Rumbo a Juchitán

Juchitán de Zaragoza, Oaxaca, México. 04septiembre2010

The dramamine always makes uncharted territory more extreme. This time, in the bus front seat, there were also landslides when I was conscious enough to notice them. In this country it is difficult to know ahead of time. To know anything ahead of time. Todo es posible, nada es seguro, etc. So we didn't know about the landslides ahead of time. I knew when I woke up into grog and watched the impeccable driver pull the bus to a stop and leap out into the rain. He was going to clear a huge rock from the road, from where it sat like the mother of the pebbles all around it. Then I was out in the rain also, behind him, approaching the rock. We leaned down to push it and he leaped back, I struggled and rolled it off the pavement alone. I stood, looked at him. There was a moment here, neither of us moved. In that moment, behind the rain and behind our spines, I could hear the side of the mountain speaking. It sounded like rocks swirling down intestines, it sounded unsure of itself, loudly. We became more wet.

Vámanos, he said, el cerro está bajando, and he began to trot back to the bus. I looked to my right as I followed him and saw for the first time the incline. The roadside had made some deal with Cocijo, but the deal had gone bad and the roadside had aged decades in one night. That is to say, it was unrecognizable. No plants left, deep scarwrinkles, loud rumors, young rivers unsure of what path to take in life. I was aware for the first time of the danger.

As we got on the bus, he turned and told me that he had thought I was going to assault him. That I was an assailant, taking advantage of the disaster conditions. He hadn't heard me get off the bus behind him. He thought it was all over. It wasn't over, we drove past the washout without any house-sized rocks smashing into the side of the bus. He kept driving. I was wet, and the dramamine put me back to sleep.