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[Election] US General Election 2020

2020.10.10 02:40 Erhard_Eckmann [Election] US General Election 2020

US General Election 2020

November 3, 2020
Across the United States voters took to the ballot box with COVID-19 precautions in place. Voting lines were longer than usual for a few reasons: firstly, social distancing meant that the lines would be extended by 6 ft per person, secondly, the COVID-19 response in the US had polarized an already polar nation split along the lines of emergency and hoax, at-risk and not at risk. Thirdly, fears that mail-in ballots would not be counted only extended the lines further than usual. This meant populous cities had to create more polling places with emergency haste right before the election to create more room to alleviate voter overload and fears of spread/their votes mattering less than they already do. It was expected that with the high-stakes election of a potential second term for President Trump, that turn out would be much higher anyways. Those who could afford to take vacation time to line up much earlier than normal, in working families where this was not possible they mailed in their ballots and hoped for the best. Ultimately, despite former concerns, the US Postal Service had no intention of delaying ballots any longer than the normal mail service already takes. Some states with toss-up and mail-in concerns set up a ballot counting notification system, like Arizona that informs the voters that their ballot was received, the vote was counted and who the votes were cast for via text or email which is selective for registration upon receiving the mail-in ballot. In the Senate, 35 seats were up for election, and in the House- the entire place was open for election as usual.
Despite concerns around social distancing and mail-in ballots, the election went forward as expected. Rural and hardline Republican areas saw little to no social distancing or mask-wearing, while those more conscious in the cities saw compliance with mask and distancing regulations irrespective of political leanings. With around 171,000 dead from the virus, and spread still occurring as the nation plans to implement vaccine distribution of the Moderna, and AstraZeneca vaccines, while an end may be in sight- at what cost. The American people have not so quickly forgotten the actions or inactions of their leaders, and have planned to vote accordingly. President Trump and Vice President Pence watched the election results on Fox News from their “headquarters” at the White House while Joe Biden and Kamala Harris watched from a private suite at their headquarters in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
In the early hours of the night, as expected, Kentucky, West Virginia, and Tennessee were awarded to President Trump. Vermont, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Rhode Island, Maine, New York, and New Jersey was awarded to Biden. One of the former states won by President Trump, Pennsylvania, was soon to follow by solidifying its position as a Biden state, with Maryland, Delaware, the District of Columbia, the following suit. In this time, President Trump swept the American South, with Mississippi, Alabama, South Carolina, Louisiana, and Arkansas falling in line with the President. Virginia and North Carolina were called for Biden, while President Trump called in Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, Missouri, Iowa, Nebraska, South Dakota, North Dakota, Wyoming, Montana, and Idaho. The election seemed decidedly Trump, while Florida, Illinois, Michigan, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Ohio were too close to call. Unsurprisingly, Colorado, New Mexico, Nevada, and California made their unsurprising declaration as Democratic voting states, followed by Oregon and Washington State. Alaska called Republican while Hawaii was decidedly Democrat. By the end of the night Arizona, Florida, Illinois, Michigan, Wisconsin, Minnesota, and Ohio were too close to call, by 2:00 AM EST, Ohio was called Republican, followed by Wisconsin, and Florida by 4:00 AM. President Trump declared he was victorious, and Biden prepared his concession speech while Michigan, Minnesota, Illinois, and Arizona were still left in play.
In the middle of Trump’s victory speech at the White House, he was briefly interrupted by Vice President Pence, where he was informed that Minnesota, Michigan, Illinois had flipped democrat by a few thousand votes that were previously led by Republican voters, and all eyes remained on Arizona. President Trump decided to continue his victory speech despite having only 243 electoral votes, and only a few moments later was informed that Arizona had flipped Democrat- the first time since Bill Clinton’s election in 1996. In the span of 10 minutes, the election had completely changed course from what was seen early in the night as a Trump wave, and Biden was confirmed as the President-elect securing 295 electoral votes to Trump’s 243. President Trump lost key states that he formerly won like Michigan, Minnesota, Wisconsin and Pennsylvania- also states that were surprisingly Republican at the time. Arizona, which was a toss-up state in 2016, had flipped blue after horrendous COVID-19 management citing lack of confidence in Governor Doug Ducey, and appointed Senator Martha McSally. North Carolina made a surprising call for the Democratic Party, which was also formerly Republican voting in 2016. Trump stopped speaking once he received word, and turned to Pence:
“Are you serious? We have already begun, there must be a mistake.”
Pence shook his head and stepped back, while the President was live on the air at his podium in front of the White House with the entire nation watching him. He looked off to the side as if he was thinking, and looked back up to the camera a moment later.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I have received reports that there is evidence of voter fraud in Arizona related to mail-in ballots, as well as Michigan, Minnesota, and North Carolina. We will be holding a recount of the votes cast before the election is called, but it appears that Sleepy Joe and his team have been casting votes for hundreds of thousands of Americans who have been dead for decades, and that doesn’t even include the illegals voting in Arizona. I do not believe we can respect the outcome of a rigged election, do you? We have worked hard for four years to be outplayed by Sleepy Joe? No one believes it!”
Biden posted up at his podium while Trump was in the middle of deciding what he should do. What was expected to be a concession speech, turned into a bright celebration with fireworks and wild cheers from his supporters. He raised both of his fists in the air,
“We did it, folks! It took four years! Democracy is coming back to America, everywhere! The heartland, the rust belt, the.. the... rich communities and black communities too. We did this united, as a team, we finally stood up and said no to Trump, and no to malarkey, this is our time! As we speak, Trump is frozen at his podium and won’t accept the outcome of the election, just as we predicted, he will not accept that America has outlasted the need for Trump-era racism and politics. I am ready, as the elected leader of the free world, alongside Ms. Harris, to bring the heart and soul back into this country that Trump took out of it. We will return back to being reasonable, and respectable, a leadership that America desperately needs after being misguided for four years and lied to. It is time to trust your leaders again, and stop the lying! I want to thank all of you for letting reason, respect, and democracy win in this country. To be honest, I was very unprepared to give a victory speech tonight, as just a few moments ago, I thought that Trump had been re-elected, so I apologize if I seem unprepared, but I really wanted to thank the hardworking men and women on our team and in this country for their confidence, and I will do my absolute best to represent the best of this country. Congratulations, everyone!”
A very furious President Trump took to Twitter to address the nation after leaving the podium without saying anything more.
“I spoke to Ratcliffe, the BEST and MOST SKILLED, and he has EVIDENCE!”
“We will be watching these recounts CLOSELY, WE KNOW THE REAL WINNER!”
“CHINA ELECTED BIDEN, NOT AMERICA!”
Within several weeks, in a call-back to the Bush v. Gore election, the election results went to the Supreme Court. Democrats were very concerned about what the outcome might be, but the recount votes were upheld as the deviations were not significant and were not influential to the overall result of the election and confirmed Joe Biden as the victor in the election. This was significantly helped by the fact Biden and his team was not as willing to back down as Al Gore was in 2000, and stuck to the message that they had won. So had President Trump, however, there were clear results, and the Supreme Court, mostly Trump appointed, was willing to accept Biden as a victor.
It was time to hang up the red hat, and Trump, rather than admitting defeat, silently was prepared to embrace the transition and deflected all questions regarding conceding defeat. He released a cryptic Tweet that was the closest thing to his vocal admission of concession:
“Back to 4 YEARS OF HELL, UNBELIEVABLE!”
Most of the nation was satisfied, knowing Trump would hold on to his pride at all costs, while all silently accepting the results with the expected KAG protests and Antifa and BLM protests that persisted to around Christmas time.
Electoral Map

Senate Electoral Results

State Senator Seat Status
Alabama Tommy Tuberville (R) Flip
Alaska Dan Sullivan (R)) Hold
Arizona (Special) Mark Kelly (D) Flip
Arkansas Tom Cotton (R) Hold
Colorado John Hickenlooper (D) Flip
Delaware Chris Coons (D) Hold
Georgia (Regular) David Perdue (R) Hold
Georgia (Special) Kelly Loeffler (R) Hold
Idaho Jim Risch (R) Hold
Illinois Dick Durbin (D) Hold
Iowa Theresa Greenfield (D) Flip
Kansas Roger Marshall (R)) Hold
Kentucky Mitch McConnell (R) Hold
Louisiana Bill Cassidy (R) Hold
Maine Sara Gideon (D) Flip
Massachusetts Ed Markey (D) Hold
Michigan Gary Peters (D) Hold
Minnesota Tina Smith (D) Hold
Mississippi Cindy Hyde-Smith (R) Hold
Montana Steve Bullock (D)) Flip
Nebraska Ben Sasse (R) Hold
New Hampshire Jeanne Shaheen (D) Hold
New Jersey Cory Booker (D) Hold
New Mexico Ben Ray Lujan (D) Hold
North Carolina Cal Cunningham (D) Flip
Oklahoma Jim Inhofe (R) Hold
Oregon Jeff Merkley (D) Hold
Rhode Island Jack Reed (D)) Hold
South Carolina Jaime Harrison (D) Flip
South Dakota Mike Rounds (R) Hold
Tennessee Bill Hagerty (R)) Hold
Texas John Cornyn (R) Hold
Virginia Mark Warner (D) Hold
West Virginia Shelley Moore Capito (R) Hold
Wyoming Cynthia Lummis (R) Hold
Senate Composition
Party Seats Change
Democrat 51 +6
Republican 47 -6
Independent 2 -

House Electoral Results

Alabama
  • 1: Jerry Carl (R)
  • 2: Barry Moore (R)
  • 3: Mike Rogers (R)
  • 4: Robert Aderholt (R)
  • 5: Mo Brooks (R)
  • 6: Gary Palmer (R)
  • 7: Terri Sewell (D)
R: 6 D: 1
Newcomers: Jerry Carl (R), Barry Moore (R)
Alaska
  • At-Large: Don Young (R)
R: 1
Arizona
  • 1: Tom O’Halleran (D)
  • 2: Ann Kirkpatrick (D)
  • 3: Raul Grijalva (D)
  • 4: Paul Gosar (R)
  • 5: Andy Biggs (R)
  • 6: Hiral Tipirneni (D)
  • 7: Ruben Gallego (D)
  • 8: Debbie Lesko (R)
  • 9: Greg Stanton (D)
R: 3 D: 6
Newcomers: Hiral Tipirneni (D)
Arkansas
  • 1: Rick Crawford (R)
  • 2: French Hill (R)
  • 3: Steve Womack (R)
  • 4: Bruce Westerman (R)
R: 4
California
  • 1: Doug LaMalfa (R)
  • 2: Jared Huffman (D)
  • 3: Tamika Hamilton (R)
  • 4: Tom McClintock (R)
  • 5: Mike Thompson (D)
  • 6: Doris Matsui (D)
  • 7: Ami Bera (D)
  • 8: Jay Obernolte (R)
  • 9: Jerry McNerney (D)
  • 10: Josh Harder (D)
  • 11: Mark DeSaulnier (D)
  • 12: Nancy Pelosi (D)
  • 13: Barbara Lee (D)
  • 14: Jackie Speier (D)
  • 15: Eric Swalwell (D)
  • 16: Jim Costa (D)
  • 17: Ro Khanna (D)
  • 18: Anna Eshoo (D)
  • 19: Zoe Lofgren (D)
  • 20: Jimmy Panetta (D)
  • 21: David Valadao (R)
  • 22: Devin Nunes (R)
  • 23: Kevin McCarthy (R)
  • 24: Salud Carbajal (D)
  • 25: Christy Smith (D)
  • 26: Julia Brownley (D)
  • 27: Judy Chu (D)
  • 28: Adam Schiff (D)
  • 29: Tony Cardenas (D)
  • 30: Brad Sherman (D)
  • 31: Pete Aguilar (D)
  • 32: Grace Napolitano (D)
  • 33: Ted Lieu (D)
  • 34: Jimmy Gomez (D)
  • 35: Norma Torres (D)
  • 36: Erin Cruz (R)
  • 37: Karen Bass (D)
  • 38: Linda Sanchez (D)
  • 39: Young Kim (R)
  • 40: Lucille Roybal-Allard (D)
  • 41: Mark Takano (D)
  • 42: Liam O’Mara (D)
  • 43: Maxine Waters (D)
  • 44: Nanette Barragan (D)
  • 45: Greg Raths (R)
  • 46: Lou Correa (D)
  • 47: Alan Lowenthal (D)
  • 48: Michelle Steel (R)
  • 49: Brian Mayott (R)
  • 50: Darrell Issa (R)
  • 51: Juan Vargas (D)
  • 52: Scott Peters (D)
  • 53: Sara Jacobs (D)
R: 13 D: 40
Newcomers: Tamika Hamilton (R), Jay Obernolte (R), David Valadao (R), Christy Smith (D), Erin Cruz (R), Young Kim (R), Liam O’Mara (D), Greg Raths (R), Michelle Steel (R), Brian Mayott (R), Darrell Issa (R), Sara Jacobs (D)
Colorado
  • 1: Diana DeGette (D)
  • 2: Joe Neguse (D)
  • 3: Lauren Boebert (R)
  • 4: Ken Buck (R)
  • 5: Doug Lamborn (R)
  • 6: Jason Crow (D)
  • 7: Ed Perlmutter (D)
R: 3 D: 4
Newcomers: Lauren Boebert (R)
Connecticut
  • 1: John Larson (D)
  • 2: Joe Courtney (D)
  • 3: Rosa DeLauro (D)
  • 4: Jim Himes (D)
  • 5: Jahana Hayes (D)
D: 5
Delaware
  • At-Large: Lisa Blunt Rochester (D)
D: 1
Florida
  • 1: Matt Gaetz (R)
  • 2: Neal Dunn (R)
  • 3: Kat Cammack (R)
  • 4: John Rutherford (R)
  • 5: Al Lawson (D)
  • 6: Michael Waltz (R)
  • 7: Stephanie Murphy (D)
  • 8: Bill Posey (R)
  • 9: Darren Soto (D)
  • 10: Val Demings (D)
  • 11: Daniel Webster (R)
  • 12: Gus Bilirakis (R)
  • 13: Charlie Crist (D)
  • 14: Kathy Castor (D)
  • 15: Alan Cohn (D)
  • 16: Vern Buchanan (R)
  • 17: Greg Steube (R)
  • 18: Pam Keith (D)
  • 19: Bryon Donalds (R)
  • 20: Alcee Hastings (D)
  • 21: Lois Frankel (D)
  • 22: Ted Deutch (D)
  • 23: Debbie Wasserman Schultz (D)
  • 24: Frederica Wilson (D)
  • 25: Mario Diaz-Balart (R)
  • 26: Debbie Mucarsel-Powell (D)
  • 27: Maria Elvira Salazar (R)
R: 13 D: 14
Newcomers: Kat Cammack (R), Alan Cohn (D), Pam Keith (D), Bryon Donalds (R), Maria Elvira Salazar (R)
Georgia
  • 1: Buddy Carter (R)
  • 2: Sandford Bishop (D)
  • 3: Drew Ferguson (R)
  • 4: Hank Johnson (D)
  • 5: Nikema Williams (D)
  • 6: Karen Handel (R)
  • 7: Rob Woodall (R)
  • 8: Austin Scott (R)
  • 9: Doug Collins (R)
  • 10: Jody Hice (R)
  • 11: Barry Loudermilk (R)
  • 12: Rick Allen (R)
  • 13: David Scott (D)
  • 14: Marjorie Taylor Greene (R)
R: 10 D: 4
Newcomers: Nikema Williams (D), Karen Handel (R), Marjorie Taylor Greene (R)
Hawaii * 1: Ed Case (D) * 2: Kai Kahele (D)
D: 2
Newcomers: Kai Kahele (D)
Idaho
  • 1: Russ Fulcher (R)
  • 2: Mike Simpson (R)
R: 2
Illinois
  • 1: Bobby Rush (D)
  • 2: Robin Kelly (D)
  • 3: Marie Newman (D)
  • 4: Chuy Garcia (D)
  • 5: Mike Quigley (D)
  • 6: Sean Casten (D)
  • 7: Danny Davis (D)
  • 8: Raja Krishnamoorthi (D)
  • 9: Jan Schakowsky (D)
  • 10: Brad Schneider (D)
  • 11: Bill Foster (D)
  • 12: Mike Bost (R)
  • 13: Betsy Dirksen Londrigan (D)
  • 14: Lauren Underwood (D)
  • 15: Mary Miller (R)
  • 16: Adam Kinzinger (R)
  • 17: Cheri Bustos (D)
  • 18: Darin LaHood (R)
R: 4 D: 14
Newcomers: Marie Newman (D), Betsy Dirksen Londrigan (D), Mary Miller (R)
Indiana
  • 1: Frank J. Mrvan (D)
  • 2: Jackie Walorski (R)
  • 3: Jim Banks (R)
  • 4: Jim Baird (R)
  • 5: Victoria Spartz (R)
  • 6: Greg Pence (R)
  • 7: Andre Carson (D)
  • 8: Larry Buchson (R)
  • 9: Trey Hollingsworth (R)
R: 7 D: 2
Newcomers: Frank J. Mrvan (D), Victoria Spartz (R)
Iowa
  • 1: Abby Finkenauer (D)
  • 2: Rita Hart (D)
  • 3: Cindy Axne (D)
  • 4: Randy Feenstra (R)
R: 1 D: 3
Newcomers: Rita Hart (D), Randy Feenstra (R)
Kansas
  • 1: Tracey Mann (R)
  • 2: Jake LaTurner (R)
  • 3: Sharice Davids (D)
  • 4: Ron Estes (R)
R: 3 D: 1
Newcomers: Tracey Mann (R), Jake LaTurner (R)
Kentucky
  • 1: James Comer (R)
  • 2: Brett Guthrie (R)
  • 3: John Yarmuth (D)
  • 4: Thomas Massie (R)
  • 5: Hal Rogers (R)
  • 6: Frank Harris (L)
R: 4 D: 1 L: 1
Newcomers: Frank Harris (L)
Louisiana
  • 1: Steve Scalise (R)
  • 2: Cedric Richmond (D)
  • 3: Clay Higgins (R)
  • 4: Mike Johnson (R)
  • 5: Lance Harris (R)
  • 6: Garret Graves (R)
R: 5 D: 1
Newcomers: Lance Harris (R)
Maine
  • 1: Chellie Pingree (D)
  • 2: Jared Golden (D)
D: 2
Maryland
  • 1: Andy Harris (R)
  • 2: Dutch Ruppersberger (R)
  • 3: John Sarbanes (D)
  • 4: Anthony Brown (D)
  • 5: Steny Hoyer (D)
  • 6: George Gluck (G)
  • 7: Kweisi Mfume (D)
  • 8: Jamie Raskin (D)
R: 2 D: 5 G: 1
Newcomers: George Gluck (G)
Massachusetts
  • 1: Richard Neal (D)
  • 2: Jim McGovern (D)
  • 3: Lori Trahan (D)
  • 4: Natalia Linos (D)
  • 5: Katherine Clark (D)
  • 6: Seth Moulton (D)
  • 7: Ayanna Pressley (D)
  • 8: Stephen Lynch (D)
  • 9: Bill Keating (D)
D: 9
Newcomers: Natalia Linos (D)
Michigan
  • 1: Ben Boren (L)
  • 2: Bill Huizenga (R)
  • 3: Peter Meijer (R)
  • 4: John Moolenaar (R)
  • 5: Dan Kildee (D)
  • 6: Fred Upton (R)
  • 7: Tim Walberg (R)
  • 8: Elissa Slotkin (D)
  • 9: Andy Levin (D)
  • 10: Lisa McClain (R)
  • 11: Eric Esshaki (R)
  • 12: Debbie Dingell (D)
  • 13: Rashida Tlaib (D)
  • 14: Brenda Lawrence (D)
R: 7 D: 6 L: 1
Newcomers: Ben Boren (L), Peter Meijer (R), Lisa McClain (R), Eric Esshaki (R)
Minnesota
  • 1: Dan Feehan (D)
  • 2: Angie Craig (D)
  • 3: Dean Phillips (D)
  • 4: Betty McCollum (D)
  • 5: Ilhan Omar (D)
  • 6: Tom Emmer (R)
  • 7: Michelle Fischbach (R)
  • 8: Quinn Nystrom (D)
R: 2 D: 6
Newcomers: Dan Feehan (D), Michelle Fischbach (R), Quinn Nystrom (D)
Mississippi
  • 1: Trent Kelly (R)
  • 2: Bennie Thompson (D)
  • 3: Michael Guest (R)
  • 4: Steven Palazzo (R)
R: 3 D: 1
Missouri
  • 1: Cori Bush (D)
  • 2: Ann Wagner (R)
  • 3: Blaine Luetkemeyer (R)
  • 4: Vicky Hartzler (R)
  • 5: Emmanuel Cleaver (D)
  • 6: Sam Graves (R)
  • 7: Billy Long (R)
  • 8: Jason Smith (R)
R: 6 D: 2
Newcomers: Cori Bush (D)
Montana
  • At-Large: Matt Rosendale (R)
R: 1
Newcomers: Matt Rosendale (R)
Nebraska
  • 1: Jeff Fortenberry (R)
  • 2: Don Bacon (R)
  • 3: Adrian Smith (R)
R: 3
Nevada
  • 1: Dina Titus (D)
  • 2: Mark Amodei (R)
  • 3: Susie Lee (D)
  • 4: Steven Horsford (D)
R: 1 D: 3
New Hampshire
  • 1: Jeff Denaro (R)
  • 2: Ann Kuster (D)
R: 1 D: 1
Newcomers: Jeff Denaro (R)
New Jersey
  • 1: Donald Norcross (D)
  • 2: Amy Kennedy (D)
  • 3: Andy Kim (D)
  • 4: Chris Smith (R)
  • 5: Frank Pallotta (R)
  • 6: Frank Pallone (D)
  • 7: Tom Malinowski (D)
  • 8: Albio Sires (D)
  • 9: Bill Pascrell (D)
  • 10: Donald Payne Jr. (D)
  • 11: Mikie Sherrill (D)
  • 12: Bonnie Watson Coleman (D)
R: 2 D: 10
Newcomers: Amy Kennedy (D), Frank Pallotta (R)
New Mexico
  • 1: Deb Haaland (D)
  • 2: Yvette Herrell (R)
  • 3: Teresa Leger Fernandez (D)
R: 1 D: 2
Newcomers: Yvette Herrell (R), Teresa Leger Fernandez (D)
New York
  • 1: Lee Zeldin (R)
  • 2: Andrew Garbarino (R)
  • 3: Tom Suozzi (D)
  • 4: Kathleen Rice (D)
  • 5: Gregory Meeks (D)
  • 6: Grace Meng (D)
  • 7: Nydia Velazquez (D)
  • 8: Hakeem Jeffries (D)
  • 9: Yvette Clarke (D)
  • 10: Jerry Nadler (D)
  • 11: Max Rose (D)
  • 12: Carolyn Maloney (D)
  • 13: Adriano Espaillat (D)
  • 14: Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (D)
  • 15: Ritchie Torres (D)
  • 16: Jamaal Bowman (D)
  • 17: Mondaire Jones (D)
  • 18: Sean Patrick Maloney (D)
  • 19: Kyle Van Der Water (R)
  • 20: Paul Tonko (D)
  • 21: Elsie Stefanik (R)
  • 22: Anthony Brindisi (R)
  • 23: Tom Reed (R)
  • 24: Dana Balter (D)
  • 25: Joseph Morelle (D)
  • 26: Brian Higgins (D)
  • 27: Chris Jacobs (R)
R: 7 D: 20
Newcomers: Andrew Garbarino (R), Ritchie Torres (D), Jamaal Bowman (D), Mondaire Jones (D), Kyle Van Der Water (R), Dana Balter (D)
North Carolina
  • 1: G.K. Butterfield (D)
  • 2: Deborah Ross (D)
  • 3: Greg Murphy (R)
  • 4: David Price (D)
  • 5: Virginia Foxx (R)
  • 6: Kathy Manning (D)
  • 7: David Rouzer (R)
  • 8: Richard Hudson (R)
  • 9: Dan Bishop (R)
  • 10: Patrick McHenry (R)
  • 11: Madison Cawthorn (R)
  • 12: Alma Adams (D)
  • 13: Ted Budd (R)
R: 8 D: 5
Newcomers: Deborah Ross (D), Kathy Manning (D), Madison Cawthorn (R)
North Dakota
  • At-Large: Kelly Armstrong (R)
R: 1
Ohio
  • 1: Kate Schroder (D)
  • 2: Brad Wenstrup (R)
  • 3: Joyce Beatty (D)
  • 4: Jim Jordan (R)
  • 5: Bob Latta (R)
  • 6: Bill Johnson (R)
  • 7: Bob Gibbs (R)
  • 8: Warren Davidson (R)
  • 9: Marcy Kaptur (D)
  • 10: Desiree Tims (D)
  • 11: Marcia Fudge (D)
  • 12: Tory Balderson (R)
  • 13: Tim Ryan (D)
  • 14: David Joyce (R)
  • 15: Steve Stivers (R)
  • 16: Anthony Gonzalez (R)
R: 10 D: 6
Newcomers: Kate Schroder (D), Desiree Tims (D)
Oklahoma
  • 1: Kevin Hern (R)
  • 2: Markwayne Mullin (R)
  • 3: Frank Lucas (R)
  • 4: Tom Cole (R)
  • 5: Stephanie Bice (R)
R: 5
Newcomers: Stephanie Bice (R)
Oregon
  • 1: Suzanne Bonamici (D)
  • 2: Cliff Bentz (R)
  • 3: Earl Blumenauer (D)
  • 4: Peter DeFazio (D)
  • 5: Kurt Schrader (D)
R: 1 D: 4
Newcomers: Cliff Bentz (R)
Pennsylvania
  • 1: Christina Finello (D)
  • 2: Brendan Boyle (D)
  • 3: Dwight Evans (D)
  • 4: Madeleine Dean (D)
  • 5: Mary Gay Scanlon (D)
  • 6: Chrissy Houlahan (D)
  • 7: Lisa Scheller (R)
  • 8: Jim Bognet (R)
  • 9: Dan Meuser (R)
  • 10: Scott Perry (R)
  • 11: Lloyd Smucker (R)
  • 12: Fred Keller (R)
  • 13: John Joyce (R)
  • 14: Guy Reschenthaler (R)
  • 15: Glenn Rhompson (R)
  • 16: Mike Kelly (R)
  • 17: Conor Lamb (D)
  • 18: Mike Doyle (D)
R: 10 D: 8
Newcomers: Christina Finello (D), Lisa Scheller (R), Jim Bognet (R)
Rhode Island
  • 1: David Cicilline (D)
  • 2: Jim Langevin (D)
D: 2
South Carolina
  • 1: Nancy Mace (R)
  • 2: Joe Wilson (R)
  • 3: Jeff Duncan (R)
  • 4: William Timmons (R)
  • 5: Ralph Norman (R)
  • 6: Jim Clyburn (D)
  • 7: Tom Rice (R)
R: 6 D: 1
Newcomers: Nancy Mace (R)
South Dakota
  • At-Large: Dusty Johnson (R)
R: 1
Tennessee
  • 1: Diana Harshbarger (R)
  • 2: Tim Burchett (R)
  • 3: Chuck Fleischmann (R)
  • 4: Scott DesJarlais (R)
  • 5: Jim Cooper (D)
  • 6: John Rose (R)
  • 7: Mark Green (R)
  • 8: David Kustoff (R)
  • 9: Steve Cohen (D)
R: 7 D: 2
Newcomers: Diana Harshbarger (R)
Texas
  • 1: Louie Gohmert (R)
  • 2: Dan Crenshaw (R)
  • 3: Van Taylor (R)
  • 4: Pat Fallon (R)
  • 5: Lance Gooden (R)
  • 6: Ron Wright (R)
  • 7: Shawn Kelly (L)
  • 8: Kevin Brady (R)
  • 9: Al Green (D)
  • 10: Michael McCaul (R)
  • 11: August Pfluger (R)
  • 12: Kay Granger (R)
  • 13: Ronny Jackson (R)
  • 14: Randy Weber (R)
  • 15: Vincente Gonzalez (D)
  • 16: Veronica Escobar (D)
  • 17: Pete Sessions (R)
  • 18: Shelia Jackson Lee (D)
  • 19: Jodey Arrington (R)
  • 20: Joaquin Castro (D)
  • 21: Chip Roy (R)
  • 22: Troy Nehls (R)
  • 23: Gina Ortiz Jones (D)
  • 24: Beth Van Duyne (R)
  • 25: Roger Williams (R)
  • 26: Michael Burgess (R)
  • 27: Michael Cloud (R)
  • 28: Henry Cuellar (D)
  • 29: Sylvia Garcia (D)
  • 30: Eddie Bernice Johnson (D)
  • 31: John Carter (R)
  • 32: Colin Allred (R)
  • 33: Marc Veasey (D)
  • 34: Filemon Vela Jr. (D)
  • 35: Lloyd Doggett (D)
  • 36: Brian Babin (R)
R: 23 D: 12 L: 1
Newcomers: Pat Fallon (R), Shawn Kelly (L), August Pfluger (R), Ronny Jackson (R), Pete Sessions (R), Troy Nehls (R), Gina Ortiz Jones (D), Beth Van Duyne (R)
Utah
  • 1: Blake Moore (R)
  • 2: Chris Stewart (R)
  • 3: John Curtis (R)
  • 4: Burgess Owens (R)
R: 4
Newcomers: Blake Moore (R), Burgess Owens (R)
Vermont
  • At-Large: Peter Welch (D)
D: 1
Virginia
  • 1: Rob Wittman (R)
  • 2: Elaine Luria (D)
  • 3: Bobby Scott (D)
  • 4: Donald McEachin (D)
  • 5: Bob Good (R)
  • 6: Ben Cline (R)
  • 7: Abigail Spanberger (D)
  • 8: Don Beyer (D)
  • 9: Morgan Griffith (R)
  • 10: Jennifer Wexton (D)
  • 11: Gerry Connolly (D)
R: 4 D: 7
Newcomers: Bob Good (R)
Washington
  • 1: Suzan DelBene (D)
  • 2: Rick Larsen (D)
  • 3: Jaime Herrera Beutler (R)
  • 4: Dan Newhouse (R)
  • 5: Cathy McMorris Rodgers (R)
  • 6: Derek Kilmer (D)
  • 7: Pramila Jayapal (D)
  • 8: Kim Schrier (D)
  • 9: Adam Smith (D)
  • 10: Marilyn Strickland (D) R: 3 D: 7
Newcomers: Marilyn Strickland (D)
West Virginia
  • 1: David McKinley (R)
  • 2: Alex Mooney (R)
  • 3: Carol Miller (R)
R: 3
Wisconsin
  • 1: Bryan Stell (R)
  • 2: Mark Pocan (D)
  • 3: Ron Kind (D)
  • 4: Gwen Moore (D)
  • 5: Scott Fitzgerald (R)
  • 6: Glenn Grothman (R)
  • 7: Tom Tiffany (R)
  • 8: Mike Gallagher (R)
R: 5 D: 3
Newcomers: Scott Fitzgerald (R)
Wyoming
  • At-Large: Liz Cheney (R)
R: 1
Non-Voting Delegates
  • American Samoa: Amata Coleman Radewagen (R)
  • DC: Eleanor Holmes Norton (D)
  • Guam: Michael San Nicolas (D)
  • Northern Mariana Islands: Gregorio Kilili Sablan (I)
  • Puerto Rico: Jenniffer Gonzalez (NPP)
  • Virgin Islands: Stacey Plaskett (D)
Party Seats Change
Republicans 206 +8
Democrats 225 - 7
Libertarians 3 +2
Green Party 1 +1

