More Peruvian Indians pounded rocks along the roadside. Just before we entered a railway tunnel the car sputtered and conked out.
“It’s the lack of oxygen,” said David. “There’s not enough combustion. Don’t worry, it’ll start up again.” And it did, just as a herd of llamas was led through the tunnel looking for all the world like a picture postcard you’d sign saying, “Wish you were here.”
The smoke from our tailpipe was blue now. The contour of the mountains changed. They were more horizontal, less vertical. There was snow on their tops. Wildflowers grew and the higher the altitude the brighter their colors.
We passed more tombstones along the road, graced with purple wildflowers.
Passing through San Mateo I now saw eucalyptus and pine trees. Peruvian peasants dressed like Tibetans led herds of goats. The women wore iridescent crimson mixed with orange in their serapes.
There was a Catholic church in every community.
The mountain soil was a deep red now. Iron ore, David said. Clothes hung on lines in the hot sun which was getting hotter the higher we climbed. Two women, wearing white straw-brimmed hats, sat knitting with long strands of llama wool.
The road was rock now, not paved. A wild hairy pig walked between two dwellings with a Mobil Oil sign on one side and Coca-Cola on the other.
The road was dangerously narrow. David said it was not uncommon for a bus to topple over the edge.
Even though the hot sun was beating down, the men wore wool sweaters and wool skull caps as though their basic association with the mountains was cold. All day they gazed at the snowcapped mountains above.
We looked below us at the winding mountain road. And above us at about 20,000 feet on a mountain top waved the Peruvian flag.
The temperature was cooler now. The sunshine brilliant, the air pure and rarefied. Then at 15,806 feet above sea level we came to a sign.
A sign beside a railway crossing called Abra Anticona. It said: “PUNTO FERROVIARO MAS ALTO DEL MUNDO.” In English: “Highest Railway Point in the World.” Just adjacent to that sign was another one. It said: “EXISTEN LOS PLATILLOS VOLADORES CONTACTO CON OVNIS.” In English: “Flying Saucers Do Exist. UFO Contact Point.”
I looked over at David with raised eyebrows. He smiled. “Well,” he said, “I’m not the only crazy one, am I?”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means that people see lots of UFOs around here and it’s common knowledge and no one is particularly disturbed by it.”
I took a deep breath.
“Did we come here to see UFOs? Is that why I’m here?”
“Maybe.”
“Oh. My. God.”
“Yes,” he said. “Exactly.”
We drove on. The road became smoother, and now we were descending in altitude. The mountains were dotted with green again and there, running parallel to the road, was a magnificent copper-colored river.
“There’s the Mantaro River,” said David, “just like I wanted you to see it. Have you ever seen anything more beautiful? Out across the plain ahead is what we call the Mantaro River Valley.”
The mountains were like undulating hills. The colors were a mixture of yellows and oranges and falling purple shadows as the afternoon sun descended into what we in films called the Magic Hour.
Puffy whipped clouds hung motionless in the clear sky as I had my first glimpse of an Andean Shangri-La.
David pulled the Plymouth to the side of the road where two men beside an adobe building were patting square mud cakes together with their hands.
“This is it,” he said. “This is Llocllapampa. This is where we’re going to stay.”
“Where?”
“There.” He pointed to another adobe building across the street. Except for one other structure about seventy-five feet away there were no other buildings anywhere around.
“That’s our hotel,” said David. “C’mon, let’s get out and stretch.”
I couldn’t believe what he said. There was no hotel. Three women with straw brooms pounded a pile of grain by the roadside while a rooster ran in and out of their skirts.
They smiled at us and waved at David. He spoke to them in Spanish and gestured to me as though he was introducing us. I nodded. He took our bags from the car and told me to follow him.
