Ten pots, one cat, and a bus to catch

no. 16

I sat with Abuelita while she cooked. She is confident and measured in her movements at the fire. She sits in a low chair; there are three pots in front of her. The fire burns hot, licking at our skin. She tells me she’s making Sopa Verde, Sopa de Verduras—a green vegetable soup. It sounds so much better in Spanish. We communicate back and forth in Spanish. I watch her pick up scalding pots with her bare hands. This kind of cooking takes time, attention, and patience. She uses lots of pots, lids, frying pans, and a kettle. I always feel accomplished when I can make dinner in one pot—not here.

She is a conductor, moving the symphony along from memory—there are no written recipes. She has activated all her senses. She uses oil generously. Peppers are ground into a fine paste using a batan (like a mortar and pestle)- it is much bigger. Abuelita says the taste is better that way.

We see the cat on the opposite wall, walking—then onto the roof he goes, around to our side and down. He meows as he moves, making his presence well-known. He smells the food and is ready to eat. He walks over and settles down on the chair next to us. It’s going to be a rough day for him, I’m afraid. He will be neutered later today because he disappears for days and comes back with injuries from fighting with other cats. Abuelita is worried that if he doesn’t stop fighting, he’ll be killed.

I tell Leifer I don’t want to know anything about it. Leifer puts the boys in our room, and we blow up and play with balloons while they’re working on the cat. I see him later—he looks the same.

I dropped the boys off at school this morning. This will be their last day of school for ten days. I tell Leif I love him as I turn to leave. I know it’s our own secret little conversation that no one else is privy to. He responds, “I love you.” The day will come when he’ll be eager to fit in with his friends and no longer say that to me. For now, I cherish this moment and tuck it away deep in my heart.

We’ll board a bus tomorrow morning at 7:30 AM for the whole day. The bus will take us to Lima, where we will see my parents, who are flying in from Texas. I’ll miss the calm life we live out here in the mountains, but I am eager to get away from the bugs. We’ll be gone for at least ten days.

I woke up last night itching my heel—I couldn’t stop. I got out of bed and put cream on it. The itch was slow to subside. Under the nightlight in the bathroom, I saw little tiny gnats underneath. They had wings and were hopping around. Fleas, I wondered? Leifer didn’t think so—but annoying pests nonetheless. He thinks we should bomb our room and get rid of them while we’re gone. We’re on the losing side of the battle for now, but it’s only a matter of time before we outsmart them.

Lucca woke up even earlier than usual this morning—5:30 AM. He was restless, so I got up with him. Abuelita was already awake. Abuelito had a doctor’s appointment this morning. Lucca was grumpy with Abuelita, so she left him alone. A bit later, she walked back into the kitchen and over to Leifer with tears in her eyes. He told me later that she was worried about the kids going to Lima—wondering what they will eat. Here in the casita, Abuelita cooks for them every day.

After breakfast, Abuelita let the chickens out of the coop. They were all released to the orchard behind the house—except for one. We have a new hen! She must stay in the casita for now; she doesn’t know her way around well enough to have free range just yet. Abuelita says she’ll lay an egg today. She looks plump and well-fed. A cousin brought her over yesterday.

Other family came over yesterday too. From last week’s potato harvest, we have ten huge sacks, which Javier delivered to the casita. Abuelita told me they’ll last until August, which I presume will be the next big harvest. Unlike other vegetables, she won’t take these potatoes to market. She’ll give some away to family, and the rest we’ll eat. We talk with the family—some even join us around the table for dinner.