11 February. Gentle sunlight at dawn, the world store is opening a little earlier these days. Almost daylight walking down the steps, pool again. "The water is 77 degrees, but we're open.."
Stories and songs. A small settlement on the edge of the Pampa, Provincia de Santa Fe. Monje--the name abrupt, almost blunt, a noun--imported, plunked down in the middle of a vast field. Ganado, potro, ternero--bombachas on a certain señor who will ride his horse to the local cafe, spend the evening with friends--algo de vino--climb back on in the moonlight--un poco emborrachao--lean forward, half-asleep, and wake up in front of his home...
En frente de su casa. La toldería de los Ranqueles. An Indian man rides standing, upright on his horse's back, jumping off at full gallop, jumping back on...
We sit at a small table in the ark of a large white room, soaring. Cuentos, cantos, historia... "Soy parte Guarani--de mi Mamá." Ojos negros, vivos. "De nuevo en los tuyos..."
(para Laura)
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