Friday, February 12, 2016

The Hyperborean Mythos Strange Days ((Mantaro Valley Region) (Huancayo, Peru))

His house was old-old, adobe style, high up in the Andes, way in the deep back woods of the township called, ‘The 9th of July,’ with its high uncountable umbrella like eucalyptus trees  shading the old winding dirt roads, clustered all the way to the cemetery, a half mile away. It had a faint miasmal odor which clings about houses that have stood too long. We all thought his house dated back to the days prior to or shortly thereafter those days Catalina Huanca, no joke, somewhere along 1624 A.D., thereabouts.  The old man, Juan Pablo was never too glad to see a visitor, or for that matter, a trespasser, although we had a curiosity relationship—he and I— myself being a poet, and he liked poetry, and being a gringo, and not of the area per se, although the Poet Laureate of the township.  Plus I always brought him a bottle of Chicha de Jora. 
       I don’t rightly know how old he was, but on the wrong side of seventy I expect. He didn’t seem feeble to me, rather rustic and robust, although his husky voice with age had sank low, and lately he spoke in ramblings. On the other hand, he was no protester, kind of blotted out by his neighbors, which he welcomed.
       Last time the neighbors had seen his house, they said it was tumbled bricks and stones, that a meteorite hit the house. Not sure who started that rumor, or if it was a rumor, but they told me when they went out there in the dim gray evening, with all those shadows of eucalyptus trees about his house, they saw a curious looking grey stone, as the story goes. They also said, there was an explosion that night, that’s what brought them stampeding to the site.  But the stone was so red hot, they kept their distance. And so this was the story I heard: the story of the stone that fell out of the sky, and one must remember, the Wanka Race, is a strong and stubborn race, and some folks up there in the Andes are quite superstitious, and the Inca could not even put them down without the help of the Spaniards, so they have pride and satisfaction in what they think.   
       When I got back from my trip from Lima, to the Mantaro Valley, I went to look for the rock, it was missing. So if it wasn’t the rock, what it was, I asked my second-self? And to boot, where was the old man?  The naked truth, nobody knew, nor cared. I noticed in the back where his house kind of was, the earth was ripped and the foliage charred. Stone or rocks out of the sky don’t do such things, I told myself, and told the township board likewise. And realizing it was at night, perhaps it wasn’t even a stone I inferred. So we had bizarre optical versions to the old man’s disappearance and destruction of his home and property. The town folks had a hard time recalling anything, but one ten-year old boy mentioned something in passing, that no one took serious, actually they laughed at, he said, “I saw it all, I was in the woods, walking my dog, they were aliens, they crashed into the house, they acted drunk and they took the old man, it was a metal disc they came out of, they were no higher than my height, and they took the old man!”
       No one paid him any attention, or credence. A week later when scientists went out to see what the real story might lead to, the house, its foundation and all was gone, without a trace, and only a charred spot, that marked the place the old man had lived since childhood. All I can say, is those were strange days.

#5067/ 2-11 & 12-2016 

Copyright © by Dennis L. Siluk 2-2016