Gubernatorial Election Results

Delaware
Indiana
Missouri
Montana
New Hampshire
North Carolina
North Dakota
Utah
Vermont * David Zuckerman (D))
Washington
West Virginia

Cabinet of President Joe Biden

Office Choice
Vice President Kamala Harris
Secretary of State Judy Chu
Secretary of Treasury Elizabeth Warren
Secretary of Defense Tulsi Gabbard
Attorney General Cory Booker
Secretary of the Interior Sharice Davids
Secretary of Agriculture Hugh Grant)
Secretary of Commerce Michael Bloomberg
Secretary of Labor Ed Bastian
Secretary of Health and Human Services Anthony Fauci
Secretary of Housing and Urban Development Pete Buttigieg
Secretary of Transportation Elon Musk
Secretary of Energy Raul Grijalva
Secretary of Education Andrew Cuomo
Secretary of Veteran Affairs John Kerry
Secretary of Homeland Security Charles Djou
Chief of Staff Jim Mattis
Trade Representative Earl Blumenauer
Director of National Intelligence Stephanie Murphy
Director of the Office of Management and Budget Raja Krishnamoorthi
Director of the Central Intelligence Agency Scott D. Berrier
Director of the Environmental Protection Agency Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez
Administrator of Small Business Administration Michelle Lujan Grisham
Notes
Elizabeth Warren - Former Presidential candidate with extensive experience on the Congressional Oversight Panel, and established the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau. A natural selection for the role due to her experience in finance, securities, and the banking sector in Congress.
Michael Bloomberg - Former Presidential candidate, with a background with philanthropy, and wall-street; he symbolizes President Biden’s ties to big-business and commitment to Wall-Street executives.
Andrew Cuomo - Governor of New York who took a leading role in the nation to drive the country out of the COVID-19 pandemic, and led the push towards virtual learning, while also having experience with gun legislation for schools making him a preferred selection for the Secretary of Education.
Tulsi Gabbard - A Major in the United States Army who has stepped down to take her position as Secretary of Defense. A reminder to Americans that Hawaii is just as important to the US as all the contiguous 48 states. While she and Biden disagree on issues of intervention, she will be the devil’s advocate to offer alternate opinions on intervention, which allows Biden to know that if the Secretary of Defense recommends action, Gabbard has likely considered it deeply.
Judy Chu - Relations with China have bottomed out under the Trump Administration, and it is time to get back in the saddle to deal with them. There will be no better mutual understanding than employing an American politician with Chinese abilities and family to understand their culture and give insight into their negotiation strategies. Biden hopes that Chu will help the United States restore its relationship with the People’s Republic of China, but be sure to not allow China to get a better deal.
Raul Grijalva - Bringing in Arizona to the democrat fold was not an easy task, but now that they have come over, there needs to be incentive to stay. Grijalva has been around for some time and has experience with the House Natural Resources Committee, he would be great to keep around.
Michelle Lujan Grisham - The Governor of New Mexico and a former member of the Hispanic caucus. Trump destroyed relations with the Hispanic community, and Biden needs a strong team of cabinet members to keep him focused on restoring relations with them and solving the issues that impact them directly.
Sharice Davids - A Native American representative would be very symbolic if placed into the position of Secretary of the Interior. The Dakota Access pipeline fiasco did not do the American Government any favors, and the mistreatment of the Navajo Nation during the COVID-19 pandemic is certainly leaving the native community feeling isolated, it is important that their interests are not forgotten, but also represented on a federal level.
Cory Booker - A former Presidential candidate and an African American Senator who is vocal about the criminal justice system and mending the racial disparities in the country. Having Booker in the AG position would be very interesting to see what ideas he can generate to reform and improve our current systems.
Raja Krishnamoorthi - Time for another Indian-American for the cabinet. Krishnamoorthi’s extensive experience in the House Oversight Committee has aligned his work with the Director of the Office of Management and Budget, Biden hopes that he will excel in this role and his membership to the Cabinet alongside VP Harris will forge a pathway to mend and progress American-Indian Relations.
John Kerry - After a wild career with President Obama as Secretary of State and also a Naval career, Kerry isn’t likely wanting any big or spotlight position. However, Biden’s experience with Kerry has called him back to the White House, but this time for his Naval experience for the Secretary of Veteran Affairs.
Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez - Biden was very cautious to give a platform to AOC since she is known to be outspoken, and much further left than Biden is himself. She has called out to abolish ICE, and has set Medicare for All as an important platform, while Biden doesn’t really support these things, she is vocal about the Green New Deal- having a part in the authorship. Biden thinks the Green New Deal is a step too far, but appointing something with thoughts in the correct direction to the EPA would be a strong signal to the country that it is time to get serious about the problems we are facing. Biden knows AOC will be able to get the job done, while not always seeing eye-to-eye.
Anthony Fauci - The perfect thing about Dr. Fauci, is that he isn’t a politician, he is here to do his job and do it well, and save lives along the way. Biden doesn’t need a politician to make decisions about the direction of the nation during a health crisis, he needs an expert. While Fauci is more advanced in his years, he will be asked to seek out a successor to his role at the NIAID that he feels is the most qualified for the job, before finishing out his career in a role that suits the spotlight necessary for federal management of emergencies.
Stephanie Murphy - A Vietnamese-American who supports Presidential war powers, she is fluent in Vietnamese and would be very helpful to East-Asian relations, specifically with Vietnam. She formerly worked in the DoD as a national security specialist, which makes her fit for the role.
Charles Djou - An independent politician of Thai descent who has military experience. Biden hopes he will take a very neutral approach to address the US domestic security concerns to provide resolutions that both sides will appreciate.
Elon Musk - Immigrants often represent the best of the United States by using uncommon solutions for uncommon problems. Biden has long supported an HSR system for the United States, and Musk might be the only one with enough balls to do something about it. With the funding of the United States at his back, the benefit might be worth giving his idiocy a platform. However, it would of course mean he will have to separate from his company, at least temporarily.
Ed Bastian - The CEO of Delta Airlines, one of the US forefront passenger airline services. Bastian wasted no time by providing alternatives and coping with change faced during the epidemic and is renowned by his employees as a respectable and thoughtful leader.
Scott D. Berrier - Former Director of the Defense Intelligence Agency, and Deputy Chief of Staff to INSCOM. The US needs someone that gathers accurate and precise intelligence, with the most qualified professional out there. If a government needs overthrowing, a leader needs assassinating, a military man in the CIA will get the job done.
Hugh Grant - CEO of Monsanto prior to Bayer acquisition, he knows his stuff.
Pete Buttigieg - Biden didn’t really have the choice of ignoring Pete, he is sometimes useful, but needs to be kept at an arm’s length. Housing and Urban Development is a great way to respect Pete, but make him irrelevant.
Earl Blumenauer - Member of the Ways and Means Committee representing Oregon. He looks like the stereotypical nice grandfather, but his background on the committee tells us he means business, and when supplemented with other cabinet members, will make an effective team member in trade negotiations and be able to lead the discussions on a warm, and friendly foot.
Jim “Mad Dog” Mattis - He had some choice words to say about President Trump and his foreign policy, but is apolitical as a military man should be. Biden would like to give the Mad Dog a better understanding of how the White House should respect the country and its members, but needs Mattis’ military discipline, time management, and efficiency to keep the cabinet and government in line. There is nothing wrong with having a respectable man who is well versed in foreign policy, and believes in the unity of the American people on your side. Biden hopes that this will give Mattis a better experience and help restore some trust in the country he dedicated his life to.
submitted by Erhard_Eckmann to Geosim [link] [comments]


2019.11.18 09:27 Zalogon Los Kanji Perdidos (Primaria 3)

者 Individuo; sujeto; persona

訓読み- もの
音読み- シャ
ejemplos
者(もの) Un individuo; sujeto; persona. Se usa en situaciones formales, documentos legales y en settings militares. Aunque también se usa en animes de fantasía para sonar mas “medieval” como Marth en smash bros:
守るべきもののために、負けられない。Por las personas que debo proteger, no puedo perder.
若者(わかもの) Personas jóvenes
若者は老ウジンを譲るべきだ。The young should make room for the old
若者は専科というものを頭でしか知らない。Young people know the disasters of war only in the abstract
記者(きしゃ) Reportero
医者(いしゃ) Médico
患者(かんじゃ) Paciente
科学者(かがくしゃ) Scientifico
研究者(けんきゅうしゃ) investigador
労働者(ろうどうしゃ) Empleado
芸者(げいしゃ) Geisha
賢者の石(けんじゃのいし) Piedra filosofal

取 to get

訓読み- と
音読み- No importa tanto
ejemplos
取る(とる) to get
もう少しで満点が取れたのに I almost got a perfect score
車の免許を突りにく。 I’m going to go get my driver’s licence
君はどこで学位をとりましたか。Where did you take your degree?
今学期はスペイン語をとている。 I’m going to take Spanish next semester
欲しいだけクッキーをとりなさい。Take as many cookies as you want
長男の名前はおじさんの名前からとりました。 My first son was named after my uncle
クリームチーズ取ってくれる? Would you pass me the cream cheese?
一週間の休みを取った。He took a week off
長い休暇を取る余裕がない I cannot afford a long vacation
メモを取りなさい。You should make notes
取り替える (とりかえる) reemplazar; cambiar; restaurar
プリンターの空のインクを取り替えて下さい Please replace the empty ink jet cartridge in the printer
もっと大きいのと取り替えてください If it's possible, I'd like to exchange this for a larger size
タイヤを取り替えなくてはならないay que cambiar los neumáticos.
取り戻す(とりもどす) Recuperar
無駄にした時間を取り戻さなければならない。 Debes recuperar el tiempo perdido
花は雨のあと生気を吐露戻した。The flowers got their vitality back after the rain
彼女はきを失ったが、すうふんごに意識を取り戻した。Perdió la conciencia pero la recuperó luego de unos minutos
やっと本調子を取り戻した。 I have finally regained my regular form
健康を取り戻すのに丸一年かかった。Me tomó todo un año recuperar mi salud
先頭後、平和維持軍が平穏を取り戻すために活動しました。Después de la guerra, las tropas de paz tomaron acción para restaurar la calma.
取り上げる(とりあげる) Tiene varios significados…
  1. To adopt a proposal
会議で彼の提案が取り上げられた。 His proposals were adopted at the meeting
彼の提案は話にとりあげるほどのこともない His proposal is not worth talking about
  1. Feature; darle atención; sacar a la Luz;
全新聞がその事件を大きく取り上げた All the papers featured the case
彼はしばしは国民的英雄として取り上げられています。He is often referred to as a national hero
  1. Decomisar; confiscar >向こう見ずな運転の為彼は免許を取り上げられた。Le confiscaron la licencia por su forma imprudente de conducir.
銀行に家を取り上げられてしまいそうなんだよ I'm afraid the bank is going to repossess my house
警官は少年からナイフを取り上げた。The policeman took the knife from the boy
  1. 問題を取り上げる To take up a problem; encargarse de un problema
この件は昼食後にふたたび取り上げよう。 Let’s take up this matter after lunch
  1. Literal tomar y levantar
彼はペンを取り上げて書き始めた。 Levantó su lápiz y comenzó a escribir.
取り消す(とりけす) cancelar; take back
この切符を取り消せますか Can I cancel this ticket
私は彼女との約束を取り消しいた。I canceled an appointment with her.
私がケチだと言ったことを取り消しなさい。Take back what you said about me being stingy
今言ったことは蹴りします。I take back what I said
彼は大将に命令を取り消すうように頼んだ。 He asked the general to take back his order
取り出す(とりだす) take out
彼は数枚のコインを取り出した He took out some coins
彼はコインを1枚ポケットかっら取り出した。 He took a coin out of his pocket.
彼は海水から塩を結晶させて取り出した。 He crystallized salt from the sea water.
取り除く(とりのぞく) Deshacerse
悪習を取り除くのは容易ではない no es fácil deshacerse de malos hábitos
その肖像画は壁から取り除かれた the portrait was taken from the wall
私は庭から雑草を取り除いた I rid the garden go the weeds
靴から泥を取り除いてください。Please remove the mud from your shoes

酒 licor

訓読み- うけ
音読み- シュ
ejemplos
お酒(おさけ) booze
日本酒(にほんしゅ) Japanese booze; sake
酒飲み(さけのみ) Heavy drinker
飲酒運転(いんしゅうんてん) Drunk driving
居酒屋(いざかや) izakaya

受 Recibir

訓読み- うけ
音読み- ジュ
ejemplos
受ける(うける) Receive
受け取る(うけとる) tomar algo que se te ha sido entregado (no cuenta si no te lo entregaron); tomar; aceptar
けさ、宅配便(たくはいびん)を受け取りました。 I got a FedEx package this morning.
自尊心があるから彼はそのお金を受け取らなかった。His pride did not allow him to take the money
この贈り物は受け取れません。 I cannot accept this gift.
Another meaning of 「受け取る」is to interpret A as B.
わたしは彼が何も言わないのをYesだと受け取りました。I understood his silence meant "Yes".
個人的な話にうけとらないで Don’t take it personally
私は彼女の言うことを文字どおりに受け取った I took what she said literally.
彼女は私の言葉を侮辱と受け取ったようだ。 She seems to have taken my remark as an insult
受け入れる(うけいれる) recibiaceptar una idea o a una persona
田中さんをチームに受け入れました。We welcomed Mr.Tanaka as a member of our team.
彼のアイデアはすばらしいですが、受け入れることができません。 His idea is nice, but we can't accept it.
引き受ける(ひきうける) tomar responsabilidad de algún duty
彼は難しい仕事を引き受けた He took on the difficult work
彼の息子が工場の経営を引き受けた His son took on the management of the factory
これ以上仕事を引き受けられない I can't take any more work
たとえそれが嫌いでも、あなたはその世話を引き受けなければならない Even if you do not like it, you must take charge of it
友だちが旅行へ行くので、彼女の犬の世話せわを引き受けました。A friend of mine is going to travel, so I agreed to take care of her dog.)
受け付ける(うけつける) Aceptar una solicitud, documento
電話でもう受け付けていますよ。We take telephone orders
申し込みは明日までう受け付けます Las aplicaciones serán aceptadas hasta mañana
後になってテスト提出しても、受け付けられえません。If you turn in a test late, it will not be accepted
受付(うけつけ) Reception desk
受領書(じゅりょうしょ) Receipt

主 main

訓読み- ぬし・おも
音読み- シュ
ejemplos
主(ぬし) The chief; the head; la persona a cargo
君は君自身の運命の主でもあります。You are the master of your own destiny.
主人(しゅじん) Master
おかえりなさいませ、ご主人様。Welcome home master.
男性が一家の主ということはアメリカ社旗に当てはまる。It is true of American society that the male is the head of the household 何をするにも人に対してでなく、主に対するように、心から働きなさい。 And whatever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men
農園主になりたいなあ。とピップが言いましいた。 I want to be a farmer, said pip
主に(おもに) Mainly; mostly; for the most part; mas que nada
日本人は以前は主に米を主食としていた。The Japanese used to live mainly on rice
今日は主にホームレスの問題を取り上げます。 Today we’re going to focus on the question of homeless people
乗船客は主に日本人だった。 The passengers on board were mostly Japanese.
彼の病気は主に静止イン的な者だった。Su enfermedad era mas que nada mental.
主語(しゅご) El sujeto de la oración
主人公(しゅじんこう) main character
主題歌(しゅだいか) Theme song
主張(しゅちょう) Claim; to advocate for
彼は自分の主張を立証で来ないことをとても恥だ。He was very ashamed of not being able to make his point
彼は自分の意見を強硬に主張した。He strongly persisted in arguing his opinion.
太郎は自分の言い訳が正しいと主張した。Taro insisted that he was right
彼女はその土地の所有者だと主張した。She claimed to be the owner of the land
彼は自分の潔白を主張した。 He affirmed his innocence
客観的にみて、彼の主張は全く理にかなっていなかった His argument was far from rational
彼は大学教育の改革を主張している。 He advocates reform in university education
彼女は女性差別撤廃を主張した。She advocated equal rights for women
飼い主(かいぬし) Dueño de una mascota
主要(しゅよう) key; main; most important; most relevant
貧困は以前として犯罪の主要原因である。Poverty is still the major cause of crime
猫が気持ちを伝える主要なやり方は身震いである。The prime means of communication in cats is body language
主要な目的を見失ってはならない。No pierdas de vista to objetivo principal
コーヒーはブラジルの主要産物の一つである。 Coffee is one of the staples of Brazil
持ち主(もちぬし) portador
彼女はハイセンスの持ち主ですよ Ella es portadora un gran sentido de la moda
あなたほどの才能の持ち主が世間に知られずにいるのは惜しいことです。Es una pena, que un hombre que porta una habilidad como la suya no sea conocido por el mundo.
魅力的な個性の持ち主い Portador de una personalidad encantadora
彼はすごれた記憶力の持ち主。He has a remarkable memory
主義(しゅぎ) Principios; forma de pensar; -ism
主義を貫く Live up to one’s principles
嘘をつくことはワタ主義に反する。It is against my principles to tell a lie 悲観主義は、向上することを信じいないのだ Pessimism believes in no improvement
彼は利己主義の化身だ He is the personification of selfishness
私は交互に楽観主義になったり悲観主義になる I am by turns an optimist and a pessimist
共産主義(きょうさんしゅぎ) Comunismo
資本主義(しほんしゅぎ) Capitalismo
民主主義(みんしゅしゅぎ) Democracia
無政府主義(むせいふしゅぎ) Anarquía
封建主義(ほうけんしゅぎ) Feudalismo

守 cuidar

訓読み- まも
音読み- シュウ
ejemplos
守る proteger
守るべきもののために、負けられない
見守る(みまもる) look after someone; vigilar; cuidar
留守(るす) andar fuera de casa
友達は留守だった The friend was absent
彼女は九州に行って留守です。she’s away in kyushu
彼は旅行に出て留守だ。He's away on a trip.
留守番(るすばん) look after the house while someone is away
今日は私、留守番を言い付かっているから出かけられないの。I can't go out today as I've been asked to watch the house.
留守番電話(るすばんでんわ) Contestadora automática
看守(かんしゅ) Prison guard

州 State

訓読み- No importa tanto
音読み- シュウ
Ejemplos
カリフォルニア州(かりふぉるにあしゅう) El estado de california
本州(ほんしゅう) La isla principal de Japón
九州(きゅうしゅう) La isla del sur de japón

習 Tomar lecciones

訓読み- なら
音読み- シュウ
Ejemplos
習う(ならう) tomar lecciones; Aprender de alguien
あなたはロング先生に英語を習ったのですね。You learned English from Miss Long, didn’t you?
ピアノを習っています I’m learning to play the piano (from a teacher)
友達からカップケーキの作り方を習いました。Learned how to make cupcakes from a friend
練習(れんしゅう) Practicar
学習(がくしゅう) Aprendizaje
機械学習 aprendizaje automático
自主学習ノート Self-learning notebook

終 Invierno

訓読み- ふゆ
音読み- トウ
Ejemplos
冬休み(ふゆやすみ) Winter break
冬眠(とうみん) Hibernación

集 Colección

訓読み- あつ
音読み- シュウ
Ejemplos
集める(あつめる) Recolectar; coleccionar; to gather stuff
リスは忙しく木の実を集めていた。 La ardilla estaba ocupada recolectando nueces.
彼は切手をたくさん集めた el coleccionaba estampas
そのゲームは大観衆を集めた The game drew a good crowd
彼女の趣味は古いコインを集めることだった。 Su hobby era coleccionar monedas viejas
集まる(あつまる) se juntan; to be gathered
何千人もの人々がそこに集まった Miles de personas se juntaron en ese lugar
編集(へんしゅう) Editar (es lo que usan cuando editas stages de smash uwu)
集中(しゅうちゅう) Concentrarse. Casi siempre se refiere a concentración mental, pero también se puede referir a la densidad de algo
彼の仕事の大半が都市部に集中している。The bulk of his work is in the urban area.
太郎は英単語を暗記するのに集中した Taro concentrated on memorizing English words.
私は読書に集中していた Me estaba concentrando en leer
募集中(ぼしゅうちゅう) NOW HIRING

住 Residir

訓読み- す
音読み- ジュウ
Ejemplos
住む(すむ) Residir
東京に住んでいます。I live in Tokyo
おじと住んでます。I live with my uncle
住所(じゅうしょ) Address
住民(じゅうみん) Residentes
原住民(げんじゅうみん) Residente Nativo
住まい(すまい) dwelling

拾 pick up

訓読み- ひろ
音読み- シュウ
Ejemplos
拾う(ひろう) Recoger 彼は床からハンカチを拾った Recogió un pañuelo del suelo
収集(しゅうしゅう) Coleccionar
彼の趣味は珍しい蝶の収集だ。Su hobbies es la colección de mariposas raras
その収集品は一般に公開されている。The collection is open to the public
収拾つかなくなる(しゅうしゅうがつかなくなる) la situación se sale de control

重 peso

訓読み- おも・かさ
音読み- ジュウ
Ejemplos
重い(pesado)
重ねる(かさなる) acumular cosas del mismo tipo; Amontonar; Apilar
悪事を重ねる Amontonar crímenes
机の上には漫画本が重ねてあった The comic books were piled on the desk
重なる(かさねる) Se acumulan cosas de la misma categoría
この本は8版を重ねました The book has gone through eight editions
用紙は3枚重ねて出してください Hand in the three sheets of paper together
重要(じゅうよう) esencial; importante
吸うポーつうは社会生活の中で重要な役割を果たす Los deportes desempeñan un papel importante en la vida social
テレビは日常生活で重要な役割を果たす。La TV juega un rol importante in la vida diaria
体重(たいじゅう) Peso corporal; lo que pesa una persona
重点(じゅうてん) importancia; énfasis; priority
同社の当面の重点はマーケットシェアの拡大である The company's immediate priority is to expand the market share
討論での重点は失業問題であった In the discussion the accent was on unemployment
二重(にじゅう) double
この単語には二重の意味があります Esta palabra tiene doble significado.
このような形を二重否定といいますが、結果として肯定を表すこととなります This sort of structure is called a double negative, but in effect it shows affirmation.
普段はとてもおとなしいナイスガイだが、理性のタガがはずれると人格が豹変する二重人格。 He's got a dual personality - usually a quiet "nice guy" type, but when he flips, his character changes.
二重奏(にじゅうそう) Dúo musical

宿 Lodge at

訓読み- やど
音読み- シュク
Ejemplos
新宿区(しんじゅくく) The Shinjuku district
宿題(しゅくだい) Tarea; homework
宿泊(しゅくはく) Stay the night
6人宿泊させてほしい。We need accommodation for 6 people
そのホテルは500人宿泊できる。 This hotel can accommodate 500 people
スーはロイヤルホテルで宿泊手続きをした。Sue checked in at the royal hotel
ここに宿泊している人と話をしたいのですが。I’d like to talk to one of your guests.
雨宿(あめやどり) Taking shelter from rain
木陰であめやどりをした
下宿(げしゅく) boarding house
私は下宿しています。I live in a rooming house

訓読み- ところ
音読み- ショ
Ejemplos
所(ところ) Lugar. Puede usarse de forma literal o de forma metafórica. También se le acerca a como usamos la palabra “punto” en español
  1. Un punto geográfico donde algo se encuentra algo (un lugar) >彼女はここから数区画離れたところに住んでいる。 She lives a few blocks away from here
窓の外を見たとき、戸口の上り段のところに見知らぬ人が見えた。looking out the window, I saw a stranger at the doorstep
その町は海抜1500メートルのところにある。 The town is situated 1500 meters above sea level
野生の猿が見つかったという知らせがその警官のところにたくさん届いた。 llegaron muchos reportes de un mono salvaje al lugar de los policías.
  1. Un punto refiriéndose a una cualidad de una persona. >彼はどことなく謎めたい所がある。There’s something mysterious about him.
彼は若い頃は傲慢なところがあった。When he was young, he had an arrogant air.
  1. Un punto en el tiempo; Un punto de tu vida >家主に家賃を払えば、食物を買う金なくなる。進退極まったとうういうところだ。If we pay the rent to the landlady, we won’t have any money for food; we are between the devil and the deep blue sea.
彼女はディナーを食べている所です。She’s having dinner right now.
ちょうど荷造りが終わったとコッロですう。I’ve just finished packing
大ボスを倒す所だ。 I’m about to beat the biggest monster
場所(ばしょ) Un sitio. Un lugar que ocupa literal una posición en el espacio físico.
住所(じゅうしょ) Adress
事務所(じむしょ) Oficina
台所(だいどころ) Kitchen
近所(きんじょ) Neighbourhood
刑務所(けいむしょ) Prisión
長所(ちょうしょ) Virtud(en personas); ventaja (en cosas)
短所(たんしょ) Defecto; desventaja

訓読み- あつ
音読み- ショ
Ejemplos
暑い(あつい) Caluroso
蒸し暑い(むしあつい) Sultry; caluroso y humedo
炎暑(えんしょ) Heat wave
暑がり(あつがり) Person sensitive to hot weather

助 Ayudar

訓読み- たす
音読み- ジョ
Ejemplos
助ける(たすける) To save someone;
助けてください! ashudenme porfa uwu
助かる(たすかる) To be saved
助け(たすけ) Ayuda
彼は多数けを求める叫び声を聞いた。He hearrd a cry for help
助言(じょげん) Advice; Consejo
遠慮しないで助言を求めなさい。Don’t hesitate to ask for advice
教師は色々と助言をするが、生徒はいつも聞き入れるわけではない。Although teaches give a lot of advice, students son’t always take it.
救助(きゅうじょ) Rescate
この犬は山岳地で人を救助するように訓練されています。Este perro está entrenado para rescatar gente en las montañas
彼らは通りかかった船に救助された。Ellos fueron rescatados por un barco que pasaba.
彼rは溺れている少年を救助した。He rescued a boy from drowning
援助(えんじょ) aid/assitance
法律上の援助を求めてその弁護士のところへえ行った。I went to the lawyer for legal aid
彼らは援助を申し出た。They offered assistance
彼らはその画家を財政的に援助した。The assisted the painter financially
援助交際(えんじょこうさい) Relación de un sugar daddy con una joven.

