At the tianguis (farmers’ market) in Llano Park, I was looking at weaving from Teotitlan when an older man began chatting with me. He started by asking where I am from, what I do, what I am doing in Oaxaca. Upon hearing that I teach writing and literature, he began quizzing me about my knowledge of Mexican, and then Latin American, authors. He scribbled out a reading list, including: El Siglo de las Luces, El Hombre Mediocre, Las Veinas Abiertas de America, Regeneracion, and La Celestina.
He also politely asked if I wouldn’t mind if he put his name and phone number. He suggested I might come and visits his books. When I said I wouldn’t mind, another man listening in said, why don’t you give her your picture, too. Then, this man said, “Oh no, I wouldn’t do that because her husband would know she met a more handsome man.” Then he quickly asked, “Your husband doesn’t kill men who talk to you, does he?” I assured him that he was safe, so he said I could come and see his books.
He said he had over 900 works by varying authors. He even asked if I’ve read Camille and was delighted when I said that I used it in a class.
The couple at the booth wanted to know how we met. We both said: aqui, ahora (here, now).
We both headed off in separate directions. I watched a young man perform tricks on a bicycle for a crowd of young women, bought a side of delicious rice (that came in a bag and without a spoon), and found two new versions of loteria bringing my collection to four: traditional, Dia de los Muertos, fruits and veggies, and animals.
After telling Mari, the duena of the posada, about the delicious asada tacos at the market, I was delighted when she permitted me to bring her an order. Though I always ask, today was the first time she’s obliged. Part intercambio, part advisor, part guide, she freely offers information and wisdom; I was pleased to give her something delicious as a small return.
shewhodaresnothing 