Through a wooden door separated in the middle so either the top or the bottom could be shut we entered a dirt patio inside the adobe building. There was a paved walkway which led to what turned out to be two rooms. They were next to each other but with no adjoining door. I opened the door to one of the rooms. Across the door was a piece of cotton material on a string. Inside the room was a dirt floor and a low-slung cot. Beside the cot was a crate of some kind which served as a bedside table. There was no electricity and no bathroom. There was a blanket on the bed and a gray-colored pillow … no sheets … no pillow cases …
I turned to David.
“You’ve got a great imagination.”
He smiled. “Yep.”
“Is this really it?”
“Yep. It’s not much but It’s Home,” he said. “I’m right next door.”
There were some nails hammered into the adobe wall.
“Your closet,” he said. “You’d better unpack now if you’re going to, because when the sun goes down you won’t be able to see a thing.”
“I see,” I said reluctantly.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” he said and disappeared into his room, which had exactly the same decor as mine.
He pounded on the thin wall and said the Mantaro River would be our bathroom and he’d take me there in a minute but I should change into something warmer before we went for our first mineral water bath.
This was not science fiction. This was definitely out of one of my old lives.
Chapter 20
“It is immediately apparent … that this sense-world, this seemingly real external universe, though it may be useful and valid in other respects, cannot be the external world, but only the self’s projected picture of it … The evidence of the senses cannot be accepted as evidence of the nature of ultimate reality.”
—E. UNDERHILL
Mysticism
I unzipped my suitcase that had been all over the world with me and hung up a sweater, my new poncho and a sun hat. I never forgot to take a sun hat with me wherever I went, because my face turned into a tomato after two hours in high-altitude sun. I left my underwear in the suitcase, wondering how I would ever wash it anyway, and I thanked God (or somebody) that I had just finished my period and wouldn’t have to contend with that. I looked at my ring watch which somehow always made me feel secure. I pulled out my tapes, recording machine and note paper. Sketchily and quickly I jotted down what the place looked and felt like. With each passing moment of the setting sun I realized how really cold it was going to get.
David rapped on my door, handed me a towel and directed me to take my poncho and change into my combat boots for our first visit to the mineral baths.
Mineral baths in this cold? “Sure,” he said. “At first it’s murder but then just wait …”
We walked from the paved patio back onto the road. The surrounding mountains were splashed with purple shadows. Barnyard animals that I couldn’t see gurgled and clucked at each other. A mangy dog waddled up to us wagging her tail followed by three puppies. The men patting the earth squares were gone for the evening and right across the street from our “hotel” was an adobe building called FOOD. That meant the people inside would cook for us. Loudly through the door I heard a scratchy radio broadcasting a soccer game. Inside, Peruvian Indians laughed and cheered to themselves and then shuffled back and forth in between tables that had been set up for the evening. Soup steamed on a gas stove and an old Indian woman with no teeth asked if we’d like some. “No,” David said to me. “Let’s eat afterward. We’ll get heartburn from the mineral baths if we eat now.”
I wasn’t particularly hungry anyway, but I asked if someone would boil s
ome eggs for me just so I’d have some food on hand in case I needed it. David asked the Indian woman to take the eggs out of the Plymouth. She smiled and nodded.
He led me around toward the back of the building and using a flashlight from his back pocket we went down some stairs. They were steep, and in the fading light I was afraid I might trip. I might be in Shangri-La now but some day I’d have to go back to dancing. I heard water flowing below. Then spread out in the sunset before me was the glorious Mantaro River. It rushed over the mountain rocks and splashed against the over-hanging trees embedded in the high banks. There were level green knolls of grass leading down to the water where a few Indians hunched in their ponchos sat gazing at the sun settling behind the mountains. Even in the fading light I could see that the river was orange.
“Come,” said David, leading me to what looked like an adobe enclosure covered with a tin roof. “It’s not much to look at but wait ’til you feel it inside.” He unbolted a crude wooden door, went in and from another pocket took a candle, lit it, and placed it on a wooden bench inside the enclosure. Next to the bench deep in the ground was a gurgling pool of sparkling water.
