Chapter Eleven
Johnnie
I wake up the next morning with thoughts of Cash and him sneaking in my window the night before on my mind. One thing’s for sure, he’s damn good at his job. I was starting to wonder if he was even in Guatemala. His movements were so stealth, I hadn’t even been sure of his presence until last night.
I jump up from the bed and make my way into the shower. I have plans to go to the mercado with Marisol this morning. I quickly finish and get out, throw on jeans and a t-shirt, and leave my curly blonde hair wet with just mousse to tame it. I purposely avoid putting on make-up. I’m going to draw enough attention with my light features and I don’t want to make it worse and risk attracting the wrong kind.
Marisol’s knock on the door informs me that I’m ready right on time. I go to open the door, unsurprised to find it locked from the night before. Cash thought of everything; he always does. The thought brings another smile to my face. Yes, I am definitely bonding with the crazy son of a bitch.
As we leave the house to go into the city of Antigua, I note that it doesn’t have the atmosphere of a city at all. It’s more like a small town or a pueblo. I take in everything, trying to absorb all of the details. I want to experience not only the sights and sounds, but the smells and the energy of it all too. We finally enter into the mercado, the market. It is a lot like a large flea market in the states but with much more color and flair. ‘Los Indigos,’ an Indian tribe from the mountain region, has set up with verduras y las frutas (vegetables and fruits). Things are not set on tables, but rather in baskets and on blankets that have been spread out on the ground. Women carry babies on their backs tied in brightly colored tapestries. Children run, weaving in and out of the crowds, with no fear of traffic or human predators. I push thoughts of my own troubled childhood from my mind. There seems to be unity here, a common purpose to love and care for all children. It reminds me the proverb, “It takes a village to raise a child.” That is definitely the case here in Antigua.
I am jolted from my observations when a little boy runs into me yelling, “Rubia, hola. ¿Cómo se llama?” He smiles, asking me my name.
I answer him with a question of my own, knowing he would continue calling me Rubia, the nickname in Spanish for blondie, regardless of whether he knows my name or not. “What is your name, little boy?”
The little boy stands straight, trying to make himself appear taller. “Mi nombre is Juan.”
“Mucho gusto, Juan.”
“Mucho gusto,” he returns and as quickly as he appeared, he was gone. I rejoin Marisol as she shops through the trinkets at a nearby stand.
“Well, I can’t lose you,” Marisol chuckles, “you stick out like a sore thumb here, Juanita.”
We enter a covered area with set up booths and tables that have ropa (clothes), zapatos (shoes), y joyas (jewelry).
“Adelante, come in, come in.” Cries seem to call out from every booth. It is all about making money on market day. In this part of the world, this is their livelihood, their bread and butter. I enter into a booth with brightly colored clothing. There’s a dress that’s hanging high above us that has caught my eye. It’s red with bright flowers all over it. It’s very tropical and reminds me of the area in San Juan where I grew up. It stays true to the Latin culture but has a contemporary style.
The man eyes me as he grabs the long wooden tool that enables him to reach the highly hung dress. “Veinte dólares.”
I had long ago learned how to barter with the locals. I know they start high and work their way down. Honestly, I think twenty dollars is a good deal but I can get him to go lower. I scrunch my nose and reply, “quince dólares, fifteen dollars.”
“Dieciocho,” he counters and we have a deal at eighteen dollars.
I reach into my pocket, pulled out the dinero (money), and give it to the man. As he wraps up my purchase, he goes on and on about what a good deal I’m getting. I know it’s all part of the game. Marisol makes her own purchase—a small pair of earrings. They’re tiny rosebuds with cubic zirconias in the center. They make a small statement and have a dainty beauty, much like Marisol herself.
I make my way through the crowd to the sections that have food for sale. I had made up my mind that I wouldn’t return to the doctor’s house empty handed. I don’t want to be a burden and even though I’m paying for my lodging, meals, and tutoring, I still feel it would be a nice gesture to return with some things for the lady of the house. I purchase homemade bread, coffee, fruits, vegetables, and a small candle as a gift.