11 October 2003 Saturday Cuzco

My sweet, new young Peruvian friend, Junior, met Karen and I this morning at the appointed hour: eight o’clock. A few days ago, Junior (he insists it is his real name and not just a catchy, Americanized version) came up to me while I was on my morning walk. Held in his dark brown hands, was a box of postcards. "Buy one, missy?" he asked, his face brimming with light. No, thank you, I said. "Well, then buy two," he said with a chuckle. We both laughed at that one. Let me see them, opening the door wide for a certain purchase. He had me and we both knew it. After picking out the ten postcards I wanted, I paid him and started to walk back toward the hotel. Junior tagged right along with me, speaking in very broken English, telling me how old he was (15 years), how many siblings he had (four), and that in school he was taking English ... everyday. That was hard to believe. I decided to play a game with him. He would teach me five words in Spanish and I would teach him five words in English. He caught on pretty quickly, doing better than I did when I asked him to repeat the five words as we stood in front of my hotel. For his effort, I gave him five solés (a little over a buck) and told him if he showed up after we returned from our trip to S’alka Wazi and had learned five more words, I would give him another five solés. Unfortunately, I got the day wrong when we would be returning. The doorman told me Junior showed up earlier than we had scheduled. And he waited for several hours for the bus to roll up, finally leaving around 9:00 at night. We didn’t get to the hotel until last night. Junior was waiting, with a smile as wide as the bus. "Hi, missy," he said cheerfully. No whining ... where were you last night ... I waited for three fucking hours ... you promised. Just a giant smile. Did you learn the five words, I asked him as I struggled carrying my backpack and other purchases out of the bus. He grabbed the backpack from me. His face was actually glowing. In answer, he rattled off not five words, but ten words. How about that?

I told him I would be down in a minute, that I had to take my things upstairs to our room and that I would meet him downstairs later. Thirty minutes later I came down to find him standing off to the side of the hotel entrance. The local police are not thrilled with local vendors bothering hotel guests. They have been known to take their stuff away if caught. Junior may not speak English very well, but I have noticed how aware he is of what is going on around him. After I walked outside I just kept walking down the street. Getting the hint, Junior tagged right along. I could tell he was struggling with something. Oh, yes, I completely forgot, I said as I reached into my vest pocket for the solés I promised him. Here’s ten soles - for ten new English words. You did a good job, Junior! I am proud of you. Thank you, missy. Thank you. But his struggle continued. Shoes, he said. I go to school. (In fact, he was still wearing his school clothes - royal blue sweater, black pants, white shirt, and white tennis shoes.) Black shoes. Buy black shoes para me? What’s wrong with those shoes, I asked, pointing at his fairly clean white tennis shoes. No good. Buy black shoes para me? Oh, I get it. All the other kids have black shoes and you want to be like the other kids, right. He nodded frantically. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. You buy black shoes for Junior, si? Si, I said. Tomorrow. Mañana. Meet me outside the hotel at 8:00am, sharp.

And so he did. The three of us, Karen, Junior and I, walked up and down the Avenida Del Sol. It seemed a tad early to go shoe shopping ... and it was Sunday. But Junior was on a mission. I told him we were leaving again today and wouldn’t be back for four more days. He really wanted his black shoes. As I suspected, all the stores weren’t open yet. We kept walking, talking in broken Spanish and more fractured English, but we all seemed to understand each other just fine. The morning street traffic was bustling already. Tour buses whizzed by, narrowly missing the myriad dogs out for their morning stroll. Very intelligent, very street wise dogs in Peru. It took nearly an hour, but we found it, the one and only shoe store open in Cuzco on a Sunday morning. Junior peered through the window, pointing at the shoes he wanted. This one. No, that one. No that, one. It took him a while to find just the right one, but they didn’t have it in his size. He is so small, built like a ten year old, but he knew he wasn’t going to leave without his shoes, so we kept trying. Even the store clerks got into the spirit, going into the back several times, bringing out about a dozen different black shoes before we found the perfect one. Junior got his shoes. And a pair of black socks. I don’t know that I have seen a happier kid, or a happier me. (I don’t know what I was thinking, but I never did get a picture of Junior - regretfully.)

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