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I used to wander a lot, you know.
But wander like, up some hills or into ancient and ice cold caves, or across some really dusty savannas. Up so high that you can feel the clouds hugging you, embracing you.
And that feels quite nice, actually. Sometimes you only see white everywhere, for a while. It makes you sit down and think a lot, remember stuff.
That’s what I like the most about being there by myself. The remembering, that calm sensation, and the winds messing with my hair, combing it at their will. I then allow myself to close my eyes and let it do as it wants with me, because it doesn’t matter how freezing it is out there, my poncho never lets me get but a tiny bit cold. My best poncho, the one Sisa made for me so long ago.
Sisa... I wonder if she’s okay now, haven’t seen her in some time.
I remember a lot about her, even things from very early days… things my brother doesn’t know about, or at least he doesn’t seem to remember, when I ask him.
When all of us were still little and the Incan empire was still powerful, I used to crouch all by myself, hugging my own legs or fumbling with my hair, braiding it and unbraiding it time after time. I used to watch the other boys and my brother play and fight and argue and have fun, and sometimes, I tried to join them, too.
It never worked.
Sometimes my own body restricted me, and I wouldn’t be able to stand their pace, their jumps, their sprints, or even laugh as hard. I was ill.
And the rest of the times, when I wasn’t… they would pretend I was. They wouldn’t turn their backs on me directly but still, feeling like no one knew I was there, like no one cared about me, or like they all knew but weren’t interested in that sick little boy on Incan clothes, the non-Incan little prince… It was horrible.
Those times, Sisa would always just appear by my side and stare at me with those dark yet light eyes of hers. Those eyes always... knew. I’m sure of it.
And every single time, she let the same words out:
“You shouldn’t be here.”
It hurt a lot, I knew she was right.
But then before I started dwelling on it, she would take my hand, squeeze it tightly, and guide me back to the little chamber I had to be enclosed in when I felt sick. All the way back there, I would cry in silence. And every single time, when we arrived, she would sit me in her lap and start talking softly, sweetly, but firmly; pressing my back to her chest so I could feel her warmth, feel that I was not alone.
“Phaxsi.” she whispered, and I knew I had to listen carefully. “We, all of us, are the people of the sun and the moon. Little prince Intiawki is the sun, thus his name. And you are the moon. Phaxsimama's child. Have you forgotten that so easily?”
I never really answered back, no interruptions were allowed when Sisa was talking to me. I knew that too, so I would just wait for her to continue, not daring to even look up at her.
That one time, though, it was too much. I just busted out, all angry and lonely as I was.
“But I don’t want to, I… want to be at least the stars. Many of them, to shine together as bright as the Sun!”
And with that, I was dead. I was sure she would stand up right there and go away without any other word, dropping me, grounding me, smacking me in the back of the head like she did when I disobeyed or disrespected.
Instead, she turned me around, forcefully gripping my shoulders so I could see that rigid expression engraved on her face… then she just kept going like I never said a word.
“Inti may rule over people and crops and animals, but Phaxsimama is the commander of waters and winds. He may blind with golden beams at day, every day. But your silver glows carefully, protectively, at night. So don’t you try to be something you are not, Phaxsi. Don’t ever forget who you are. And when you think you are starting to lose your essence, just take a look at yourself in the water, since the Moon has left reminders to us both, in our eyes.”
Back in reality, I find myself smiling.
It’s true, we both have this tiny, barely visible streak of silver in our otherwise earth brown eyes. Mother Earth, and Mother Moon altogether.
I wanna see her so badly now.
I know, I know, she’s not the… openly affectionate type, at all. But still, even if she scolds first and asks questions later, I like it, being with her.
Like that time I was in my kitchen, putting these great looking salteñitas in the oven, to warm them up again. The bell rang and I, uh, miscalculated. I swear I saw stars passing by when my head hit the oven's roof, it hurt so damn much I even bit my tongue trying to scream or yell or whatever that should have been. Whoever it was ringing my bell like that, they’d better have a really good reason.
Now I know, I should have closed the door again, right on Francisco’s face. Thing is, the guy had this kind of “I know I shouldn’t be here but here I am, so bear with me for a while” face planted on himself.
Nonetheless, I tried to close the damn thing. And failed. So yes, I resorted to a very grumpy “What is it?” when his hand got so stubbornly affixed to my door it was impossible to remove without help.
Now, I know him a bit. I know he would try and set some ground for himself before taking the big step and finally spitting out what he wanted or needed or whatever.
“Small talk it’ll be” -I told myself- “Patience, Julio.”
I was ready for small talk. But not for... that.
“Uh, this place has gotten a lot bigger, hasn’t it?”
He looked around as if actually seeing my city for the first time. I just played along, an eyebrow already raised and a “Not half bad… for now” in my thoughts.
“Yeah, I guess?”
“Yeah, makes me nostalgic. Reminds me of old times, right, Alto Perú?”
I almost punched him in the face. I felt that warm and stupid sensation gurgling in my stomach once more after so many decades of absence, threatening with going up my throat and getting out of my mouth into the world like pure venom before consuming me, too. I could feel my knuckles going white, my nape’s hair standing up and my whole body tensing with rage, as I looked right into his eyes. It had been so, so long since those times. And I did not want to remember then, so I tried to make myself clear.
“You listen to me, and listen carefully, Francisco. I am not Alto Perú anymore, so don’t you ever call me that again. Don’t. Because it may seem so happy and oh-so-cute! to you all, but it really, really isn’t. I am myself. I am Julio Paz. Bolivia. Not Perú, nor a province, nor a shadow. And it will stay like that, got it?”
After that, both my hands found it relatively easy to remove those of a really startled and really shocked Ecuador, so I finally slammed that door shut and left him standing up there. Meanwhile, my whole chest ached and tears were so stubbornly trying to find their way out.
They would never understand what it was like, and how bad it hurt. All of them were always together, laughing, and.. living. I was always by myself. Unnecessary. Different. Unwanted.
I stomped my way back to the living room, cursing under my breath, messing my hair up, hurting a really horrible lot again.
I wanted to get into my room, shut the door and stay there for a while, maybe lie on the floor, maybe climb to the roof later, maybe try to calm down playing violin for some hours. Until she spoke.
When I turned my head towards her voice, there she was: sitting on my armchair, her back straightened, her chin up, her hands neatly aligned on her lap.
Oh. Right. She’s here.
“Do I have to repeat myself?” she protested. “Your food. It’s burning.”
I finally got it and winced, practically sprinting to immediately go rescue our poor and probably already charred to ashes meal.
But when I looked at her a second time I just had to stop in my tracks, even food could wait a bit more.
I saw it in her eyes, even if it was just for a moment.
Pride.
---
Our food did burn to ashes, so I took her out to eat instead, that day. We walked a very long way together silently, like I’m doing now.
Looking back at it, I’m even sorry for Francisco. But really, he could have chosen his words better, right?
He could have. They all could have, instead of just plain ignoring me, once their ancestors fell. I was there. I am here. And that’s probably why I feel so… resented, so apathetic, when it comes to the others.
But let’s leave that for another walk.
I should hurry, it’s getting dark.