Man With A Mission

“My mother’s family has owned land in Rainbow Valley for generations. They are campesinos, farmers, close to the land and to Pachamama.”

“Pachamama?”

She smiled fondly. “Peruvian for Mother Earth. My people have a mystical and spiritual connection to all of nature.” Ana pointed upward at the green hills. “In a little while, you will see a beautiful apu, a mountain with a living spirit who resides in it. We believe that the apus are powerful guardians and keepers of our ways. Each morning, I was taught to take three perfectly formed dried coca leaves and blow into them, to honor our local apus. I would then bury the coca leaves in the soft, warm earth. It is called the Andean way, today. And it’s about honoring Mother Earth, all of nature—living in sync with them, not against them.”

“It sounds like your people have a very spiritual tie to the earth.” He saw the passion in her eyes as she spoke of what she believed in. Jake could almost see Ana sliding her long, slender fingers into the warmth of the dark, fertile earth. Just that thought sent heat tunneling through his lower body. How he’d like to be touched like that. The thought was unbidden. Moist. Full of promise. Frowning, he wondered what spell Ana was casting over him.

“Is this your first time to Peru, Jake?”

“Yes.”

“I see…. The people who farm are known as campesinos, as I said. I come from such stock, although my father is a very rich businessman, an art collector and dealer. He met my mother when he was in the Rainbow Valley looking for woven textiles to put in his galleries in Cusco and Lima.” Ana lifted her chalina and said softly, “He fell in love with my mother’s beautiful weaving ability, but even more with her. They called her the Inkan princess because she was so beautiful. All the campesinos said that she would one day give her chalina to a very rich lord. Her beauty was such that in the old days of the Inka empire, a woman like her would be taken to Cusco, to the main temple, to marry a nobleman.”

Fingering the scarf gently, Ana said, “It’s such a beautiful story that I love to tell it. My father bought every blanket my mother had ever woven. He came back every month on the pretense of seeing how she was coming on future textiles for his galleries. Here in Peru, when a man wants to court a woman and she has not given him her chalina, he may come and serenade her with song. My father, Eduardo, played the charango, an Andean mandolin made of wood, and he would sing to her as she wove on the porch of her home.

“And, over a year’s time, with visits each month, my father would talk endless hours with my mother about so many, many things. He was a city dweller, and she was tied to Pachamama and the ways of her people. He respected her for that and didn’t want to change her at all. One day, when he arrived, he brought her a doll.” Ana’s eyes sparkled as she looked over at Jake, who was hanging on every huskily spoken word.

Surprised, he said, “A doll? A man brings the woman he loves a doll?”

Ana laughed, her teeth white and even. “It’s a special doll, Jake. Around the doll’s neck was a letter with all his credentials written down on it. He told of his heritage, his family, of his financial worth, of what he owned and most of all, how he felt toward my mother. The man speaks of love in that letter, and what he will do to always honor the woman he loves, care for her and their children. He writes of his dream, his hope, for their future.”

“Well? What happened when your mother saw the doll?”

Ana grinned. “My mother was not one to fall head over heels for anyone. She’s a very practical person. You see—” Ana gestured toward the window and the hills covered in jungle growth above them “—if you are a campesino, you are hard-working, practical and sensible. My mother took the doll, thanked him and told him to go away. That he could come back in a month if he wanted.”

“The poor guy,” Jake murmured. “That was a little heavy-handed, wasn’t it? He’d come all the way from Cusco with this doll? And he’d probably written his heart out on that paper and she just airily told him to take a walk?”

Chuckling indulgently, Ana whispered wickedly, “She wasn’t turning him down, Jake. It is part of the elaborate ceremony, the dance between two people. She was testing his mettle, his desire to really be serious and responsible toward her. If he came back, then that would tell her of his commitment to her.”

“Obviously, he came back.”

Ana’s smile widened and her eyes sparkled. “Oh, yes. And I was the result.” She patted her heart region gently. “A very much loved gift to them.”

“You have any other sisters and brothers?”

