Estuary 12

As he left Pumala invited me to spend tomorrow with his family. There would be no work, only the festival. I slept a pale sleep, hyperaware of my knotted body, of the bones on the sides of my knees pressing together, and the unsupported curve of my neck. My dreams were manic, as memorable as last year's car commercials. Much of my life was the same.

Malu was at my door with tea and sticky rice when I woke. He set the tape recorder on the table and suggested we do its translating in the afternoon after we hiked to some ruins of note for which he'd gathered directions during the storytelling. I declined. I spoke to Pumala, I told him, and would be occupied for the day. I left it at that, affecting nonchalance. Malu was troubled. I assumed he did not wish to lose my employ. I gave him a notebook and sent him to his home to translate the tapes, agreeing to meet with him later that afternoon. Pumala has the favor of an elder, Malu said. Is every old man in your village as robust? I replied.

A boy arrived to bring me to Pumala. A number of villagers greeted me on the way, the first time they did not keep to their business as I passed. There was cleaning, sewing, wood-gathering, the hanging of decorations, pigment-mixing, the trying on of colorful beaded garments. Where once I felt apart, now I felt a part. I gave my smile freely. It was returned by the children and the men.

Pumala stood in front of his home doing stretches and movements graceful and abrupt. It was early and cool, the morning sun not yet above the surrounding canopy. He greeted me warmly and introduced me to my leader, his young son. I confessed I was not in much better shape than I was at the conclusion of our match. Pumala insisted I join him in his workout, that it would do me much good. I'd never been one for exertion, and was a bit worried it would entail sparring, but I consented. I was surprised. Copying Pumala's movements buoyed my spirits. Like the soreness and pain of the preceding night when I became acutely aware of my body, this same awareness radiated now from my core, sending sonar into the jungle. I seemed to gain strength.

"My wife and daughter," Pumala said. "Say hello to Mr. Roché."

My eyes gained focus and I froze. Approaching up the path with a middle aged woman was the young lady from yesterday, the one with the hibiscus in her hair. She balanced a wicker basket under her arm on one perfect delicate china hip. His wife nodded with hunched shoulders but the girl spoke. "Good morning, sir, how are you today?"

My heart stopped.