A Strange Tremor Inside

I get off the van in front of the main square. It isn't much of a town square anyway: a pretentious area whose mayor, for some reason, has feled all of the beautiful Mahogany, Cedar and especially the fragant Ishpingo trees that embellished it. Now some puny plam trees are just beginning to grow. I suspect it had to do with a modernization drive that swept the town when the road to Satipo was opened some years before. Some gigantic crab in the middle of the plaza presides over the town. Another thing that surprises the visitor is the Worl War II vintage jeeps and 4 x 4 light trucks that people drive around. This is how some Pangoinos -the well off- haul their loads of coffee.
Several tuk tuk drivers get into a verbal fight until I jump into one of them. The driver takes me along a dirt road with several farmhouses strung along it. Most houses are made out of wood -a few are made of brick with large pipes coming out of their roofs to relieve the rainwater. In the outskirts, which begin only ten blocks or so in any side, people live in more traditional capiro1 and humiro2 huts.
In the distance I see the silhouette of a girl with a long dress blowing in the wind and standing by the road. It is a much beloved face that I recognize immediately. As I get nearer, I feel a growing unease in the pit of my stomach and my heart rate quickens. I jump out and hug her hard. She seems to want to say something, but finally nothing comes out of her. For a moment I think she is angry about my lateness. Whatcan I say? There is no use in explaining. I feel tired. I wish I could go to bed and sleep for a couple of hours. "The cars, love, you know. They were really slow." I only mutter as if I were talking to myself.
Suddenly a bunch of people overwhelm us. They all talk at the same time. I cannot understand anything , but I recognize some faces. Virgilio's has a mixture of happiness and anxiety. Don Fernando together with some other "partners" is there too. I think I have seen his son too. Julian and his wife and probably his children are waiting as well. Where should I start? Suddenly I start to feel irritated. Don Fernando, Don Victor and some others elbow their way to me. "So, Don Jaime, how was the trip? We thought we weren't coming." They all laugh earthily as if he had just told a joke. I smile and tell them the same thing about transportation problems. I imagine what they are interested in knowing. Before I can ask anything, I excuse myself and run to the patio at the back. On my way out, my eyes lock Julian's for a minute. I wave my hand asking him to wait too.
Virgilio and uncle Roque join me outside. "A lot of clients came and left, of course. Because of your lateness, we lost a lot of business!" uncle Roque starts complaining. He is clearly upset. I think of excuses. "Sorry, uncle, but you know about the problems on the road; besides..." He hardly hears my defense. "You left us all alone to face the problem. On top of not having enough money, we had to confront your clients' asking for more advances. We had to borrow money to give Julian and Doña Georgina." I feel bad and so inadequate as a businessman. "All right. Can you take the money back to that person? How much was it?" I take my wallet as I say this. He looks confused and refuses the bills I try to hand them. "That's not important right now. You have all those people who want to organize the cooperative too. Don Fernando has been waiting for over an hour and..."
Fortunately Virgilio interrupts in the humble and unassuming way I appreciate so much. "Don Roque, maybe you didn't hear, but the people said they are coming in half an hour or so." Uncle Roque gives Virgilio an angry look. "That's what these farmers always say, but are you such a fool to believe them?" Virgilio and I look at each other uncomfortably. "Look, uncle, if they don't come back, it's their problem. After all, we're offering the highest price in town." I hope this will end uncle Roque's arguments. I look at Virgilio begging him to continue. This seems to give him the courage to keep on. "No worry 'bout Don Fernando and the other, Don Jaime. He had no problem in waiting. Doña Delfina explained the situation and I sure they understand." In hearing this, uncle Roque turns around and leaves saying something I can't quite make out. "About Julian, he said he got 15 sacs and wants you to bring them from his chacra in Bolivar tomorrow. Also Don Lorenzo came early and say you could bring down his load; he said 8 sacs. I already talked to Señor Silva. the one of the Wipo3, and said he was busy today, but tomorrow his truck is for us, but you have to tell him this afternoon the latest." This is Virgilio, the diligent worker whose speech may not be very clear at times, but whose loyalty I don't doubt. That's why I trust him so much. Maybe this is the reason uncle Roque resents my asking for Virgilio's advice so often. "Look, Virgilio, go and ask Pedro, you know, Doña Teresa's son, if he can take us to Bolivar tomorrow. We won't need Señor Silva's Wipo because the quantities are too small. Tell Pedro I need his Willy4 by 4 a.m. so that by 6 we'll be free to go to Fortaleza to get Don Lorenzo's stuff." Virgilio smiles shyly, a sure sign that he still has something to say. "Let me, Don Jaime. I think bettre to rent Señor Silva's because the road to Fortaleza these days is really bad... the rains. We sure need his Wipo's winch to get out." I think for a minute and decide he's right. "OK, you arrange that immediately. I'll go in now and talk to the cooperativistas, and also to Julian and his wife.