昭 SHOWA

訓読み- No tiene
音読み- ショウ
Ejemplos
昭和時代(しょうわじだい) Era showa (1926-1989)
Ejemplos

消 Desaparecer

訓読み- き・け
音読み- ショウ
Ejemplos
消す(けす) Apagar; desaparecer
電気を消すのを忘れないで Don't forget to turn the light off
出るときには必ず火を消しなさい Be sure to put the fire out before you leave
消える(きえる) apagarse; desaparecerse
闇の炎に抱かれて消えろ! Be embraced by the dark flames and disappear!
消極的(しょうきょくてき) Passive
観察は消極的な科学であり、実験は積極的な科学である Observation is a passive science, experimentation an active science
消しゴム(けしごむ) Goma de borrar
消去(しょうきょ) To delete a file
セーブされたゲームは破損しているようで、利用できません。ゲームを終了した後、セーブデータを消去してからやり直してください。The saved game appears to be damaged and cannot be used. Please quit the game and then restart after removing the save data.
消防士(しょうぼうし) Bombero
消防署(しょうぼうしょ) Estación de bomberos

商 business

訓読み- あきな
音読み- ショウ
Ejemplos
商い(あきない) business transaction; trading; trade
商品(しょうひん)Mercancía
商店街(しょうてんがい) Shotengai; el mercado japonés
商売(しょうばい) A business
商人(しょうにん) Negociante; Vendedor
商業(しょうぎょう) Comercio

章 Sentence;Oración/Badge

訓読み- No tiene
音読み- ショウ
Ejemplos
文章(ぶんしょう) Sentence. Written document
文章は大文字で書き始めなくてはならない。 You must begin a sentence with a capital letter.
日本では結婚は文章で届け得なければならない。 The marriage must be reported in a document in Japan
その文章にはメモがクリップでつけられていた。 A not was attached to the document with a paper clip
腕章(わんしょう) Armband
勲章(くんしょう) Badge

勝 Ganar

訓読み- か・まさ
音読み- ショウ
Ejemplos
勝つ(かつ) Ganar
勝る(まさる) Sobrepasar; Ser mejor que; ser preferible
知恵は富に勝る Wisdom is better than the riches
予防は治療にはるかに勝る。 Prevention is much preferable to cure
二人の頭脳は一人の頭脳に勝る。Dos cabezas son mejor que una
勝ち(かち) Victoria;
勝利(しょうり) Victoria; triunfo; éxito (suena mas oficial/formal que 勝ち)
戦闘はローマグ運の大勝利に終わった。The battle ended in a triumph for the Romans
コーチはチームを勝利に導いた。 The coach steered the team to victory.
勝負(しょうぶ) competencia; match
ボブはスケートではきみといい勝負だ。Bob is a good match for you in skating
勝負は問題ではない。It doesn’t matter wether you win or not.
魔王が神に野球で勝負を挑んだ。El diablo retó a dios a una competencia de baseball.
勝手に(かってに) De forma desconsiderada; sin consideración
決勝(けっしょう) Batalla final; las finales (deportes)
優勝(ゆうしょう) Overall victory (even if you lost some games)

乗 To ride.

訓読み- の
音読み- ジョウ
Ejemplos
乗る(のる) subirse a un carro, caballo, autobus; to get on
サーファーたちは波頭に乗った. Surfers rode on the crests of waves
乗せる(のせる) to get a ride; to be put on
駅まで乗せて行ってもらえる Can you give me a ride to the station?
トッピングは全部乗せてください。I want all the toppings
乗せられるのは100キロがマックスです。A load of 100KG is the max
乗り遅れる(のりおくれる) To miss a ride
乗り換える(のりかえる) Transfer to a different train
乗客(じょうきゃく) Pasajero 乗り込む(のりこむ) entrar en un vehículo o situación; to get into
敵地に乗り込む entrar en territorio enemigo
搭乗(とうじょう) abordar un avión o un barco

植 Planta

訓読み- う
音読み- ショク
Ejemplos
植える(うえる) Plantar una planta
植わる(うわる) La planta es plantada
植物(しょくぶつ) Planta
移植(いしょく) Transplantar
母は庭へ花を移植した Mother transplanted the flowers to the garden
アメリカの文化はヨーロッパから移植されたものだ。 Thee American culture had been transplanted from Europe
彼は手術するかどうかは、移植する臓器の提供次第だ。 Wether he has the operation depends upon the avilability of the organ
外科医は私を説得して、臓器の移植手術をう受けることに同意させた。The surgeon persuaded me to undergo an organ transplant operation
植民地(しょくみんち)
その植民地は独立を宣言し、共和国となった。 The colony declared independence and became a republic
フランスはアフリカにいたくさん植民地を持っていた。 France used to have many colonies win Africa
植木(うえき) Garden shrubs

申 To humbly say; to apply

訓読み- もう
音読み- シン
Ejemplos
申します (もうします) forma humilde de decir 言う a un superior
申し訳ありません。No tengo excusas u_u (SORRY)
申し込む(もうしこむ) Aplicar
彼はそのクラブへの入会を申し込んだ。He applied for an admission to the club
彼はその会社に職を申し込んだ。 He applied for a position in the office.
申し込み(もうしこみ) Aplicación (para lugares donde quieres participar)
申し込みは明日まで受け付けます。Hasta mañana se aceptan aplicaciones
申請(しんせい) Application; Filing (Para documentación. Va a quedar un record de esto)
離婚を申請する To file for divorce
彼女はビザを申請した Ella aplicó para una Visa

身 SELF

訓読み- み
音読み- シン
Ejemplos
身(み) The Self.
酒で彼は身を崩した Alcohol brought about his downfall;
私主たる関心事はあなたの身の安全なのです。 My primary concern is your safety.
べっどん身を横えた。He laid himself on the bed
それはみにあまる光栄です。The honor is more than I deserve
身につく(みにつく) to become part of the self; to retain (a skill; habit, fat in your belly, etc…)
大丈夫。それが全部身についてもたったの70グラムだよ。It’s okay, even if I get fatter, it’s only 70 grams lol
身の程知らず(みのほどしらず) No conocer tu lugar en la sociedad. Tengo entendido que esto generalmente es negativo, como decir que una persona es “entitled”, pero he notado que NIKE lo usa de forma positiva en el sentido de (“olvida quien eres & just do it!)
自身(じしん) Confianza en uno mismo
出身(しゅっしん) Origen; orinario
その婦人は良家の出身であった. That lady came from a good family
ジョンはフロリダ、そして奥さんはカリフォルニア出身だ John comes from florida, and his wide from California.
身元(みもと) Identity
彼は身元を明らかさなかった。He didn’t reveal his identity
その犯人は自分の身元を隠さなければならなかった。The criminal had to conceal his identity
身長(しんちょう) Estatura. Height of a person
彼の身長は6フィートだ。
中身(なかみ) Contents
彼はコップの中身を飲み干した Se tomó todo el contendió del vaso
札入れの中身が紛失していた。El contenido de la billetera estaba desaparecido.
身分(みぶん) Social Status; position;
これは身分不相応な贅沢な物だ。This is luxury beyond my income
彼は身分のある人です。 He is a man of position
身分証明書(みぶんしょうめいしょ) ID Card

真 Really; truly

訓読み- ま
音読み- シン
Ejemplos
(真っ) Prefijo que intensifica adjetivos…
真っ赤(まっか) Rojo fuerte; really red
真っ白い(まっしろい) really white
真っすぐ(まっすぐ) straight
この道を真っすぐ行ってください。 Go straight ahead on this street
会議が終わると彼女は真っすぐに机に戻った。 After the meeting she went straight to her desk
彼は鉛筆で真っすぐな線を描いた。He drew a straight line with his pencil
彼は私の目を真っすぐみた。He looked at me straight in the eye
彼は真っすぐ僕うの方へ近づいてきました。He came straight up to me
真ん中(まんなか) En medio
私たちの車は通りの真ん中で故障した。Se nos descompuso el carro en medio de la calle
真実(しんじつ) The truth
真実を言う Decir la verdad
その陳述を真実と認める。 I accept that statement as true
真実と空言を区別するのは難しい。Es dificil distinguir la verdad de palabras vanas
真実に迫る(しんじつにせまる) Acercarse a la verdad
写真(しゃしん) foto
真似る(まねる) imitar
子供は親の癖を真似る Los niños imitan las mañas de sus padres
オウムは人間の言葉を真似る。Parrots imitate human speech

深 Profundo

訓読み- ふか
音読み- シン
Ejemplos
風かい(ふかい) deep
彼は深い眠りに落ちた。 He fell into a deep sleep
彼は両手をポケットに深くつ込んでいた。His hands were deep in his pockets
彼は深い恩義がある I am deeply in debt with him
その少女は老人の哀れな話にい深く感動しわっと泣き出した。 The little girl, deeply moved by the old man’s pitiful story, burst into tears.
深く潜ればもぐほど水は冷たくなる。 As we dive deeper, the water becomes colder
息を深く吸いなさい。 Take a deep breath
深める(ふかめる) to deepen
彼は生化学の知識を深めて。He deepened the knowledge of biochemistry
我々は親睦を深めた。We deepened our friendship
深まる(ふかまる) It gets deeper
心の傷は深まるばかり。The pain in my heart just gets worse
人は知識は深まるほど、自分の無知にきい月浮くものである。The more a man knows, the more he discovers his ignorance
彼らは親密さは年月とともに深まった。Their intimacy deepened throuugh the years.
親切(しんせつ) Considerate; kind
深刻(しんこく) grave; serious, severe, acute
大気汚染はこの国の深刻な問題だ。La contaminación del aire es un problema muy grave en de este país.
注意深い(ちゅういぶかい) Careful
彼女は衣料品を買うときは注意深く選択する。She makes careful choices when she buys clothes
注意深かったけれども、彼は思わぬミスをおかした。Careful as he was, he made an unexpected mistake.
私たちは一言も聞き漏らさないよううに注意深く聞いていた。We listened carefully in order not to miss a single word
興味深い(きょうみぶかい) Deeply interesting
人生はいかなる本よりも興味い深い Life is far more interesting than a book
彼女はとても興味深い人です。She’s a very interesting person
その映画は私達みんなにとって興味深かった。 The movie was interesting to all of us
深夜(しんや) deep at night

進 Progresar

訓読み- すす
音読み- シン
Ejemplos
進める(すすめる) yo progreso en algo (transitivo); to go ahead
その計画は進められている。 The project is underway
進む(すすむ) progresa solo (intransitivo)
彼は群衆を押し分けて進んだ。
ナポレオンは軍隊をロシアに進めた Napoleon marched his armies into Russia
さあ、みんな、先へ進もう Now folks, let’s go on
進化(しんか) Evolución
進み出る(すすみでる) To step forward
その勇敢なる騎士は進み出てその貴婦人の手にキスをする The brave knight steps forward and kisses the lady on the hand.
突き進む(つきすすむ) to push through

神 Dios

訓読み- かみ
音読み- シン
Ejemplos
神(かみ) Dios
神道(しんとう) Shinto Religion
神社(じんじゃ) Shinto shrine
精神(せいしん) Mentality; espíritu (no se refiere al concepto del alma que vive después de la muerte, sino a la mentalidad que uno tiene en vida). Cuando se habla de objetos se refiere a la esencia de esa cosa
私は持ち前の頑張りの精神で難関を突破した。I got over the difficulty with my characteristic tenacity.
条約の精神が没却されていた The spirit of the treaty was ignored
君は精神を養わなくてはならない You must cultivate your mind
スコットさんは企業家精神に富む経営者なんです。Scott is an entrepreneur with much spirit of enterprise.
神経(しんけい) Nerve
神経系(しんけいけい) Sistema Nervioso
神経細胞(しんけいさいぼう) Neurona
陣形質(しんけいしつ) Nervous
彼女は入試を前にして神経質になっていた。 She was very nervous before the entrance exam
彼女は初めての飛行に大変神経異質になっていた。 She was quite nervous about her first flight.
神経に障る(しんけいにさわる) Get on my nerves
その雑音は、私神経に障る that noise gets on my nerves
そいつは僕の神経にさわる He gets on my nerves
神経の鈍い(しんけいのにぶい) thick skinned
神経が細い(しんけいがほそい) oversensitive
神秘的(しんぴてき) Occult; mysterious
モナリザは優しいが神秘的な微笑を浮かべている。Mona Lisa has a mild but mysterious smile
彼らは夜の神秘的な影響の下にあった。They were under the mysterious influence of the night
彼女にはどことなく神秘的なところがある。There’s something mysterious about her.
夜神月 Yagami Light uwu

整 Arreglar

訓読み- ととの
音読み- セイ
Ejemplos
整える(ととのえる) alistar; arreglar
ケンは毎朝自分でベッドを整えます。 Ken arregla/alista su cama todas las mañanas
みゆきはパーティーのためにテーブルを整えた。 Miyuki arregló/alistó la mesa para la fiesta
髪を整えないと。Debo arreglarme el cabello
姉は毎週、かみを整えてもらう。My sister has her hair dressed each week.
セッティングは整えておいたから、あとはまっくんが根性見せなきゃダメだからね。I’ve set the stage so now you just have to show some guts, OK?
さあパーティーの準備が全て整いました。
整う(ととのう) ser arreglado
さあパーティーの準備が全て整いました。 Los preparativos para la fiesta están listos
整理(せいり) Ordenar por lógica
いつも仕事場をきちんと整理しておきなさい。 Always keep your office tidy
僕は出かける前に自分の本を整理する時間がない。 I have no time to put my books in order before I go
私は弟にこの部屋を整理させた。Hice que mi hermano organizara este cuarto.
これは私に思考の整理の思考の整理の仕方を教えることになった。 Ésto fue para enseñarme a organizar mis pensamientos.
整頓(せいとん) Ordenar para que se vea limpio/bonito
部屋はとても散らかっている。整頓しなくてはならない。Mi cuarto está muy desarreglado, debo ordenarlo
彼は今部屋の中でものを整頓している。 He is now setting things in order in his room
お手伝いが私ベッドを整頓した。 The maid made my bed.
教室を整理整頓するようにと命じられた。 It was ordered that the classroom be put in order
調整(ちょうせい) Ajustar; calibrar; afinar
時計を調整しなければ。遅れているのだ。 I must adjust my watch, it’s slow.
自転車のブレーキを調整してもらった I had the brakes of my bicycle adjusted
彼はクラリネットを調整してもらった。He had his clarinet tuned.
音楽のボッリュームを調整したいのですが。How do I fix the volume
整備(せいび) maintenance; dar mantenimiento
車はいつも整備しておきなさい。You should always keep your car in good order
整形(せいけい) Cirugía plástica

世 Plano

訓読み- よ
音読み- セ
Ejemplos
世(よ) Plano existencial.
この世 El plano terrenal あの世 El otro mundo; plano espiritual
世の中(よのなか) sociedad; el mundo en el que vivimos y nos desarrollamos
世界(せかい) Mundo en general
世の中は瞬く間に変わるだろう The world will change in an instant
世の中は狭いものですね。It's a small world, isn't it?
世間(せけん) lo mismo que 世の中 pero un poco mas formal
お世話(おせわ) Molestia; ayuda
大変お世話になりました Muchísimas gracias por tomarte la molestia en ayudarme
私が海外にいる間、彼が猫の世話をしてくれるだろう He will look after the cats for me while I'm abroad
お世話をする look after someone
お世辞(おせじ) Flattery
彼は私にお世辞を言った。 He paid me a compliment
お世辞位にはきをつけよう。 Beware of smooth talk
世紀(せいき) Century

昔 Tiempo remoto

訓読み- むかし
音読み- セキ
Ejemplos
昔話(むかしばなし) Historia folklóricaa
昔々あるところに Hace mucho tiempo en cierto lugar…
昔日(せきじつ) Older days
アメリカ合衆国の経済力は昔日のようではない。The economic strength of the USA is not what it used to be

全 Todo

訓読み- すべ
音読み- ゼン
Ejemplos
全く(まったく) Expresión usada por si sola para expresar descontento
全然(ぜんぜん) Para nada (con verbo negativo) - Completamente (con verbo positivo)
彼はグランスうごは全然知らないい。El no sabe nada de francés
それは焦げている臭いとは全然ちがう. It’s quite distinct from the smell of burning
彼はその事件とは全然関係がなかった El no tenía nada que ver con el caso.
全く(まったく ) Lo mismo que 全然 pero 全く es mas formal y no tiene ninguna connotación emocional.
全部(ぜんぶ) Todo; todas las partes; All of it.
全て(すべて) Lo mismo que 全部 pero すべて Es mas formal
全員(ぜんいん) Todos los miembros del grupo
全国(ぜんこく) nation-wide; the whole country

送 Enviar

訓読み- あい
音読み- ソウ
Ejemplos
送る(おくる) Enviar
放送(ほうそう) Broadcast
見送る(みおくる) See off
送り仮名(おくりがな) Okurigana; el kana escrito después del kanji
郵送(ゆうそう) Mailing
その手紙は明日郵送されるだろう。 The letter will be mailed tomorrow

相 Partner

訓読み- あい
音読み- ソウ
Ejemplos
相手 (あいて) Persona con la que haces algo. Compañero de baile, contrincante de pelea, con quien conversas, etc.
相変わらず(あいかわらず) As always
相談(そうだん) Consejo
相撲 (すもう) Sumo (Deporte)
相当(そうとう) Considerable; remarcable
彼らの結婚費用は相当な物だった。Their wedding expenses were considerable
それを発明した教授は大学から相当の対価を受ける權利がある The professor who invented it has the right to considerable remuneration from the university.
鳥の翼は人間のう腕に相当する。 Las alas del pájaro se consideran equivalentes a los brazos de un hombre

想 Imaginación; idea de un concepto

Ejemplos
訓読み- おも
音読み- そう
想像(そうぞう) Imaginación; concepción de una idea
彼らは日本といえば富士山を想像する。They often associate Japan with Mt.Fuji.
仮設のない科学など想像もできない。 We cannot conceive science without a hypothesis
彼は依頼人がどんな人なのか想像してみた。HE tried to imagine what his client was like
想像に任せる Leave something to someone’s imagination
想像に難くない Easy to imagine
予想(よそう) anticipar; expectativa; data-based guess; pronóstico
開票は予想した通りだ。Elections returns were what we had expected
離婚率は上昇すると予想されている。The divorce rate is expected to rise
結果は彼の予想とは正反対だった。 The result was contrary to his expectations.
感想(かんそう) Impresión
それの感想は? Que impresión te dió?
彼の新しいヘアスタイルについてみんな何か感想を述べた。Todos expresaron la impresión que tuvieron de su nuevo corte de cabello.
連想(れんそう) Mental association
彼女の顔を見るとバラが連想させる。Se me viene a la mente una rosa cuando veo su vara.
私たちは政治家というと偽善を連想しがちだ。We tend to associate politicians with hypocrisy.
私はこの歌を聞くと彼の名を連想する。I couple this song with his name
思想(しそう) Ideas; ideología
私は彼の思想うには与しない。 I don’t support his ideas
言葉は思想を表すのに役立つ。Las palabras sirven para expresar ideas.
思想の自由 Freedom of thoughts

息 Breath

訓読み- いき
音読み- ソク
Ejemplos
息(いき) Breath
鼻で息ができません No puedo respirar por la nariz
息子(むすこ) Son; hijo
休息する(きゅうそくする) descansar; darse un respiro
彼は短い休息の後、仕事を再開した。Reanudó su trabajo después de un corto respiro
ため息をつく(ためいきをつく) breathe a sigh of relief
息を引き取る(いきをひきとるう) Dar el ultimo respiro (morirse)
消息(しょうそく) Noticias de alguien o algo
年賀賞のおかげで私たちは友達や親戚の消息がわかる Gracias a las cartas de año nuevo, podemos saber de nuestros amigos y relativos
彼はは3年前に家を出たきり全然消息がない。Desde que salió de casa hace 3 años no se ha sabido de él
利息(りそく) Intereses de banco $$$

速 Rápido

訓読み- はや・すみ
音読み- ソク
Ejemplos
速い(はやい) Rápido
高速道路(こうそくどうろ) Highway
急速に(きゅうそくに) De forma rápida
砂漠の砂は夜になると急速に冷える。La arena del desierto se enfría rápidamente por la noche
速やかに(すみやかに) Apresuradamente
早速(さっそく) ASAP
速度(そくど) Velocidad
素速い(すばやい) swift (motion); sharp (judgement); quick (to understand). También se puede escribir 素早い.
ボクサーにはすばやい身のこなしがが必要だ。Los boxeadores necesitan reflejos rápidos
彼はロシア語を素早く習得した。He acquired Russian very quickly

族 Tribu

訓読み- No tiene
音読み- ゾク
ejemplos
家族(かぞく) Significa Ohana, lo cual significa familia, y tu familia nunca te abandona :’v
民族(みんぞく) Ethnic group, race
米国では多くの民族が生活うしている。Many races live together in the united states
コキリ族(こきりぞく) La tribu kokiri

他 Otro

訓読み- ほか
音読み- タ
ejemplos
他(ほか) Otro
そのほかのことならなんでもします。Haré todo menos eso
その他の点では正しい。It is otherwise correct
他人(たにん) Another person; others
他人を指すのは失礼なことです。Es de mala educación señalar con el dedo a otros.
他に(ほかに) In addition. Something/someone else.
その光景金額の他に、彼は私にまだ10ドルの借りがある。In addition to that sum, he still owes me ten dollars.
他に方法はありませんか。Is there any alternative to your method.
他に誰か休んでいたか Was anybody else absent.
日本では琵琶湖ほど大きな湖は他にない。 No other lake in Japan is as large as Lake Biwa
他方(たほう) The other
片方の本は薄く、他方は厚い。One book is thin, and the other is thick.

打 Dispararle; Darle

訓読み- う
音読み- No importa tanto
ejemplos
打つ(うつ) Darle (un balazo, un golpe, un madrazo, etc.
私はその男に腹を打った Le dí a ese hombre en el estómago
打ち上げる(うちあげる) Lanzar
ロケットは宇宙にう打ち上げられた El cohete fue lanzado al espacio
打ち勝つ(うちかつ) Superar
彼は自分の恐怖に打ち勝つことができる。El puede superar su miedo
彼は多くの困難に打ち勝った Ele superó muchas adversidades
新進ボクサーがチャンピオンに打ち勝った。 El nuevo boxeador superó al campeón
打ち負かす(うちまかす)
彼を打ち負かすのは不可能だ
どのチームも例外なく打ち負かされた Every team was defeated without exception
ケンはチェスで私を打ち負かした。Ken beat me at chess
打ち込む(うちこむ) Dedicarse; Clavar; darle duro; adentrarse
いたにくぎを打ち込んだ Clavó clavos en la tabla
彼女はsポーツに打ち込んでいる Ella está clavada en el deporte.
自分のことに打ち込みなさい Dedíquese a sus propios asuntos
打ち解ける(うちとける) Abrirse a otras personas
彼は従業員と打ち解けない。He is inaccessible to his employees
彼は打ち解けた He has come out of his shell
手を打つ(てをうつ) Dar una palmada; tomar medidas; darle
事態が悪化しないように即座に手を打った。We took action immediately so that things wouldn’t go worse.

待 Esperar

訓読み- タイ
音読み- ま
ejemplos
待つ(まつ) Esperar
期待(きたい) Expectation; Hope
待合室(まちあいしつ) Waiting room

第 Números Ordinales (Prefijo)

訓読み- No tiene :D
音読み- ダイ
ejemplos
第一(だいいち) Primero
第一位(だいいちい) First rank
第2話(だいにわ) Episodio 2
第7章(だいななしょう) Sépitmo capítulo (de un libro)
第二言語(だいにげんご) Segundo idioma

題 Asunto

訓読み- No Tiene
音読み- ダイ
ejemplos
題(だい) Titulo
この劇の題は「オセロ」です。El título de esta obra es “Othello”
「友情」とい題で作文を書きなさい。 Writee an essay on “friendship”.
「秘めたの恋」という題の作文で、メアリーは賞をもらった Mary received an award for her composition called “Secret Love”
問題(もんだい) Asunto; Problema, Cuestión
このような問題は扱いにくい。Such problem is hard to deal with
その問題は審議中です。Ese asunto está en discusión
その問題はまだ十分に探求されてうない。The subject has not yet been fully explored yet
センセ英達はその問題をめぐって賛否が分かれた。The teachers were divided on the issue
問題を取り上げる(もんだいをとりあげる) To take up a problem
問題を扱う(もんだいをあつかう) Deal with a Problem
問題を避ける(もんだいをさける) Avoid a problem
宿題(しゅくだい) Tarea (de la escuela)
宿題を遅れずに終えてホッとしている It’s a relief to have finished the assignment on time
宿題をしているうちに眠れこんでしまった。Me quedé dormido mientras hacía mi tarea
もう宿題を済ませたの。Ya acabaste tu tarea?
やっと宿題を仕上げた。 I finally worked through my homework
彼は夕飯の前に宿題を終えていた。He had his homework done before supper.
話題(わだい) Tema de conversación
話題を変える(わだいをかえる) Cambiar el tema de la conversación.