“No, I’m an only child. My mother wished for more, but as a laykka, she had a dream, and in it, a female Apu spirit told her that her creation energy would be funneled into helping cure the sick and ailing. This she understood, so she was complete with me.”

“And your father? I’ll bet he dotes on you.”

Nodding her head, she whispered, “I love them both, so very much. I really honor my dad, who came and lived at my mother’s family home. He ran his businesses from Rainbow Valley because in his letter to my mother, he swore to never take her from the land that had created her. He saw how very much she was attached to Pachamama and he in no way wanted her unhappy. He knew she’d never survive in a city environment. I love him so much for that.”

“So, you grew up a farm girl?” Jake smiled, thinking of her as a young girl planting and harvesting crops seasonally in Rainbow Valley. He could see the earthiness in Ana. He felt it. She was hotly sensual, a quality radiating from her like the sun that gave life to all things. He liked the softness of her expression as he asked the question. The gentle rocking of the train car created a comforting motion, almost like being in someone’s arms.

“My hands were in the earth, my head in the sky, as my mother used to say.”

“And where did you get this urge to fly?” Jake wondered.

Her eyes grew merry. “I’ll tell you a story you probably won’t believe, but it’s true. When I was three years old I remember running through the freshly dug furrows of our fields where the campesinos were working, my arms outstretched, trying to ‘fly.’ Well, one day I ran to the end of the field, which had yet to be plowed by our oxen. My mother was out with the rest of the women, feeding the men at lunchtime when it happened.” Ana’s voice grew low with emotion.

“Out of nowhere, four condors landed only a few feet away from me. I remember this incident. And I remember my mother walking slowly and quietly up to where I was standing and gawking at these huge, beautiful birds. She leaned down and whispered to me to talk to them. I remember waving my arms and saying, ‘I want to fly! I want to fly with you!”’

Jake grinned. “Incredible. Do condors usually land that close to people?”

“No.” Ana laughed. “Just the opposite. They live in the high, craggy and inaccessible spots deep in the Andes, where no people can reach them. They avoid humans.”

“Then this was important?” Jake guessed.

Closing her eyes and leaning back against the dark green, plastic seat, Ana sighed. “Oh, yes, very important. My mother, being a laykka, understood its importance. As soon as I said ‘I want to fly,’ the four condors took off after lumbering quite a distance and flapping their wings. It’s very hard for them to land on flat earth and then to take off from it. Usually, they’ll land on a high crag, leap off it and float on the updrafts created. I stood there crying as they left, and my mother picked me up and held me. She said I would learn to fly like them, that although my heart belonged to Pachamama, my spirit belonged to the condors, the guardians of the air.”

Ana pulled out a leather thong from beneath her T-shirt, on one end of which was a small golden disk. In a lowered tone, she told him, “In here is part of the feather of the condor that was left behind from their visit with me. My mother picked up the feather, bought the locket and placed it inside. She told me it was my medicine, my protection, and to never be without it.”

“And you wear it to this day?”

“Always.” Ana slanted a glance at his serious face as she slipped the locket back beneath her T-shirt. “You don’t look at me like I’m loco. Crazy. Why? Most norteamericanos would roll their eyes and call what I just told you ridiculous, say that it couldn’t happen.”

Shrugging, Jake studied her thoughtful, upturned face. Her eyes were so warm and alive, the color of rich, recently turned soil. “Maybe because I’m a farmboy from Iowa? My parents have a huge corn and soybean farm, and I grew up with dirt under my nails just like you did.” He watched her eyes widen beautifully. His heart wrenched. There was such an incredible array of emotions that raced across Ana’s vulnerable features, and he could read each one. He was amazed at her openness and accessibility. And then it struck him that Ana trusted him. Deeply. Shaken by that discovery, he found himself wanting to open up to her more, too. But could he? Did he dare? No, he was afraid to because of his hurting, scarred past. Besides, he had to hold back. Had to remember he had been teamed up with her to complete a mission he didn’t think she—or any woman—was capable of.

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