I go back in and Julian accost immediately me. "Don Jaime, I have 'bout 15 sacs; they're fastened. When do we bring?" Great, Julian. Thanks. How humid is the stuff?" Now comes the hardest part. He'll want to set the highest price I'm offering before I even have the chance to look at the coffee, let alone test it for its humidity. "It's quite dry, Don Jaime." intervenes Julian's wife, Vilma. She's smiling but I'm not fooled. "Fine, Vilma, but what humidity do you think it has? Is it standard or mote?" They look at each other and Vilma answers. "Come on, Don Jaime. How do you think we want to sell you mote? It's blue." This means, for people in the Peruvian jungle, coffee at 12% humidity, something that, in all my experience, I have never seen farmers selling. More probably the coffee is betwwen 20 and 24%, that is standard. "Look, I need to check out your coffee in order to appraise it... you know, to give you a price." Vilma's face hardens. "Don Jaime, in the past other buyers gave us a fixed price even before coming to get the coffee. Why do you want to change this?" She starts to sound aggressive. "You, buyers, are always trying to cheat on us!" she finally explodes. I feel tempted to ask her whether they have enjoyed being cheated for decades both on the price and the weight. But there is no use in saying this. It wouldn't be fair; besides she wouldn't believe it. After all, if there have been victims here, it's been them. This is the thought that has always sobered my answers to these farmers that are so stubborn. It is better to try to make sense. So for the twentieth time or so, I breathe deeply and explain, "I'm not trying to cheat on anybody, Vilma. But you two must understand that I just can't give you a real price if I don't get the real humidity. It's true that other buyers have given you a fixed price beforehand, but they have only resold the coffee in town, and you know I take it to Lima. That is another reason why I give a higher price." "You buyers are always lying to us, Don Jaime!" I feel frustrated and I know I must solve this quickly. I fear uncle Roque's reaction; he's been known to lose his temper in this kind of situations. At that moment Julian intervenes. "It's OK, Don Jaime. If you say so, then it must be so." Resignation and stoicism finally win and, for once, it works my way. Is this the same with coffee farmers all over the world? They do not seem very happy, however. Neither do I. I hate to "win" like this. In their view, I have cheated on them. I ask Delfina to take care of them, especially the children who must be thirsty. Now it's the cooperativistas' turn. They have been listening to my conversation very attentively. I feel like I just finished a peep show. I feel assailed by a powerful sensation of voyeuristic indecency.
"I'm really sorry, but, as you see, it's impossible to be with everybody." They laugh and pat me in the back. I realize they have beeb drinking masato5, and I fear they will offer some to me. It isn't precisely my favorite alcoholic drink. I've already drunk it twice as a matter of politeness, but its flavor is not the problem at all. Don Victor talks first, "No worry, Don Jaime. We know oyur business is first. Actually, we want to excuse ourselves because, in addition to having invaded your warehouse, we're interrupting your trade." I know where all of this is leading to. In a few seconds, they'll "invite" me to drink in a "quiet place" so that we can discuss our "future export company." The problem is that once we're done with it, I will of course have to pick up the bill. So, before they get too excited, I cut it off. "No problem. But first, let me inform you about what I did in Lima." The name of the big city seems to make them forget their alcoholic intentions. Don Fernando, a stocky man who always wears a cap finally decides to say something. "Mr. Galarza, as I was telling here my impatient partners, we should give you a break. Anyway, what good news have you got about our future company?" Don Lino, who was unusually quiet, suddenly springs to life. "Yes, Don Jaime. It's too long so we're impatient, but a little... and..." he struggles with his Spanish. He smiles out of nervousness and I can see his greenish teeth on account of his chewing coca. I decide to help him. "I understand what you mean Don Lino. First I want you people to know that, in addition to looking after our peoject, I have to do the same about mine too. You know I spent only four days in Lima, two of which were part of the weekend." I can see some unhappy faces. It's hard to concentrate in what I am saying because people come and go. The warehouse is big enough for 300 sacs, but not for two people to live in. In fact, I had somebody make a small wooden division where I barely forced a bed and a couple of boxes. To me this is a palace because, at first, I had to sleep on the floor. At the time, I didn't even have a warehouse. Fortunately, my cousin David's family, who has lived here for very long, helped me out a lot. In two years, I've gone a long way, and, in a few years, I may catch up with the big guys in Lima. "So, Don Jaime, is it OK if Don Victor handles the legal stuff? That way, you won't have to worry about these things." I am about to hug Don Fernando. He has really saved me.
The day goes by like this: farmers bringing in their coffee and us weighing, checking, bargaining and usually buying. Afterwards, we must separate it and, according to the humidity, take the most humid to the tendal 6 up on the roof. There, if the day is sunny, it will be spread as thinnly as possible so that in a day or two, it will be ready to be put in sacks at 12% dry. By 7 p.m. the day is over for coffee buying. My business "partners" have long left and I pay Virgilio and he also leaves. I cross the field at the back to take a shower. As I am entering back, I find Delfina crying with her face down on the bed.
"Sorry, darling, but it was impossible to..." She stops and I inhale deeply.
"You seem to realize nothing!" She is furious and I'm confused. Before, she had told me she was tired of doing this. I understand it's a tough job even if she doesn't have to do any hauling.
"Tomorrow, if you want, you can come along..."
