Toward That Which is Beautiful by Marian O'Shea Wernicke

Author:Marian O'Shea Wernicke
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: She Writes Press
Published: 2020-11-14T16:00:00+00:00

They bought six skewers, and Jeanne looked around for something to drink. There were chicha stands on every corner, and men were staggering through the streets after hours of celebrating. After finding a vendor selling sodas, they bought Cokes and sat together on a bench near the main plaza to eat. Kate ate greedily; the meat was spicy and hot. She licked her fingers behind her handkerchief, hoping no one noticed.

Later the three nuns followed the crowds to a small stadium on a hill about twenty minutes outside of the town where rickety wooden bleachers had been set up. The scene reminded Kate of a high-school football game. They watched as group after group of fantastically dressed devil dancers swayed before them. Each town for miles around had a brotherhood of dancers. Jeanne told Kate how the men worked on their costumes all year, spending their meager funds on spangles and gold trim, which the women sewed into the fine cloth of gold and silk. Devils were everywhere with leering masks, prancing with giant phalluses swinging between their legs. Some dancers wore cartoon masks to portray the Spanish Conquerors beneath helmets of silver and gold. The women, in layers of petticoats called polleras, twisted and swung to the incessant beat of the drums and the high whine of the flutes. On their heads were huge feathered hats from which dangled streamers of curly silk ribbons.

A float bearing the Inca was pulled in by a dozen men in bright red costumes. Kate watched one woman, taller and more slender than the others, twirl her handkerchief high in the air, bowing and weaving among the men who surrounded her. As it grew dark, the temperature plunged rapidly, a cool breeze coming off the Lake. Torches were lit, for there was no electricity this far from the town. In the swirling dust the dancing figures took on a red, hazy hue, as if they were performing in a lake of fire. On and on the music played.

By now the dancers were drunk; Kate saw more than one person fall as he danced, and roll out of the way of the others. Sister Josepha stood up abruptly. “I think we’ve seen enough, Sisters.”

Soon the nuns were working their way through the crowds milling around the stadium. A man turned to them as they passed, and Kate saw his penis in his hands. He bowed and greeted them, his urine plunging in a steady stream at their feet.

Later, in their room, Kate stood at the window in her nightgown. Both Josepha and Jeanne Marie were asleep, and someone was snoring softly. Kate gazed at the people in the plaza below. The music was muted, but in the distance she heard the blare of horns. A man and woman staggered together, their arms around each other. They stopped beneath a tree, and in the dim light of the plaza Kate watched their bodies meld into a long passionate kiss. She felt a stirring deep inside, a fierce ache of desire like a clutching hand within.

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