96.
We wandered the city like lost children. Pat’s facade soon cracked to pieces. He stood under a tree sobbing. I felt like a fool.
Nanette put an arm around Pat and looked up at me. “We’ve been around a long time, Pat and I. When our children were killed, time stood still, literally. In 1960 the CIA engineered a coup to overthrow the democratically elected president of Ecuador, Jose Maria Velasco Ibarra. He was no communist, but he tolerated both parties in Ecuador and he refused to break relations with Cuba. In the eyes of the CIA, if you are a leader of a country in the American colony of the continent of South America you are either a puppet or you are history. The CIA used their usual bag of filthy tricks and, in to turn the deeply religious peasants against the leftists and communists they bombed churches. Our children were in one of those churches. They were not a threat to anyone, Oliver. They were children, Oliver, children.”
Nanette and I sat beside Pat. When he got hold of himself, he looked at the two of us. He got to his feet and started walking. We followed him closely. We walked on not really knowing what we were looking for when suddenly we were stopped short by a whimsical architectural wonder. A jumbled nonsense in peach, tangerine and canary danced before our eyes. Windows were out of place. Balconies went nowhere. It sat on a corner bifurcating the street as if it had jumped out in front of us to block our way. There was a sign on the door: La Casamentera.
“Come on, Oliver!”, pushed Nanette. “We found it! We’re here!”
“It’s the matchmaker’s house!”, urged Pat. “She will help us.”
I opened the door. We walked in.
Nanette put an arm around Pat and looked up at me. “We’ve been around a long time, Pat and I. When our children were killed, time stood still, literally. In 1960 the CIA engineered a coup to overthrow the democratically elected president of Ecuador, Jose Maria Velasco Ibarra. He was no communist, but he tolerated both parties in Ecuador and he refused to break relations with Cuba. In the eyes of the CIA, if you are a leader of a country in the American colony of the continent of South America you are either a puppet or you are history. The CIA used their usual bag of filthy tricks and, in to turn the deeply religious peasants against the leftists and communists they bombed churches. Our children were in one of those churches. They were not a threat to anyone, Oliver. They were children, Oliver, children.”
Nanette and I sat beside Pat. When he got hold of himself, he looked at the two of us. He got to his feet and started walking. We followed him closely. We walked on not really knowing what we were looking for when suddenly we were stopped short by a whimsical architectural wonder. A jumbled nonsense in peach, tangerine and canary danced before our eyes. Windows were out of place. Balconies went nowhere. It sat on a corner bifurcating the street as if it had jumped out in front of us to block our way. There was a sign on the door: La Casamentera.
“Come on, Oliver!”, pushed Nanette. “We found it! We’re here!”
“It’s the matchmaker’s house!”, urged Pat. “She will help us.”
I opened the door. We walked in.
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