代 Periodo de tiempo

訓読み- か
音読み- ダイ
ejemplos
代わりに(代わりに) En lugar de; en vez de
石油の代わりにアルコールを使うべきだ。We should substitute alcohol for oil
このネバネバした流動体は接着剤の代わりになる El fluido pegajoso puede ser reemplazado por adhesivo.
その感は灰皿の代わりになる。Usaremos la lata en lugar del cenicero
そのラジオの代わりにライプライターをあげよう。Te daré mi maquina de escribir por tu radio.
私自身がいく代わりに息子に行かせます。I’ll get my son to go instead of going myself
その代わりに彼は自分のコンピューターを制御しているスイッチを操作した。 Instead, he worked a switch that controlled his computer
-代(だい) Contador para décadas
反抗的な態度は10代に特有なものである。 The defiant attitude is characteristic of teenagers.
トムは映画界にデビュウするとすぐに10代の若者の間で人気が出た。Tom se volvió popular entre adolescentes tan pronto hizo su debut en las películas.
メアリーは10代後半にアメリカ合衆国に渡った。Mary went over to the United States in her late teens
彼は老けて見えるが、まだ20代だ。Se ve viejo pero sigue en sus veintes
代金(だいきん) Precio; Cantidad ほんの代金を小切手で支払っても良いですか。Can I pay for the book by check?
彼はその場で代金を支払った。 He paid the money on the spot
ビデオの代金を5回に分けて払った。 Pagué por el video en 5 abonos
私は本の代金5ドルを払った。Pagué 5 dólares por el libro
-代(だい) Sufijo para gastos/cargos
毎月のガス代はいくらですか。How much is your monthly gas bill?
タクシー代は君と分担しよう。I will share with you the cost of the taxi
現代(げんだい) Nowadays; Hoy en día
古代(こだい) Ancient Times
時代(じだい) Época; Era
1990時代 Los noventas

対 Contra

訓読み- No importa tanto
音読み- タイ
ejemplos
に対して(たいして) Ante; contra
子供に対して短期を起こしてはいけない。No debes ser impaciente ante los niños
他人に対して優越感を持っては行けない。No te debes sentir superior ante otras personas.
彼は彼らに対して深い憎しみを抱いた。Desarrolló un odio profundo contra ellos
群衆は人種差別に対して抗議した。The crowd protested against racial discrimination
対(たい) Contra
メキシごが4対1で勝っている。Mexico va ganando 4 contra 1
賭け率2対1でレッドが勝つだろう。 The odds are teo-to-one that red will win.
絶対(ぜったい) Definitivamente; Absolutamente
絶対許さねぇ!NO TE LO PERDONAREEE
私はその案に絶対反対です。 Me opongo rotundamente a ese plan
審判の判定は絶対だ。La decisión del juez es definitiva.
アーア、絶対うまくいくと思ったのになあ Oh man, I was sure this was going to work out
反対(はんたい) Opuesto
対策(たいさく) Counter-measure
対策を講じる(こうじるをこうじる) Tomar medidas
交通事故の防止対策を講じなければならない。Debemos tomar medidas preventivas para evitar los accidentes de tráfico.
私ウイルス対策用ソフトウエアは不良品でした。 Creo que mi anti virus no sirve de nada

炭 Carbón

訓読み- No importa tanto
音読み- タン
ejemplos
石炭(せきたん) Carbón
二酸化炭素(にさんかたんそ) Dióxido de carbono

短 Corto

訓読み- みじか
音読み- タン
ejemplos
短い(みじかい) Corto (Longitud o tiempo)
その薬の結果は強烈だか短い Los effects de esa droga son intensos pero cortos.
ロープは、2〜3メーター短すぎた。The rope was a couple of meters too short
短所(たんしょ) Defecto
全ての人は長所と短所を持っている。Todas las personas tienen virtudes y defectos.
短期(たんき) Término corto
どんな語学も短期では無理だ。Whatever language you study, it takes time
短期契約社員達は予告なしに解雇された。The short term contract employees were dismissed without notice
手短 En pocas palabras; En breve
手短と言うと、君の悪いんだよ。En pocas palabras, es tu culpa
手短に意見を述べてください。 Please confine yourself to a short comment
短期(たんき) quick temper
彼は自分の短期でいつか困ったことになるだろう。His quick temper will get him in trouble one day.
子供に対して短期を起こしてはいけない。You shouldn’t be impatient with children
彼は彼の父親ほど短期ではない。He is less impatient than his father.

談 diálogo

訓読み- No tiene :D
音読み- ダン
Ejemplos
冗談(じょうだん) joke
相談(じょうだん) hablar con alguien para pedir su opinión de tu situación; consulta
私は姉に相談した。I consulted with my sister
依頼人は弁護士を相談した。El cliente habló con el abogado.
相談に乗る(そうだんにのる) give advice
いつでも相談に乗りますよ。You can count on me any time!
会談(かいだん) Dialogo entre personas importantes
平和会談は今週始まる。 The peace talks begin next week

着 weaarrive

訓読み- き・つ
音読み- チャク
Ejemplos
着る(きる) To wear. Nota: No see usa para sombreros ni pantalones. Para sombreros es かぶる y para pantalones y zapatos es はく.
下着(したぎ) underwear
着替えをする(きがえをする) Cambiarse la ropa
着物(きもの) Kimono :v
この黄色セーターを着てみませんか。Why don’t you try this yellow sweater?
彼女はかわいい水着を着ている。 She is in a cute swimsuit
昨日、何を着ていたか思い出せない。I don’t remember what I was wearing yesterday.
水着(みずぎ) Traje de baño
着く(つく) arrive; reach
彼らはたった今ついた。
私はあなたより先に駅に着くことができる I can beat you to the station.
私たちの列車は8時に大阪を出て、11時についた。 Our train Leeds Osaka at 8, arriving in Tokyo by eleven
私は毎朝9時に職場に着く。I report to work at 9 every morning
席に着く(せきにつく) Tomar asiento
到着(とうちゃく) Arrival! (Formal) Used by train stations, airports, etc.
到着が遅れます。I will be arriving late

注 Atención

訓読み- そそ
音読み- チュウ
Ejemplos
注ぐ(そそぐ) Vertir literalmente; metafóricamente vertir tus energías, tu amor, etc
私にお茶を少し注いで下さい Please pour me a little tea
彼は友人を助けることに全力を注いだ He invested his energies on helping his friend
子供に少し愛情を注いで見給え、すると君におびただしい愛情が戻ってくる Give a little love to a child, and you get a great deal back
降り注ぐ(ふりそそぐ) Rain incessantly
注意(ちゅうい) Tener cuidado; Advertir 注意 se usa mucho por si solo para decir CAUTION!
はしごを登るときには注意しなさい Be careful when you climb up the ladder
火のそばへ行かないようにって、何度注意したらわかるの。 How often do I have to tell you to keep away from the fire?
注意をひく(ちゅういをひく) llamar la atención
まず私注意を引いたのは哲学だった。La primera materia que llamó mi atención fue filosofía
彼女の美しい服が私注意を引いいた。Su hermoso vestido llamó mi atención
子供はただ注意をひきたくて泣くことが多い Children often cry just because they want attention.
注意を逸らす(ちゅういをそらす) Distraer
突然音がして彼らはゲームから注意をそらした。A sudden noise abstracted their attention from the game
注文(ちゅうもん) Pedido
朝食のメニューの中から注文してもいいですか。 Can I order from the breakfast menu?
私たちは、新しい本を何冊か海外に注文した We ordered some new books from abroad
私はその本がとても好きだったので友人のために10冊注文した I liked the book so much I ordered ten copies for friends.
私は電話でピザを注文した。Pedí una pizza por teléfono
注文をキャンセルしますので、キャンセル確認書をお送りください。Por favor cancele mi orden y mande confirmación de la cancelación.
注目(ちゅうもく) Prestar atención; Dar atención conscientemente. Nota: diferencia de 注意, 注目 no tiene el feeling de CUIDADO.
彼の言っていることに注目した I focused on what he was saying
姉は注目すべき英語の進歩を遂げた My sister has made remarkable progress in English
この本は注目に値する This book is worthy of attention
注目されている映画 - A movie people are paying attention to / a movie people are discussing / a hot new movie
注目を集める draw attention
奇術師は子供たちの注目を集めていた The magician had the children's attention

柱 Pilar

訓読み- はしら
音読み- チュウ
Ejemplos
柱(はしら) Pilar; Columna como de edificio griego
電柱(でんちゅう) Poste de luz

帳 Notebook

訓読み- No tiene :D
音読み- チョウ
Ejemplos
手帳(てちょう) Notebook
電話帳(でんわちょう) Directorio telefónico
几帳面(きちょうめん) Metódico
彼は几帳面な男だ。He is a methodical man
submitted by Zalogon to KanjiEntendible [link] [comments]


2019.05.22 01:29 danl999 The Chaotic World of Sorcerers

This stuff works as Carlos promised. For the hecklers out there who've been saying he's a fake since he died, what were you doing all that time? Yoga postures? Buddhist acts of servitude?
Obviously you weren't practicing Carlos' techniques, or you would have noticed it actually works.
What we imagine it'll be like, that's the part that's probably not true. So keep that in mind while reading the chaos described in these notes, taken from that link recently posted in the workshop notes thread. Don't let the chaos give you any doubts.
It's just interesting.
I never heard the witches being this chatty, but I guess it was because when they attended private classes, they were not the featured speaker. Carlos was.
Note: I heard a rumour from one of the women in the classes that Carol Tiggs was in a mental institution for 10 years. I really didn't think much of it at the time, but now I wonder if that doesn't correspond to don Juan taking her away, as mentioned in these notes.
We still don't know what happens to the Tonal body when we switch worlds, and there's talk of needing another sorcerer to protect your body while you're in dreaming. But then, we also don't know why Carlos gathered up so many women, and whether he put them up to saying some of the things they did. Also, he liked to weave events and names in this world, to those in his books. I think it was an act of intending. Or maybe giving that person a hook to help them out.

***************************************
Report on the Tensegrity Workshop held May 19-21 in Mexico City.

A Tensegrity seminar was given this past weekend in Mexico City (19-21 May) at the Sheraton Maria Isabel hotel in the heart of the city thethree Chaacmools were present along with Florinda, Taisha and Carol Tiggs. The event draw 1,000 people. and it consisted of three evening talks (fridayCarol, Saturday Taisha and Sunday the event was closed by Florinda), and two tensegrity sessions one on saturday for 500 people and another session on sunday for the other 500 people. This sessions started at 9 am and ended at 6 pm following the conferences at 8 pm.

To keep the reports short i'm going to start with the event that took place on friday 19th which corresponded to Carol Tiggs talk. The bigballroom that was rented at the hotel for the ocassion was packedfull with over a thousand people because they let in people without tickets this day. The gruop (Florinda, Taisha, Carol, Kylie, Renata, Nyei and a couple more associates) arrived at 8:30 Carol and a translator sat on the stage and the others remained in the first two rows wich were reserved for them just in front of the stage. Carol started the talk presenting herself to the people and then recited a 'poem' in spanish and then in english wich draw everybody's attention and it went something like this:

Give me god what you still have
Give me what no one asks you for
i dont ask you for health or for success, not even for help
people ask you for all that so often, that you can
not have anything left
Give me god what you still have
Give me what people refuse to accept
i want insecurity and disquietude
i want hardship and strugle with no end
and if you should give them to me... god
give them to me once and for all
cause i will not always find the courage
to ask you for what you still have.

Then she spoke about when she first meet CC at the Alameda park in Mexico City and how DJ hooked her first with a loud 'burp' and then withhis eyes, and let her know that she was a 'double' woman and that CC was energetically the same as her. Then she told us about her disappeareance for more than tenyears from this world and she saud that for her it had been like a dream but that time lost it's significance during that event. "When i was back from these place i found myself in Tucson Arizona ten years later it was hard for me even to recognize the place but i'm sure that DJ knew beforehand that this was going to happen because he made me hide plastic packs with money in different parts of this and other towns wich at the time seem to be absurd for me but at this moment i understood perfectly, so i went and retreived one of these packs and with tis money i went to L.A. and lurked there for a while like in a zombie state until i found out that CC was going to give a lecture at the Phoenix bookstore at Santa Monica and i went and CC saw me and he talk for two hours without knowing what did he said because he was asttonished of seeing me there."

"Carlos and i used to find ourselves in dreaming laying in a bed naked in a strange room, there was also this little girl that cameinto the room shouting not again mami' when things were getting out of hand in this wierd world Carlos had me jump into the bed and shouted 'twirl Carol twirl', and both started twirling and twirling until wewoke up in our bed"

(She also mentioned an american actor from the 30's or 40's who smoked apipe and this character became a regular also in that world where she and CC went in dreaming. this old man wich spoke with a special accent used to call Carol "honey" and also used to call Carlos "shorty")

"..like any other visit to this world it started when we found ourselvesnaked in that bed, suddenly we heard someone coming, carlos got himself inside a closet that was in the room, he wanted to hide from whoever was coming but he was not able to shut the door closed from the inside. At that moment the little girl came into the room shouting as ever 'not again mami', she went directly to the closet and shut the door closed right on carlos's nose. At that moment i heard the footsteps of the old man with the pipe, he entered the room and said "whats up honey", i noticed that he had a newspaper in his hand and i became intrigued with it, i tried deperately to catch a glimpse of it trying to figure out in what language was it written or what was the date on this publication, i knew that Carlos will be very interested in this newspaper because since he is scientifically oriented he would love to corroborate whatever info from this world in "our real world". so i dont know where i got the nerve to snatch the paper from his hand as the old man was leaving the room and hurried to lay it flat on the bed to see its contents. There were color pictures of people but when i fixed my attention to the text i noticed that the characters where not the alphabet we use, they where some sort of "symbols" like spirals, triangles and circles. i was so excited that i wanted Carlos to see it so i went to the closet to let him out but i noticed that there was no door knob or anything to open it i started to get anxious that the oldman would come back when i heard Carlos voice comming from inside the closet instructing me about a dark spot on the floor that i had to step on, i looked down at the floor and i saw the dark spot wich looked like a button, i steped on it and the door opened and Carlos jumped out with feline agility. i showed him the newspaper and he was perplexed all he told me was "this is real Tiggs... this is real" we heard footsteps again and we jumped into the bed and started to twirl like the other times until we woke up in our beds."

"... in order to get in and out of these "other worlds" one must be verysober and in control because if you "hooked" to something in that world (like the newspaper) you will be lost in that world cause you will forget from where you come from and you will end up living and dying in this world. that is why the path of the warrior needs to be impecable because when you become a "navegante" (navigator) you can not afford any mistake. This world was very similar to ours because people also got old and died. actually we saw the little girl grow up."

Carol also revealed that CC is writing another book when she said that"Carlos is naming a chapter of the book he's now writting The return of Carol Tiggs"

"...energetically CC and i have been very distant for the past three years, some time ago Carlos made an energetic jump and maybe thisis what has kept us apart (energetically), but three weeks ago i again woke up in this strange world....."

"...we are (energetically) a strand of energy that is cyclic and it expands through the diferent worlds (which are like the layers ofan onion) and it seems that in this other layer of the onion we (CC and Carol) have found a couple of beings that share this other world as we share this world, and wesee ourselves in this world like humans but this is due our tendency to "anthropomorphisize" but maybe the creatures on this world have a different mold than ours, the point is that our "perception" goes with us even when we go to other "layers of the onion""

She ended her lecture reading the poem again in english and in spanish.

Dios dame lo que aun te queda
Dame lo que nadie te pide
Yo no te pido riquezas ni fortuna
ni siquiera te pido salud
La gente te pide todo eso tan seguido
Que tu ya nada de esto debes tener
Dios dame lo que aun te queda
Dame lo que la gente no quiere aceptar
Quiero inseguridad y desasosiego
Quiero privaciones y lucha sin fin
y si me das todo esto... Oh Dios
Damelo ahora de una vez
porque no siempre tendre la fortaleza
para pedirte lo que aun te queda.

This day the tensigrity workshop got started for half of the people enrolledin the workshop (total of 1,000) it consisted of one morning session from 9am to 1:30pm hours and an afternoon session (3:30pm-6:00pm) for review of the exercises thaught in the morning session. the chacmools arrived alone (Florinda droped in later just to watch) and started a series of warming up exercises and then begun teaching 14 new passes which they said "where specially intended for the peolple who lives in the valley of mexico at this particular time". when people started asking questions about this matter Kylie responded with the next story. "...life is like a river with cristaline water people keep on picking up the stones at the bottom of the river and treasure them without knowing that the most precious part of it is its water wich can not be held or kept all you can do is flow with it..."

"...the water is the Nagual and the stones are the Tonal we must learn to let the Tonal in its place so we can go with theNagual.." after this story people gave a good thought before asking a question. the 14 passes shown were:

1- Using Energy with the Foot
2- The Gate to Stars
3- The Gait of Power
4- Defining the Width of the Energy Body
5- Circle Within a Circle
6- Axing the Energy
7- Up and Low Blow of Energy
8- Amassing Energy
9- The Energy House
10- Storing Energy
11- The Animal Step
12- The Pyramid of Energy
13- The Sorcerers Breath
14- The Sorcerers Window

They finished the afternoon session with a superb performance of four parts of the "tensigrity of affection" by Reni and Nyeimurez.

Evening talk by Taisha Abelar.

When seers "see" they see that "stalkers" have like a "chal" of luminous fibers hanging down from their shoulders,and "dreamers" look like if they had a "hawaiian skirt" of luminous fibers hanging down from their waist.... i am a "stalker". My teachers were a woman named Clara and a man called Emilito, inorder to start my apprenticeship i had first to stop the "voladores" (flyers) from eating my awareness. Don Juan used to say that as we humans keep the chickens in "gallineros" (henhouses) the voladores keepthe humans in "humaneros" to do the same thing that we do to chickens.... acording to the old nahual (DJ) when we are born our luminous egg shines brightly with the light of awareness, but as we grow old and enter thesocial world creatures that share our world called by the "seers" the "voladores" feed of our awarness until they only leave that shine in our luminous egg to the height of our heels (so, they eat us down toour heels), DJ said that this awarness is enough for living in the social world because it is the awarness of self reflection. the problem for the man of knowledge is to find a way to stop the "voladores" from eatingwhatever new awarness grows on top of the heels (because,yes it does grow back). This awareness is so easily eaten by the voladores because of self-pity and a "poor-baby" kind like attitude towards life and ourselves,so one way to stop the "voladores" is thru disciplined acts like recapitulation and tensegrity. by doing these disciplined acts we generate a kind of awareness that is not the kind of what the voladores like so nowyou can begin to grow your awareness past your heels without worry that the "voladores" will "eat" it as long as you behave impecably as a warrior.

Carlos is always on the look for people that have developed their awareness past their heels, and one day somebody told him that there it was a"guruess" (a woman guru) that lived in LA and that was very popular and had "lots" energy and was having success recruiting many people for meditation. Carlos took the three of us (Carol, Florinda and I) tosee this woman, and when we "saw" her we noticed that his awareness was just like everybody else the brightness was only up to her heels, the only different thing that we "saw" was that thiswoman had a larger than normal assemblage point and this resulted on a big big EGO that made her into an egomaniac so that she could belive and also make others belive that she had powers of "enlighting" people. (then with the help of Kylie, Taisha showed a picture of a "volador" taken at the Teotihuacan piramids during the equinox ceremony last year by a friend of theirs. it looked like a human like flying shadow on top of the crowd). This is a particular good place for "voladores" to feed because it is filled with "self-importance" because everybody there is feeling that "his/her energy" is been used to who knows what "saving the world" purpouse. Or maybe they feel so important because they are the receptacles of the "cosmic energy" that is sent by the gods through the heavens to the "choosen ones" that are there for the taking. Also other good places to find "voladores" are funeral homes where people gatter to indulge in self-pittyness and "poor-baby" attitude, is not their fault is just the way it is. Thats why when we come across a situation like this we must be "aware" (through the continuos practice of recapitulation) of what is going on, and not fall prey of our own "self-importance" or "self-pitty", which will make us vulnerable to the "voladores". Thats why we do not need rituals, "cleansings", "protections", "amulets", "talismans", etc. The best possible protection and offering to the spirit that you can make is to get rid of your "self-importance" and to follow and impecable path "a path with a heart" (un camino con coraz 'n).

I lived in the top of some trees at the sorcerers house for two years aspart of my training as a stalker. The stalker is a master on the fixation of the assemblage point into a different place. When you sleep the AP moves naturally, but unless you start "dreaming", for which you need to store some energy through the techniques we've already mentioned, you will not be aware of this movement. Now after you are aware that your AP has moved in order to get advantage of its new position you need to fix it there, and that's stalking. When i lived up in the trees one of the most unusual things that moved my AP to a new position was the fact that i lost the reference point of the "horizon" all i could perceive was the folliage and the sky, the ground was always "down" whereas we normally move when we are stuck to the ground in a four directions system, living in the top of the trees you enter a six direcctions moving system because i was not allowed to touch the ground this made my AP to move and to be fixed in a new position. The AP as the "seers" see it has a brilliant side which in men is oriented towards the outside of the "luminous egg" and in women this bright side of the AP is pointing inward. Due to my living in the top of the trees my AP started to twist outward to man's orientation, when DJ "saw" that he made me do another stalking in order to correct this. He sent me to live to a mexican town where Nelida lived as a whealthy high society woman very well know in this town, i was to became its niece which came to live with her to find a husband. So they thaught me everything about being "femenine", the art of make-up, cooking, good manners, knitting, dancing, to play the piano and even i had french lessons. We used to go to all of the high-society parties and i was displayed as a well educated girl in search of the right man, until one day after six months of arriving to this town i meet a excomunicated priest that was havin deep emotional troubles and all that occurred to me was to hung him from a tree to try to help him. This was a big scandal in town so DJ "saw" that it was time to change the strategy and he told me that since i still wanted to have "everybodies attention" he was going to set a stalking for me that will either cure me or will kill me so he set me up to be a beggar. They started by changing my nice white dress for a "rag" then they put all kind of sticky things in my hair, i remember that emilito came with the idea of putting chewing gum in my hair while Nelida put grease on my skin so i will look darker and dirty. After they had "dress me" to be a beggar DJ called a woman called "Alfonsina" which was a beggar in town he told her that i was crazy and that they could not have me any more with them so DJ gave this woman some money and told her to take care of me. I left with this woman and i remember she told me "you don't seem to talk much eh...that's good i think that we will get along fine..." so we arrived at her home and i was terrified it was the worst dirtiest and smelliest place i ever saw. she lived in a 6 by 6 room made of cardboard and tin, on the dirt floor there where two "petates" ((straw mats)) crawling with insects it was so horrible that i was compelled to leave. I ran to the house but when i got there the servants told me that everybody had gone to a long trip, but that it might be possible to still find them in downtown. I inmediatelly ran to downtown and to my relief i saw Nelida's car stoped in a corner waiting for the red light to change, i got to the car and saw DJ who was driving and begged him to let me off this crazy stunt, i told him that i did not wanted to be a beggar and that all this was going too far that alfonsina's house was a "shit-hole" and that i did not wanted to spend a night in there. DJ looked at me with fixed eyes and told me that it was the design of the spirit for me to do that so that i either succeded or i will not see any of them again, he reached into his pocket and threw me a coin and said "go and find what you have to find and you will see that people will give you their money but they will despise you for what you are, but there's always the other side of the coin if you find somebody that really cares for you then you will have succeded in your task, and you will learn not to be seeking attention for yourself anymore". The light changed and they left, i stood there at the main plaza thinking that i had no option but to go back to alfonsina and play the roll of a beggar impecably without any expectation or concern on when it is going to end or what is going to happen, i was prepared to be a beggar for the rest of my life if that's what the spirit wanted for me. I arrived to alfonsina's house, she was kneeling down in front of the wood stove and was preparing some corn "tortillas" to eat without saying a word she handed me a "tortilla" and i sat down quietly and started to eat. Since we were in a small town i needed to have a history behind me so this is what alfonsina told the people. I was her crazy daughter that used to live in the big city with her father but know the father died and they sent me with her. So i started calling alfonsina "mama" and everyday i came back to the house i will say "hello mama this is what i collected today" and i gave alfonsina everyday whatever i got from the day of begging. Life was hard as a beggar i had to fight other beggars for a good corner to beg. Alfonsina told me that the best places to beg were outside restaurants or sport clubs (gyms), she said that when people is well eaten or well exercised they will give to the poor, also she said that churches were not good places because people already gave to church and that they would prefer to give to the church than to the beggars. Alfonsina also thaught me to carry always a small pack of wood to use it as a shield when i was attacked by other beggars because i was invading their territory, this little pack of wood happened to be very useful for this purpouse. I always liked to go to church, not to beg but to see a very beautiful woman that came everyday, she had something that draw my attention to her. As i became more in depth with my beggar roll i started to hear "people's thoughts" and i could hear thing happening block from where i was. One day i was begging outside church and this beautiful lady came out and spoke to me, she wanted to take me to her home to wash me and to give me clean clothes, but i refused for somtime until want day i remembered what DJ told me about "genuine concern" an i accepted to go to her house. The lady inmediatelly put me into the shower and got rid of the rags i was wearing. As water started to fel in my body and the dirt disapeared from my skin the lady was horrified to the fact that i was a "white girl" she screamed "what have they done to tou !", i was spechless, the lady then gave me a "cardigan" dress and a big sum of money and told me to go back to wherever a came from but to get off the streets. I went back to alfonsina and handing her the money i told her as always "mama, mama look what i collected today". When she looked at me she fainted, when she got back she said "you've been touched by an angel". She became ill and i took her to Nelida's house. There i found DJ, Nelida and all the others. Nelida took alfonsina to her bedroom to give her attention. I stayed at the living room with DJ, i was anxious about what was going to hapen to alfonsina because at that time i knew that i loved her, unconditionally, up to this time i did not know what love was. I tried to relay this to DJ but it seemed that he already knew my feelings and he told me that i had succeded in my task and that i dont needed to go with alfonsina anymore, that alfonsina had a daughter that loved her truly, but to alfonsina this daughter had died today. At this time i knew that in the sorcerers world things come and things go and one has to flow without attachments.

Guillermo.
To: The Ixtlan Mailing List
Date: 95-05-25 02:09:41 EDT

Here is a description of some tensegrity stuff taught at the Mexico City workshop. Kylie and the cousins taught us 20 exercises. She told us that:

(1) Tensegrity should be done every day but should not be made into a routine. The practitioner should apply extreme concentration but should not permit the exercises tobecome routine. She said that doing something repeatedly does not necessarily make it a routine. If you practice assiduously, you will move beyond the need to do them in any order, ever. She said this was one of thecontradictions (paradoxes) of sorcery. She also played on the theme that you start everything in sorcery by doing it formally and then you drop that formalism and move into *fluidity* both mentally and practically. This themewas expressed indirectly throughout the workshop and apparently applies to just about every concept in sorcery.

(2) the order of the exercises is important (to beginners) and was established by CC just prior to the workshop. The order expresses a particular *intent* designedspecially for the people of mexico city. They said to do the exercises in order, even if you have to stop your session and restart later (pick up where you left off). Kylie says that CC can sense what the proper intent ought tobe for the particular group of people in question, and designs the order of exercise for them.

(3) Kylie said that the witches *saw* that the combination of Tensegrity, Recapping and Intent practiced by the CMs, had moved their APs down their backs, around in front,and up inside their bodies (she pointed with her hand to demonstrate the path it took). She said that when the AP is at that position (i.e. inside the body), that any previous damage to the luminous body such as holes, "isunimportant". This plays on the theme that we don't need to worry about some of the images the old nagual gave us (like children leaving holes in our bodies etc.).

(4) Kylie said that we are "each on a solo journey" - you have your fight just as each of us has our fight.

(5) It is impossible [for any of us] to feed off other people's energy.

(6) You only recap what you want to get rid of. Recapping is a very individualistic practice.

(7) We [chacmools] don't want to give advice, we only want to tell you what we've seen.

(8) Intent is a force, Freedom is the goal.

(9) Children should practice Tensegrity. (I personally think this is a great idea.)

(10) always wear shoes, don't do Tensegrity outside. Sorcerer's *see* stuff "going up into the body" from the ground (like "bacteria" and such).

(11) CC is compelled to help everybody if he can.

(12) Kylie took about a dozen questions related to details of the movements. She patiently explained over and over again that the point of doing the exercises is to focusyour attention intensely, and to gain the moments of inner silence that come with that. Most of the details, about starting with the left foot or the right foot or how many breaths to take etc etc are not really very important.

Here is the list of movements:

  1. Shoulder movement warmup
  2. Arm swing warmup

3) Hip thrust warmup

4) Neck warmup

5) Ankle movement (hop) warmup

6) Fluidity Foot version 1

7) Fluidity Foot version 2

8) Stellar Hatch
This is an interesting movement that I had not seen before. You visualize a ball ofenergy between your feet which you pull with your eyes until it "hooks" on your chest. Then you look up as the ball rises until it hits the top of your personal energy region. You want to let the ball out of yourpersonal sphere so that it can travel to the stars and return with "abstract energy". So you slice a hole in the top of your personal energy region and unscrew the "hatch". The ball travels out to the starsand then returns to "splash" all over the back of your neck. You breath in the energy, then screw the hatch closed. Then you allow the ball to go back into the earth where it came from.

9) Step of Power
Exaggerated stepping motion while keeping the weight on one leg and raising the knee high and"stepping" forward to touch the heel and then stepping backwards to touch the toe. Done for each leg a number of times.

10) Drawing the Width of the Energy Body
Exaggerated circle with the foot extending well to the front and thensliding all the way around back while keeping the weight on the other leg.

11) Making the Circle Within the Circle
Making small circles with one foot while balancing the weight on theother leg. Clockwise and then Counterclockwise with each foot and then for each leg.

12) Axing Energy
An interesting martial-arts-style strike. Clap the hands together and hold. "Axe"the air starting at your right shoulder and going to the left hip. Continue holding the hands and make a large CCW circle (holding hands) and end at the right side of the chest. Then "strike" straight ahead at solarplexus level holding the hands clasped. Actually, this would be a better block than a strike I guess.

