Love & The Goddess

by Coen, Mary Elizabeth

  I logged on to the dating site. Though I had not used it for quite some time, my profile was still active. I knew as soon as the page appeared that I wasn’t at all comfortable with being registered as Persephone. A warning message came up asking me did I really want to deactivate, since I had several unread messages. I did. I wanted to leave Persephone behind forever and I determined that no matter what happened I would no longer see myself as a victim.

  A moment later it was done and I sighed in relief at how cathartic it felt. Maybe Pachamama was working through me. Whatever it was, I’d suddenly begun to feel how powerful it was to be a woman with the ability to give life. Hakalan was definitely a pain in the butt, yet he had provoked me to ponder certain questions. I was beginning to feel how genuinely like a mother this great planet Earth was in her indiscriminate support of all life. That potent creativity and the ability to give unconditional love is where our power lies as women. Why had I not considered using the name Demeter, Goddess of the harvest and Mother Earth archetype?

  Chapter Twenty

  A most unlikely shaman, Raúl turned out to be a slightly plump character with a jovial face that remained boyish despite his fifty-odd years on the planet. The tour guide had told James he was a Kung Fu master. I’d envisioned meeting up with a benevolent and swarthy Omak the knife, or at the very least a rugged brigadier, not a comical character who swaggered as he walked and occasionally referred to Maria and I as “my sisters”, James as “my brother”. Still he was a welcome change from Hakalan and certainly would be easier company during our time spent trekking to sacred sites for ceremonies and meditation.

  Raúl forewarned us that our first trek, to Machu Picchu, would be a spiritual trial, testing us physically and mentally. The plan was to walk in the Incas’ footsteps one way along the trail, before taking the train back to Cusco. Even though we had porters to carry our tents and belongings, and even with the help of sticks for support and balance, it was tough going. The sun belted down on top of us as we scaled mountain after mountain. My hiking boots dug into my ankles, and when we stopped for refreshments I had to spend most of my time re-bandaging them. I had not anticipated the extent to which my bones and muscles would ache, or that I would find the night cold and terrifying, staying in tents at campsites along the trail.

  That said, my resolve to go on strengthened when I looked at the hard-working peasants in traditional dress, herding flocks of llamas through jungle passes near Incan ruins. The deep lines on the women’s weather-beaten faces told of hard lives toiling for very little gain.

  “One of the sole comforts they have is their cup of coca tea,” Maria volunteered, as we climbed another steep hill. “Mate de cacao works like an anti-depressant for them.” I’d become fond of the tea as a substitute for my familiar Lapsang souchong and knew it was good for altitude sickness, but I doubted Maria’s claim. Too exhausted to chat, I made a mental note to ask about it later.

  On the second day of the trek, my body weakened despite my will to plough on. “I think I’m getting a heart attack.” I had my hand pressed to my thumping chest, and was leaning on my stick for support. “I don’t think I can go on any longer. No wonder they call it ‘Dead Woman’s Pass’.”

  “This is one of the steepest inclines. Once we make it up here you’ll be fine. Come on, you can lean on me,” drawled Raúl, offering me his arm.

  “I’m finding it hard to hike up another mountain having just scaled and descended the last one,” said Maria. “I worked out in the gym for this trek but boy, it’s hard going.”

  “You’re both doing great, girls,” James said encouragingly. “Not much further to go and … Just look at the view!” Suddenly, it seemed as if we had entered a scene from a magical animated film. The misty clouds had parted to reveal ancient moss-strung trees on paths edged with exquisite wild orchids and giant cacti, the meandering Urubamba river far below us. We had arrived at Phuyupatamarca, and our spirits lifted.

  Phuyupatamarca was an archaeological centre famous for its waters and springs. The Incas worshipped water, seeing it as sacred because it was vital to life. Raúl conducted a simple cleansing ceremony with us, in preparation for entering Machu Picchu the following day. Immediately afterwards we continued our descent to Wina Wayna, the final campsite on the trail.

