Friday, May 14, 2010
Declarative Death Sentence(s) (and...)
But first, before the essay: our life in the village and on the beach continues to feel like Eden --such gentle beauty of flowers, greenery, natural sounds, fruit growing all around. We have very sweet connections with our friends here, and in fact we feel like part of the family with one group. Originally, speaking of "our" family, a man and woman (still living here) had some 9 or more kids. Plus they had brothers and sisters themselves. Hardly any of them seem to have left. Some who did are returning. Thus, from a farmhouse filled with kids, a village has appeared -- brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, cousins, all built and now live in their own homes nearby, in close and amiable proximity. I laugh, remembering one little boy of two years of age running stark naked from his house, through the twisting dirt-paved lanes, to visit his cousin who is also two. There are other extended families here as well. Kids from all these families drop by our house to play with the toys, draw, paint, goof around -- they come and go as they please. It is a deep pleasure to have them visit.
Furthermore, the waves continue to astound, and bounce us around (boogie-boarders dream). The beach has returned to that mellow "aloha" vibe, easy'going and friendly. Our house is now painted (pix posted on our return) and other construction projects underway, plus numerous fruiting trees are now planted to complement our abundant mango trees. Think grapes, figs, avocados, lemons, guavas, tangerines, grapefruit.... what have I forgotten to mention?
The odd little essay below is.... just that. An odd little essay -- a testimony of respect for little lives. It is followed by a few more comments on life as we know it in the village...
DECLARATIVE DEATH SENTENCE(S)
There was a hen in a box in our yard when we arrived from the States. The hen laid 13 eggs in the box. Twelve eggs hatched. Two days later a tlacuache killed four chicks. The neighbors came over. They said the hen was theirs. They took her. They tied her up. The chicks had no mother to guide them. They wandered the hazards of our jungly yard alone. A feral cat ate one. The neighbors released the hen. The hen was stung by a scorpion the next day. One of her chicks was also poisoned by a scorpion. The chick died. We treated the hen with garlic and water. She began to rally. The neighbors came into our yard when we were away. They took the hen. They did nothing to help her. They did not even give her water. She died. The chicks roosted at night on the neighbor´s porch. They were unprotected. The spot where they huddled is where their mother´s body had lain. A tlacuache came. It killed two of the chicks. The remaining four ran to our yard screeching in the night. We hid them under a large upturned flowerpot. The neighbors said the chicks were theirs. They took them. That night they closed them up in an outdoor cupboard. They crushed the foot of the remaining rooster-chick when they closed the door. They did not let the chicks out the next morning. The chicks had no water or food. The neighbors released the chicks late in the day. They ran to our yard. The rooster-chick hopped, of course. They were very hungry and thirsty. Now they come every sunset to the flowerpot. They expect us to drop it over them. We do. Now we worry. We will be leaving in early June. We have done all we can. The chicks can fly. They like to sit on branches. This is where adult chickens spend their nights. They fly up into branches. We hope the chicks will fly into higher branches when we leave. It is out of our hands.
SO! After that cheerful little preschool tale, here are a few more random glimpses into our pueblo life, by no means complete:
More villagers who speak English are revealing themselves. One cheerful and friendly man (also a member of "our" family here--brother of the original farmhouse wife) turns out to speak English with (get this) an Italian accent (from years in a Little Italy section of a US city). The way he walks and moves his body feels/looks American. He told us that he came back here for the same reason we love it here. It is a little paradise of mellow, gentle people sharing life together.
There are two kids who speak fluent English as well. Apparently just visiting from the States, tho' their family/ancestry is from our pueblo. Who knew? I smile as I type this: perhaps they were testing us to see what we said to each other when we thought no one could understand -- and we passed the test. We do know, also, that the pueblo's middle/high school kids study English, but not one practices with us. For sure they have been listening all these years.
In fact, hey you guys!! ¿How many of you are secretly visiting this site and reading these entries? If you are reading this, let us know. Do this: come up to me and touch my nose and then touch your nose. And smile! ¡¡¡Then we will ALL laugh!!!