We walk together, three solitudes. All the drama since the early morning has left us all emotionally exhausted and scarcely able to tolerate one another's company. We walk on the sidewalk of Robson Street, each as though walking alone. My friends barely dodge the other pedestrians, who don't appear to see them. My friends are overwhelmed. There is too much, too soon, with no preparation. I am more worried about Juan, who appears to hate everything he sees here. I believe that his nation's historic intolerance of difference and change has made it impossible for him to adapt. Ilhuitl appears to be embracing the new world here. I would even dare suggest that his spiritual foundation allows for a flexibility and openness that the strict and bigoted Spanish Catholicism has forbidden to Juan.
Juan is a handsome young man, muscular, neither tall nor short, with a poet's sensitive face: wide brown eyes, a finely shaped nose, chestnut hair and sensuous lips. But this belies his rigidity. He has the posture of a statue, a figure molded in bronze or carved from marble. Brittle, unyielding. He must dominate and rule, or perish. I do not believe that he has ever known the concept of compromise. Ilhuitl is not what one would call conventionally good-looking. He is on the short side, slender with the high cheekbones and dark almond eyes of the Aztec and a finely-chiseled nose and a closely guarded smile always hovering on his full lips. His skin has a cinnamon hue. Even though he appears composed and reserved there is much activity in his eyes and a certain nimble mirth in his face that he only lightly disguises. He moves quickly, but with measured disciplined movements. Unlike Juan and his fellow Spaniards, Ilhuitl has been raised on self-discipline, which gives him the sense of one who is self-possessed and composed, though everything he does appears infused with a dancer's grace. He makes me think of a current of electricity, crackling and flashing its silver fire as it runs at high speed flashing and igniting everything in its path.. He is infused with a cool, lively intelligence in counterpoint to a child's delight in innocent mischief, and I find in him a kindred soul.
Juan has asked me how gold can be obtained here, for that is why he came to the New World. He is incredibly greedy. I simply reply that we don't deal a lot in that metal and that he would best look elsewhere. He says that we need gold to spread the Catholic faith. I reply that if it is the Christian faith of the Gospels to which he is referring then love will do the job sooner than all the gold in the universe. He appears to have not heard me and I know not to rattle his cage when he is being obtuse, for this is his way of finding his safe place and I know that he is traumatized.
In the Safeway we pick up food for a picnic in the park: salads, cheese, rolls and sausage slices. They are mesmerized by the size of the supermarket and the superabundance of food. The packaging especially intrigues Ilhuitl, who wants to know what materials it is made of. He understands metal, strains himself to get the concept of paper, but plastic totally loses him, especially the disposable containers that hold our food.
We arrive in Stanley Park by way of Lost Lagoon. The Canada geese and the mallards and other duck species waddle and swim freely, knowing they will come to no harm in this place where they are treated almost like pets. For the first time Juan and Ilhuitl are in agreement. They both want to obtain bow and arrows and kill a few birds for the table. I just smile indulgently and guide us to the rose garden for a picnic in the shade.
No comments:
Post a Comment