  “Let’s look around, shall we?” James said to Maria and me, after we’d eaten a meal prepared for us by the porters who accompanied us on our trek. The campsite was teeming with tourists, excitement palpable as different groups celebrated arriving so close to their destination. As we walked through the crowds towards the bar, I caught the odd snatch of conversations in Spanish, French, Japanese, German and English.

  “What are you drinking, ladies?” James asked.

  “Beer, please,” said Maria.

  “Water for me, James. I need to keep hydrated.”

  “I recognise that voice,” boomed a voice behind me. “Kate Tynan.”

  Amazed to hear my maiden name spoken on a Peruvian mountain, I swung around to find a man not much taller than myself, smiling broadly, blue eyes dancing in an impish face. “Billy Bunter! I mean, Billy Costello!” He was no longer as chubby as he had been when I’d last seen him, at his parents’ thirtieth wedding anniversary, although he still had a cherubic face for a middle-aged man.

  “Pippi Longstocking!” He grabbed my hand and shook it wildly. He’d obviously been out walking like we had – his bald head had received a fair burning from the sun. “How are you? Fancy meeting you here on the other side of the world and we haven’t met up in Dublin for yonks.”

  “But what are you doing here?”

  “Imports and exports. I come to Peru all the time, but this is my first time on the trail!”

  I introduced him to James and Maria: “This is Billy Costello, my old neighbour. We grew up together, always teased each other mercilessly. Billy meet James and Maria.”

  After exchanging pleasantries the two cousins left us to catch up on old times. As we walked away from the crowds in search of a quiet place to chat, Billy said, “Sorry about your marriage, Kate. Your mother told my mum. Divorce is a nasty thing. I’ve been through it myself. But there is life after it.” We found a wooden table beside cactus bushes displaying prickly fruits. I sat on one side and he took the bench facing me.

  “So I’m beginning to believe,” I said. “But tell me about you. You’re the one who surprised us all. Lazy Billy Bunter who just wanted to eat chocolate and cake suddenly became the success story of the century.”

  “Yeah, I was as lazy as sin at school. But when I lived in the UK I set up a haulage company and then a food processing plant. I came back after my divorce five years ago – I’m living in Wicklow now.”

  Billy was the nearest I’d ever had to a brother and I wondered how we’d ever managed to lose touch. When we were teenagers, I knew he had developed a crush on me, mainly because I was always baking cakes. I never took him seriously as he had posters of Farrah Fawcett on his bedroom wall and I suspected he had a bigger crush on my sister Liz who was blond and toothy with big hair like Farrah, while I was tubby like him from eating too much cake. Yet I loved him and enjoyed the platonic relationship we had – in many ways I was afraid of the whole idea of having a boyfriend. Afraid of what that might entail. Afraid of getting my heart broken. Afraid of sex and getting pregnant. Afraid of being on the pill and being considered a slut. I thought I was clever avoiding all that, but now it seemed as if I had missed out on learning some valuable lesson. I’d definitely had grass growing out both ears when I met Trevor. And the lessons arrived later in life, despite my caution. “Food processing? We always had food in common,” I said laughing.

  “Good job we never married or we would both be obese with a gaggle of roly-poly kids. Is your marriage definitely over, Kate?”

  “Yes, definitely. This trip is helping me accept the finality of it. How about you?”

  “Believe it or not Kate, I was a workaholic so we didn’t see a lot of each
other. My son and daughter are both in college in Dublin. It’s great since I moved back – I see them often. The ex lives in London with her new partner. Hey, remember how I used to tell you about the house near my grandparents’ in Wicklow?”

  “The old house with stables and its own lake? You used to say you’d own it when you grew up and we laughed at you.”

  “That’s it. Well, I bought it four months ago.”

  “I don’t believe you. Seriously?”

  “Cross my heart and hope to die. Isn’t that what you always made me say if you doubted me?” He mockingly made a gesture of blessing himself, the way he used to do as a boy, and we both giggled. The gesture evoked warm memories of the fun we’d had together and I realised how much I’d missed my dear friend over the years. “Anyway, I got it at half the price it sold for six years ago. It’s a bit of an old auntie that needs a hell of a makeover, but I’ve got great plans.”

