LAISSEZ PASSER

at this time of year there is cold and rain comes but it does not come so strongly as it would in the rainy season proper. following this month there is a period of dry climate and this is also when the fronds are strong, green and waxy. in this dry month we go out in small groups, to keep each other company more than any other reason, but also so that if a bit of game is seen, someone can chase it while the rest of the group is busy cutting fronds. in those cases where we catch something, the person who caught the beast will burn the fur, then go to the stream to clean it, and finally return to the cutting site to roast the meat, and everyone will get a piece. the true raining season then comes the following month, and everybody has time to prepare the new thatches and change them with the previous year's. the old style of thatching was said to last two and sometimes three years, but the palm they used in those times is scarce to be seen, since there is a rot that infects its saplings.

on one such night, between the small raining month and the dry month, i was staying indoors to watch a film. my old colleague from medical school, the now doctor mengano, called me to tell me that his mother had arrived with a bundle for him, and that i should come to share some prepared food with him, because i have always been generous to share my own good fortune and it is fair to reciprocate. i put on my deerskin greatcoat to protect myself against the cold, and stepped out. as i began to bind the door, i heard some rumblings. though they were on the other side of the hill, there would be a storm on our side, because the wind, which just then began to howl, bore that fresh, lively essence that precedes rain.

i returned inside to wait for the rain to pass, or at least for it to weaken. i switched the film back on and quickly refreshed myself as to what was happening and how the morals of each character were. the rain became stronger, and i wondered if it would pass before dr. mengano put away the food or gave it to some other guest. i do not think responsibly when i am anticipating a meal. had i been of a more vigilant mind, i would have turned off my video player and removed the cord from the wall, fearing lightning.

of course, i was punished for this inattention, and lightning did come. i gasped and everything flashed brilliantly for a second, all of my field of vision. then i was in the full darkness, and my heart was beating very fast, as if i were being chased by a murderer. i do not know if i had been shocked by it, but if i had, it was not so grave, since i quickly regained my composure. the lightning had burned the transformer in my video player, so i would have to go to the city to get it replaced. to make matters worse, a section of my roof had collapsed and water was coming in.

when your luck sours so greatly, you do not even have the option of cursing or complaining. your only choice is to move like a robot, working in a way to best minimize the damage, saving all your bitter thoughts for later. i put on my raincoat and went out into the storm with my cutlass. i cut a few fronds from the thicket behind my house and brought them inside. i hung the raincoat to dry in one of the unaffected parts of the house, and began to weave thatches as i sipped the bitterness of the hot coffee to warm myself again.

while i was working, the rain stopped. by now, the reader should be familiar with my weakness, and should not be surprised that i decided to stop working--although all that remained was for me to tie the woven thatches in their places--and satisfy my stomach. i trekked to dr. mengano's house to claim my portion of cooked food. when i reached there, he was lying in bed with a woman and would thus not have time for chatter. he divided out a portion and gave it to me in the flask that he had borrowed from me some days before. i took the flask home.

on returning home, i began to understand that tying the thatches in place would not be as simple is i had imagined, since it would require hanging the kerosene lamp from a nearby part of the roof and working by stretching my arms over my head, training my eyes on the work sullied over by flickering shadows. i was disheartened and i did not even have an appetite. i went to the side of the house where i thought the roof to be strongest, lest it begin to rain again, and slept.

the food, which i ate in the morning, when it was bright and easy to work, was chiles rellenos. here is how they are made:

prepare a pot of picadillo in the style that you like.
take some chiles new mexico and remove the bitterness from their skin in either of two ways:
1) immerse them in boiling water for a minute
2) singe the skins with a gas flame

cut a slit up and down each pepper, and carefully remove the seeds and veins. stuff them with picadillo and then bake them until the meat juices have softened the peppers through and through.

meanwhile, prepare a salsa that can be poured over the peppers. dr. mengano's mother had prepared a thin tomato sauce spiced with chile arbol that had some thinly sliced young potatoes in it.