shouted. “Go ahead, encourage this lunatic!”
“
Treguna, Mekoides, Trecorum Satis Dee…,
” she singsonged, without noticing that everyone in the cafeteria was watching her with a smile on their lips. “
Treguna, Mekoides, Trecorum Satis Dee….
”
“Enough already! I get the idea, seriously. The words. It’s perfectly clear.”
“But there’s something else,” Jabba continued. “Tell him, Proxi.”
“While we were looking for information on the Aymara and their language, we found a very strange document about some ancient doctors who cured people with herbs and words. Apparently, they had a secret magic language. We thought it was just one of many superstitions, and we didn’t pay any attention, but now….”
“Here’s the paper!” Jabba said, separating one sheet from the pile. “The Yatiri, direct descendants of Tiwanakan culture, were revered by the Inca, who considered them to be of noble stock. They were Aymara, of course, and among their own people they were honored as very knowledgeable sages or philosophers. ‘Many ethnolinguists claim,’” he read nervously, “‘that the language used by the Yatiri was none other than the secret language Orejona Incan nobles spoke amongst themselves, employing common Quechua with the rest of the population.’”
“Yatiri!” I blurted, alarmed.
“What is it?” Proxi asked.
“It’s what Daniel said yesterday! He said he was dead because the Yatiri had punished him! He kept repeating another word as well:
lawt’ata
.”
“What does it mean?” Jabba wanted to know.
“I have no idea. I’ll have to look it up.”
“Before you would have done that immediately.”
“Try to be understanding, Jabba,” Proxi interceded. “His brother is sick and has been hospitalized for two days.”
Marc snorted. “For that, he’s excused. But he’s turning into a computer without an operating system, a keyboard without a Return, a sad monochromatic green monitor, a….”
“Marc!” Proxi reprimanded him. “That’s enough.”
But Jabba was right. My brain wasn’t functioning with its usual clarity. Maybe it was true that I was afraid to go out on a limb and end up looking like an idiot. I was on a very slippery slope, still halfway between my world, rational and orderly, and my brother’s world, confusing and enigmatic. I had gone toward the future, while he had gone toward the past, and now, not only did I need to change my way of thinking and my set of values, but I also had to break with some basic preconceptions and follow a hunch that wasn’t based in reality, but in strange historical vagaries.
“Leave all this material with me. I’m going to study it tonight, and tomorrow I’ll examine what I picked up from my brother’s apartment very carefully. I’ll also go by there to look over what I left. If in a couple of days Daniel still hasn’t improved,” I declared, looking at them with determination, “I’ll go speak with the head of his department who gave him the job, and I’ll ask for her help. She has to know more than anyone about all this.”
II
To our despair and the doctors’, Daniel did not improve at all over the next two days. Diego and Miquel were so perplexed by the inefficacy of the drugs that they decided late on Friday to change his treatment despite what Miquel admitted in front of my mother, that since we hadn’t seen any progress at all by then, he harbored certain doubts about the rapid and complete recovery of my brother. We could still hope for a slight improvement around the end of next week or the beginning of the one after. Maybe he was getting better and Miquel was exaggerating just in case, preparing us for the worst, but whatever his reasons, he left us devastated, most of all Clifford, who aged ten years in just a few minutes.
My grandmother’s presence relieved much of the tension the family suffered since within a few hours of her arrival, she had organized the shifts in such a way that we
“
Treguna, Mekoides, Trecorum Satis Dee…,
” she singsonged, without noticing that everyone in the cafeteria was watching her with a smile on their lips. “
Treguna, Mekoides, Trecorum Satis Dee….
”
“Enough already! I get the idea, seriously. The words. It’s perfectly clear.”
“But there’s something else,” Jabba continued. “Tell him, Proxi.”
“While we were looking for information on the Aymara and their language, we found a very strange document about some ancient doctors who cured people with herbs and words. Apparently, they had a secret magic language. We thought it was just one of many superstitions, and we didn’t pay any attention, but now….”
“Here’s the paper!” Jabba said, separating one sheet from the pile. “The Yatiri, direct descendants of Tiwanakan culture, were revered by the Inca, who considered them to be of noble stock. They were Aymara, of course, and among their own people they were honored as very knowledgeable sages or philosophers. ‘Many ethnolinguists claim,’” he read nervously, “‘that the language used by the Yatiri was none other than the secret language Orejona Incan nobles spoke amongst themselves, employing common Quechua with the rest of the population.’”
“Yatiri!” I blurted, alarmed.
“What is it?” Proxi asked.
“It’s what Daniel said yesterday! He said he was dead because the Yatiri had punished him! He kept repeating another word as well:
lawt’ata
.”
“What does it mean?” Jabba wanted to know.
“I have no idea. I’ll have to look it up.”
“Before you would have done that immediately.”
“Try to be understanding, Jabba,” Proxi interceded. “His brother is sick and has been hospitalized for two days.”
Marc snorted. “For that, he’s excused. But he’s turning into a computer without an operating system, a keyboard without a Return, a sad monochromatic green monitor, a….”
“Marc!” Proxi reprimanded him. “That’s enough.”
But Jabba was right. My brain wasn’t functioning with its usual clarity. Maybe it was true that I was afraid to go out on a limb and end up looking like an idiot. I was on a very slippery slope, still halfway between my world, rational and orderly, and my brother’s world, confusing and enigmatic. I had gone toward the future, while he had gone toward the past, and now, not only did I need to change my way of thinking and my set of values, but I also had to break with some basic preconceptions and follow a hunch that wasn’t based in reality, but in strange historical vagaries.
“Leave all this material with me. I’m going to study it tonight, and tomorrow I’ll examine what I picked up from my brother’s apartment very carefully. I’ll also go by there to look over what I left. If in a couple of days Daniel still hasn’t improved,” I declared, looking at them with determination, “I’ll go speak with the head of his department who gave him the job, and I’ll ask for her help. She has to know more than anyone about all this.”
II
To our despair and the doctors’, Daniel did not improve at all over the next two days. Diego and Miquel were so perplexed by the inefficacy of the drugs that they decided late on Friday to change his treatment despite what Miquel admitted in front of my mother, that since we hadn’t seen any progress at all by then, he harbored certain doubts about the rapid and complete recovery of my brother. We could still hope for a slight improvement around the end of next week or the beginning of the one after. Maybe he was getting better and Miquel was exaggerating just in case, preparing us for the worst, but whatever his reasons, he left us devastated, most of all Clifford, who aged ten years in just a few minutes.
My grandmother’s presence relieved much of the tension the family suffered since within a few hours of her arrival, she had organized the shifts in such a way that we
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