  “Wow, that’s what they call the law of attraction. You seem to be good at manifestation, Billy.”

  think about

  He nodded. “I read one of the early books on the law of attraction – Napoleon King’s book ‘Think and Grow Rich’ when I was nineteen, and it spurred me on to buy a truck and start that haulage company. But you know something? When it comes to my love life, I’ve been a disaster. I’ve attracted one drama queen after another. The wife was addicted to drama – she’s a functioning alcoholic. Then I had a glamorous girlfriend, a total prima donna! I’m telling you, one after another. I could write a book on them but no-one would believe it.”

  I shook my head. “Nobody has it all, Billy. That’s for sure.”

  “What about you? Are you still teaching?”

  “For my sins, yes.”

  “Is it that bad, Kate? God, you were the most talented person I ever met when it came to food.”

  “Teaching can be a thankless job.”

  Billy went quiet for a moment, looking at me thoughtfully. “Well if you ever fancy a change of scene I’m opening a private cookery school on the estate in Wicklow. I’m not just saying this out of the blue. I’d intended contacting you anyway. It’s just a major coincidence we met here.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Deadly serious. Cross my heart and hope to die!” Our laughter splurted into large adolescent guffaws, drawing the attention of four Italian tourists at a nearby bench. It was as if we were once again teenagers.

  We chatted on, but my eyelids grew droopy and I yawned. “I better go Billy. I need to be up early for the final hike tomorrow.”

  “Me too. Give me your number and email and please think about my offer.”

  “I will think about it.” Running a private cookery school was certainly enticing, but I knew it would not provide the security my college job offered. I leant towards him for a hug. Gripping me firmly, Billy drew me into a close embrace with his right arm while tickling me lightly under my ribs with his left. He always tickled me when we were younger, enjoying the fact that I was especially sensitive. Things hadn’t changed and I could feel the giggles bursting from me.

  We arose at three in the morning for breakfast. We needed to arrive at Machu Picchu early, as only so many people were allowed through at any given time. An orchestra of hummingbirds added to the pre-dawn chorus as the pitch of night changed to a lighter blue, with streaks of orange, reds and purples spreading out along the horizon awaiting the sunrise. As Maria, James, Raúl and I walked through a mystical cloud forest it was easy to imagine the spirit of the Incas lingering. A flock of wild parrots flew over my right shoulder.

  “The Sun Gate is here,” Raul finally announced, his toothy smile lighting up his face. And there we were, standing facing what the Quechua people called Intipunku – the Sun Gate. We were about to witness another world.

  And what a world that was.

  It was so indescribably beautiful, no words or picture could ever do it justice. There in the distance, set atop two mountains, was the ancient city of Machu Picchu, built in the shape of a condor eagle spreading her wings. The early morning climb had been worth the effort after all. “Incredible!” was all I could say, before falling silent, taking in the majesty of the fabled citadel, the sun rising behind us to light it up.

  “I’ve heard it said that God has words you have never heard, places you have never been, and joys you have never experienced. Looking at this, I can begin to understand what that means,” said Maria.

  I wanted to stand there all day but with tourists arriving constantly it was necessary to move on and begin our descent into the city, exploring the ruins, with their intricately carved steps, altars, walls, houses, portals and terraces. “Look at how the huge stones fit together so perfectly, in all sorts of jigsaw shapes, without the use of cement,” said James.

  “And built to withstand centuries of earthquakes. The Incas had incredible knowledge of architecture and engineering,” Raúl informed us, as we made our way to the bus which would bring us down to the village below.

  “Isn’t it incredible that the Incas managed to transport such big rocks to such a remote place?” Maria ran her hand over the side of a huge boulder. “No wonder legends abound about them being a race of super humans.”