13) Slap/Hit
A sort of highly modified palm strike at head level followed by a slap straight down ending asthough hitting a table at mid-body level. Done with alternating hands in rapid succession.

14) Amassing Energy

15) Little House of Energy

16) Storing Energy

17) Pawing like a Bull
(this is not their name for it) � Just push your feet back along the ground as though you were a bull about to attack the matador.

18) Pyramid of Energy

19) Sorcerer's Breath

20) Seer's Window
(I don't speak spanish but itsounded like "Las Ventana de Vidente") � This was a very cool movement. Imagine you are a mime and you are surrounded by a soft clay barrier that is preventing you seeing the unknown (the abstract). You want toform a window in the clay with your hands so that you can peer through it into the unknown. You start with a large circular motion of both hands which finishes with a movement like you are spreading a rolled up paper on a tableto form the window sill. Then you form the outside of the window box sides by moving your hands, palms facing each other, slowly, straight up and down about 8 inches apart, three times (if you want a bigger window hold yourhands farther apart ). Then flip each hand one at a time so that the palms are facing opposite directions and form the inside of the window box sides by sliding your hands straight up and down three times slowly. Thenflip your hands palm up and raise your arms, move your hand back and forth to smooth out the upper part of the window box. Then put your hands on the window sill and lean forward slightly and peer out. When Kylie does this shelooks like she is actually leaning on a window sill. Then relax for a moment in the standing position and yell INTENT! 9 times. Or if you speak spanish, you yell Intento, Intento, Intento ...

Mark
P.S. Kylie said that a new video would be available Monday.
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2018.07.15 05:34 ASavageLost El Callao: A Story of Love, Murder and Cocaine in the Streets of Peru. Part One

So at the risk of putting something out there that some may have already read, I'm submitting this. Hopefully everyone's cool with that. It's a story that I like and like to share, but it's been a while, and I've never shared it on opiates.
El Callao, Peru
Summer 2008
Getting bludgeoned to death isn't as fun as it sounds. The thought occurred to me as my own brutal death unfolded one night under a street lamp. Most people come to that conclusion without taking things that far, but I never was that kind of person.
To the locals I was a drug-addicted American in a place he didn’t belong, doing things he ought not, and getting exactly what he asked for. El Callao is a port well known for its violence. I turned 22 in the three months that I lived there, and no one knew my name. They just called me gringo.
Six men chased me through eight lanes of traffic and I fell twice before they caught me. A pair of work boots and dirty tennis shoes shuffled and twisted for leverage on the pavement in the dim street light between unforgiving cracks of something heavy against the back of my skull. It is a gruesome thought to be beaten to death with rocks. I wanted my mother. I wanted to apologize, but it was over now. Life never flashed before my eyes, only shame as I lost my bowels.
Before I ever moved to El Callao there was a guy in Tarapoto named Luis, who I spent a lot time with. He helped me get my cocaine and went on missions with me to the bar for women, who we usually brought back to my hotel room two at a time. He came to see me off at the airport, and I kept asking him if I was being set up. There were imaginary men in tactical gear hiding in the airport’s bushes that terrified me. I did my last line of cocaine in the bathroom and tried to use the urinal, but my focus was on the window. Police would pour into the bathroom any second and arrest me. An old janitor made sexual advances as I tried to pee, but I wasn't interested and peered over my shoulder.
Luis sipped a beer in the restaurant while I downed a pint bottle of liquor. He assured me there was no ambush coming, but I didn't believe him. It was the last time I saw him, and the last light of dusk faded into night through the airport windows as I walked up to the ticket counter.
"Are you going to be okay to fly, Senor Chapman?" The freckly faced girl asked me in Spanish with a look of doubtful concern. Her company uniform and elegant bun made her look smart. I smelled drunk.
"Yes, ma’am."
"So, no problems on the flight?"
"None."
"Very well." Her eyes rolled. She stamped my ticket and directed me to the security checkpoint.
Toward the end of the flight, a lady next to me struck up friendly conversation. She and her sister in the seat next to her lived in Lima and were delighted to know that I was American. I talked and stared indifferently at the light of the city glowing beneath the clouds. Didn't she realize that I smelled like alcohol? The effects of cocaine faded. Her offers for me to stay at her house and meet her family proved that she did not know me or what I was about.
Outside of the airport's automatic sliding doors, the night air was cool on my face, and the cherry of my Caribe cigarette glowed red as I drew in smoke. A blanket of grey clouds sat low over the city buildings. Three hundred soles are 100 U.S. dollars, and it was all I had except for my backpack with some notebooks, my passport, and the clothes I wore.
A short, light-skinned man in his black taxi uniform solicited me for a ride, but cocaine and a cheap room close to the airport were all I was interested in, so he pointed me to his slightly fatter workmate. I paid 14 dollars for a couple OF grams and $7 more for a room at Hostal Dax, on Dominicos Avenue and Tomas Valle.
Bustling streets between dilapidated buildings drew me in. El Callao had a peculiar allure. It was real. I identified with its pain. Day-to-day life continued without looking up to acknowledge me as a visitor. There was nothing for gringos there, and no one spoke English. Across Tomas Valle from Hostel Dax, the smoke of cooked animal fat filled the air as women sold beef anticucho. Other ladies sold rice pudding in the evenings. Mototaxis and their drivers waited patiently in line for fares and read newspapers. Vendors sold candy and cigarettes. Every window and home entrance hid behind steel cages, most businesses, too.
Only a few blocks away, in the quieter neighborhoods, boys dressed as women sold themselves after dark. Broken glass and rocks covered the ground. Some houses were pieced together with adobe and sheet metal. Rebar stuck out of most buildings, and others seemed to melt into puddles of earth-toned rubble. Smog stained everything in a layer of soot. There were piles of stinky refuse on the sidewalks. Unintelligible graffiti decorated storefronts and homes. Somewhere in the bleak cityscape, my own death cried out to me from a street corner. The smell was exhilarating. I wanted to dance. I was there to play.
It wasn’t all bad though. The construction was cheap compared to the U.S., but many buildings were well finished and painted often. There was a lot of movement and commerce there, so a fair amount of money. It was clear that the local government was spending money to improve the area. The grass in the parks was lush. Dominicos Avenue had a bike path all the way through it, with nice grass, benches, lights and trashcans. Some places were nice and well kept; a block or two away there was rubble and dirt and no grass. Developing nation was the perfect way to say it.
The sun never shines for nine months of the year, and it was Herman Melville who called it the saddest city in the world. El Callao sits on a peninsula in the Pacific and is more of a slum to Lima than whatever mental images are evoked by its title: constitutional province. The Pacific coast of South America has no larger port.
Its history is hard and tragic, well reflected in the faces of the people who live there. El Callao and Lima served as the Spanish base of operations for the destruction of the ancient Incan civilization. Women and girls were raped. Men were enslaved. Everyone was indiscriminately subject to the cruel Spanish slaughter, and the trauma inflicted by the violence passed from generation to generation. To this day, the land is stained in the guilt of innocent blood proudly spilled by Conquistadors, and a curse sits on the city for the legacy of atrocities committed by its founders. They built cathedrals and colonial buildings as monuments to their conquest. There is no rain to wash it away, just dreary fog to keep the wounds moist.
Bloody rebellions raged in the 1800s. Throughout the 1980s and ‘90s guerilla factions terrorized the country in the name of communism. June of 1986 gave us the Peruvian Prison Massacres. No one was ever charged. Corruption runs rampant. By 1949 it had established itself as one of the biggest centers for cocaine trafficking in the world. That's why I got off the plane.
Back at Hostel Dax, I preferred the two English-speaking channels. The one-gram bindles came in grey wax paper, and I hid them under the TV between doing lines. It was a nice room for that part of town and had a private bathroom. Rooms could be rented for periods as short as 30 minutes. For three hours in my room, I peeked out of the window, watched the XXX movies playing on the hotel’s closed-circuit channel and scribbled in my notebook.
When I finished the drugs, I walked a block and a half down Dominicos Avenue and found El Vaquerito, or The Cowboy in English. AguaMarina was a similar bar to its left on the corner, but it was closed. A chifa, or stir fry place, was still open to the right of El Vaquerito.
Cheap brown wooden tables with cheap brown wooden chairs were the only effects offered to patrons besides cumbia, cigarettes and liter bottles of Cristal or Pilsen beer. I sat at a table against the wall and lit my cigarette. The floor was filthy. Sad, dark figures sat slumped at a few other tables, drinking beer the way Peruvians do:
A shot is poured into one small glass. The bottle is passed to the next person in the circle. With a tap of the glass to the bottle, Salud is said and the shot of beer is knocked back. Whatever foam is left is poured into another identical glass sitting on the table. The process is repeated.
The song of a broken heart belted out in Spanish over lively trombones, synthesized drums and the tacky effects of a keyboard. Cumbia is always about unfaithful love and heartache, but it's great for dancing.
Too much cocaine furrowed my brow, and a cigarette stuck out unnaturally from my lips. The lady tending bar came from the back and saw me. I mimicked a bottle in my hand. She nodded and reached into the cooler for a bottle and carried two glasses over to my table.
"How much?"
"Tres soles," which is about $1.
"Here." Our eyes met briefly. Her dark features were kind. She lived in the back with three kids and her husband. One of the kids wasn’t hers.
The shot of beer was cool and welcome. My head leaned back against the wall, and I blew cigarette smoke at the ceiling that glowed blue in the light of the bar. I snorted to clear my sinuses and thought about how much I hated myself. After a few more liters of beer, I felt like I could sleep and headed back to the room. In the morning I purposely overslept and missed any opportunity to fly back to Pucallpa.
Chino, the owner of the bar, told me his real name once, but I can't remember it. Sometimes, we called him Gordo, because his personality was as big as his belly. He had the nicest clothes and jewelry available in town. His white hat always looked brand new, and a braided gold chain hung from his neck. Everyone in the neighborhood knew and respected him.
He had been running those streets since he was 10 years old, while his mother sold bread and pastries on the corner out of a wooden cart. Over time they built their enterprise together, saved their money and rented out the two spaces on the corner of Dominicos Avenue, a block off Tomas Valle. His mother called hers Aquamarina after her favorite cumbia band. They made good money selling beer, and ceviche was available before 4.
When I finally woke up from missing my flight to Pucallpa, I went back to El Vaquerito. I ordered a beer with some of the money I had left, but in Peru almost no one ever drinks alone, so Chino came out to see me. He stood over my table and introduced himself.
"My wife said a gringo came in last night, but I was in the back, counting money." I drank my shot of beer and handed him the glass. He poured a shot.
"Well, I'm that gringo." I laughed. His smile revealed large gaps between his teeth. Any facial hair he had was thin and stringy.
"What are you doing here? You speak Spanish well." He knocked his shot back.
"Yes, I speak. I'm not sure what I'm doing now, but I've been in Peru for over a year, mostly in Pucallpa with the Shipibos.”
"In the jungle, huh? You're crazy." Chino continued the conversation. He seemed impressed by what I was telling him but not necessarily in a good way. I poured a shot. "With witch doctors?" He shook his head.
"Crazy. Yeah. That is what they say, but I don't know. I like Peru. Do you know where to get any coke?" He said his brother would be by in an hour or so.
We continued to drink beer and got to know each other. He introduced me to his wife and kids. One girl was about 7 and her slightly younger brother was mentally handicapped. He liked to eat dirt and oranges without peeling them. There was a 2-year-old boy, who was very cute. Only the girl and toddler were his wife's kids, but she took care of all three. He had another baby, with a girl named Yolanda. She lived with his mother, because he didn't want anything to do with her.
After a while we moved to his mom's bar, where his brother was supposed to show up. He and I got drunk and smoked the cigarettes I bought. At mid-afternoon, four guys walked into the bar. They were younger than most other patrons and certainly louder. The guy with the ponytail was the most vocal.
"Hey, Colorado, what are you doing here?" Colorado means red in Spanish but is slang for white boy in el Callao. I preferred Colorado to being called gringo. In my mind it seemed less insulting. Mostly men called me Colorado. Women called me gringo.
"Nothing, drinking some beer." They menaced me with hostile tones and demeanor.
"I don't think you really belong here. This isn't the U.S. Maybe you should get going, Gringo." He had grease stains all over his jacket and pants.
"Maybe, I should." It was unnecessary conflict. "But, I'm enjoying this beer and these cigarettes and the cumbia playing. Maybe I'll leave. Maybe not."
He walked up to the counter and paid Chino's mother for the beer and another bottle. The men followed him out the door back across Dominicos Avenue to the all-night tire shop. They fixed flats and replaced tires all day and all night, seven days a week. Cocaine and beer helped them work the long hours. They were more of a neighborhood gang than guys who ran a garage, and I referred to them as llanteros, or tire guys in English.
"Hey, Chino, who was that guy?” I asked him.
"Pablo. He's a hoodlum. Thinks he's bad."
"Oh, do you think he likes me?" We laughed it off and got another cold bottle to drink. I paid for all the beer. Chino drank it. He was knocking a shot of beer back when his younger brother walked in.
Miguel was in a phase of laziness and getting into trouble. He had dropped out of school and didn’t work. I heard all about it from the conversation Chino had with his mom.
Across Tomas Valle, Miguel introduced me to a mototaxi driver named William, who hid me in his mototaxi as we rode to la Huaca. It was by far the most dangerous part of town, and everyone told me not to go there by myself. The houses were small and some had plastic tarps instead of roofs. There were no sidewalks, only dirt and rubble everywhere.
The real name is La Huaca Garagay. It’s supposed to be an archeological site. Besides a few rocks laid up by the hands of ancient man, some engravings and a deep hole in the rocks, there was nothing to see. Maybe it was a portal where evil leaked out of the netherworld into the neighborhood.
I only bought one gram and one more night at the hotel, because I was almost out of money. When I finished the gram that night, I returned to El Vaquerito to drink away whatever money I had left. Chino's six-year-old boy was throwing a fit on the ground by my table. So, I stood up and danced for him, but it didn’t help.
Cumbia is a basic two-step, and I danced at every chance I got. The chemicals only helped. One Saturday night, Chino's wife told another girl I was the best dancer in the whole place.
Sarah was short, dark and pretty. We met at the locutorio she ran, where I made cheap phone calls, foreign and domestic. The clerk at Hostel Dax liked her, too. One night I saw her at the hostel, but she wasn’t there to see me.
She and her manager at the locutorio let me make phone calls and pay them later. Someone had been stabbed to death right there, where she worked. No good reason for it, but the person died on the floor choking in a puddle of his own blood. Sarah's manager saw the whole thing. It had only been a few months.
There were a couple of computers, where I checked my email. A girl I met in another city sent me two or three a week. They always started the same, “Dear Gringo, you are a savage. No one has ever done to me the things you did to me. When are you coming back, so I can see you?” She never got a response. I made long-distance phone calls to my family asking for money. The money always came.
"I don’t know how long I'm going to make it, Mama,"
"What do you mean, Riley?"
"I think I'm going to die soon. Something bad is going to happen. I know it."
There was a pause on the line. Her voice was shaky but tried to reassure me. "Why would you think that? Nothing is going to happen, Riley. It's going to be fine. There is nothing to worry about." She must have known I was getting high with phone calls like that. It was before I started shooting up again.
"Someone is going to kill me. I'm sorry, Mama. I'm going to die. I love you." I hung up.
William's hook-up wanted to know who was buying so much cloro, as they called it. His connection found out and introduced himself to me. I was easy to find, because there were no gringos in El Callao. Mario only offered a slight break on the price but had a phone number and delivered.
"Do you know what my name is?" The night fog condensed on the windows of his station wagon.
"Mario, right?"
"You won't believe it, but my name is Mario Jesus." He stared at me. My eyes followed a lady walking down the sidewalk. His stared intently at my face. "Jesus. You know? Like Christ. Like the savior. I care about people." I rolled my eyes now.
“You know, Mario, don’t take this the wrong way, but none of that sh*t is true. I don’t believe in Jesus Christ. I don’t believe he was God, and the Bible is a lie. So, I’m very sorry, but I don’t care. I don’t believe in that sh*t. Besides, Jesus didn’t sell drugs. So what are you even talking about?”
“How many do you want then?”
“Seven is the magic number.”
Paranoid delusions swallowed my mind in the hotel room every night. I squatted naked and sweaty in the corner of the shower. My hands clutched the heavy porcelain top of the toilet tank, ready to smash whoever came in through the windows. I would walk to Chino's bar to drink beer after that, sometimes hard liquor. Xanax and valium were available and extremely cheap. Chino and his wife trusted me, so I helped with cleaning tables, serving beer and selling cigarettes. I did it for free, while I came down.
But sometimes I stalked the streets at night jerking and twitching with evil in my blood, like a creature coming to eat children in the neighborhood. In America we have the boogieman, but in Peru it is la pelacara, or the face peeler. The legend was told to every child as soon as they could understand it, so when they saw me they ran. Mothers led their children to the other side of the street. People watched from a distance like they expected me to find a stray dog and rip his throat out with my teeth. I certainly looked the part. Hours would pass before I could talk myself down and return to my corner bars or the hotel to relax.
A short, fat woman in a black dress saw me sitting on a bench on Dominicos. She was about 50 years old. Money was gone till I could call home again. She asked me what I was doing and plainly told me she was a prostitute. I told her I didn't have any money for that kind of thing.
"You come with me for the night. I will get us a room and buy your drugs. All I have to do is go sell my phone to the guy who owns that place." She pointed a block away to the neon sign of a place that sold grilled chicken.
"I want some weed."
"Okay. How much do you need?"
"Like 10 soles." She reached into her bag and pulled out a bill marked with a 10.
In the room after I smoked a joint, she told me about her life. We lay on the bed with our faces inches apart.
"When I was a girl, as soon as I had breasts, my father would tie me up in the shed out back of our house, and he did whatever he wanted to me. And I mean whatever he wanted." She looked up at me with tears and moved close. Most of her teeth were missing.
The condom broke and I spent 20 minutes in the shower scrubbing with soap, trying to wash away any disease. Afterwards, I left the room to go back to El Vaquerito for a while. When I returned at 4 a.m., she had checked out. It was the last I knew of her.
One night my tears fell three and a half stories to the concrete below. For some reason, I was on the roof of Hostel Dax, where they hung the bed sheets to dry. My toes hung off the ledge, but it didn’t seem high enough. I decided not to jump.
A cabbie picked me up on Tomas Valle and took me to another part of town for some powder. Two guys walked back into a hole in the side of a building to get it. It looked like an earthquake had cracked the building in half. After that I cried. The taxi driver didn’t know how to handle it and dropped me off as soon he could.
Two guys ran the late-night stir fry joint next to El Vaquerito. The owner called himself Disaster, and he had a lot of women who came to see him while he watched his business. They would sit at the table and dote over him.
Negro was from Ica, on the coast, and said he missed it. He cooked. The food was salty, greasy and cheap, an ideal snack after a night of drinking, and the sign said Chifa. A curly-haired girl with dark freckles all over joked with patrons and waited tables. She teased me to give her a baby with green eyes.
"Hey, Colorado, are you hungry?" It was one of the colder nights, and the fog rolled in. I hadn't eaten or slept in days. Disaster showed me kindness with his offer.
"Yes. I can pay you back."
"Don't worry about it. Negro, make him some rice."
"Oh, Gringo, you want some rice, huh? Well, let me get you some." Negro smiled with big white teeth. He made me laugh every time we talked.
Soon after that a crowd spilled out onto the sidewalk in front of their restaurant. I couldn't see what was going on at first, but Chino's mom skirted the crowd with me and looked worried. Two men held Disaster’s arms behind his back while Pablo swung at his face. Disaster’s braces tore his cheeks, and blood hung in black ropes from his chin.
I pushed past the crowd with ease and flew into the conflict. In my mind I was a 400-pound silverback. Before I knew it Pablo and I were IN the back of the restaurant, tearing a table apart as we fought on either side of it for a grip. The two other men offered no threat. Everyone watched. Chino's mom barged in and broke it up. She grabbed us by our collars like she was holding two kittens by the scruff. The men promised me death, and the scene dispersed. The freckled waitress told me I was strong and asked me if I was crazy.
“Let me see it,” Chino said. I covered the dislocated pinky finger of my left hand with my right. It was obviously dislocated. At the second knuckle, it bent backwards at 90 degrees. He held my hand and leaned down to examine it.
“This is really bad. Wow.” He laughed, and in a split second he pulled it with all his might. I screamed.
“What are you doing?” My voice broke. He laughed at me in the backroom of his bar.
“How else was I supposed to do it? You weren’t going to let me if I told you.”
“True. Well, thanks.” I chuckled for relief from the stress. It was still mangled, only slightly less. “Those idiots need to be stopped. They can’t be doing stuff like that. Why wasn’t anyone doing anything about it? Disaster is a nice guy, and the whole neighborhood just sat there watching it. I think Pablo does like me.” I smirked. A stupid smile on his face, Chino didn’t say anything.
“Maybe because they don’t want to get killed later, when they are least expecting it.” The silhouette of Chino’s mom in the doorway declared with matriarchal authority.
“She knows what she’s talking about. Listen to her,” Chino said. His mom left as soon as she saw I was okay.
“You are good people, Gringo.” Chino’s wife walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder. One of the kids was at her feet. In her soft Spanish, she said, “You’re a good guy, but you need to forget about it. You don’t need to be messing with that. Now go home and go to sleep. You’ve had enough for the night. We’ll see you in the morning.”
“Hueco! Quiero hueco!” Chino yelled at his wife and grabbed her butt as I walked away. I turned back to look. Her calm face never changed expression, as her drunk husband made his vulgar demands. Hueco means hole.
I found a pharmacy that sold vials of liquid valium for cheap, so I bought a needle for it. I quit snorting cocaine. With the needle, my mind disintegrated. The cops were always about to bust me. It was common for me to be on my knees in the middle of the room with my hands behind my head and screaming,
“Come in! I surrender! I have no weapons. My hands are on my head! I won’t resist!” I didn’t want them to think I had a gun so I put myself in the most vulnerable position for them, but they never came.
The family that owned the pharmacy where I bought the vials were horrified to see me back the next day attempting to buy several more. It was too much for one person to do, but I persisted and settled for two before I left.
My mind was not sound. I was hygienically challenged anyway, but cocaine and pharmaceuticals exacerbated my condition. One morning I found a huge smear of what proved to be human excrement on my sleeve. Hopefully my own.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No.” Her tone was a mix of disdain and disinterest.
“Do you want one?”
“No. Even if I did, I wouldn’t want you, loco.” Leticia had a lighter brown complexion, almost red, and big, thick thighs she stuffed into the top half of her jeans. Her legs were crossed, so I reached over and pinched the mound of flesh above her knee. Her body shifted forward and her face radiated. She restrained herself from slapping me.
“Don’t ever touch me again. EVER! My legs are mine. Keep your hands to yourself.”
“Sorry. You have nice legs. I didn’t mean anything by it.” She relaxed and our conversation continued.
Leticia was single at 30. She was a virgin, which was unheard of in El Callao where infidelity was the way of life. Her family was good and Christian. We got to know each other because she worked in a different locutorio on the other side of Dominicos. I had never been to it before, but I owed money at the locutorio where Sarah worked. Since Leticia had seen me around, she trusted me to pay her back, and after that I only went to her locutorio. I walked her home one night and met her mother, who was sick.
It never made sense to me why Leticia talked to me. Green eyes, like mine, are a novelty in a country where 99% of people are brown-eyed and brown-skinned with black hair. Maybe it was a bad boy thing. I was kind to her but bound by addiction and violence in the streets. Such contradiction in a man draws women.
“Sueltame” by Grupo Nectar was a cumbia song we both liked and sang together sometimes when we talked at midafternoon in her store. Our knees touched when we sat. “Let me go. Break the chains. I don’t want to live like this” are the lyrics. It was about a break-up, but it described my chemical bondage well. I brought her cookies when I came to see her.
The name of my favorite cumbia song was “Ojala que te mueras,” or “I hope to God you die” in English. It played loud in El Vaquerito, while Miguel told a story about how he and his brother Chino had defeated a group of four men. We were talking about my violent exploits. The incident with Pablo had incited in me a hunger for brutality. I had developed a habit of talking trash to groups of young men who were no strangers to violence and hated gringos. After several close calls, I had ended the previous night hanging from a car window going 50 miles an hour, because the taxi driver didn’t want to give me a ride, and I tried to jump in through the window. Eighteen-year-old Miguel boasted how tough his family was. Chino waited to speak.
“That was a long time ago.” Chino looked at me. “Fighting is how people get hurt. Around here, that’s how people get killed. One blade or one bullet on an unlucky night is all it takes. Then, you’re dead. You need to stop, Colorado. Everyone can die. Those guys across the street. Me. Him. You. Everyone.” His thick finger dug into my chest and his face twisted in emotion.
“No one messes with us, huh, Chino?” His little brother insisted.
“Shut the f*ck up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Chino is mad, because his woman is giving him problems. Then, he’s got Yolanda and her kid hanging around the family businesses like a couple of sick dogs.” It was a cruel thing to say about the mother of Chino’s illegitimate child and the kid. She hardly had enough sense to take care of herself, much less the baby.
Chino jerked up and reached over to slap his brother. His meaty forearm and open palm swung short because Miguel was falling backward out of his chair. Miguel ran to his mother’s bar.
I went to visit Leticia one evening. Her desktop computer was in pieces. The door to one of the phone booths was on the floor. It was Pablo’s routine. First Disaster, now Leticia. He never hit her but scared her for money. I puffed up and punched the wall. She asked me to stop in a quiet voice and walked close. We squeezed each other in a long embrace.
“It’s okay, Riley. It will be okay.” She was the only person who knew my name and pronounced it well.
There were only two things I ate for those few months besides cookies. Anticucho is a marinated beef kebab, usually sold with tripe and grilled right in front of you on the street corner. It is delicious and sold at night by women making an extra dollar for their household. Most of the women who sold it laughed when I came to eat. It was not uncommon for me to eat 10 skewers in a row or more.
The other dish I ate was ceviche. Ceviche is originally Peruvian, not Mexican, and it doesn’t involve tomatoes. Cubes of white fileted fish are cooked by the acid of lime juice. Red onions, a hot pepper, light seasoning and salt, toasted corn kernels, steamed sweet potato and a piece of lettuce complete the dish. These elements all mixed together was what I loved. The first time I ate it, I couldn’t believe how good it was. Peruvians don’t eat ceviche after 4 in the afternoon. It has to do with the freshness of the fish caught that morning. Inca Kola is a yellow-colored cream soda, which I drank with my ceviche.
Other nights I wandered the streets looking for danger. I knew the territory north of Tomas Valle well. There was La Huaca where dirt and rubble covered the ground and getting robbed was a guarantee, and I knew 33rd street where the boys dressed like girls sold themselves. They injected silicone or baby oil directly into their face and butt cheeks to soften their jaw lines and square hips. Some of the prettiest girls you will ever see are not girls.
Back in another direction there was an apartment complex where the courtyards turned into a zombie apocalypse every night from 12 to 4 a.m. Never have I seen anything like it. They smoked pasta basuca and drank cheap wine. Someone pulled a woman’s hair. Incoherent verbal altercations teetered on the edge of physical violence. A glass bottle smashed on the ground. Everyone twitched and jerked around for the pasta, clucking like malfunctioning mechanical chickens.
I walked to La Huaca at 4 one morning to score. It was stupid, and the house all the cocaine came from didn’t want to sell me anything. On the way back three men tried to strong-arm me, but I presented more scrap than they cared to deal with. An old lady watched through the bars of her bedroom window. She said something, and they ran away.
The first light of day was in the sky and several mototaxi drivers had pulled over to watch the commotion. Only the hood of my jacket was torn off. I raised my hands in victory towards the spectators on the side of the road and screamed in Spanish something like, “Did you all see that?”
Mario heard about it and came to see me the next evening after I had slept most of the day. I bragged. He complained about the hard time his hook-up was giving him for my going out there. He yawned while I bragged about how tough I was.
“Look at my eye.” He pulled off his glasses in the car parked on Dominicos in front of a restaurant called La Braserita. It was right next to the hotel where the prostitute had gotten us a room that night. The red and orange lights of the electric sign came in through the window and lit up the right side of his face.
“Do you see it?” Milky blue scar tissue covered half of his brown iris. “I used to fight in the streets. I got hit with a big stick. They say they can remove it, but I don’t have enough money for the surgery. Fighting comes with a price.”
There was a 10-foot drop from the second story balcony of Hostal Dax. I just jumped. No stairs. The owners hated it and didn’t understand, but they knew I was crazy. A combination of my years on skateboards and the chemicals running through my blood made me agile and stupid. I pushed the limits of it like everything else and lived out delusions of being some kind of superhero protecting the innocent. I climbed the sides of buildings and shimmied up street lamps with ease. I was a crack-headed spider man. More than once, I perched on a street lamp in broad daylight, high out of my mind, and pretended that my life was a comic book.
“What’s wrong with you? Where is your shoe?” Mario asked through his car window.
“Nothing. I’ll tell you right now. Everything is fine.” We were meeting for the daily quarter ounce. Sometimes we met twice in a day.
“What do you mean? It doesn’t look like everything is fine.”
My hands and feet had bled all over from too much cocaine. Every line and crease in my palms and on the backs of my knuckles was dried out and cracked. It was like a curse out of a Stephen King novel. Blood dripped down my hands and soaked into my socks. No one I saw had an explanation or words of comfort. Chino stared sideways at what he saw. What words comfort someone willfully killing himself with chemicals? It was eerie and scary. My right foot throbbed and stung, so I took my shoe off before I met up with Mario.
“Why is your shoe off?” I showed Mario my hands and foot. “You don’t need any more coke today. I’m not giving you anymore. Go home and go to sleep.” I didn’t have money at the moment, and he was fronting me the drugs so it was hard to argue. But I planted myself in his front seat until he gave me some. I got one gram before I left.
In the dark, the light of the TV flickered blue on the walls and over my skeletal frame. Blood flowed into my syringe before I pushed off, alone in the corner, and the curtains fell with me 8 feet through the open window to the flight of stairs leading into the lobby. I landed on my back and slid to the bottom. The ringing in my head got louder and louder. Shirtless and barefoot, I made the nine-year-old boy check the room for intruders. There were a few streaks of crimson down my arm mixing with my sweat, and the boy’s parents kicked me out.
I spent the rest of the night hiding behind cars parked on the side of Dominicos and jumping out into traffic. Headlights swerved and tires screeched. Spanish curse words flew out of the open windows, while drivers leaned on their horns. Finally, I passed out in the grass of the median. It was the most comfortable sleep I had in a long time.
The life of the neighborhood continued as it always did on those nights. Pedestrians walked the bike path and around corners. Disaster’s chifa was open for business. The freckled waitress laughed with patrons. One of Papillon’s songs played loud through the door of El Vaquerito. On the corner an older lady and her husband sold anticucho the same as every night. They were Christians. Some of the younger people drank outside of the bar. Two or three together, they shared bottles of beer.
One of the llanteros was talking to two girls. We had exchanged words earlier that afternoon, so I walked out to the bike path on the median of Dominicos and offered him a chance to get crazy. I called him a coward and insulted his mother. It was obvious he heard me, but he was scared. His body language said it all.
A few hours later, they got me on the corner of Tomas Valle and Dominicos. It was Pablo who led the attack. El Callao was a suicide mission, and it was over.
I dreamed it would be my bloody masterpiece of pain and destruction, because these were my gifts from the world and all I had to give back to it. It was a piece of art in my mind, the messier the better. Pain was my life and death was the end of it.
But it was no fun getting turned into a chunky puddle of my own brains and blood like that on the sidewalk. There was only one person who knew my name in the neighborhood. I could only think of my mother. Rocks ripped into my scalp. A rope of white snot hung from my lip. Light flashed across my field of vision. Shame was all I felt. It was impossible to scream, but inside of myself, I screamed with all I had.
There had been something like 20 brawls in the two months since I first fought Pablo in Disaster’s restaurant. Fights weren’t about bragging rights or boxing. They were about seriously hurting another person, even killing him. This one was about murder, my murder. A shot was fired.
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2018.04.20 18:10 ASavageLost El Callao: A story about love, murder and cocaine in the streets of Peru. REPOST

