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| Jorge Aliaga Cacho and Andina Aliaga |
By Jorge Aliaga Cacho
Translated by Andina Aliaga
We arrived at San Ramon. It was raining. We found shelter under a tin roof on the corner. The raindrops made onomatopoeic splatter above our heads. A tuk-tuk pulled up, a rickety mode of transport with room for two passengers; a whole host of bags, a mother-in-law, and a small donkey. I had witnessed and appreciated how these plucky little vehicles navigated the slopes of Lima. The drivers load up their taxis with all and sundry, in order to earn one extra Sol to take home to their families. Striving for an impossible dream. Once I saw a tuk-tuk with two people in the back, (though it was tricky to confirm with any accuracy what those four eyes belonged to), as they were completely encased by bags of rice, straw chairs, bedside tables, and a parrot, who continually flew out of one window and back in through the other. Fleeing the scene along with its cargo of incognito passengers.
- Taxi! - I called out, several times.
Doradas’ boss boarded the little vehicle ass first. I said goodbye to her, sensing that we would never meet again. She departed clutching her accounting files, leaving no trace in her wake. Indeed I did not lay eyes on her again, nor did I ever find out her destination. The next taxi came swiftly, the driver's eyes were sunken into an impish face. We didn't speak. He took Doradas’ luggage and heaved it onto the make-shift rack at the rear of the tuc-tuc, then he stuck mine there too.
This was the quickest journey of my life. In two minutes we were outside the hotel El Parral. Its' doors were open just a crack but we could see that lights were on inside. The receptionist opened the door for us. Behind the bar, at the back, items were displayed for sale; soap, razors, shampoos, toilet paper, and multi-coloured condoms. We asked for two rooms. We signed the visitor book but they didn’t ask us for any documents. Dorada always went to that hotel. The ONG where she worked had offices just around the corner. We were given rooms 203 and 201. Dorada took the first. At dawn, when I awoke upon a firm pair of breasts, I realized that room 201 had spent a lonely night.
My eyes opened and I saw Doradas’ sweater hanging from a nail that served as a hook. The nail was large, bent, and rusted in the middle. Dorada had been watching the light bulb dangling from the ceiling. Marauding mosquitoes. I tried to scare them off with jabs, but they weren’t bothered. I changed my strategy. I took a newspaper that was lying on the floor and rolled it into a fat club, then fired at will. I killed a few. And so went the night...bouts of kissing and fighting. Scratching here, scratching there. They refused to give up. We covered ourselves right up to our heads. I heard her moans and the hum of mosquitoes.
Encased in white sheets we met the dawn. Dorada was happy and mine. On the radio, we listened to a Zambo Cavero song, and in the shower Dorada hummed: larai lai larara larai laila, larai lai larara larai laila…
This secret you share with me no one will know,
This secret will be hidden for eternity,
I assure you I’ll never say what happened
And don’t you worry, about all
That lies between you and me
This secret you share with me no one will know,
This secret will be hidden for eternity,
I assure you I’ll never say what happened
And don’t you worry, about all
That lies between you and me
No one will know that your chest beat together with mine,
That we enjoyed moments of fascinating sweetness,
I’ll never say that there were nights I adored you madly,
Nobody will know that in your arms,
Drunk with love, I fell asleep.
She came out of the bathroom and wrapped her arms around me, talking about how much we had done together.
- Yeah it was great! - I agreed.
Dorada wanted to stay in bed longer, but a pile of paperwork was waiting for her at the office. She had to go, but didn’t want to. She took some clean underwear out of a plastic bag, almost getting onto the ground to put them on. She slipped her legs through the holes and deftly wriggled them up, securing the elastic firmly around her waist.
She dried her hair. Her legs were still damp, she‘d missed bits with her towel. She put on her bra, and looking at her I repeated my reluctance that she leave for the office. She seemed undecided. She asked me to go to the room we had booked for me the night before. The cleaners here were gossiping. Kissing her, I promised we would go later.
She told me that in San Ramon the people are interested in everyone else’s business. She also said that she loved me and that she was prepared to go anywhere with me. Dorada let out a nervous laugh, realising that I had never suggested anything of the sort. Her nose was on the point of sweating once again.
- I don’t want to go to the office - she repeated.
She wanted to stay, but her workload meant that she must go. She would be back soon. She hunted for her lipstick. She tracked it down under the bed. She squatted. Her hair was already frizzy from the humidity. She wore a pair of grey trousers that were a little tight. She had difficulty doing up the buttons. She covered her top half in a white blouse and stuck on a pair of trainers, she perched herself on the edge of the bed. She got up. Now fully dressed. She made her way to the door and then turned back. She kissed me. Taking her brush for curly hair with her, she left. I could hear her trainers squeak as she made her way down the stairs. In no time I was asleep.
- Excuse me, Sir! Said the maid who woke me up.
A woman’s head loomed in the doorway. I had forgotten to go back to my room. My boxers were still on the floor. I wanted to recover the composure this unknown face had taken from me. I wanted to say something logical, but I couldn’t. The woman's gaze fell onto a pair of socks that were haphazardly strewn across the floor. She then checked out the toiletries that Dorada had left on the nightstand. I sunk my head into the pillow and not knowing what to say, I listened.
