‘What if we get to some fucking field in the mountains and his five friends are there and we’re high? I don’t know about this. And I’m trying to not jump to the worst possible scenario for once – this is an actual potential scenario. This man is a stranger. We are in a foreign country. I want to be cool but I have to fucking say this. He’s putting on a show in there. What he was doing with the powder was an act. I can spot these things from when I used to perform my scripts in the gym. I don’t trust him.’
Kim speaks hastily. ‘I don’t want to go, Natalie. I don’t want to tell him no either. I brought him in.’
‘Oh for god’s sake.’
Inside, I thank Heraldo for the history lesson and for picking a nice bag of stuff but we have to decline.
He appeals to Kim, which makes me even more suspicious of him.
‘Heraldo, we said no. We’ll pay for your smoothie. Thank you for your time. Maybe we’ll catch one of your gigs here? Más tarde?’
He puts his hands together in prayer position. ‘Kim, come with me. I can free you of your heartbreak.’
‘Only Kim can do that,’ I say, trying to nudge her away. I grab her arm and turn her to face me. ‘Do you want to stay with this guy? Everything might be fine, despite my fears. This is your life and your journey and I’ll respect your decision but I am going back to the hostel.’
‘No, I’ll go with you.’
‘Be firm, he’s trying you. Can’t you see that?’
‘I dunno anything anymore.’
‘It’s grand. I’ll do the talking. We can go home and go for breakfast and get packed for the flight.’
‘Okay.’
I turn back to Heraldo. ‘My stomach is too bad. Necesito un baño todo el dia.’
‘Kim,’ he says, jerking his head slightly, attempting to catch her eye.
I put my hands on my hips. ‘Look, buddy,’ I say firmly. ‘We’re not going with you. Entiendes?’
‘Sí. Claro.’
On the crowded streets, in the morning sunshine, I take a big breath and say, ‘Kim, try to be a bit more aware of the men you’re attracting. You can’t fill the pain of Pete’s absence with another man.’
‘Like you couldn’t fill your emptiness with food?’
The sting of her words blinds me for a moment.
‘Don’t act like you’ve it all together, Natalie. I can see through it. Let me have my comforts. I don’t want your advice, I know that I’m being unhealthy. Can’t you understand?’
I nod. And in that moment, I know exactly what I feel, her rejection swiftly followed by a desire to eat.
After a while of us browsing in intense silence on the hostel’s computers, Kim says, ‘I like how you’ve found your voice, Natalie. It suits you.’
‘Thanks.’
I take it as an apology and forgive the morning.
A Colombian backpacker logs into the third computer and Kim smooths down her T-shirt. She begins a conversation with him and giggles as he speaks.
I log out and go to the room to organize my rucksack for the flight in the morning. Laying everything on the bed, I note the bag of wachuma powder, wrap it in a scarf and put it in the side pocket. My clothes have a sharp freshly laundered smell.
Father and Son
It’s not yet dawn when Kim and I get off the overnight bus from Lima to a dusty bus stop in Máncora. I fish out the paper with the information Ronan gave me about a guesthouse. Passengers hop into the mototaxis but Kim wants to negotiate a better price. The stream of mototaxis dwindles. I’m too tired for this and get irritated.
‘I’ll pay for the bloody thing. Let’s get a lift before it’s too late.’
The noisy mototaxi drives down the main street then takes a left, onto a sandy road. I can smell the ocean. We feel every bump under the wheels.
There’s no way we can buzz the guesthouse.
‘We have no booking,’ I say. ‘The owners will be in bed.’
‘It’s a guesthouse, they’d be used to this craic,’ Kim says.
‘No. It’s rude.’
Other mototaxis pass and people check into guesthouses nearby. We sit outside. The sky is pink as the sun rises; it promises a hot day. Kim sleeps on her bag. I walk around to stretch my legs from the cramped bus. A white bird shimmers across the roof and cries. What the hell is that? A goose? A feather floats and falls down in front of me for a moment before it drifts upward in the air and away. I nearly buckle at the sight of a giant cactus in the area behind the house. It’s well over twenty feet tall, intimidating and powerful.
I meander back to Kim. ‘Should we walk to the beach?’
‘Not carrying our bags there, fuck that,’ she says.
The morning light is so bright, I wear sunglasses to read Women Who Love Too Much, which I picked up in Cusco in the book exchange. I underline passages and read some out to an unenthusiastic Kim.
At 8 a.m., after an hour and a half’s wait, the top of a surfboard is visible over the gate. A key jiggles in a lock.
A deeply bronzed white man wearing a purple trucker cap appears. ‘Hey chicas,’ he says. He holds his board. ‘Have you a reservation? What are you doing out here?’
‘We’re looking for a room,’ Kim says, and fixes herself.
He has a surfer dude ripped chest and strapping arm muscles.
‘What kind of room?’ His accent almost sounds North American but it has that Spanish intonation.
‘Two beds, or two rooms. Whatever. For the two of us.’
‘Okay, momento,’ he says and puts his board onto a rack. ‘Follow me, ladies.’
The courtyard is charmingly shabby. There are small potted coconut palms by a three-seater outdoor swing. Paddles, snorkels, wetsuits and other ocean accessories are in the corner near the rack. A shaggy dog is snoring in front of a bookcase. The tiles are sandy underfoot. Kim smiles at me, and I nod, but we stay quiet as we walk through it and up the stairs. The vibe is sleepy in the whole guesthouse.
He shows us a room on the second floor with two single beds and a bathroom. The thin indigo gingham blankets folded at the end of the bed match the curtains.
‘Is this okay?’
‘Sí, cuantos?’
‘Ten dollars per night.’
‘Each?’
‘No. Total. Sí?’
‘Sí, sí.’ Kim gives him a dazzler of a smile.
‘Ladies, make yourselves at home. Rest. Settle. If it’s okay with you guys, I want to go catch some waves. I will show you around in two hours, at 10 a.m. Check-in is then. Cool?’
‘Cool.’
He gives a shaka sign with his hand and departs.
‘What a fine thing,’ Kim says. ‘He’s gorgeous.’
‘Oh here we fucking go.’
‘I’m think I’ll shower and then check the beach.’
‘Well, I’m going to sleep, Kim. See you later.’
Nico shows us around the building. His partner Carla is a rock surf chick hybrid. She’s all eyeliner and ocean talk and plays Guns N’ Roses on the speakers. She gives us directions to the nearest supermercado, and we go to buy some supplies.
In the guesthouse’s kitchen cum dining room, we prepare a large pot of vegan stew and fruit smoothies for lunch. A beautiful little boy rushes in and turns on the TV, pressing up channels to cartoons. We sit beside him. I chat to him but even Kim seems interested in listening to his kid-speak. She asks where he works.
‘Work?’
‘Yes, what do you do for work?’
‘No entiendo, señora.’
Kim scratches the side of her eye. ‘Do you work or go to school?’
‘I go to school,’ he says, looking totally confused. ‘We have holidays at the moment. Papi!’ He jumps off the couch to greet an arrestingly handsome man who has walked in.
‘Ride,’ Kim slowly mouths in silence to me.