El Callao
El Callao, Peru Summer of 2008 Getting bludgeoned to death isn't as fun as it sounds. The thought occurred to me as my own brutal death unfolded one night under a street lamp. Most people come to that conclusion without taking things that far, but I never was that kind of person.
To the locals I was a drug-addicted American in a place he didn’t belong, doing things he ought not, and getting exactly what he asked for. El Callao is a port well known for its violence. I turned 22 in the three months that I lived there, and no one knew my name. They just called me gringo.
Six men chased me through eight lanes of traffic and I fell twice before they caught me. A pair of work boots and dirty tennis shoes shuffled and twisted for leverage on the pavement in the dim street light between unforgiving cracks of something heavy against the back of my skull. It is a gruesome thought to be beaten to death with rocks. I wanted my mother. I wanted to apologize, but it was over now. Life never flashed before my eyes, only shame as I lost my bowels.
Before I ever moved to El Callao there was a guy in Tarapoto named Luis, who I spent a lot time with. He helped me get my cocaine and went on missions with me to bar for women, who we usually brought back to my hotel room two at a time. He came to see me off at the airport. I had to keep asking him if I was being set up. There were imaginary men in tactical gear hiding in the airport’s bushes that terrified me. I did my last line of cocaine in the bathroom and tried to use the urinal, but my focus was on the window. Police would pour into the bathroom any second and arrest me. An old janitor made sexual advances as I tried to pee, but I wasn't interested and peered over my shoulder.
Luis sipped a beer in the restaurant while I downed a pint bottle of liquor. He assured me there was no ambush coming, but I didn't believe him. It was the last time I saw him, and the last light of dusk faded into night through the airport windows as I walked up to the ticket counter.
"Are you going to be okay to fly, Senor Chapman?" The freckly faced girl asked me in Spanish with a look of doubtful concern. Her company uniform and elegant bun made her look smart. I smelled drunk.
"Yes, ma’am."
"So, no problems on the flight?"
"None."
"Very well." Her eyes rolled. She stamped my ticket and directed me to the security checkpoint.
Toward the end of the flight, a lady next to me struck up friendly conversation. She and her sister in the seat next to her lived in Lima and were delighted to know that I was American. I talked and stared indifferently at the light of the city glowing beneath the clouds. Didn't she realize that I smelled like alcohol? The effects of cocaine faded. Her offers for me to stay at her house and meet her family proved that she did not know me or what I was about.
Outside of the airport's automatic sliding doors, the night air was cool on my face, and the cherry of my Caribe cigarette glowed red as I drew in smoke. A blanket of grey clouds sat low over the city buildings. Three hundred soles are 100 U.S. dollars, and it was all I had except for my backpack with some notebooks, my passport, and the clothes I wore.
A short, light-skinned man in his black taxi uniform solicited me for a ride, but cocaine and a cheap room close to the airport were all I was interested in, so he pointed me to his slightly fatter workmate. I paid 14 dollars for a couple OF grams and $7 more for a room at Hostal Dax, on Dominicos Avenue and Tomas Valle.
Bustling streets between dilapidated buildings drew me in. El Callao had a peculiar allure. It was real. I identified with its pain. Day-to-day life continued without looking up to acknowledge me as a visitor. There was nothing for gringos there, and no one spoke English. Across Tomas Valle from Hostel Dax, the smoke of cooked animal fat filled the air as women sold beef anticucho. Other ladies sold rice pudding in the evenings. Mototaxis and their drivers waited patiently in line for fares and read newspapers. Vendors sold candy and cigarettes. Every window and home entrance hid behind steel cages, most businesses, too.
Only a few blocks away, in the quieter neighborhoods, boys dressed as women sold themselves after dark. Broken glass and rocks covered the ground. Some houses were pieced together with adobe and sheet metal. Rebar stuck out of most buildings, and others seemed to melt into puddles of earth-toned rubble. Smog stained everything in a layer of soot. There were piles of stinky refuse on the sidewalks. Unintelligible graffiti decorated storefronts and homes. Somewhere in the bleak cityscape, my own death cried out to me from a street corner. The smell was exhilarating. I wanted to dance. I was there to play.
It wasn’t all bad though. The construction was cheap compared to the U.S., but many buildings were well finished and painted often. There was a lot of movement and commerce there, so a fair amount of money. It was clear that the local government was spending money to improve the area. The grass in the parks was lush. Dominicos Avenue had a bike path all the way through it, with nice grass, benches, lights and trashcans. Some places were nice and well kept; a block or two away there was rubble and dirt and no grass. Developing nation was the perfect way to say it.
The sun never shines for nine months of the year, and it was Herman Melville who called it the saddest city in the world. El Callao sits on a peninsula in the Pacific and is more of a slum to Lima than whatever mental images are evoked by its title: constitutional province. The Pacific coast of South America has no larger port.
Its history is hard and tragic, well reflected in the faces of the people who live there. El Callao and Lima served as the Spanish base of operations for the destruction of the ancient Incan civilization. Women and girls were raped. Men were enslaved. Everyone was indiscriminately subject to the cruel Spanish slaughter, and the trauma inflicted by the violence passed from generation to generation. To this day, the land is stained in the guilt of innocent blood proudly spilled by Conquistadors, and a curse sits on the city for the legacy of atrocities committed by its founders. They built cathedrals and colonial buildings as monuments to their conquest. There is no rain to wash it away, just dreary fog to keep the wounds moist.
Bloody rebellions raged in the 1800s. Throughout the 1980s and ‘90s guerilla factions terrorized the country in the name of communism. June of 1986 gave us the Peruvian Prison Massacres. No one was ever charged. Corruption runs rampant. By 1949 it had established itself as one of the biggest centers for cocaine trafficking in the world. That's why I got off the plane.
Back at Hostel Dax, I preferred the two English-speaking channels. The one-gram bindles came in grey wax paper, and I hid them under the TV between doing lines. It was a nice room for that part of town and had a private bathroom. Rooms could be rented for periods as short as 30 minutes. For three hours in my room, I peeked out of the window, watched the XXX movies playing on the hotel’s closed-circuit channel and scribbled in my notebook.
When I finished the drugs, I walked a block and a half down Dominicos Avenue and found El Vaquerito, or The Cowboy in English. AguaMarina was a similar bar to its left on the corner, but it was closed. A chifa, or stir fry place, was still open to the right of El Vaquerito.
Cheap brown wooden tables with cheap brown wooden chairs were the only effects offered to patrons besides cumbia, cigarettes and liter bottles of Cristal or Pilsen beer. I sat at a table against the wall and lit my cigarette. The floor was filthy. Sad, dark figures sat slumped at a few other tables, drinking beer the way Peruvians do:
A shot is poured into one small glass. The bottle is passed to the next person in the circle. With a tap of the glass to the bottle, Salud is said and the shot of beer is knocked back. Whatever foam is left is poured into another identical glass sitting on the table. The process is repeated.
The song of a broken heart belted out in Spanish over lively trombones, synthesized drums and the tacky effects of a keyboard. Cumbia is always about unfaithful love and heartache, but it's great for dancing.
Too much cocaine furrowed my brow, and a cigarette stuck out unnaturally from my lips. The lady tending bar came from the back and saw me. I mimicked a bottle in my hand. She nodded and reached into the cooler for a bottle and carried two glasses over to my table.
"How much?"
"Tres soles," which is about $1.
"Here." Our eyes met briefly. Her dark features were kind. She lived in the back with three kids and her husband. One of the kids wasn’t hers.
The shot of beer was cool and welcome. My head leaned back against the wall, and I blew cigarette smoke at the ceiling that glowed blue in the light of the bar. I snorted to clear my sinuses and thought about how much I hated myself. After a few more liters of beer, I felt like I could sleep and headed back to the room. In the morning I purposely overslept and missed any opportunity to fly back to Pucallpa.
Chino, the owner of the bar, told me his real name once, but I can't remember it. Sometimes, we called him Gordo, because his personality was as big as his belly. He had the nicest clothes and jewelry available in town. His white hat always looked brand new, and a braided gold chain hung from his neck. Everyone in the neighborhood knew and respected him.
He had been running those streets since he was 10 years old, while his mother sold bread and pastries on the corner out of a wooden cart. Over time they built their enterprise together, saved their money and rented out the two spaces on the corner of Dominicos Avenue, a block off Tomas Valle. His mother called hers Aquamarina after her favorite cumbia band. They made good money selling beer, and ceviche was available before 4.
When I finally woke up from missing my flight to Pucallpa, I went back to El Vaquerito. I ordered a beer with some of the money I had left, but in Peru almost no one ever drinks alone, so Chino came out to see me. He stood over my table and introduced himself.
"My wife said a gringo came in last night, but I was in the back, counting money." I drank my shot of beer and handed him the glass. He poured a shot.
"Well, I'm that gringo." I laughed. His smile revealed large gaps between his teeth. Any facial hair he had was thin and stringy.
"What are you doing here? You speak Spanish well." He knocked his shot back.
"Yes, I speak. I'm not sure what I'm doing now, but I've been in Peru for over a year, mostly in Pucallpa with the Shipibos.”
"In the jungle, huh? You're crazy." Chino continued the conversation. He seemed impressed by what I was telling him but not necessarily in a good way. I poured a shot. "With witch doctors?" He shook his head.
"Crazy. Yeah. That is what they say, but I don't know. I like Peru. Do you know where to get any coke?" He said his brother would be by in an hour or so.
We continued to drink beer and got to know each other. He introduced me to his wife and kids. One girl was about 7 and her slightly younger brother was mentally handicapped. He liked to eat dirt and oranges without peeling them. There was a 2-year-old boy, who was very cute. Only the girl and toddler were his wife's kids, but she took care of all three. He had another baby, with a girl named Yolanda. She lived with his mother, because he didn't want anything to do with her.
After a while we moved to his mom's bar, where his brother was supposed to show up. He and I got drunk and smoked the cigarettes I bought. At mid-afternoon, four guys walked into the bar. They were younger than most other patrons and certainly louder. The guy with the ponytail was the most vocal.
"Hey, Colorado, what are you doing here?" Colorado means red in Spanish but is slang for white boy in el Callao. I preferred Colorado to being called gringo. In my mind it seemed less insulting. Mostly men called me Colorado. Women called me gringo.
"Nothing, drinking some beer." They menaced me with hostile tones and demeanor.
"I don't think you really belong here. This isn't the U.S. Maybe you should get going, Gringo." He had grease stains all over his jacket and pants.
"Maybe, I should." It was unnecessary conflict. "But, I'm enjoying this beer and these cigarettes and the cumbia playing. Maybe I'll leave. Maybe not."
He walked up to the counter and paid Chino's mother for the beer and another bottle. The men followed him out the door back across Dominicos Avenue to the all-night tire shop. They fixed flats and replaced tires all day and all night, seven days a week. Cocaine and beer helped them work the long hours. They were more of a neighborhood gang than guys who ran a garage, and I referred to them as llanteros, or tire guys in English.
"Hey, Chino, who was that guy?” I asked him.
"Pablo. He's a hoodlum. Thinks he's bad."
"Oh, do you think he likes me?" We laughed it off and got another cold bottle to drink. I paid for all the beer. Chino drank it. He was knocking a shot of beer back when his younger brother walked in.
Miguel was in a phase of laziness and getting into trouble. He had dropped out of school and didn’t work. I heard all about it from the conversation Chino had with his mom.
Across Tomas Valle, Miguel introduced me to a mototaxi driver named William, who hid me in his mototaxi as we rode to la Huaca. It was by far the most dangerous part of town, and everyone told me not to go there by myself. The houses were small and some had plastic tarps instead of roofs. There were no sidewalks, only dirt and rubble everywhere.
The real name is La Huaca Garagay. It’s supposed to be an archeological site. Besides a few rocks laid up by the hands of ancient man, some engravings and a deep hole in the rocks, there was nothing to see. Maybe it was a portal where evil leaked out of the netherworld into the neighborhood.
I only bought one gram and one more night at the hotel, because I was almost out of money. When I finished the gram that night, I returned to El Vaquerito to drink away whatever money I had left. Chino's six-year-old boy was throwing a fit on the ground by my table. So, I stood up and danced for him, but it didn’t help.
Cumbia is a basic two-step, and I danced at every chance I got. The chemicals only helped. One Saturday night, Chino's wife told another girl I was the best dancer in the whole place.
Sarah was short, dark and pretty. We met at the locutorio she ran, where I made cheap phone calls, foreign and domestic. The clerk at Hostel Dax liked her, too. One night I saw her at the hostel, but she wasn’t there to see me.
She and her manager at the locutorio let me make phone calls and pay them later. Someone had been stabbed to death right there, where she worked. No good reason for it, but the person died on the floor choking in a puddle of his own blood. Sarah's manager saw the whole thing. It had only been a few months.
There were a couple of computers, where I checked my email. A girl I met in another city sent me two or three a week. They always started the same, “Dear Gringo, you are a savage. No one has ever done to me the things you did to me. When are you coming back, so I can see you?” She never got a response. I made long-distance phone calls to my family asking for money. The money always came.
"I don’t know how long I'm going to make it, Mama,"
"What do you mean, Riley?"
"I think I'm going to die soon. Something bad is going to happen. I know it."
There was a pause on the line. Her voice was shaky but tried to reassure me. "Why would you think that? Nothing is going to happen, Riley. It's going to be fine. There is nothing to worry about." She must have known I was getting high with phone calls like that. It was before I started shooting up again.
"Someone is going to kill me. I'm sorry, Mama. I'm going to die. I love you." I hung up.
William's hook-up wanted to know who was buying so much cloro, as they called it. His connection found out and introduced himself to me. I was easy to find, because there were no gringos in El Callao. Mario only offered a slight break on the price but had a phone number and delivered.
"Do you know what my name is?" The night fog condensed on the windows of his station wagon.
"Mario, right?"
"You won't believe it, but my name is Mario Jesus." He stared at me. My eyes followed a lady walking down the sidewalk. His stared intently at my face. "Jesus. You know? Like Christ. Like the savior. I care about people." I rolled my eyes now.
“You know, Mario, don’t take this the wrong way, but none of that sht is true. I don’t believe in Jesus Christ. I don’t believe he was God, and the Bible is a lie. So, I’m very sorry, but I don’t care. I don’t believe in that sht. Besides, Jesus didn’t sell drugs. So what are you even talking about?”
“How many do you want then?”
“Seven is the magic number.”
Paranoid delusions swallowed my mind in the hotel room every night. I squatted naked and sweaty in the corner of the shower. My hands clutched the heavy porcelain top of the toilet tank, ready to smash whoever came in through the windows. Then I went to Chino's bar to drink beer, sometimes hard liquor. Xanax and valium were available and extremely cheap. Chino and his wife trusted me, so I helped with cleaning tables, serving beer and selling cigarettes. I did it for free, while I came down.
But sometimes I stalked the streets at night jerking and twitching with evil in my blood, like a creature coming to eat children in the neighborhood. In America we have the boogieman, but in Peru it is la pelacara, or the face peeler. The legend was told to every child as soon as they could understand it, so when they saw me they ran. Mothers led their children to the other side of the street. People watched from a distance like they expected me to find a stray dog and rip his throat out with my teeth. I certainly looked the part. Hours would pass before I could talk myself down and return to my corner bars or the hotel to relax.
A short, fat woman in a black dress saw me sitting on a bench on Dominicos. She was about 50 years old. Money was gone till I could call home again. She asked me what I was doing and plainly told me she was a prostitute. I told her I didn't have any money for that kind of thing.
"You come with me for the night. I will get us a room and buy your drugs. All I have to do is go sell my phone to the guy who owns that place." She pointed a block away to the neon sign of a place that sold grilled chicken.
"I want some weed."
"Okay. How much do you need?"
"Like 10 soles." She reached into her bag and pulled out a bill marked for?? 10.
In the room after I smoked a joint, she told me about her life. We lay on the bed with our faces inches apart.
"When I was a girl, as soon as I had breasts, my father would tie me up in the shed out back of our house, and he did whatever he wanted to me. And I mean whatever he wanted." She looked up at me with tears and moved close. Most of her teeth were missing.
The condom broke and I spent 20 minutes in the shower scrubbing with soap, trying to wash away any disease. Afterwards, I left the room to go back to El Vaquerito for a while. When I returned at 4 a.m., she had checked out. It was the last I knew of her.
One night my tears fell three and a half stories to the concrete below. For some reason, that night I was on the roof of Hostel Dax, where they hung the bed sheets to dry. My toes hung off the ledge, but it didn’t seem high enough. I did not jump.
A cabbie picked me up on Tomas Valle and took me to another part of town for some powder. Two guys walked back into a hole in the side of a building to get it. It looked like an earthquake had cracked the building in half. After that I cried. The taxi driver didn’t know how to handle it and dropped me off as soon he could.
Two guys ran the late-night stir fry joint next to El Vaquerito. The owner called himself Disaster, and he had a lot of women who came to see him while he watched his business. They would sit at the table and dote over him.
Negro was from Ica, on the coast, and said he missed it. He cooked. The food was salty, greasy and cheap, an ideal snack after a night of drinking, and the sign said Chifa. A curly-haired girl with dark freckles all over joked with patrons and waited tables. She teased me to give her a baby with green eyes.
"Hey, Colorado, are you hungry?" It was one of the colder nights, and the fog rolled in. I hadn't eaten or slept in days. Disaster showed me kindness with his offer.
"Yes. I can pay you back."
"Don't worry about it. Negro, make him some rice."
"Oh, Gringo, you want some rice, huh? Well, let me get you some." Negro smiled with big white teeth. He made me laugh every time we talked.
Soon after that a crowd spilled out onto the sidewalk in front of their restaurant. I couldn't see what was going on at first, but Chino's mom skirted the crowd with me and looked worried. Two men held Disaster’s arms behind his back while Pablo swung at his face. Disaster’s braces tore his cheeks, and blood hung in black ropes from his chin.
I pushed past the crowd with ease and flew into the conflict. In my mind I was a 400-pound silverback. Before I knew it Pablo and I were IN the back of the restaurant, tearing a table apart as we fought on either side of it for a grip. The two other men offered no threat. Everyone watched. Chino's mom barged in and broke it up. She grabbed us by our collars like she was holding two kittens by the scruff. The men promised me death, and the scene dispersed. The freckled waitress told me I was strong and asked me if I was crazy.
“Let me see it,” Chino said. I covered the dislocated pinky finger of my left hand with my right. It was obviously dislocated. At the second knuckle, it bent backwards at 90 degrees. He held my hand and leaned down to examine it.
“This is really bad. Wow.” He laughed, and in a split second he pulled it with all his might. I screamed.
“What are you doing?” My voice broke. He laughed at me in the backroom of his bar.
“How else was I supposed to do it? You weren’t going to let me if I told you.”
“True. Well, thanks.” I chuckled for relief from the stress. It was still mangled, only slightly less. “Those idiots need to be stopped. They can’t be doing stuff like that. Why wasn’t anyone doing anything about it? Disaster is a nice guy, and the whole neighborhood just sat there watching it. I think Pablo does like me.” I smirked. A stupid smile on his face, Chino didn’t say anything.
“Maybe because they don’t want to get killed later, when they are least expecting it.” The silhouette of Chino’s mom in the doorway declared with matriarchal authority.
“She knows what she’s talking about. Listen to her,” Chino said. His mom left as soon as she saw I was okay.
“You are good people, Gringo.” Chino’s wife walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder. One of the kids was at her feet. In her soft Spanish, she said, “You’re a good guy, but you need to forget about it. You don’t need to be messing with that. Now go home and go to sleep. You’ve had enough for the night. We’ll see you in the morning.”
“Hueco! Quiero hueco!” Chino yelled at his wife and grabbed her butt as I walked away. I turned back to look. Her calm face never changed expression, as her drunk husband made his vulgar demands. Hueco means hole.
I found a pharmacy that sold vials of liquid valium for cheap, so I bought a needle for it. I quit snorting cocaine. With the needle, my mind disintegrated. The cops were always about to bust me. It was common for me to be on my knees in the middle of the room with my hands behind my head and screaming,
“Come in! I surrender! I have no weapons. My hands are on my head! I won’t resist!” I didn’t want them to think I had a gun so I put myself in the most vulnerable position for them, but they never came.
The family that owned the pharmacy where I bought the vials were horrified to see me back the next day attempting to buy several more. It was too much for one person to do, but I persisted and settled for two before I left.
My mind was not sound. I was hygienically challenged anyway, but cocaine and pharmaceuticals exacerbated my condition. One morning I found a huge smear of what proved to be human excrement on my sleeve. Hopefully my own.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No.” Her tone was a mix of disdain and disinterest.
“Do you want one?”
“No. Even if I did, I wouldn’t want you, loco.” Leticia had a lighter brown complexion, almost red, and big, thick thighs she stuffed into the top half of her jeans. Her legs were crossed, so I reached over and pinched the mound of flesh above her knee. Her body shifted forward and her face radiated. She restrained herself from slapping me. “Don’t ever touch me again. EVER! My legs are mine. Keep your hands to yourself.”
“Sorry. You have nice legs. I didn’t mean anything by it.” She relaxed and our conversation continued.
Leticia was single at 30. She was a virgin, which was unheard of in the Callao where infidelity was the way of life. Her family was good and Christian. We got to know each other because she worked in a different locutorio on the other side of Dominicos. I had never been to it before, but I owed money at the locutorio where Sarah worked. Since Leticia had seen me around, she trusted me to pay her back, and after that I only went to her locutorio. I walked her home one night and met her mother, who was sick.
It never made sense to me why Leticia talked to me. Green eyes, like mine, are a novelty in a country where 99% of people are brown-eyed and brown-skinned with black hair. Maybe it was a bad boy thing. I was kind to her but bound by addiction and violence in the streets. Such contradiction in a man draws women.
“Sueltame” by Grupo Nectar was a cumbia song we both liked and sang together sometimes when we talked at midafternoon in her store. Our knees touched when we sat. “Let me go. Break the chains. I don’t want to live like this” are the lyrics. It was about a break-up, but it described my chemical bondage well. I brought her cookies when I came to see her.
The name of my favorite cumbia song was “Ojala que te mueras,” or “I hope to God you die” in English. It played loud in El Vaquerito, while Miguel told a story about how he and his brother Chino had defeated a group of four men. We were talking about my violent exploits. The incident with Pablo had incited in me a hunger for brutality. I had developed a habit of talking trash to groups of young men who were no strangers to violence and hated gringos. After several close calls, I had ended the previous night hanging from a car window going 50 miles an hour, because the taxi driver didn’t want to give me a ride, and I tried to jump in through the window. Eighteen-year-old Miguel boasted how tough his family was. Chino waited to speak.
“That was a long time ago.” Chino looked at me. “Fighting is how people get hurt. Around here, that’s how people get killed. One blade or one bullet on an unlucky night is all it takes. Then, you’re dead. You need to stop, Colorado. Everyone can die. Those guys across the street. Me. Him. You. Everyone.” His thick finger dug into my chest and his face twisted in emotion.
“No one messes with us, huh, Chino?” His little brother insisted.
“Shut the f*ck up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Chino is mad, because his woman is giving him problems. Then, he’s got Yolanda and her kid hanging around the family businesses like a couple of sick dogs.” It was a cruel thing to say about the mother of Chino’s illegitimate child and the kid. She hardly had enough sense to take care of herself, much less the baby.
Chino jerked up and reached over to slap his brother. His meaty forearm and open palm swung short because Miguel was falling backward out of his chair. Miguel ran to his mother’s bar.
I went to visit Leticia one evening. Her desktop computer was in pieces. The door to one of the phone booths was on the floor. It was Pablo’s routine. First Disaster, now Leticia. He never hit her but scared her for money. I puffed up and punched the wall. She asked me to stop in a quiet voice and walked close. We squeezed each other in a long embrace.
“It’s okay, Riley. It will be okay.” She was the only person who knew my name and pronounced it well.
There were only two things I ate for those few months besides cookies. Anticucho is a marinated beef kebab, usually sold with tripe AND grilled right in front of you on the street corner. It is delicious and sold at night by women making an extra dollar for their household. Most of the women who sold it laughed when I came to eat. It was not uncommon for me to eat 10 skewers in a row or more.
The other dish I ate was ceviche. Ceviche is originally Peruvian, not Mexican, and it doesn’t involve tomatoes. Cubes of white fileted fish are cooked by the acid of lime juice. Red onions, a hot pepper, light seasoning and salt, toasted corn kernels, steamed sweet potato and a piece of lettuce complete the dish. These elements all mixed together was what I loved. The first time I ate it, I couldn’t believe how good it was. Peruvians don’t eat ceviche after 4 in the afternoon. It has to do with the freshness of the fish caught that morning. Inca Kola is a yellow-colored cream soda, which I drank with my ceviche.
Other nights I wandered the streets looking for danger. I knew the territory north of Tomas Valle well. There was La Huaca where dirt and rubble covered the ground and getting robbed was a guarantee, and I knew 33rd street where the boys dressed like girls sold themselves. They injected silicone or baby oil directly into their face and butt cheeks to soften their jaw lines and square hips. Some of the prettiest girls you will ever see are not girls.
Back in another direction there was an apartment complex where the courtyards turned into a zombie apocalypse every night from 12 to 4 a.m. Never have I seen anything like it. They smoked pasta basuca and drank cheap wine. Someone pulled a woman’s hair. Incoherent verbal altercations teetered on the edge of physical violence. A glass bottle smashed on the ground. Everyone twitched and jerked around for the pasta, clucking like malfunctioning mechanical chickens.
I walked to La Huaca at 4 one morning to score. It was stupid, and the house all the cocaine came from didn’t want to sell me anything. On the way back three men tried to strong-arm me, but I presented more scrap than they cared to deal with. An old lady watched through the bars of her bedroom window. She said something, and they ran away.
The first light of day was in the sky and several mototaxi drivers had pulled over to watch the commotion. Only the hood of my jacket was torn off. I raised my hands in victory towards the spectators on the side of the road and screamed in Spanish something like, “Did you all see that?”
Mario heard about it and came to see me the next evening after I had slept most of the day. I bragged. He complained about the hard time his hook-up was giving him for my going out there. He yawned while I bragged about how tough I was.
“Look at my eye.” He pulled off his glasses in the car parked on Dominicos in front of a restaurant called La Braserita. It was right next to the hotel where the prostitute had gotten us a room that night. The red and orange lights of the electric sign came in through the window and lit up the right side of his face.
“Do you see it?” Milky blue scar tissue covered half of his brown iris. “I used to fight in the streets. I got hit with a big stick. They say they can remove it, but I don’t have enough money for the surgery. Fighting comes with a price.”
There was a 10-foot drop from the second story balcony of Hostal Dax. I just jumped. No stairs. The owners hated it and didn’t understand, but they knew I was crazy. A combination of my years on skateboards and the chemicals running through my blood made me agile and stupid. I pushed the limits of it like everything else and lived out delusions of being some kind of superhero protecting the innocent. I climbed the sides of buildings and shimmied up street lamps with ease. I was a crack-headed spider man. More than once, I perched on a street lamp in broad daylight, high out of my mind, and pretended that my life was a comic book.
“What’s wrong with you? Where is your shoe?” Mario asked through his car window.
“Nothing. I’ll tell you right now. Everything is fine.” We were meeting for the daily quarter ounce. Sometimes we met twice in a day.
“What do you mean? It doesn’t look like everything is fine.”
My hands and feet had bled all over from too much cocaine. Every line and crease in my palms and on the backs of my knuckles WAS dried out and cracked. It was like a curse out of a Stephen King novel. Blood dripped down my hands and soaked into my socks. No one I saw had an explanation or words of comfort. Chino stared sideways at what he saw. What words comfort someone willfully killing himself with chemicals? It was eerie and scary. My right foot throbbed and stung, so I took my shoe off before I met up with Mario.
“Why is your shoe off?” I showed Mario my hands and foot. “You don’t need any more coke today. I’m not giving you anymore. Go home and go to sleep.” I didn’t have money at the moment, and he was fronting me the drugs so it was hard to argue. But I planted myself in his front seat until he gave me some. I got one gram before I left.
In the dark, the light of the TV flickered blue on the walls and over my skeleton.? Blood flowed into my syringe before I pushed off, alone in the corner, and the curtains fell with me 8 feet through the open window to the flight of stairs leading into the lobby. I landed on my back and slid to the bottom. The ringing in my head got louder and louder. Shirtless and barefoot, I made the nine-year-old boy check the room for intruders. There were a few streaks of crimson down my arm mixing with my sweat, and the boy’s parents kicked me out.
I spent the rest of the night hiding behind cars parked on the side of Dominicos and jumping out into traffic. Headlights swerved and tires screeched. Spanish curse words flew out of the open windows, while drivers leaned on their horns. Finally, I passed out in the grass of the median. It was the most comfortable sleep I had in a long time.
The life of the neighborhood continued as it always did on those nights. Pedestrians walked the bike path and around corners. Disaster’s chifa was open for business. The freckled waitress laughed with patrons. One of Papillon’s songs played loud through the door of El Vaquerito. On the corner an older lady and her husband sold anticucho the same as every night. They were Christians. Some of the younger people drank outside of the bar. Two or three together, they shared bottles of beer.
One of the llanteros was talking to two girls. We had exchanged words earlier that afternoon, so I walked out to the bike path on the median of Dominicos and offered him a chance to get crazy. I called him a coward and insulted his mother. It was obvious he heard me, but he was scared. His body language said it all.
A few hours later, they got me on the corner of Tomas Valle and Dominicos. It was Pablo who led the attack. El Callao was a suicide mission, and it was over.
I dreamed it would be my bloody masterpiece of pain and destruction, because these were my gifts from the world and all I had to give back to it. It was a piece of art in my mind, the messier the better. Pain was my life and death was the end of it.
But it was no fun getting turned into a chunky puddle of my own brains and blood like that on the sidewalk. There was only one person who knew my name in the neighborhood. I could only think of my mother. Rocks ripped into my scalp. A rope of white snot hung from my lip. Light flashed across my field of vision. Shame was all I felt. It was impossible to scream, but inside of myself, I screamed with all I had.
There had been something like 20 brawls in the two months since I first fought Pablo in Disaster’s restaurant. Fights weren’t about bragging rights or boxing. They were about seriously hurting another person, even killing him. This one was about murder, my murder. A shot was fired.
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2017.10.14 06:50 ASavageLost El Callao. Drug addiction, love and murder in the streets of Peru.