“This is one of the famous Andes mineral baths,” he said.
I looked down into it. It wasn’t just the candlelight that made it sparkle. It seemed to be the water itself. A light film of steam hung over it. I knelt down on the earth floor and ran my hand through the water. To my surprise it felt warm and bubbly … bubbly and stinging and effervescent … like champagne.
“The minerals make it bubble,” said David. “And it’s great for aching bones and muscles. You’ll see.”
When I drew my hand out of the water it was freezing.
“I’m supposed to go all the way in that water and not freeze to death when I get out?” I asked, laughing.
“Well, for a few minutes it’s cold as hell but after that you’ll be warmer than if you didn’t do it at all.”
I stood up awkwardly. I wished I could go in with all my clothes on. Now how was this supposed to work? Was I supposed to peel off my clothes with him standing right there or what?
“You go ahead,” said David. “I’ll wait outside. Call, me when you’re ready.”
Slowly I took off my poncho and hung it on one of five nails protruding from the wall. I wondered how many people had done the same thing in the candlelight. Then I took off my sweater and slacks. I wondered what they did after they got out of the water. I wondered how I could hang each garment so I could put them back on quickly when I was ready to leave. Down to my underpants and socks, I ripped them off quickly because by now I was shivering. The hell with it. I left everything in a little pile on the wooden bench wondering how it would look to David when he came back in.
The candlelight flickered against the cold stone walls. I stepped quickly to the bubbling pool of water in the ground and slowly I put my right leg in. I hoped I would find a bottom and I did. It was slightly slippery. Tangy bubbles settled onto my skin. I slid in all the way up to my neck. It felt as though I had just stepped into a giant deep dish pie of warm bubbling soda water. It felt wonderful.
The water was so buoyant I felt I was floating. In fact, it was difficult to firmly find the bottom. It felt as though I was walking in the midst of the water, somehow upright. There was a square hole in the opposite wall where the water drained out to the river outside. Apparently this was a constantly fed pool from underground somewhere.
“Okay,” I yelled to David, “I’m in now and it’s great.”
“Sure,” he said, coming through the door, “wait ’til you feel it really go through your skin.”
David turned around, pulled off his jacket, sweater, shirt, underpants and boots and socks in about five seconds and said, “Now you turn around.” I did.
“Okay,” he said.
I turned back around. He was standing under the water across the small pool from me.
I breathed deeply and tried to relax. “You’ll have to bear with me awhile,” I said. “This is all so sudden, and I know I’ve done a lot of things in my life, but I have a feeling that none of it was like this.” I felt ridiculous.
“Yep, you’re right.”
“Yes,” I breathed again. I didn’t even want to ask what he meant.
“Look,” he said, “swish your arms up and down like this in the water and feel how the bubbles stick to your skin.”
I swirled my arms up and down and around and it was like two swizzle sticks going through freshly poured champagne. The swizzle was like self-generating heat. It wasn’t the same as the sulphur baths in Japan. They were more mild and calm. These waters had zing and punch and a verve of their own.
David stood quietly with the candlelight flickering off the opposite wall. His blue eyes seemed lit themselves and small drops of water fell from his chin. I wondered what I looked like to him.
I couldn’t think of what to say so I said, “Do you come here often?”
David laughed. “Yep,” he said. He stared into the candle. “Want to try something?” he asked.
I thought, Oh shit, here it comes. “What do you mean?” I asked, looking around casually.
“See the light of that candle?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered.
“Okay, focus on the light real hard and take a deep breath.”
“Take a deep breath?” I asked.
“Yes, take a deep breath.”
I breathed deeply, almost choking on some spit. I had been taking deep breaths all day. “Can I just let my arms go?” I asked, wanting to appear as though I was willing to try anything.
“Sure. In this water they float. In fact, it would really be hard to sink in this water.”