"You didn't ask about my health!"
"Sorry, honey, but you saw how hectic the day was! They came and didn't even give us any time for us. I'm really sorry"
She looks at me as if she didn't understand.
"I lost it" she finally says in a brutal way. I don't grasp the meaning of her words. Finally it starts to sink in.
"You mean... our baby?" She answers with a blank stare while more tears drop down her cheeks.
I sit down next to her. I feel exhausted and sick. My ambitions to become a big coffee trader seem so ridiculous now. I lie down and hug her. I say nothing. She had been two months pregnant. We had made so many plans even though at the beginning I had considered it a very untimely event. Now I feel guilty for having allowed her to take charge of the warehouse. But who else could have done it? Besides I had to work in Lima to get extra funds. But all of this rationalization doesn't convince me. We fall asleep like this: me hugging her, and her crying.
The next morning dawns cold and gray with a mean wind blowing dust down the streets. It's 4:30 a.m. when uncle Roque, Virgilio and I pack the empty coffee bags and drive out of Pangoa. The trip is uneventful except for Señor Silva's stories about the time when the terrorists occupied the town for a night.
"Before midnight, hundreds of reds7 took up position on the hilltops around..."
"But, didn't the police do anything?" I ask naively.
"Yes, they locked themselves up in the station. I don't blame them. What could ten do against two hundred?"
There is a heavy silence. He takes his time before he continues.
"The attack started with a lot of machine gun fire and quickly went to an assault against the entire village. As they approached the main square, they broke into several houses and executed several villagers on the spot. They knew they were informers all right."
"How did they know this?"
He thinks before answering. Virgilio is at the back otherwise Señor Silva wouldn't have opened his mouth.
"The reds have their own informers. Do you think that some of those tearful farmers that ask you for advances and bring their coffee are really so defenseless?" He lowers his voice and says softly. "You're from out of town, so I don't worry. Some of the farmers you deal with have actually taken part in the armed struggle! I'd advise you to be very careful!"
"I told him so several times!" uncle Roque intervenes looking back. Then he turns to me. "You think you can fool around here? For example you trust that Virgilio so much!"
"Please uncle..."
"You shouldn't trust anybody here Mr. Galarza, nobody!" Señor Silva sounds dead serious. He's also from out of town. Actually he's a Koskoruna, a native from Cusco. I cannot agrree with them about Virgilio, but his warnings disturb me
"For example, the guy you're gonna get his coffee from. What's his name?"
"Julian. Julian Montes"
"Right. Well, the Montes, especially Don Felipe who, I think it's this Julian's uncle was a very strong supporter of the reds. I cannot tell you more..."
I'm speechless, especially because of the argument I had with Julian and his family the day before. I decide not to say anything about it.
"So, Señor Silva, what finally happened the night of the attack?"
"When the reds finally got to the main square where the police station is located, they bombed it with everything they had. They weren't taking any chances. The reds weren't going to let the bastardd surrender nor were they going to let them hide, so they positioned themselves in every possible route of escape. When the police realized it was only a matter of time before they were killed, some took their chances and ran through the gunfire into the forest. Some fought back. Either way, they died." Señor Silva is sweating as if telling us this story cost him a lot. But he hadn't finished. "There were two that captured. I think camarada Añaco8, the top red wanted to avenge something. They took them to the outskirts. One of them was a police major -the station's commissioner... my oldest boy's godfather" He stops. He seems wasted. "The assholes forced me to give them my Wipo and it was there they took them. Of course they didn't know about being my compadre, and he didn't say a word either. When we reached where the brothel had been, a few meters away from the bridge, they tored off their clothes and ordered them to lie down on the ground. Then they fired into the head of the second in command; it was a young lieutenat, I think. He begged for his life. But camarada Feliciano said something like 'Look at the son of a whore, how they beg now.' and spit in his face. I saw his body jerking from the bullets. He was lucky because my compadre was savagely beaten. He didn't beg. God, I wish he had done it...no. The beasts... dug out his eyeballs...and he didn't say anything about me!" I hear a suppressed sound as if he were gasping for air. It is as if he's suddenly gagged or hiccupped. I turn around to look at the green lush hills. The first morning light is appearing. I feel so cold in the face. I touch it and feel my tears streaming down."

1A type of palm tree, similar to bamboo, which is used as walls in the native people's homes.
2 It is used as roofing in most traditional homes in the jungle.
3 A light 4 x 4 truck used by the American army during World War II. Eventually it made its way into Latin American armies.
4 American-made jeep.
5 A drink originally made by the Ashaninkas. It is prepared by chewing yucca which is, in turn, spit into a container. The saliva makes the rest of the job.
6 Most warehouses in coffee-growing zones have a flat top used to dry humis coffee.
7 Back in the 1980s, as Peru began its descent into the hell of terror and dirty war, the terrorist phenomenon took two forms: the most radical led by Shinning Path -also known as the reds; ans a less militant and bloody-minded wing which went by the name of Tupac Amaru -known as the blacks.
8 Terrorists called themselves camaradas plus a name which was really their nom de guerre.