Not Without the Truth by Kay David

Author:Kay David
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2006-10-14T16:00:00+00:00

ARMANDO LED LAUREN OFF the porch and back to the street. “I don’t know about you,” he said when they reached the sidewalk, “but I feel the need for some coffee.” He looked down at his watch, then back at her. “It’s almost lunchtime. Think you could handle it?”

Disappointed by how little they’d learned, Lauren nodded but said nothing. They walked toward the square, Armando directing them to what he said was the only restaurante in town. “I’ve eaten here several times,” he said as he pulled the door open for her, “and I survived.”

“That’s some recommendation.”

He laughed. “The rocote relleno is actually pretty good.”

Lauren started to reply but stopped, the stares that followed them as they entered too pointed to ignore. “What’s wrong?” she whispered as they headed to the back and found an empty table.

“Rojo doesn’t get too many visitors,” Armando said quietly. “Forget about it. They still stare at me sometimes and I’m not even blond.”

Lauren smiled uncertainly at him. The waitress handed them menus, took their drink orders, then disappeared into the kitchen.

Armando put the plastic card down after a quick look. “Like I said, I’d recommend the stuffed peppers,” he advised. “But whatever you do, don’t order the cuy.”

She cringed. “I was horrified when my father explained what it really was.”

“Someone once told me they found cuy bones at Machu Picchu.”

“That’s interesting…but it’s still not a delicacy I’d suggest the average tourist try.”

“Guinea pig has been eaten in this part of the world for years.” Armando shrugged. “It’s a tradition—no different than Arturo’s chacchar.”

Lauren frowned. “His what?”

“His chew. Didn’t you see him spitting?”

She felt a ripple of revulsion. “I tried not to notice.”

“The pouch he wore at his waist is called a chuspa. Sometimes they call it a huallqui. It holds a little bit of uipta—”

“Ashes?” she translated in a puzzled voice. “Ashes of what?”

“From the quinoa plant. Sometimes they carry pulverized lime, too.”

“Why?”

“They use it to mix with the other item in the bag. It makes it taste better.”

“And that would be…?”

“His day’s supply of coca leaves.”

“Coca, as in ‘cocaine’?”

“The indigenous people chew it,” he explained. “And they have for centuries, especially around here. He had a coca bush in the yard. The harvest just finished so he probably has a nice fresh crop. The leaves are picked in March, when the rains stop, then again in June and November.”

“That can’t be too good for you.”

Armando reached for the bottle of water that was on their table and filled their glasses. “It’s the culture,” he answered. “The priests had to chew it or their sacrifices weren’t accepted by the gods. The miners think it softens the ore if you spit on the veins.” He sipped his water. “It’s common around here.”

“Well, it didn’t seem to loosen his lips any, did it?” Lauren wrapped her fingers around her water glass and stared over the table, her earlier discontent returning. “I was hoping he’d tell us more.”

“Did you really expect that?”

“Maybe I didn’t expect it,” she confessed, “but I was hoping for it.

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