looking out of the window while travelling on the periferico a young man steps down the pedestrian overpass. he carries a shovel but is not dressed in what normally passes for work clothes here. he is clearly from the sierra: shorter than those in the valley, with dark skin - maybe the coast? his eyes are startled. he looks new to the city. i can see his lips moving and i struggle to pick out words; if he is even speaking a language i understand. he stands waiting for an urbano to take him somewhere. he hesitates when a bus stops at the lights, talks a little more to himself and makes slight movements in the direction of the permenantly open door. just as the light changes he leaps aboard.
i am buying honey in the benito juarez market. we stand near the fishmonger's section and a familiar song reaches my ears. the man who serves up seafood cocteles is sitting without customers. on the wall is a handwritten list of options: camarones, pescado, pulpo, vuelve a la vida. i smile when he continues to sing, and as we pass, honey in my shopping basket, i can't help joining in. "por que cantando se alegran, cielito lindo, los corazones."
i walk down the street towards the church in huayapam; it is there that one can grab a taxi or an urbano back into the centre. i see an old man walking towards me on the opposite side of the street. from behind one of the walls that line the street i can hear an unhappy cat making that special middle of the night cat unpleasant noise. i wonder if he wants out, and then if it is a she and that she might be in heat. the sound echoes off the concrete walls and i cannot fix on the particular house that contains the cat. i suddenly realize that the old man is carrying a feed sac, the kind that are made into cheap market bags here. the caterwauling is coming from the bag which i also realize is moving. he turns to me as we pass, "buenas tardes, comadre," he politely says to me.
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