Toward That Which is Beautiful

Kate went with the women and children into an adjacent hut. It was dark and smoky in the room, and it took Kate several moments to adjust to the dimness.
At first Kate thought these women must be the little children’s grandmothers. Their faces were lined with age and sun and some had teeth missing. But when one of the women began nursing her baby, Kate realized these were young mothers, aged by their lives in the harsh climate of the Altiplano. Magdalena, using her newly acquired Aymara skills, explained to the women that she would listen to their hearts, and more importantly, listen to their stories and concerns. Meanwhile Kate took the seven little ones to a corner of the hut, sat on a stool while the children squatted on the dirt floor around her. They looked expectantly at the bags she carried. She gave out the paper, the new pencils, and the wildly colored Crayolas. Frustrated at not being able to speak to them, she smiled encouragingly as they began to draw and color right there on the floor, their dark eyes shining at her in the gloom. She understood a few words once in a while, and thought bitterly of her useless degree in English literature. Why hadn’t she studied Aymara as well as Spanish at the language school? She was out of her depth here.
From the nearby hut, Kate could hear Tom’s light tenor voice rising and falling, blended with the men’s quiet deep tones and muffled laughter. Finally the priest’s tall form appeared in the doorway, and he stooped as he entered the room, grabbing the bags of candy Kate had brought. Squealing, the children gathered around him, waiting excitedly for him to offer each one a fist full of peppermints and lemon drops.
“Gracias, padrecito,” they shouted, smiling at the two of them. They hugged the priest’s knees and he bent to be eye level with them. Over their heads, Tom grinned at Kate.
They said their goodbyes, and Kate noticed the sun was going down as they headed back to the jeep.
“Okay, candy lady, you ride shotgun this time and let Magdalena rest in the back seat,” Father Tom ordered.
Magdalena climbed in and was soon resting her head on the window, her eyes closed in fatigue. Dusk was coming on quickly, and the sun’s slanted rays lit up the fields with a rich golden light.
“So, Sister Mary of the candies, what did you think of the little group at Villa Maria?” Tom kept his eyes on the road.
Kate turned to him and tried to keep her voice from trembling. “Oh, I felt so useless! I wish I’d studied nursing so at least I could do something concrete like Magdalena and Jeanne Marie. What good is knowing Keats or Wordworth up here? Without a translator, I’m helpless.”
Tom drove on a few minutes in silence and finally glanced at her. “Give yourself a break, Sister. You’ve only been here a few weeks. Today you brought laughter and spring time . . .” His voice trailed off.
Kate examined his hawk-like profile. “What were you talking to the men about?”
“Oh, we were trying to come up with some ideas for growing new crops here, exploring different ways of using the land, maybe even getting the regional government to sponsor some new methods.”
Kate knew nothing of farming, she realized, but she could learn about the local government. She would read. She’d go to the American Embassy the next time she was in Lima and check out some book on agriculture. She was good at studying.
Now darkness was complete. The jeep’s headlights traced the rocky road ahead. Tom’s cigarette glowed. He drove fast, carelessly. She felt his gaze on her often, conscious of his body so close to hers. What could she say? That I’m out of my depth here in this upside down universe? That I can’t speak the language? That worst of all, I’m falling for you? In the distance, Kate saw the new moon rising above the dark shadows of the mountains. She prayed for help. Then she felt Tom’s hand on her arm.
“Would you like a drag of my cigarette?”
“Sure,” she murmured, hoping Magdalena was asleep. She put the cigarette in her mouth. It tasted of him. She inhaled, and when she handed it back, he held her gaze. Then watching her, he put the cigarette to his lips and took a long draw. She did not look away. They drove back to Juliaca, the silence between them heavy, riding through the night on this darkling edge of the world.

C
hapter Five
Much to Kate’s surprise, she wasn’t homesick during her first Christmas in Peru. In the convent back home she always felt a stab of loneliness on Christmas Eve, so she expected a severe case of homesickness here so faraway.
Nochebuena was celebrated with Midnight Mass, just as it was at home. The sisters had spent the afternoon of December 24 decorating the old colonial church. Since there were no evergreens to be found, Alejandro and some of the men carried branches of eucalyptus trees into the church, and the nuns arranged them around the altar and stuck dozens of small white candles they had fixed in tinfoil holders among the branches. Jeanne Marie unwrapped the figures of the crib scene and placed them carefully in front of the altar. Kate was moved when she observed that the carved figures of Mary and Joseph and the shepherds were Aymara. The familiar scene looked so natural here in the Altiplano with the young poncho-clad mother bending over her tightly swaddled child and the sheep hovering nearby. She could almost feel their breath, warm and sweet.
As midnight approached, the four sisters lit the candles on the high altar. Kate watched Alejandro lift up Tito to pull the thick rope to the bell in the tower. After the ringing of the bell, they turned out all the lights as people from the campo began trickling into the church. By the time the