Faces of the Amazon

October 17, 2008

I am fascinated by people.

There’s a young man sitting on the porch of a house next to the river.  His boots are standing neatly on the floor beside him, mud on their soles.  His skin is dark and rich and his hair is askew.  There are books scattered on the table around him each one open with pages that are tattered from constant turning.  His notebook is small, but full and he writes in furious spurtrs and then rests.  In the pauses his eyes turn to the water, the bosque, the jars in front of him.

I wonder what he’s writing.

She sits with one foot tucked beneath her, the other dangles in the murky water.  There’s a bright blue bucket beside her heaping with laundry.  Her hands move swiftly- lathering, rinsing, scrubbing – but she doesn’t seem to be in a hurry.  She works as though today were like every other and I am mesmerized by her leisure.  Lathering, scrubbing, rinsing in the river.

I wonder what’s she’s thinking.

“I share a house with the monkeys,” she told me.  Her greying hair wrapped her face in silvery light and her eyes shone with curiosity and compassion.  She talked easily and lovingly about her primate companions and the twenty years she’s been among them.  And then she turned and hurried toward the water.  “Ya vienen!” It’s coming now, they yelled.  She threw a wave and a smile in our direction and then climbed onto the boat.

I wonder if she’s lonely.

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