Santa Cruz and the border to the north, and a project was underway to achieve the same for the south. Alfonso, the son of a professional soldier and an opera singer, had been educated in the US and trained and worked as an attorney in the capital for twenty years, gaining a reputation for honesty which made his business suffer but when the post of governor of the forgotten province became vacant, President Dominguez (no relation) decided that the honest work-horse would be the ideal candidate to take charge of this impoverished poisoned chalice. Appealing to Alfonso’s patriotism and his vanity, the President convinced him to take charge for an initial term of five years and promised he would have free rein in everything except taxation and the police. Alfonso agreed and within six months found himself working sixteen-hour days and travelling through the province in an official Ford Explorer with just his driver, Jorge, who doubled as the deputy governor. But Alfonso got things done. To raise extra money over and above the paltry central budget allowance, he had invited seven large companies in to build a range of plants from a canning factory to a massive recycling centre and construction was well under way on several others along with the necessary infrastructure. This not only provided jobs but allowed Alfonso to swell the provincial coffers by double. The reason the progress was so spectacular by local standards was that Alfonso Dominguez never took a penny for himself. His wife, Marisa came from one of the wealthiest families in Santa Elena and was as dedicated as her husband to the welfare of ‘her’ people. Together, they were a formidable team and it was no surprise that the President was outwardly fulsome in the praise he showered on his northern governor and privately fuming that this man might represent a popular challenge to his presidency one day. But that is another story…

  The call from Hollywood had set the governor’s mansion a-flutter. Alfonso could not only see the financial benefits to his province if he could get a major American studio to make a film here but also the potential for tourism and further cinematic adventures. A huge film fan, Alfonso felt he would be a good actor since he had spent his life performing either in the courts or in public meetings. So, he really pushed the boat out when it was confirmed that none other than Matt Marshall was coming to Santa Cruz with a colleague to scout out potential shooting locations. Alfonso went to meet them at the airstrip personally and offered them the use of one of the official cars but was a little taken aback to hear that Mr Marshall only wanted to rent some battered old peasant jeep. Still, Hollywood-types were a bit eccentric and Alfonso wanted to be a gracious and accommodating host.

  A few days after the film star arrived, Alfonso was working in his office on a plan for a new irrigation system in the extreme south of the province when his secretary buzzed him on the intercom to announce that Sr Marshall was outside in the waiting area. Jumping up from his desk like an excited schoolboy, Alfonso ran to the door and flung it open and grasped Matt’s outstretched hand with both of his and shook it vigorously and ushered the actor into his office with orders not to be disturbed.

  Two hours later, Matt emerged from the office and went straight to the hotel to make a few calls while Governor Dominguez barked orders to all and sundry while juggling his desk telephone and two mobiles.

  Two days later, San Juan experienced the arrival of a small convoy of four white and yellow official cars all bearing the crest of the province. The vehicles threw up clouds of dust and pulled into the filling station in front of the Angel Mart. People came out of houses and shops to join others standing in the street to stare at this unusual sight. Presently, out of the first car stepped the Governor and Matt Marshall, soon to be joined from the other cars by Denis Ryan, who immediately started looking around with his fingers in front of his face framing imaginary shots, an oriental looking woman in a very formal business suit and a young blond man with the bluest eyes anyone in San Juan had ever seen.

  Waiting to meet the new arrivals were Pascal and Clara, Eliza and Helga and Helga’s husband Maximo, who was on his way to vacci
nate some cattle but was equally excited to meet a real film star. In front of them all standing protectively was Constanza. She had heard about the events in San Juan the day she went to the capital for supplies and was concerned and excited at the same time.

  Pascal and Matt greeted each other like old friends and Matt gave a hug and kiss on the cheek to the girls including Helga who, remembering her fantasy, blushed deeply. Maximo introduced himself in broken English then kissing his wife rather more passionately than usual in public, he got in his pick-up and drove off to his next call. Matt politely greeted Constanza and the formally dressed oriental lady who introduced herself as Ann Lee of the Taiwanese trade delegation and who spoke impeccable English, Spanish and Cantonese acted as interpreter. The tall blonde foreigner with the china-blue eyes then stepped forward with a large duffle bag. Setting the bag down before Helga’s feet, he started to sign to her. Helga laughed and cried at the same time and threw her arms around the young man and then did the same to Matt. Per Carlsson was the son of the Swedish ambassador who had come out to teach special needs children in a Swedish charitable initiative. Per could not only speak perfect English and Danish but had also learned to sign. The duffle bag was full to bursting with books and DVDs in English, Danish and Swedish and included several of Matt Marshall’s films, which embarrassed Matt deeply.

  The Governor who was unused to not being the centre of attention allowed these pleasantries to continue for a few minutes before clearing his throat and immediately commanding the scene. In fact, Alfonso was enjoying watching these people delight in each other’s company but he felt he ought to give Matt a display of his skills as a sort of unspoken audition for a part in the upcoming film. As it turned out, Alfonso Dominguez did have a small part in Duel in the Dust and this would not be his only appearance on the big screen.