- Sorry Sir! Would you like me to clean your room? - she asked.
- Good day! No, I don’t want you to change the bedclothes today - I said.
I slipped back under the covers and laughing at myself repeated my answer: Good day! No, I don’t want you to change the bedclothes today.
- How dumb I must have sounded! - I said aloud, laughing.
Repeating my words again:
- Good day! No, I don’t want you to change the bedclothes today.
- What a bloody moron I am! - I said, chuckling.
At noon I left the hotel to look round the town. I walked to the nearest corner about fifty metres away. There stood the town square with its two principal buildings: the town hall and the home ground of the local football team: El Centenario. I walked right around the square, following the pavement, admiring the church that was partly hidden under a canopy of trees, by a street full of restaurants. On the corner, a crowd had gathered ready for worship. I made my way up the street of restaurants. All sorts of business were carried out here. I double-checked my wallet was still in my pocket. In it was all my money, which I needed to make the journey to Pozuzo. I felt it was time that I acquainted myself with the place where, nearly one hundred and fifty years ago, sailors had come from Austria and Germany, poor Europeans in search of a better future, and who had built it right here in the Peruvian jungle.
I once wondered how they had got to the port at Callao, on board the Norton. My fat friend Churrunaga told me the story some time ago:
They spent a three-day quarantine on the island of San Lorenzo. After having eaten, drunk, and rested, they set out past Huacho where residents saw them flying the British flag on its mast.
- And where did they sail to, fatty smarty-pants? I prompted mockingly.
Chubby Churrunaga, a native of Oxapampa, a medical student at San Marcos University, salesman of pressure cookers, adjusted his glasses before amazing me with his erudite answer.
- The Norton sailed to Silz Tyrol, on the 26th of March 1856.
Dorada was to meet up with me for lunch. I still had a few minutes to make my way through town. I found her at the corner of the ‘shared taxi’ rank, here you don’t always get a taxi to yourself; she smiled upon seeing me. We kissed quickly. She abruptly announced that were going to eat Chinese food.
- How indigenous. I replied sarcastically.
The Chinese restaurant was near the town square. It had a garden that welcomed the sun. There we chatted over glasses of Inca Kola and cool beer. Dorada said she would go. That everything was fixed. She was going to work in Australia. She had studied English intensively. She would go, she would triumph. She said that she could no longer live in Peru. That they had not wanted to give her a visa for France or for the United States. This had caused her embarrassment. In Australia, she had a friend, and her visa was almost ready. Her so-called agent in Lima had been ‘assisting’ her with this plan for two years. Her eyes shone brightly. I had almost forgotten that only yesterday she had playfully said how she wanted to hide in my suitcase and travel with me. To hear her, I felt somehow, as if things had been put into place. Then I pondered on the impossibility of that project, her travelling in my suitcase, like a stash of contraband, to some place of my choice. Dorada continued her moaning:
In Peru everything is bad, everything is corrupt, the people are not paid; they don’t have work, and the office hours are long, but in Australia, everything would be different.
Who had told her that the situation would be so easy away from home, I thought? I knew it would be difficult in any part of the world. How could I be the one to tell her that her middle-class peers, from well-to-do districts like Miraflores, left their homes only to go and work as servants in the houses of gringos. I felt sad, I wanted to tell her, yet I didn’t want to crush her dreams. I took her hand and looked up at her poignant face with devoted eyes. I almost said something, but I sealed my lips, and I shut up. Dorada rose from the table, she was too hot and needed to splash her face. I watched her walk through the courtyard garden, her butt cheeks swaying, under a sunset sky. Upon her return, and before she finished taking her seat, I looked into her black eyes, squinting in the sun:
- You will triumph Dorada! - I cheered. But she failed to smile.
We rushed through lunch. I thought it was sacrilegious that she had ordered lomo saltado, a Peruvian dish, in a Chinese restaurant. The wonton soup we had consumed had made me sweat and my fried rice was discarded half-eaten. I paid the bill and we left. We crossed the square. A street vendor was sitting on a worn concrete bench. The man looked like he was on his last legs. He was wrapped in rags, carrying a box half full of cigarettes and chewing gum. The little man was threatening to collapse from malnutrition. He slept, but this was no siesta. Dorada noticed him and quickened her pace. We walked together to the corner of the square. We were engrossed in a goodbye hug when a loud crash caused me to loosen my grip from her waist and investigate the source of the noise: the pedlar lay on the floor, face down on the concrete. His arms were outstretched, and his hands open, as if to reach for the cigarettes that had spilled from their packs onto the deserted pavement of San Ramon's plaza.
I boarded a shared taxi from the rank at the corner of the square. The driver packed in the passengers. I could still make out Dorada in the distance, her blue trainers with white laces. She looked like she was mulling something over. I watched her until she became a point in the distance, then adjusted my gaze to the side of the road, where San Ramon's football club stood proudly.
(Extract of the novel ''Heartbreak Secret'').
