Tuesday, October 25, 2011

I was cursed and I think I've been cursed

I waited for a taxi, a golden chariot of the "Ruta Muñoz," which usually comes sans bumper or with cracked windshield, seats four people in the back and two in the front passenger seat. That 30 peso ride of fright delivers hundreds of people to and from the countryside each week - if not safely, well then, at least delivered. I waited in palm tree lined, sun-bleached Parque Central plaza where locals meet and foreigners wander looking lost. I am not perdida anymore; still, with my bright pink t-shirt on (a so "not me" clothing article but one purchased here out of necessity), light cream linen shorts (of the sort that Dominican women do not wear), not to mention my height, and blasphemous wearing of rubber flip-flops in public, I felt obvious that day. Un-homogoneous in a land of homogeneity.

Walking towards me on the sidewalk where I stood, I noticed a woman who, like me, was unlike the rest. Her curly gray hair was pulled high on top of her head into a pretty bun. She wore a long, black gypsy dress with white, embroidered flowers at the bottom. She was older but, as is common here, age is impossible to tell. Her skin was shiny brown and flawless, despite the full gray head of hair.

The sidewalk is narrow where I waited, so as she approached, I looked her into her grey eyes and smiled. She stopped dead in front of me and stared back hard. Immediately, I sensed danger and looked away, up the road to where the taxi would eventually come into view. The woman stood in front of me scowling into my eyes, seeing I suppose if I would turn my attention back to her. One man passed and looked from her to me, obviously startled by her behavior. A lady in a slow passing taxi said said to be careful, "Mi amor." Unfazed, the woman moved to my side all the while focused on my face and now muttering under her breath. I thought of possible options: look at her again and try to speak, ask for help, escape. I did nothing of these things. I searched the crest of the hill for the taxi. The little car would take me from this place of panic and embarrassment, burning in my cheeks...to no avail, the taxi wasn't coming. The mutterings became audible now as she came closer and growled in my face, "Tu eres una maldita traicionera." "You are a cursed betrayer," she said, with the sentiment meaning something more like "You are a goddamned, cursed sinner." She turned to argue her case to a man sitting nearby, who moved away with no effort to intervene. Adrenaline was hot in my face and throat but I stood motionless, focused only on where the taxi was to appear.

Panic crested in my chest yet I had the thought that I shouldn't move one inch. "Oh, so you're not gonna look at me, heh?" she said as the demon rose in her and made her raise two clenched fists just a foot from my face, which I could see only in periphery. In that same moment, I spotted the sweet letters, "Ruta Muñoz," on the white, black and brown sign atop a familiar looking Toyota Corolla. I took off towards the carrito, hoping that she wouldn't strike me from behind as I passed her. I rushed clumsily into the front seat, and, upon seeing that she was right on my heels at the taxi door, fought the urge to tell the chauffeur to book it. We pulled away as she mumbled a curse and burst into a fit of crazy laughter. When I say crazy, I do mean crazy.

3 comments:

Kristin said...

Alicia, this is really good writing! You have a good way of creating suspense.

StudentLife said...

Whoah! Great story! I wonder what the old hag's problems was...

Alicia said...

Thank you, Kristen and Laura! Heehee, Laura. She was a little crazy, for sure.