El Callao
El Callao, Peru Summer of 2008

Getting bludgeoned to death isn't as fun as it sounds. The thought occurred to me as my own brutal death unfolded one night under a street lamp. Most people come to that conclusion without taking things that far, but I never was that kind of person.

To the locals I was a drug addicted American in a place he didn’t belong, doing things he ought not, and getting exactly what he asked for. El Callao is a port well known for its violence. I turned 22 in the 3 months that I lived there, and no one knew my name. They just called me gringo.

They chased me through 8 lanes of traffic and I fell twice, before they caught me. A pair of work boots and dirty tennis shoes shuffled and twisted for leverage on the pavement in the dim street light between unforgiving cracks of something heavy against the back of my skull. It is a gruesome thought to be beaten to death with rocks. I wanted my mother. I wanted to apologize, but it was over now. Life never flashed before my eyes, only shame as I lost my bowels.

Luis came to see me off at the airport in Tarapoto, and I had to keep asking him if I was being set up. The imaginary men in tactical gear hiding in the bushes of the airport terrified me. I did my last line in the airport bathroom and tried to use the urinal, but my focus was on the window. Police would pour into the bathroom any second and arrest me. An old janitor made sexual advances as I tried to pee, but I wasn't interested. I swatted at him like a fly and peered over my shoulder.
Luis sipped a beer in the restaurant while I downed liquor. He assured me there was no ambush coming, but I didn't believe him. It was the last time I saw Luis, and the last light of dusk faded into night through the airport windows as I walked up to the ticket counter.
"Are you going to be okay to fly, Senor Chapman?" The girl asked me in Spanish with freckles and a look of doubtful concern. Her company uniform and elegant bun made her look smart. I smelled drunk.
"Yes, mam."
"So, no problems on the flight?"
"None."
"Very well." Her eyes rolled as she stamped my ticket and directed me to the security checkpoint.
Towards the end of the flight, a lady next to me struck up friendly conversation. She and her sister, in the seat next to her, lived in Lima and were delighted to know I was American. I talked and stared indifferently below at the light of the city glowing beneath the clouds. Didn't she realize that I smelled like alcohol? The effects of cocaine faded. Her offers for me to stay at her house and meet her family proved that she did not know me or what I was about.
Outside of the airport's automatic sliding doors, the night air was cool on my face, and the cherry of my Caribe cigarette glowed red as I drew in smoke. A blanket of grey clouds sat low over the city buildings. 300 soles are 100 U.S. dollars, and it was all I had except for my backpack with some notebooks, my passport, cigarettes and the clothes I wore.
A short, light skinned man in his black taxi uniform solicited me for a ride, but cocaine and a cheap room close to the airport were all I was interested in, so he pointed me to his slightly fatter workmate. I paid 14 dollars for a couple grams and seven more dollars for a room at Hostal Dax, on Dominicos avenue and Tomas Valle.
Bustling streets between dilapidated buildings drew me in. El Callao had a peculiar allure. It was real. I identified with its pain. Day to day life continued without looking up to acknowledge me as a visitor. There was nothing for gringos there, and no one spoke English. Across Tomas Valle from hostel Dax, the smoke of cooked animal fat filled the air from women who sold beef anticucho. Other ladies sold rice pudding in the evenings. Mototaxis and their drivers waited patiently in line for fares and read newspapers. Vendors sold candy and cigarettes. Every window and home entrance hid behind steel cages, most businesses too.
Only a few blocks away, in the quieter neighborhoods, boys dressed as women sold themselves after dark. Broken glass and rocks covered the ground. Some houses were pieced together with adobe and sheet metal. Rebar stuck out of most buildings, and others seemed to melt into puddles of earth toned rubble. Smog stained everything in a layer of soot. There were piles of stinky refuse on the sidewalks. Unintelligible graffiti decorated storefronts and homes. Somewhere in the bleak city scape, my own death cried out to me from a street corner. The smell was exhilarating. I wanted to dance. I was there to play.
It wasn’t all bad though. The construction was cheap compared to the U.S., but many buildings were finished and painted often. There was a lot of movement and commerce there, so a fair amount of money. It was clear that the local government was spending money to improve the area. The grass in the parks was lush. Dominicos avenue had a bike path all the way through it, with nice grass, benches, lights and trashcans. Some places were nice and well kept, a block or two away there was rubble and dirt and no grass. Developing nation was the perfect way to say it.
The sun never shines for 9 months of the year, and it was Herman Melville who called it the saddest city in the world. El Callao sits on a peninsula of the Pacific and is more of a slum to Lima, than whatever mental images are invoked by its title: constitutional province. The Pacific coast of South America has no larger port.
Its history is hard and tragic, well reflected in the faces of the people who live there. El Callao and Lima served as the Spanish base of operations for the destruction of the ancient Incan civilization. Women and girls were raped. Men were enslaved. Everyone was indiscriminately subject to the cruel Spanish slaughter, and the trauma inflicted by the violence passed from generation to generation. To this day, the land is stained in the guilt of innocent blood proudly spilled by Conquistadors, and a curse sits on the city for the legacy of atrocities committed by its founders. They built cathedrals and colonial buildings as monuments to their conquest. There is no rain to wash it away, just dreary fog to keep the wounds moist.
Bloody rebellions raged in the 1800s. Throughout the 80s and 90s, guerilla factions terrorized the country in the name of communism. June of 1986 gave us the Peruvian Prison Massacres. No one was ever charged. Corruption runs rampant. By 1949, it had established itself as one of the biggest centers for cocaine trafficking in the world. That's why I got off the plane.
Back at Hostel Dax, I preferred the two English speaking channels. The one-gram bindles came in grey, wax paper, and I hid them under the TV between doing lines. It was a nice room for that part of town and even had a private bathroom. Rooms could be rented for periods as short as one hour. Those three hours in my room, I peeked out of the window, watched the XXX movies playing on the hotel’s closed-circuit channel and scribbled in my notebook.
When I finished the drugs, I walked a block and a half down Dominicos avenue and found El Vaquerito, or The Cowboy in English. AguaMarina was a similar bar to its left on the corner, but it was closed. A chifa, or stir fry, was still open to the right of El Vaquerito.
Cheap brown wooden tables with cheap brown wooden chairs were the only effects offered to patrons besides cumbia, cigarettes and liter bottles of Cristal or Pilsen beer. I sat at a table against the wall and lit my cigarette. The floor was filthy. Sad, dark figures sat slumped at a few other tables, drinking beer the way Peruvians do.
A shot is poured into one small glass. The bottle is passed to the next person in the circle. With a tap of the glass to the bottle, "Salud," is said and the shot of beer is knocked back. Whatever foam is left is poured into another identical glass sitting on the table. The process is repeated.
The song of a broken heart song belted out in Spanish over lively trombones, synthesized drums and the tacky effects of a keyboard. Cumbia is always about unfaithful love and heartache, but it's great for dancing.
Too much cocaine furrowed my brow, and a cigarette stuck out unnaturally from my lips. The lady tending bar came from the back and saw me. I mimicked a bottle in my hand. She nodded and reached into the cooler for a bottle and carried two glasses over to my table.
"How much?"
"Tres soles," which is about one dollar.
"Here." Our eyes met briefly. Her dark features were kind. She lived in the back with 3 kids and her husband. One of the kids wasn’t hers.
The shot of beer was cool and welcome. My head leaned back against the wall, and I blew cigarette smoke at the ceiling that glowed blue in the light of the bar. I snorted to clear my sinuses and thought about how much I hated myself. After a few more liters of beer, I felt like I could sleep and headed back to the room. In the morning I purposely overslept and missed any opportunity to fly back to Pucallpa.
Chino, the owner of the bar, told me his real name once, but I can't remember it. Sometimes, we called him Gordo, because he looked like Tony Soprano. His personality was as big as his belly, and he had the nicest clothes and jewelry available in town. His white hat always looked brand new, and a braided gold chain hung from his neck. Everyone in the neighborhood knew and respected him.
He had been running those streets since he was 10 years old, while his mother sold bread and pastries on the corner out of a wooden cart. Over time they built their enterprise together, saved their money and rented out the two spaces on the corner of Dominicos avenue, a block off Tomas Valle. His mother called hers Aquamarina after her favorite Cumbia band. They made good money selling beer, and ceviche was available before 4.
When I finally woke up from missing my flight to Pucallpa, I went back to El Vaquerito. I ordered a beer with some of the money I had left, but in Peru almost no one ever drinks alone, so Chino came out to see me. He stood over my table and introduced himself.
"My wife said a gringo came in last night, but I was in the back, counting money." I drank my shot of beer and handed him the glass. He poured a shot.
"Well, I'm that gringo." I laughed. His smile revealed large gaps between his teeth. Any facial hair he had was thin and stringy.
"What are you doing here? You speak Spanish well." He knocked his shot back.
"Yes, I speak. I'm not sure what I'm doing now, but I've been in Peru for over a year mostly in Pucallpa with the Shipibos.”
"In the jungle, huh? You're crazy." Chino continued the conversation. He seemed impressed by what I was telling him but not necessarily in a good way. I poured a shot. "With witchdoctors?" He shook his head.
"Crazy. Yeah. That is what they say, but I don't know. I like Peru. Do you know where to get any coke?" He said his brother would be by in an hour or so.
We continued to drink beer and got to know each other. He introduced me to his wife and kids. One girl was about 7 and her slightly younger brother was mentally handicapped. He liked to eat dirt and oranges without peeling them. There was a 2-year-old boy, who was very cute. Only the girl and toddler were his wife's kids, but she took care of all three. He had another baby, with a girl named Yolanda. She lived with his mother, because he didn't want anything to do with her.
After a while we moved to his Mom's bar where his brother was supposed to show up. He and I got drunk and smoked the cigarettes I bought. At midafternoon, four guys walked into the bar. They were younger than most other patrons and certainly louder. The guy with the ponytail was the most vocal.
"Hey, Colorado, what are you doing here?" Colorado means red in Spanish but is slang for white boy in el Callao. I preferred Colorado to being called gringo. In my mind it seemed less insulting. Mostly men called me Colorado. Women called me gringo.
"Nothing, drinking some beer." They menaced me with hostile tones and demeanor.
"I don't think you really belong here. This isn't the U.S. Maybe you should get going, gringo." He had grease stains all over his jacket and pants.
"Maybe, I should." It was unnecessary conflict. "But, I'm enjoying this beer and these cigarettes and the cumbia playing. Maybe I'll leave. Maybe not."
He walked up to the counter and paid Chino's mother for the beer and another bottle. The men followed him out the door back across Dominicos Avenue to the all-night tire shop. They fixed flats and replaced tires all day and all night, seven days a week. Cocaine and beer helped them work the long hours. They were more of a neighborhood gang than guys who ran a garage, and I referred to them as llanteros or tire guys in English.
"Hey, Chino, who was that guy?"
"Pablo. He's a hoodlum. Thinks he's bad."
"Oh, do you think he likes me?" We laughed it off and got another cold bottle to drink. I paid for all the beer. Chino drank it. He was knocking a shot of beer back when his younger brother walked in.
Miguel was in a phase of laziness and getting into trouble. He had dropped out of school and didn’t work. I heard all about it from the conversation Chino had with his mom.
Across Tomas Valle, Miguel introduced me to a mototaxi driver named William who hid me in his mototaxi as we rode to la Huaca. It was by far the most dangerous part of town, and everyone told me not to go there by myself. The houses were small and some had plastic tarps instead of roofs. There were no sidewalks, only dirt and rubble everywhere.
The real name is La Huaca Garagay. It’s supposed to be an archeological site. Besides a few rocks laid up by the hands of ancient man, some engravings and a deep hole in the rocks, there was nothing to see. Maybe it was a portal where evil leaked out of the netherworld into the neighborhood.
I only bought one gram and one more night at the hotel, because I was almost out of money. When I finished the gram that night, I Chino's 6-year-old boy was throwing a fit on the ground by my table. So I stood up and danced for him, but it didn’t help. Cumbia is a basic two step, and I danced at every chance I got. The chemicals only helped. One Saturday night, Chino's wife told another girl, that I was the best dancer in the whole place.
Sarah was short, dark and pretty. We met at the locutorio she ran where I made cheap phone calls, foreign and domestic. The clerk at Hostel Dax liked her, too. One night I saw her at the hostel, but she wasn’t there to see me.
She and her manager at the locutorio let me make phone calls and pay them later. Someone had been stabbed to death right there, where she worked. No good reason for it, but they died on the floor choking in a puddle of their own blood. Sarah's manager saw the whole thing. It had only been a few months.
There were a couple of computers, where I checked my email. A girl from Tarapoto sent me 2 or 3 a week. They always started the same, “Dear gringo, you are a savage. No one has ever done to me the things you did to me. When are you coming back, so I can see you?” She never got a response. I made long distance phone calls to my family asking for money. The money always came.
"I don’t know how long I'm going to make it, Mama."
"What do you mean, Riley?"
"I think I'm going to die soon. Something bad is going to happen. I know it."
There was a pause on the line. Her voice was shaky but tried to reassure me. "Why would you think that? Nothing is going to happen, Riley. It's going to be fine. There is nothing to worry about." She must have known I was getting high with phone calls like that. It was before I started shooting up again.
"Someone is going to kill me. I'm sorry, Mama. I'm going to die. I love you." I hung up.
William's hook up wanted to know who was buying so much cloro as they called it. His connection found out and introduced himself to me. I was easy to find, because there were no gringos in El Callao. Mario only offered a slight break on the price but had a phone number and delivered.
"Do you know what my name is?" The night fog condensed on the windows of his station wagon.
"Mario, right?"
"You won't believe it, but my name is Mario Jesus." He stared at me. My eyes followed a lady walking down the sidewalk. His stared intently at my face. "Jesus. You know? Like Christ. Like the savior. I care about people." I rolled my eyes now.
“You know, Mario, don’t take this the wrong way, but none of that s*** is true. I don’t believe in Jesus Christ. I don’t believe he was God, and the bible is a lie. So, I’m very sorry, but I don’t care. I don’t believe in that s***. Besides, Jesus didn’t sell drugs. So what are you even talking about?”
“How many do you want then?”
“Seven is the magic number.”
Paranoid delusions swallowed my mind in the hotel room every night. I squatted naked and sweaty in the corner of the shower. My hands clutched the heavy porcelain top of the toilet tank ready to smash whoever came in through the windows. Then I went to Chino's bar to drink beer, sometimes hard liquor. Xanax and valium were available and extremely cheap. Chino and his wife trusted me, so I helped with cleaning tables, serving beer and selling cigarettes. I did it for free while I came down.
But sometimes I stalked the streets at night jerking and twitching with pure evil in my blood, like some kind of creature coming to eat children in the neighborhood. The legend of the face peeler was told to every child as soon as they could understand it, so when they saw me they ran. Mothers led their children to the other side of the street. People watched from a distance like they expected me to find a stray dog and rip his throat out with my teeth. I certainly looked the part. Hours would pass before I could talk myself down and into returning to my corner bars or the hotel to relax.
A short, fat woman in a black dress saw me sitting on a bench on Dominicos. She was about fifty years old. Money was gone till I could call home again. She asked me what I was doing and plainly told me she was a prostitute. I told her I didn't have any money for that kind of thing.
"You come with me for the night. I will get us a room and buy your drugs. All I have to do is go sell my phone to the guy who owns that place." She pointed a block away to the neon sign of a place that sold grilled chicken.
"I want some weed."
"Ok. How much do you need?"
"Like 10 soles." She reached into her bag and pulled out a bill marked for 10.
In the room after I smoked a joint, she told me about her life. We laid on the bed with our faces inches apart.
"When I was a girl, as soon as I had breasts, my father would tie me up in the shed out back of our house, and he did whatever he wanted to me. And I mean whatever he wanted." She looked up at me with tears and moved close. Most of her teeth were missing.
I spent 20 minutes in the shower scrubbing with soap, trying to wash away any disease. Afterwards, I left the room to go back to El Vaquerito for a while. When I returned at 4 a.m., she had checked out. It was the last I knew of her.
One night I watched my tears fall three and a half stories to the concrete below. For some reason, I was on the roof of Hostel Dax that night where they hung the bed sheets to dry. My toes hung off the ledge, but it didn’t seem high enough. I did not jump.
A cabbie picked me up on Tomas Valle and took me to another part of town for some powder. Two guys walked back into a hole in the side of a building to get it. It looked like an earthquake had cracked the building in half. After that I cried. The taxi driver didn’t know how to handle it and dropped me off as soon he could.
Two guys ran the late night, stir fry joint next to El Vaquerito. The owner called himself Disaster, and he had a lot of women that came to see him while he watched his business. They would sit at the table and dote over him.
Negro was from Ica, on the coast and said he missed it. He cooked. The food was salty, greasy and cheap, an ideal snack after a night of drinking, and the sign said Chifa. A curly haired girl with dark freckles all over joked with patrons and waited tables. She teased me to give her a baby with green eyes.
"Hey, colorado, are you hungry?" It was one of the colder nights, and the early morning fog rolled in. I hadn't eaten or slept in days. Disaster showed me kindness with is offer.
"Yes. I can pay you back."
"Don't worry about it. Negro, make him some rice."
"Oh, gringo, you want some rice, huh? Well, let me get you some." Negro smiled with big white teeth. He made me laugh every time we talked.
Soon after that a crowd spilled out onto the sidewalk in front of their restaurant at night. I couldn't see what was going on at first, but Chino's mom skirted the crowd with me and looked worried. Two men held Disaster’s arms behind his back while Pablo swung at his face. Disaster’s braces tore his cheeks, and blood hung in black ropes from his chin.
I pushed past the crowd with ease and flew into the conflict. In my mind I was a 400-pound silver back, and instantly Pablo and I were the back of the restaurant, tearing a table apart as we fought on either side of it for a grip. The two other men offered no threat. Everyone watched. Chino's mom barged into the restaurant and broke it up. She grabbed us by our collars like she was holding two kittens by the scruff. The men promised me death, and the scene dispersed. The freckled waitress told me I was strong and asked me if I was crazy.
“Let me see it.” Chino said. I covered the dislocated pinky finger of my left hand with my right. It was obviously dislocated as I lifted it to show Chino. At the second knuckle, it bent backwards at 90 degrees. He held my hand and leaned down to examine it.
“This is really bad. Wow.” He laughed, and in a split second he pulled it with all his might. I screamed.
“What are you doing?” My voice broke. He laughed at me, in the backroom of his bar.
“How else was I supposed to do it? You weren’t going to let me, if I told you.”
“True. Well, thanks.” I chuckled for relief from the stress. It was still mangled, only slightly less. “Those idiots need to be stopped. They can’t be doing stuff like that. Why wasn’t anyone doing anything about it? Disaster is a nice guy, and the whole neighborhood just sat there watching it. I think Pablo really does like me.” I smirked. A stupid smile on his face, Chino didn’t say anything.
“Maybe because they don’t want to get killed later, when they are least expecting it.” The silhouette of Chino’s mom in the door way declared with matriarchal authority.
“She knows what she’s talking about. Listen to her.” Chino said. His mom left as soon as she saw I was ok.
“You are good people, Gringo.” Chino’s wife walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder. One of the kids was at her feet. In her soft Spanish, she said, “You’re a good guy, but you need to forget about it. You don’t need to be messing with that. Now go home and go to sleep. You’ve had enough for the night. We’ll see you in the morning.”
“Hueco! Quiero hueco!” Chino yelled at his wife and grabbed her butt, as I walked away. I turned back to look. Her calm face never changed expression, as her drunk husband made his vulgar demands. Hueco means hole.
I found a pharmacy that sold vials of liquid valium for cheap, so I bought a needle for it. I quit snorting cocaine. With the needle, my mind disintegrated. The cops were always about to bust me. It was common for me to be on my knees in the middle of the room with my hands behind my head and screaming,
“Come in! I surrender! I have no weapons. My hands are on my head! I won’t resist!” I didn’t want them to think I had a gun so I put myself in the most vulnerable position for them, but they never came.
The family that owned the pharmacy where I bought the vials were horrified to see me back the next day attempting to buy several more. It was too much for one person to do, but I persisted and settled for two before I left.
My mind was not sound. I was hygienically challenged anyway, but cocaine and pharmaceuticals exacerbated my condition. One morning I found a huge smear of what proved to be human excrement on my sleeve. Hopefully my own.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No.” Her tone was a mix of disdain and disinterest.
“Do you want one?”
“No. Even if I did, I wouldn’t want you, loco.” Leticia had a lighter brown complexion, almost red and big, thick thighs she stuffed into the top half of her jeans. Her legs were crossed, so I reached over and pinched the mound of flesh above her knee. Her body shifted forward and her face radiated. She restrained herself from slapping me. “Don’t ever touch me again. EVER! My legs are mine. Keep your hands to yourself.”
“Sorry. You have nice legs. I didn’t mean anything by it.” She relaxed and our conversation continued.
Leticia was single at 30. She was a virgin, which was unheard of in the Callao where infidelity was the way of life. Her family was good and Christian. We got to know each other, as she worked in a different locutorio on the other side of Dominicos. I had never been to it before, but I owed money where Sarah worked. Since she had seen me around, she trusted me to pay her back, and after that I only went to her locutorio. I walked her home one night and even met her mother who was sick.
It never made sense to me why Leticia talked to me. Green eyes, like mine, are a novelty in a country where 99% of people are brown eyed and brown skinned with black hair. Maybe it was a bad boy thing. I was kind to her, but I was bound in addiction and violence in the streets. Such contradiction in a man draws women.
“Sueltame” by Grupo Nectar was a cumbia song we both liked and sang together sometimes when we talked at midafternoon in her store. Our knees touched when we sat. “Let me go. Break the chains. I don’t want to live like this,” are the lyrics. It was about a break up, but it described my chemical bondage well. I brought her cookies when I came to see her.
The name of my favorite cumbia song was “Ojala que te mueras,” or “I hope to God you die,” in English. It played loud in El Vaquerito, while Miguel told a story about how he and Chino had defeated a group of 4 men. We were talking about my violent exploits. The incident with Pablo had incited in me a hunger for violence. I had developed a habit of talking trash to groups of young men who were no strangers to violence and hated gringos. After several close calls, I ended the previous night hanging out of a car window going 50 miles an hour, because the taxi driver didn’t want to give me a ride, and I tried to jump in through the window. 18-year-old Miguel boasted how tough his family was. Chino waited to speak.
“That was a long time ago.” Chino looked at me. “Fighting is how people get hurt. Around here, that’s how people get killed. One blade or one bullet on an unlucky night is all it takes. Then, you’re dead. You need to stop, Colorado. Everyone can die. Those guys across the street. Me. Him. You. Everyone.” His thick finger dug into my chest and face twisted in emotion.
“No one messes with us, huh, Chino?” His little brother insisted.
“Shut the f*** up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Chino charged his younger brother.
“Chino is mad, because his woman is giving him problems. Then, he’s got Yolanda and her kid hanging around the family businesses like a couple of sick dogs.” It was a cruel thing to say about the mother of Chino’s illegitimate child and the kid. She hardly had enough sense to take care of herself, much less the baby.
Chino jerked up and reached over to slap his brother. His meaty forearm and open palm swung short, because Miguel was falling backwards out of his chair. Miguel ran to his mother’s bar.
I went to visit Leticia, one evening. Her desktop computer was in pieces. The door to one of the phone booths was on the floor. It was Pablo’s routine. First Disaster, now Leticia. He never hit her but scared her for money. I puffed up and punched the wall. She asked me to stop in a quiet voice and walked close. We squeezed each other in a long embrace.
“It’s okay, Riley. It will be okay.” She was the only person who knew my name and pronounced it well.
There were only two things I ate for those few months besides cookies. Anticucho is a marinated beef kebab, usually sold with tripe, grilled right in front of you on the street corner. It is delicious and sold at night by women making an extra dollar for their household. Most of the women who sold it laughed when I came to eat. It was not uncommon for me to eat ten skewers in a row or more.
The other dish I ate was ceviche. Ceviche is originally Peruvian, not Mexican, and it doesn’t involve tomatoes. Cubes of white fileted fish are cooked by the acid of lime juice. Red onions, a hot pepper, light seasoning and salt, toasted corn kernels, steamed sweet potato and a piece of lettuce complete the dish. Each afore listed element eaten together was what I loved. The first time I ate it, I couldn’t believe how good it was. Peruvians don’t eat ceviche after four in the afternoon. It has to do with the freshness of the fish caught that morning. Inca Kola is a yellow colored cream soda, which I drank with my ceviche.
Other nights I wandered the streets looking for danger. I knew the territory north of Tomas Valle well. There was La Huaca where dirt and rubble covered the ground and getting robbed is a guarantee, and I knew 33rd street where the boys dressed like girls sold themselves on the corner after 9. They injected silicone or baby oil directly into their face and butt cheeks to soften their jaw lines and square hips. Some of the prettiest girls you will ever see are not really girls.
Back in another direction there was an apartment complex where the courtyards turned into a zombie apocalypse every night from 12 to 4 a.m. Never have I seen anything like it. It looked like the newer zombie movies, where the zombies move fast and are everywhere, but they smoked pasta basuca and drank cheap wine. A woman’s hair was pulled. Incoherent verbal altercations teetered on the edge of physical violence. A glass bottle smashed on the ground. Everyone twitched and jerked around for the pasta, clucking like malfunctioning mechanical chickens.
I walked to La Huaca at four one morning to score. It was stupid, and the house all the cocaine came from didn’t want to sell me anything. On the way back three men tried to strong-arm me, but I presented more scrap than they cared to deal with. An old lady watched through the bars of her bedroom window. She said something, and they ran away.
The first light of day was in the sky and several mototaxi drivers had pulled over to watch the commotion. Only the hood of my jacket was torn off. I raised my hands in victory towards the spectators on the side of the road and screamed in Spanish, something like, “Did you all see that?”
Mario heard about it and came to see me the next evening after I slept most of the day. I bragged. He complained about the hard time his hook up was giving him for me going out there. He yawned while I bragged about how tough I was.
“Look at my eye.” He pulled off his glasses in the car parked on Dominicos in front of a restaurant called La Braserita. It was right next to the hotel where the prostitute had gotten us a room that night. The red and orange lights of the electric sign came in through the window and lit up the right side of his face. “Do you see it?” Milky, blue scar tissue covered half of his brown iris. “I used to fight in the streets. I got hit with a big stick. They say they can remove it, but I don’t have enough money for the surgery. Fighting comes with a price.”
There was a 10-foot drop from the second story balcony of Hostal Dax. I just jumped. No stairs. The owners hated it and didn’t understand, but they knew I was crazy. A combination of my years on skateboards and the chemicals running through my blood made me agile and stupid. I pushed the limits of it, like everything else and lived out delusions of being some kind of super hero protecting the innocent. I climbed the sides of buildings and shimmied up street lamps with ease. I was a crack headed spider man. More than once, I perched on a street lamp in broad daylight, high out of my mind and pretended that my life was a comic book.
“What’s wrong with you? Where is your shoe?” Mario asked through his car window.
“Nothing. I’ll tell you, right now. Everything is fine.” We were meeting for the daily quarter ounce. Sometimes we met twice in a day.
“What do you mean? It doesn’t look like everything is fine.”
My hands and feet had bled all over. Every line and crease in my palms and on the backs of my knuckles dried out and cracked. It was like a curse out of a Stephen King novel. Blood dripped down my hands and soaked into my socks. No one I saw had an explanation or words of comfort. Chino stared sideways at what he saw. What words comfort someone willfully killing themselves with chemicals? It was eerie and scary. My right foot throbbed and stung, so I took my shoe off before I met up with Mario.
“Why is your shoe off?” I showed him my hands and foot. “You don’t need any more coke today. I’m not giving you anymore. Go home and go to sleep.” I didn’t have money at the moment, and he was fronting me the drugs so it was hard to argue. But I planted myself in his front seat until he gave me some. I got one gram before I left.
In the dark, the light of the TV flickered blue on the walls and over my skeleton. Blood flowed into my syringe before I pushed off, alone in the corner, and the curtains fell with me 8 feet through the open window to the flight of stairs leading into the lobby. I landed on my back and slid to the bottom. The ringing in my head got louder and louder. Shirtless and barefoot, I made the nine-year-old boy check the room for intruders. There were a few streaks of crimson down my arm mixing with my sweat, and the boy’s parents kicked me out.
I spent the rest of the night hiding behind cars parked on the side of Dominicos and jumping out into traffic. Headlights swerved and tires screeched. Spanish curse words flew out of the open windows, while drivers laid on their horns. Finally, I passed out in the grass of the median. It was the most comfortable sleep I had in a long time.
The life of the neighborhood continued as it always did on those nights. Pedestrians walked the bike path and around corners. Disaster’s chifa was open for business. The freckled waitress laughed with patrons. One of Papillon’s songs played loud through the door of El Vaquerito. On the corner an older lady and her husband sold anticucho the same as every night. They were Christians. Some of the younger people drank outside of the bar. Two or three together, they shared bottles of beer.
One of the llanteros was talking to two girls. We had exchanged words earlier that afternoon, so I walked out to the bike path on the median of Dominicos and offered him a chance to get crazy. I called him a coward and insulted his mother. It was obvious he heard me, but he was scared. His body language said it all.
A few hours later, they got me on the corner of Tomas Valle and Dominicos. It was Pablo who led the attack. El Callao was a suicide mission, and it was over.
I dreamed it would be my bloody masterpiece of pain and destruction, because these were my gifts from the world and all I had to give back to it. It was a piece of art in my mind, the messier the better. Pain was my life and death was the end of it.
But it was no fun getting turned into a chunky puddle of brains and blood like that on the sidewalk. There was only one person who even knew my name in the neighborhood. I could only think of my mother. Rocks ripped into my scalp. A rope of white snot hung from my lip. Light flashed across my field of vision. Shame was all I felt. It was impossible to scream, but inside of myself, I screamed with all I had.
There had been something like 20 brawls in the two months since I first fought Pablo in Disaster’s restaurant. Fights weren’t about bragging rights or boxing. They were about seriously hurting another person, even killing them. This one was about murder, my murder. A shot was fired.
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2017.10.14 06:38 ASavageLost El Callao... Part 1. A story about shooting way too much cocaine and fighting in the streets of Peru and a love story.

