“What´s the matter?” I say, “I´m holding this guy named Italo, back from Ximena. She has a knife hidden behind her. He tried to circle her, go around her. I was holding him, held him back, then I released him to face the woman, I didn´t know either one, just somehow got involved (in the Plaza de Armas, Huancayo, Peru).

“Just a minute,” I say, “dont…dont—he doesn´t have a weapon.”

“Kill…I’ll kill the basura…(garbage),” the woman says, “no man is going to offend me!…”

“I know…” I said.

“Let him apologize in front of everyone,” I say to the woman and the man (I´m downtown in the Plaza de Armas, by the monument, which is by the cathedral in Huancayo, Peru).

“tira tu cuchillo al suelo (throw your knife down)” I say to the woman, “and he´ll apologize!”

They both look at me, at each other, Ximena is quite now. The man looks at me—, unsure of his look, it seems more broody, hers more angry—

“Put down your knife,” I repeat. I am really thinking at this moment: who will give in first, push their pride aside; both very high tempered Peruvian individuals, more so than I´m used to seeing. For the most part they are warm and friendly, but have a deep sense of pride.

Another moment passes, and she dropped her knife onto the concrete of the Plaza de Armas, the Cathedral looking over her head, and he quickly reciprocate by saying, “lo siento (I´m sorry).” I let out a big sigh of relief, a gulp of air from the lower part of my stomach. My pulse is starting to drop, go back to normal. The crowd that was watching is still frozen with anticipation.

— “Get in the car,” my wife says.

“Sure, let’s get away from here,” I say; the two individuals are staring at me as I have walked away from the incident. —They remain motionless; what was going through their minds (so I asked myself)? Perhaps, perhaps ‘…why did a gringo stop by and get involved with something that was none of his business?’, or maybe,’I’m glad the old gringo stopped by and got involved, I was too angry?’ or perchance the man is saying, ‘I’ll not try…’ whatever he tried… ‘again’ and have this incident as a lesson to remember. I seem to have had all the questions at this moment, the moment I was walking away, walking toward the car, getting into the car, but none of the answers.

For me it was a matter of trying to stop them or watch them kill one another, the counselor (sicólogo) in me, my old retired occupation. I swore I´d not get involved in other folks matters to my wife, but it is always difficult for me. I want to fix the mind, change or modify bad, or destructive behavior, bring down the heat in a person when a potential hazard is about to exploid like a volcano.Thus, sooner or later it provokes me to act again.

“Damn it!” my wife says, “do you want to wait until someone kills you, or have me get more wrinkles and gray hairs worrying about you?” (This is really not a question, but it seems it should be, a retorical one at best. I don’t say a word, it is time for her to vent, get it out, it was a trying moment for her, as it was for me.)

I am NOW in the car, Enrique smiles at me, says, “Vamos (let’s go).”

“Yes,” I say, and the car starts to back up, away from the plaza.

It’s a shame I think, now in the car, thinking of the situation. A shame I say: why do we have to let our behavior run loose, unharnsed, provoked to no limits. Surely it was not right what he did, I convince myself, but was it right to face agression with agression, or perhaps insult with agression: and with a deadly weapon (perhaps no, perhaps yes, I do not have the answers). For me, I know, I could have been part of a tragedy, a friend of mine was once, one who got involved, and got killed, he was young and brave and perhaps foolish. So there are many ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’ in a situation, so I tell myself. My wife is pale in the face, happy this is all over with, and Enrique is ready to take us four individuals, me, my wife, his wife and himself to Los Nevados de Huaytapallana (The Snow-Covered Mountains, or otherwise know as: the Jewell of Huancayo).

Henceforward, we ride through the city, pass the huge garbage trucks with their fancy loud music on; it always makes me wonder, if not laugh: it’s got to be the only place in the world where garbage has a rhythem to it, as if it can make the basura (garbage) smell better; yet I know, it is probably for other reasons, perhaps for letting the folks know you are there, and second, some psycological spell cast upon the busy public so they think garbage smells good, and go on spending their dinero (or dollars). But all kidding aside, it was a genius who came up with this one.

Note: 10/26/2005, Huancayo, Peru

See Dennis’ web site: dennissiluk.tripod.com dennissiluk.tripod.com