I thought, that’s a relief. At least I wouldn’t drown if worse came to worst. I let my arms go as though they were unattached, smiling in the candlelight. I felt them rise slightly beside me.
My God, I thought. Now he’ll just leap across this pool and scoop me under my arms and because of this goddamn buoyancy I’ll never get them down.
“Now just concentrate on the candle until you feel you are the candlelight.”
Jesus, I thought. He must be kidding. Until I’m the candlelight? I can’t even be me right now, whoever that was.
I stared at the flickering light. I tried not to blink. I took another deep breath. My heart was pounding. I was sure he could hear it reverberate through the water. I just stood there staring into the candle as he had suggested.
Quietly David said, “Hey, Shirl. What are you afraid of?”
“Me?” I asked.
“No,” he said teasingly. “The woman standing behind you.”
I felt really ridiculous now. I thought of all the guys who had said, “Hey, I just want to lie down with you and relax. I don’t want to do anything.”
“Hey,” said David, “if that was on my mind all I’d have to do is suggest it, right?”
Jesus, he was direct.
I coughed. “Well,” I said. “Well, I hesitate,” I said.
“Well, you don’t have to hesitate. I just want you to try something, and it isn’t what you think. Besides, I don’t even want to.”
I felt myself get indignant. He didn’t even want to?
“Why?” I asked. “Why not?”
“What do you mean, why not?” he asked. “That’s not what we came here for. If you thought it was, you’ll just have to be patient and give me time.”
I laughed out loud, making an echo on the walls.
“Come on,” he said, “concentrate on the candle and breathe deeply.”
“Okay,” I said, “I guess I might as well. After all, we’ve had a couple of lifetimes together, right?”
He laughed. “Right.”
It was clear he thought I was a jerk.
I tried again to gaze freely at the candle.
“Okay, breathe deeply again,” he gently directed me.
I tried to breathe deeply again.
“Okay,” he said. “Now conc
entrate on the light of the candle as though it were the center of your own being. Make the candle you. Only think about the candle—nothing else.”
I concentrated and breathed deeper. I guess I’ll really have to do this, I thought. Besides, he’s right. I’m a jerk and he’s really nice. I felt my mind begin to relax. I concentrated with more relaxation. My eyelids felt a little bit heavy until I could tell that my eyes were half closed, but still the candle was visible.
I heard David’s voice faintly in the background of my mind.
“That’s good. Great, you’re doing great.”
I liked the sound of his voice above the water. It seemed to skip along with the bubbles. I felt my breathing slow down. Slowly, I was aware that my heartbeat was pulsating in rhythm with my breathing. Somehow the rhythm of the two seemed in sync. Time slowly slipped away until I became unaware of it. The candle continued to flicker, but now it began to be the center of my mind. My whole body seemed to float too, not only my arms, but all of me. Slowly, slowly, I became the water and each tingling bubble was a component part of the water. It was a marvelous double feeling. I was totally conscious, aware of myself, yet part of everything around me. I remember being aware that every single bubble was a part of all of the water that surrounded me, almost as though the water wouldn’t be what it was without each bubble doing its part to sustain the whole of it. I felt the cool sides of the walls housing the warm water pool even though I was lost somewhere in its midst. I felt shadows and flickers and a slight breeze. But mostly, I felt the inside of myself. I felt the involuntary reflex of my own breathing. It seemed to be a moving entity oblivious of my control. Then I felt the interconnection of my breathing with the pulse of the energy around me. The air itself seemed to pulsate. In fact, I was the air. I was the air, the water, the darkness, the walls, the bubbles, the candle, the wet rocks under the water, and even the sound of the rushing river outside. Then I felt my energy vibrate to David. Since I was part of everything around me, that meant David too. At that moment I stopped myself. I could feel myself make a conscious decision not to go that far. Again my hesitation, my fear or whatever you want to call it, stopped me, and I stopped the flow of relaxation and the attempt to become “one” with everything.
OUT ON a LIMB Page 27