  The bus took us the primitive yet bustling little village of Aquas Calientes and we went in search of a restaurant. “I have never seen so many pizzerias in my life!” I exclaimed in horror as we passed one after another set between shops selling souvenirs and handcrafts.

  “That’s because it’s difficult to transport fresh food here,” explained James. “Flour, cheese and tomatoes are less perishable than meat or fish.”

  “This is the best place to eat.” Raúl paused in front of a French restaurant and bowed, with his hand out, to Maria and me. “Ladies first.”

  I gasped as I walked in the door of the pretty ranch-style restaurant with wooden floors, oak-beamed ceilings and ornately carved furniture. The tables were set with yellow tablecloths and blue serviettes to complement the yellow and green stained-glass doors and green carved wine racks. We climbed curved stairs to an outdoor seating area with a view over the town. After perusing the menu and making our choice, Raúl resumed telling us the history of Machu Picchu. “As well as an administrative centre, it was most likely a place of pilgrimage for noble men and women, a secret citadel unknown to lower classes. This is the very reason why the Spanish never found it, since its existence was not widely known.”

  “Was there a Goddess connection?” I asked.

  “Ah my sister, some say that Machu Picchu was home to priestesses called ‘Mama Cunas’, the sacred virgins, who worshipped the sun and moon. This made Machu Picchu an important ceremonial or Goddess site, since it was also an observatory. The Incas were advanced in acknowledging women, yes? While in Europe, women who were healers were burned for being witches.”

  Our main course arrived. Maria and I had ordered ginger chicken, which arrived coated in a brown sauce. “Delicious.” I purred with satisfaction at the taste of ginger in red wine sauce and Maria nodded as she savoured a mouthful of hers. Raúl had opted for a vegetarian dish consisting of potatoes, corn on the cob and French beans.

  “Try this and tell me what you think,” said James, placing some of his mango and chicken dish on my side plate. “See if your educated palate can decipher the ingredients and we can make a note of it.” He placed a forkful in my mouth.

  “Hmm … Much sweeter than mine. Mango salsa with … lemon juice, sugar and garlic. They’ve then added roasted red peppers and almonds. The chicken may have been marinated overnight, it’s very tender and bursting with flavour. What do you think?”

  “I believe you’re right, but with the addition of cilantro.” Noticing Maria’s raised eyebrows, he elaborated: “A herb similar to coriander.”

  Maria laughed. “You are both amazing with food.”

  “Not me. Kate is the one who can produce it better than anyone,” said James, waving his hand in my direction.

  “You
are the Food Goddess,” Raúl joked.

  “Can you tell us more about what the Goddess means in spirituality?” I asked him. He had told us on the way here that he had spent time in the east studying the Kabbala, Buddhism and the Tao.

  “I will tell you everything I know when we get to Amantani Island. That is the place to learn of the Goddess,” Raúl answered with his trademark toothy grin.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The evening we arrived in Puno before our visit to the island, Raúl delivered us to our hotel in the city centre opposite the plaza. After we’d booked into our rooms, he told us he would collect us the following morning, saying in his Peruvian drawl, “Okey dokey … Six thirty, I am here waiting for you. Yes?”

  James, Maria and I met for breakfast at six, just as the dining room was opening. Since most of the kitchen staff hadn’t yet arrived, a continental breakfast of tea, toast and orange juice was the only choice. Forty-five minutes later we were standing outside our hotel, and still there was still no sign of our shaman.

  “Where is he?” I asked impatiently.

  “If we knew he wasn’t going to be on time we could have had a lie-in after the journey yesterday,” said Maria indignantly. “What’s the point in getting us up so early?”

  Only James remained unperturbed, busying himself with his camera as he adjusted the lens. Holding it at different angles he experimented with shots of the plaza across the street, now bathed in early morning light. Three young boys arrived, dressed in black jeans and t-shirts. Two of them had a wooden shoe-shine box swinging between them. “You want your shoes polished?” the first one asked in broken English.

  “How much?” James asked.

  “Ten dollars.”

  “Too expensive.”

  “I do yours five dollars,” another said to me.