Life After the Party Begins

We've been in Lima a few months now. We have adapted to Peruvian time, meaning we don't become sorely vexed when meetings don't start on time. We usually try to be on time ourselves, though, because once in a while a meeting starts on the dot of the announced hour.

Last Sunday a dinner to celebrate the founding of the Relief Society was announced to begin at 7 p.m. on Friday. We know it won't really begin at 7, so we leave the apartment a few minutes after the hour, and begin a leisurly walk to the church (which is only four minutes away). We walk slowly and enjoy the cool of the evening.

On our corner we see something interesting. Well, let me qualify interesting for you. We do not have a satellite dish. We do not have TV. We do not take the newspaper. We read the Ensign or Liahona. Last week we watched on our computer a John Wayne DVD - "El Dorado". Sometimes there is a crash at the corner (four times since we've been here), and we walk down to figure out who broke the law and to see if anyone is seriously injured and to check out how fast it takes the police to arrive. That's the kind of interesting I'm talking about.

There is an old truck pulled over to the very spot where the crashed vehicles always come to a rest - northeast corner of the intersection where the electical box is. The truck is a flatbed with fenced sides, very much like the truck my father used to drive when I was six or seven. The right rear tire is missing and the axle sits on the ground.

Sitting on the curb across the street is an old woman from the country. That she is from the country is clear by the long braid down her back and the blouse and heavy skirt she wears. We stop to talk with her.

How is she? Estoy bien. (We see she has very few teeth. Another sign of being from the country.)

What happened? Mi hijo fue para comprar una llanta. (My son went to buy a tire.) ?Sabe donde está una llantería?

I'm sorry. I don't know where a tire store is. Maybe over that way (Calle Javier Prado) or over that way (Calle Melgarejo).

Would she like a glass of water while she waits for her son to return with a new tire?

She asks me, "Su casa está cerca?" Oh yes, I say, my house is just down the street. I'll be back in just a moment. What I really want to ask her, but am unwilling to provide for her if she says "Si", is, Does she need to use a bathroom?

I am remembering waiting for someone to return, not knowing how long they will be and how long I am going to have to refuse relief to my body's urgent need. But I can get her a bottle of cold, clean water. And a peanut butter and honey sandwich. And three peach halves in juice. And a paper towel in case she decides she will relieve herself in some dark place near this corner.

We return with the food, visit for a few minutes, and turn the corner to walk to the church. As we move down the walk, we can see through the church windows three young men in the hall where the dinner will be. No one else. Maybe the other guests are all sitting down?

We walk in and find the tables covered with lovely gold cloths. Each chair has a gold bow tied at its back. The piano is turned to the room with a folder of music resting on top. Oh! There will be entertainment! The other guests ARE sitting down - all three of them. No food in evidence. No smell of food. No one rushing around doing last minute preparations.

Well, we can wait. It's Peru, right? We've adapted, right? We sit down to talk with the others. It's been a long day of sitting for me though, so after a few moments I get up to wander. When I get to the piano I begin sifting through the music in the folder. As I look, one of the young men walks over. He plays the piano for our Sunday meetings. We have a conversation in Spanish in which I am reminded that my Spanish is not that great. He is going to play tonight for a woman who will come later to sing. He plays a famous Serenade, doing a rather good job. Then he opens the music he will play for the singer: A Karen Carpenter song, one of her first great hits - "Close to You".

I love this song, I say. I used to sing it to my baby who was born about the time the song became popular. I think about how I loved singing this to my Joel.

The young man begins to play and I begin to sing - quietly. How lovely that Karen Carpenter had a low voice. I don't sound good, but at least I can reach all the notes. The song ends, and I see that a few more people have arrived. It's 7:30. We move to a table at the invitation of an older couple. We visit. It's 7:40. We visit. It's 7:50. I haven't eaten since lunch at 12:30. I don't really feel hungry, but I know I'm going to suffer from low blood sugar tomorrow. We visit until 8:00. No food in the building yet, but a few more people walk in.

We see the sister missionaries and excuse ourselves to talk with them. We talk for 5 minutes, and are standing there when three plates of food are carried in. We talk for 5 more minutes. No more food.

I have to go home and eat.

So we say good-by and leave. We are not upset because we've adapted to Peruvian time, and this is how it is here. I could have prevented my emptiness by eating before I came. I resolve to do so next time.

At home we nuke frozen pizza and decide to go to bed early. It's cool so we choose to sleep in our bed instead of on the air mattress in the living room as we have done all summer.

It's almost 10:00 p.m.. We lie in bed and listen to the parties going on outside - at least three from the sounds. A woman laughs maniacally from time to time. Some older people are having a loud discussion. Some kids way down the courtyard are laughing raucously. Not enough to keep us awake because we have adapted to Peru's party sounds. We are alseep within a few minutes.
A bugle sounds!!! I sit straight up in bed. One of those crazy kids!!! I have not adapted to this! I am AWAKE! It is 12:20 a.m.

But maybe I can adapt. I lie down and turn my back to the window thinking, "He'll get tired in a few minutes. He can't keep this up."

But he is keeping it up, and I realize he's making music, not just noise. In a minute a group of men begin singing with the bugle, and I realize it's not a bugle - it's a trumpet and a mariachi band!

I hope it's a recording. But the music stops and someone uses a microphone to thank the group for their applause. It is a real, live mariachi bandwith a microphone at someone's party. It's 12:23, and and we can tell they are going to sing for a while. We get out of bed, taking our pillows, and move into the living room where we will set up the air mattress.

A new song begins, slower and much quieter. Half way through the first line I realize, "I know this song!!! (At least I know the English translation of it that I learned from Miss Just, the fifth grade music teacher.) I join in, ". . .but more beautiful than his song is the sweet music we bring. Awaken, oh my Beloved. . ." I grab Bruce and make him dance with me while I finish the last line, ". . awake for the dawn is nigh. The birds are singing sweetly. The moon has gone from the sky."

Bruce does not enjoy my singing, but I LOVE knowing a song being performed at midnight by a mariachi band at a Peruvian party. What a great party night!