We Are Four

I had seen her many times before; in the markets, in the streets of town, even at our meetings. She has always stood out to me because I always imagined how she used to look; before the wrinkles, before the rough hands, before the grey hair. I imagined that she was one of the more beautiful ones. I always had seen her with small kids and I was never sure if they were her own or her grandchildren. She looked too old to have kids that age, but life in rural Guatemala is hard on the women and one can never be sure of age by looks. I greeted her in K’iche and her eyes lit up. She greeted me back.

This time I saw her in the back of a pickup truck. It was a hot, clear morning and we were waiting to leave. We were headed to the market in the next municipality, Nahualá; the closest market to Chirijox. It was only about a fifteen minute ride and this morning I was in love with Guatemala.

As we entered the hiway, the back of the truck was full. A dozen women, half as many children and a few men. I saw myself from someone else’s eyes and saw how different I was in the back of that truck. I was tall, blonde, fair-skinned. They were small, sun-tanned skin and long black hair, tied in a knot at the crown of their heads. They had their traditional shirts; their guipiles, painstakingly hand-woven and embroidered; thick with meaning. I was in a plain red t-shirt. They had their legs tucked snug under their long, wrapped cortes; their skirts. I was in jeans. Each had a brightly colored piece of fabric, about a yard square that they place on their heads for sun-shade. Later they would wrap their purchases from the market in this fabric and again, place it on their heads. I had a baseball cap and a re-useable shoulder grocery bag. 

Through the ride my eyes drifted from the Guatemalan countryside, the hills brown from six months with no rain, to the faces of the women in the truck. The wind whipped our hair and the women seemed content; some dazed, lost in thought, others taking in the beauty of the day.

I caught one of the women looking at me; examining me the same way I examine them. She kept her eyes on me and said something to The One Who Used to be Beautiful. In what she responded I heard the name Atalin; which is the K’iche name for Catarina. I glanced up at her when I heard this, knowing they were talking about me. They smiled. The One Who Used to be Beautiful pointed at me and said “Atalin”. I smiled and said in K’iche, “Yes, my name is Atalin”. The other women in the truck began to giggle. The One Who Used to be Beautiful pointed to her self and said “Atalin”. Then she pointed to two other women in the truck and said “Atalin, Atalin”. The other women were smiling broadly. “Cuatro", she said with her four fingers pointed to the sky. “Yes, we are four”, I replied in K’iche. “K’o cuatro”, the women repeated.