La Aguita

As the jeep pulled up next to the men and women, Laura was suddenly concerned about how she would appear and fiddled with her hair, ensuring the long thin strands were tied back neatly into a pony tail. Then she fumbled clumsily in the jeep struggling to push her arms into the sleeves of the parka in the crowded cabin. As she stepped down from the jeep her ankle twisted slightly and she almost fell. People turned and stared. She was like a yacht stranded in a desert that had no idea how to reach the water. In a sea of short dark men and woman, her blonde head stood out. Just as she had done as a child stepping onto the stage for the school’s Christmas pageant she tried to blot out their faces and focused her eyes on Julio. As he moved from person to person chatting and shaking hands she followed. Few spoke directly to her. Most greeted her with a handshake, smile and a nod. Julio stopped near the centre of the group and began chatting enthusiastically to a man dressed in a grey poncho or manta, with a black hat sitting low on his head. Laura did not attempt to hear what was being said but rather moved back through the crowd to stand under a broad branched tree listening to the nearby whispered voices. Words that were sometimes Spanish, sometimes not, floated around her as the wind moaned through the pine needles above. The people standing in the group showed a shy dignity and patience, a look that seemed to suggest they would wait for as long as needed for something to happen. And so Laura stood and waited as well. When the man in the grey manta finally started to speak, the men and women moved to form a semi-circle around him, just as the migratory birds merge into formation behind their leader before beginning their long journey north. At that moment the sun came out and Laura felt the gentle warmth on her cold cheeks as she drew the hood of the blue parka over her head to shield her ears against the cold wind. From time to time the wind blew past the nearby house and the pungent smell of pigs filled the air. No one else seemed to notice. ‘Peñi- we are gathered here today as ancestors of the owners of this land, our land….’ The community leader that Julio called Arturo Nehuén spoke with authority, but Laura’ head was tense from the effort of listening. So she let the words flit in and out of her consciousness in much the same ways as Julio’s commentary had during the morning’s trip. The constant struggle to understand another language left her mentally exhausted. Whether it was the headache that now spread across her forehead or the different accent, she found this man almost impossible to understand. Laura had always struggled to follow the thread of long talks even when they were in English. Once during a church service the minister had said that it would be fascinating if he could see all the thoughts of the congregation floating up near the ceiling while he was preaching. For weeks following that particular sermon she’d tried to concentrate on what was being said out of fear that the thoughts of her wandering mind might become visible to him and the rest of the congregation. But try as she might, her mind kept flitting off to unusual destinations. It had been the same at university. The two-hour lectures held at that time in the University of Sydney’s gothic Ross building on animal science were infamous. Although her intention was to take careful notes, her mind inevitably left the room and by the end of the two-hour lecture she barely had one page of notes compared to her friend Sally’s eight or nine. A burst of laughter from the small boys playing in front of the nearby house drew her attention. The boys were old enough to be in school and it was a Tuesday so they were either sick or playing hooky. One of them was the snotty nosed boy who’d come to tell them where the group was gathered. Each of the boys carried a long stick that they used to draw in the dirt and something about their drawings made them laugh. The two women who stood at the door of the house reprimanded them so they continued playing quietly, each drawing with his stick. Julio’s voice rose on the wind. ‘No peñi, we are not communists. We work for a non-government organisation. Our job is to help improve your crops, with new seed potato, certified disease free. We can vaccinate your cattle and show you how to grow vegetables right through winter. We can provide training. We have a student doctor who will come and teach first aid.’ A man in the group spoke out with a hint of anger. ‘What do you want from us? We don’t want to be involved in politics. That is the stuff of huincas. How many before have offered help and nothing changes here, nothing.’ A small piglet squealed over in the pigpen where a sow stood with her litter. The boys ran over and poked their sticks into the pen until one of the mothers remonstrated so they went and chased the hens instead. ‘What we need is more land, land that rightfully belongs to us…’