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((Of Huancayo, Peru) (a toll))
This is come again? I can lay together on her, come again? happened up to the time she up and disappeared, forevermore, how I see it, this Mad Coffee Lady starting Huancayo.
It was in the before time 1970s, a dim wet sunlight hours in this mountain conurbation of Peru, Victoria the Mad, as she was time and again called. She walked to and fro, around the Plaza de Arms, as often she did, amid her tin cup half crammed amid coffee; knocking on business doors to the little shops that encircled the plaza to get a coin on behalf of something to eat, already hollering in her area of distinguished pressure pitch strong voice, in a childlike manner.
"Mr. Desoto! Give me a sol!" She asked. And he did, because if he hadn't she would hold taken what on earth food her eyeball caught, unvarying beginning school kids, she'd grab their sandwiches Tag Heuer and hide in a doorway corner, and eat it. And with a sol, she could buy some bread as well as perchance a tamale. Nobody knew just so how aged Victoria really was, not aged, aged, on the contrary somewhere in her in the wee small hours forties or fifties, or early sixties presumed-no, no, the older individuals of the city claimed she was closer to fifty than sixty, she not at all asserted to be of whichever age. She was at one time quite a looker I had heard from those kids she stole sandwiches from-now grown men also women-who remembered her; but in due time-well, things changed, from bad to worse.
Nobody in Huancayo stable remembered just how long she had been this way, kind of a borderline manic-depressive, vagabond, homeless, poor, continually in addition to bare feet, weathered-beaten, chilled to the veins Tag Heuer, benumbed, sucked in cheeks, continually wearing a black blouse along with dress, long black hair caked in addition to mud along with Tag Heuer knotted like someone had knitted it all together in a crisscross mode.
That is, Victoria the Mad, used the plaza, as well as the archways as well as at times the poorhouse, but that was too far away, somewhere on nearly backstreet of the city, on a dirt road, between the plaza as well as the old folks home, she was noticed through the front windows of maybe half the city folks, in particular ladies, watching her, hearing her manic screams, as well as at times cheerful voice, from house to house-perhaps preferring her to stay in the plaza area as well as out of the residential, as she'd walk to that poorhouse; -anyhow, they all locked their doors, locked themselves in their own homes. But even this was hopeless if she was determined, as she'd sit on their doorsteps, perceptive nearer or presently they'd declare to leave, and after that she'd pester them designed on behalf of food or a coin. And they'd like to get rid of this rat-painted thin female who voted for a tin prize, half filled along through coffee, or a little else, shrouded and wrapped in sludge, muck, and mud.
How she remained alive under such conditions was a mystery-to individuals who knew her, as well as didn't know her, but knew of her-a mystery as bottomless as well as dark as a coal mine.
Already settled in Huancayo, the day she was born, it would have appeared she was before now established upon the begging call, one often times: uncles also parents, also aunts, demanded of their children-to help pay their way.
Today was no different for her, she went from store to store around the plaza, begging, moving rapidly, in a kind of desperation, alarm in addition to consternation as she charged her daily toll of food scraps in addition to thrown- away garbage, in addition to receiving that occasional coin for food, moving among the uproar of the people, inescapable from the tax payers. "Please, want..."she whispered, twisting and jerking dimly at her legs and arms, scratching, property to facilitate tin cup up to faces, in front of faces, trying not to scream: no silk stockings, no lipstick, no lofty heels, no fragrance, and then to facilitate evening she was gone, just like to facilitate, as if she had vanished hooked on thin air, the way she appeared fifty-years since, or thereabouts. She passed with the purpose of way-with the purpose of's all I can express, she passed with the purpose of way Tag Heuer gold, but I guess with the purpose of's all, we all can express.
No: 636 (6-30-2010)
The Yellow plates rose
There is no prettier Rose, than the natural urbane fusion, Yellow plates Rose, evolving in excess of 1000-years, I'm told; they grow in my garden, in Lima, Peru, tea-scented, all the way toward the back as of the Ming Dynasty. They barely animate one day, I'm sorry to say, then so much work to grow, it makes me think, how God puts up with us, here made on Patek Philippe replica earth, so rapidly we come to visit, sin up a storm, then then go.
No: 2720 (July 4, 2010) |
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