El Callao
El Callao, Peru Summer of 2008

Getting bludgeoned to death isn't as fun as it sounds. The thought occurred to me as my own brutal death unfolded one night under a street lamp. Most people come to that conclusion without taking things that far, but I never was that kind of person.

To the locals I was a drug addicted American in a place he didn’t belong, doing things he ought not, and getting exactly what he asked for. El Callao is a port well known for its violence. I turned 22 in the 3 months that I lived there, and no one knew my name. They just called me gringo.

They chased me through 8 lanes of traffic and I fell twice, before they caught me. A pair of work boots and dirty tennis shoes shuffled and twisted for leverage on the pavement in the dim street light between unforgiving cracks of something heavy against the back of my skull. It is a gruesome thought to be beaten to death with rocks. I wanted my mother. I wanted to apologize, but it was over now. Life never flashed before my eyes, only shame as I lost my bowels.

Luis came to see me off at the airport in Tarapoto, and I had to keep asking him if I was being set up. The imaginary men in tactical gear hiding in the bushes of the airport terrified me. I did my last line in the airport bathroom and tried to use the urinal, but my focus was on the window. Police would pour into the bathroom any second and arrest me. An old janitor made sexual advances as I tried to pee, but I wasn't interested. I swatted at him like a fly and peered over my shoulder.
Luis sipped a beer in the restaurant while I downed liquor. He assured me there was no ambush coming, but I didn't believe him. It was the last time I saw Luis, and the last light of dusk faded into night through the airport windows as I walked up to the ticket counter.
"Are you going to be okay to fly, Senor Chapman?" The girl asked me in Spanish with freckles and a look of doubtful concern. Her company uniform and elegant bun made her look smart. I smelled drunk.
"Yes, mam."
"So, no problems on the flight?"
"None."
"Very well." Her eyes rolled as she stamped my ticket and directed me to the security checkpoint.
Towards the end of the flight, a lady next to me struck up friendly conversation. She and her sister, in the seat next to her, lived in Lima and were delighted to know I was American. I talked and stared indifferently below at the light of the city glowing beneath the clouds. Didn't she realize that I smelled like alcohol? The effects of cocaine faded. Her offers for me to stay at her house and meet her family proved that she did not know me or what I was about.
Outside of the airport's automatic sliding doors, the night air was cool on my face, and the cherry of my Caribe cigarette glowed red as I drew in smoke. A blanket of grey clouds sat low over the city buildings. 300 soles are 100 U.S. dollars, and it was all I had except for my backpack with some notebooks, my passport, cigarettes and the clothes I wore.
A short, light skinned man in his black taxi uniform solicited me for a ride, but cocaine and a cheap room close to the airport were all I was interested in, so he pointed me to his slightly fatter workmate. I paid 14 dollars for a couple grams and seven more dollars for a room at Hostal Dax, on Dominicos avenue and Tomas Valle.
Bustling streets between dilapidated buildings drew me in. El Callao had a peculiar allure. It was real. I identified with its pain. Day to day life continued without looking up to acknowledge me as a visitor. There was nothing for gringos there, and no one spoke English. Across Tomas Valle from hostel Dax, the smoke of cooked animal fat filled the air from women who sold beef anticucho. Other ladies sold rice pudding in the evenings. Mototaxis and their drivers waited patiently in line for fares and read newspapers. Vendors sold candy and cigarettes. Every window and home entrance hid behind steel cages, most businesses too.
Only a few blocks away, in the quieter neighborhoods, boys dressed as women sold themselves after dark. Broken glass and rocks covered the ground. Some houses were pieced together with adobe and sheet metal. Rebar stuck out of most buildings, and others seemed to melt into puddles of earth toned rubble. Smog stained everything in a layer of soot. There were piles of stinky refuse on the sidewalks. Unintelligible graffiti decorated storefronts and homes. Somewhere in the bleak city scape, my own death cried out to me from a street corner. The smell was exhilarating. I wanted to dance. I was there to play.
It wasn’t all bad though. The construction was cheap compared to the U.S., but many buildings were finished and painted often. There was a lot of movement and commerce there, so a fair amount of money. It was clear that the local government was spending money to improve the area. The grass in the parks was lush. Dominicos avenue had a bike path all the way through it, with nice grass, benches, lights and trashcans. Some places were nice and well kept, a block or two away there was rubble and dirt and no grass. Developing nation was the perfect way to say it.
The sun never shines for 9 months of the year, and it was Herman Melville who called it the saddest city in the world. El Callao sits on a peninsula of the Pacific and is more of a slum to Lima, than whatever mental images are invoked by its title: constitutional province. The Pacific coast of South America has no larger port.
Its history is hard and tragic, well reflected in the faces of the people who live there. El Callao and Lima served as the Spanish base of operations for the destruction of the ancient Incan civilization. Women and girls were raped. Men were enslaved. Everyone was indiscriminately subject to the cruel Spanish slaughter, and the trauma inflicted by the violence passed from generation to generation. To this day, the land is stained in the guilt of innocent blood proudly spilled by Conquistadors, and a curse sits on the city for the legacy of atrocities committed by its founders. They built cathedrals and colonial buildings as monuments to their conquest. There is no rain to wash it away, just dreary fog to keep the wounds moist.
Bloody rebellions raged in the 1800s. Throughout the 80s and 90s, guerilla factions terrorized the country in the name of communism. June of 1986 gave us the Peruvian Prison Massacres. No one was ever charged. Corruption runs rampant. By 1949, it had established itself as one of the biggest centers for cocaine trafficking in the world. That's why I got off the plane.
Back at Hostel Dax, I preferred the two English speaking channels. The one-gram bindles came in grey, wax paper, and I hid them under the TV between doing lines. It was a nice room for that part of town and even had a private bathroom. Rooms could be rented for periods as short as one hour. Those three hours in my room, I peeked out of the window, watched the XXX movies playing on the hotel’s closed-circuit channel and scribbled in my notebook.
When I finished the drugs, I walked a block and a half down Dominicos avenue and found El Vaquerito, or The Cowboy in English. AguaMarina was a similar bar to its left on the corner, but it was closed. A chifa, or stir fry, was still open to the right of El Vaquerito.
Cheap brown wooden tables with cheap brown wooden chairs were the only effects offered to patrons besides cumbia, cigarettes and liter bottles of Cristal or Pilsen beer. I sat at a table against the wall and lit my cigarette. The floor was filthy. Sad, dark figures sat slumped at a few other tables, drinking beer the way Peruvians do.
A shot is poured into one small glass. The bottle is passed to the next person in the circle. With a tap of the glass to the bottle, "Salud," is said and the shot of beer is knocked back. Whatever foam is left is poured into another identical glass sitting on the table. The process is repeated.
The song of a broken heart song belted out in Spanish over lively trombones, synthesized drums and the tacky effects of a keyboard. Cumbia is always about unfaithful love and heartache, but it's great for dancing.
Too much cocaine furrowed my brow, and a cigarette stuck out unnaturally from my lips. The lady tending bar came from the back and saw me. I mimicked a bottle in my hand. She nodded and reached into the cooler for a bottle and carried two glasses over to my table.
"How much?"
"Tres soles," which is about one dollar.
"Here." Our eyes met briefly. Her dark features were kind. She lived in the back with 3 kids and her husband. One of the kids wasn’t hers.
The shot of beer was cool and welcome. My head leaned back against the wall, and I blew cigarette smoke at the ceiling that glowed blue in the light of the bar. I snorted to clear my sinuses and thought about how much I hated myself. After a few more liters of beer, I felt like I could sleep and headed back to the room. In the morning I purposely overslept and missed any opportunity to fly back to Pucallpa.
Chino, the owner of the bar, told me his real name once, but I can't remember it. Sometimes, we called him Gordo, because he looked like Tony Soprano. His personality was as big as his belly, and he had the nicest clothes and jewelry available in town. His white hat always looked brand new, and a braided gold chain hung from his neck. Everyone in the neighborhood knew and respected him.
He had been running those streets since he was 10 years old, while his mother sold bread and pastries on the corner out of a wooden cart. Over time they built their enterprise together, saved their money and rented out the two spaces on the corner of Dominicos avenue, a block off Tomas Valle. His mother called hers Aquamarina after her favorite Cumbia band. They made good money selling beer, and ceviche was available before 4.
When I finally woke up from missing my flight to Pucallpa, I went back to El Vaquerito. I ordered a beer with some of the money I had left, but in Peru almost no one ever drinks alone, so Chino came out to see me. He stood over my table and introduced himself.
"My wife said a gringo came in last night, but I was in the back, counting money." I drank my shot of beer and handed him the glass. He poured a shot.
"Well, I'm that gringo." I laughed. His smile revealed large gaps between his teeth. Any facial hair he had was thin and stringy.
"What are you doing here? You speak Spanish well." He knocked his shot back.
"Yes, I speak. I'm not sure what I'm doing now, but I've been in Peru for over a year mostly in Pucallpa with the Shipibos.”
"In the jungle, huh? You're crazy." Chino continued the conversation. He seemed impressed by what I was telling him but not necessarily in a good way. I poured a shot. "With witchdoctors?" He shook his head.
"Crazy. Yeah. That is what they say, but I don't know. I like Peru. Do you know where to get any coke?" He said his brother would be by in an hour or so.
We continued to drink beer and got to know each other. He introduced me to his wife and kids. One girl was about 7 and her slightly younger brother was mentally handicapped. He liked to eat dirt and oranges without peeling them. There was a 2-year-old boy, who was very cute. Only the girl and toddler were his wife's kids, but she took care of all three. He had another baby, with a girl named Yolanda. She lived with his mother, because he didn't want anything to do with her.
After a while we moved to his Mom's bar where his brother was supposed to show up. He and I got drunk and smoked the cigarettes I bought. At midafternoon, four guys walked into the bar. They were younger than most other patrons and certainly louder. The guy with the ponytail was the most vocal.
"Hey, Colorado, what are you doing here?" Colorado means red in Spanish but is slang for white boy in el Callao. I preferred Colorado to being called gringo. In my mind it seemed less insulting. Mostly men called me Colorado. Women called me gringo.
"Nothing, drinking some beer." They menaced me with hostile tones and demeanor.
"I don't think you really belong here. This isn't the U.S. Maybe you should get going, gringo." He had grease stains all over his jacket and pants.
"Maybe, I should." It was unnecessary conflict. "But, I'm enjoying this beer and these cigarettes and the cumbia playing. Maybe I'll leave. Maybe not."
He walked up to the counter and paid Chino's mother for the beer and another bottle. The men followed him out the door back across Dominicos Avenue to the all-night tire shop. They fixed flats and replaced tires all day and all night, seven days a week. Cocaine and beer helped them work the long hours. They were more of a neighborhood gang than guys who ran a garage, and I referred to them as llanteros or tire guys in English.
"Hey, Chino, who was that guy?"
"Pablo. He's a hoodlum. Thinks he's bad."
"Oh, do you think he likes me?" We laughed it off and got another cold bottle to drink. I paid for all the beer. Chino drank it. He was knocking a shot of beer back when his younger brother walked in.
Miguel was in a phase of laziness and getting into trouble. He had dropped out of school and didn’t work. I heard all about it from the conversation Chino had with his mom.
Across Tomas Valle, Miguel introduced me to a mototaxi driver named William who hid me in his mototaxi as we rode to la Huaca. It was by far the most dangerous part of town, and everyone told me not to go there by myself. The houses were small and some had plastic tarps instead of roofs. There were no sidewalks, only dirt and rubble everywhere.
The real name is La Huaca Garagay. It’s supposed to be an archeological site. Besides a few rocks laid up by the hands of ancient man, some engravings and a deep hole in the rocks, there was nothing to see. Maybe it was a portal where evil leaked out of the netherworld into the neighborhood.
I only bought one gram and one more night at the hotel, because I was almost out of money. When I finished the gram that night, I Chino's 6-year-old boy was throwing a fit on the ground by my table. So I stood up and danced for him, but it didn’t help. Cumbia is a basic two step, and I danced at every chance I got. The chemicals only helped. One Saturday night, Chino's wife told another girl, that I was the best dancer in the whole place.
Sarah was short, dark and pretty. We met at the locutorio she ran where I made cheap phone calls, foreign and domestic. The clerk at Hostel Dax liked her, too. One night I saw her at the hostel, but she wasn’t there to see me.
She and her manager at the locutorio let me make phone calls and pay them later. Someone had been stabbed to death right there, where she worked. No good reason for it, but they died on the floor choking in a puddle of their own blood. Sarah's manager saw the whole thing. It had only been a few months.
There were a couple of computers, where I checked my email. A girl from Tarapoto sent me 2 or 3 a week. They always started the same, “Dear gringo, you are a savage. No one has ever done to me the things you did to me. When are you coming back, so I can see you?” She never got a response. I made long distance phone calls to my family asking for money. The money always came.
"I don’t know how long I'm going to make it, Mama."
"What do you mean, Riley?"
"I think I'm going to die soon. Something bad is going to happen. I know it."
There was a pause on the line. Her voice was shaky but tried to reassure me. "Why would you think that? Nothing is going to happen, Riley. It's going to be fine. There is nothing to worry about." She must have known I was getting high with phone calls like that. It was before I started shooting up again.
"Someone is going to kill me. I'm sorry, Mama. I'm going to die. I love you." I hung up.
William's hook up wanted to know who was buying so much cloro as they called it. His connection found out and introduced himself to me. I was easy to find, because there were no gringos in El Callao. Mario only offered a slight break on the price but had a phone number and delivered.
"Do you know what my name is?" The night fog condensed on the windows of his station wagon.
"Mario, right?"
"You won't believe it, but my name is Mario Jesus." He stared at me. My eyes followed a lady walking down the sidewalk. His stared intently at my face. "Jesus. You know? Like Christ. Like the savior. I care about people." I rolled my eyes now.
“You know, Mario, don’t take this the wrong way, but none of that s*** is true. I don’t believe in Jesus Christ. I don’t believe he was God, and the bible is a lie. So, I’m very sorry, but I don’t care. I don’t believe in that s***. Besides, Jesus didn’t sell drugs. So what are you even talking about?”
“How many do you want then?”
“Seven is the magic number.”
Paranoid delusions swallowed my mind in the hotel room every night. I squatted naked and sweaty in the corner of the shower. My hands clutched the heavy porcelain top of the toilet tank ready to smash whoever came in through the windows. Then I went to Chino's bar to drink beer, sometimes hard liquor. Xanax and valium were available and extremely cheap. Chino and his wife trusted me, so I helped with cleaning tables, serving beer and selling cigarettes. I did it for free while I came down.
But sometimes I stalked the streets at night jerking and twitching with pure evil in my blood, like some kind of creature coming to eat children in the neighborhood. The legend of the face peeler was told to every child as soon as they could understand it, so when they saw me they ran. Mothers led their children to the other side of the street. People watched from a distance like they expected me to find a stray dog and rip his throat out with my teeth. I certainly looked the part. Hours would pass before I could talk myself down and into returning to my corner bars or the hotel to relax.
A short, fat woman in a black dress saw me sitting on a bench on Dominicos. She was about fifty years old. Money was gone till I could call home again. She asked me what I was doing and plainly told me she was a prostitute. I told her I didn't have any money for that kind of thing.
"You come with me for the night. I will get us a room and buy your drugs. All I have to do is go sell my phone to the guy who owns that place." She pointed a block away to the neon sign of a place that sold grilled chicken.
"I want some weed."
"Ok. How much do you need?"
"Like 10 soles." She reached into her bag and pulled out a bill marked for 10.
In the room after I smoked a joint, she told me about her life. We laid on the bed with our faces inches apart.
"When I was a girl, as soon as I had breasts, my father would tie me up in the shed out back of our house, and he did whatever he wanted to me. And I mean whatever he wanted." She looked up at me with tears and moved close. Most of her teeth were missing.
I spent 20 minutes in the shower scrubbing with soap, trying to wash away any disease. Afterwards, I left the room to go back to El Vaquerito for a while. When I returned at 4 a.m., she had checked out. It was the last I knew of her.
One night I watched my tears fall three and a half stories to the concrete below. For some reason, I was on the roof of Hostel Dax that night where they hung the bed sheets to dry. My toes hung off the ledge, but it didn’t seem high enough. I did not jump.
A cabbie picked me up on Tomas Valle and took me to another part of town for some powder. Two guys walked back into a hole in the side of a building to get it. It looked like an earthquake had cracked the building in half. After that I cried. The taxi driver didn’t know how to handle it and dropped me off as soon he could.
Two guys ran the late night, stir fry joint next to El Vaquerito. The owner called himself Disaster, and he had a lot of women that came to see him while he watched his business. They would sit at the table and dote over him.
Negro was from Ica, on the coast and said he missed it. He cooked. The food was salty, greasy and cheap, an ideal snack after a night of drinking, and the sign said Chifa. A curly haired girl with dark freckles all over joked with patrons and waited tables. She teased me to give her a baby with green eyes.
"Hey, colorado, are you hungry?" It was one of the colder nights, and the early morning fog rolled in. I hadn't eaten or slept in days. Disaster showed me kindness with is offer.
"Yes. I can pay you back."
"Don't worry about it. Negro, make him some rice."
"Oh, gringo, you want some rice, huh? Well, let me get you some." Negro smiled with big white teeth. He made me laugh every time we talked.
Soon after that a crowd spilled out onto the sidewalk in front of their restaurant at night. I couldn't see what was going on at first, but Chino's mom skirted the crowd with me and looked worried. Two men held Disaster’s arms behind his back while Pablo swung at his face. Disaster’s braces tore his cheeks, and blood hung in black ropes from his chin.
I pushed past the crowd with ease and flew into the conflict. In my mind I was a 400-pound silver back, and instantly Pablo and I were the back of the restaurant, tearing a table apart as we fought on either side of it for a grip. The two other men offered no threat. Everyone watched. Chino's mom barged into the restaurant and broke it up. She grabbed us by our collars like she was holding two kittens by the scruff. The men promised me death, and the scene dispersed. The freckled waitress told me I was strong and asked me if I was crazy.
“Let me see it.” Chino said. I covered the dislocated pinky finger of my left hand with my right. It was obviously dislocated as I lifted it to show Chino. At the second knuckle, it bent backwards at 90 degrees. He held my hand and leaned down to examine it.
“This is really bad. Wow.” He laughed, and in a split second he pulled it with all his might. I screamed.
“What are you doing?” My voice broke. He laughed at me, in the backroom of his bar.
“How else was I supposed to do it? You weren’t going to let me, if I told you.”
“True. Well, thanks.” I chuckled for relief from the stress. It was still mangled, only slightly less. “Those idiots need to be stopped. They can’t be doing stuff like that. Why wasn’t anyone doing anything about it? Disaster is a nice guy, and the whole neighborhood just sat there watching it. I think Pablo really does like me.” I smirked. A stupid smile on his face, Chino didn’t say anything.
“Maybe because they don’t want to get killed later, when they are least expecting it.” The silhouette of Chino’s mom in the door way declared with matriarchal authority.
“She knows what she’s talking about. Listen to her.” Chino said. His mom left as soon as she saw I was ok.
“You are good people, Gringo.” Chino’s wife walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder. One of the kids was at her feet. In her soft Spanish, she said, “You’re a good guy, but you need to forget about it. You don’t need to be messing with that. Now go home and go to sleep. You’ve had enough for the night. We’ll see you in the morning.”
“Hueco! Quiero hueco!” Chino yelled at his wife and grabbed her butt, as I walked away. I turned back to look. Her calm face never changed expression, as her drunk husband made his vulgar demands. Hueco means hole.
I found a pharmacy that sold vials of liquid valium for cheap, so I bought a needle for it. I quit snorting cocaine. With the needle, my mind disintegrated. The cops were always about to bust me. It was common for me to be on my knees in the middle of the room with my hands behind my head and screaming,
“Come in! I surrender! I have no weapons. My hands are on my head! I won’t resist!” I didn’t want them to think I had a gun so I put myself in the most vulnerable position for them, but they never came.
The family that owned the pharmacy where I bought the vials were horrified to see me back the next day attempting to buy several more. It was too much for one person to do, but I persisted and settled for two before I left.
My mind was not sound. I was hygienically challenged anyway, but cocaine and pharmaceuticals exacerbated my condition. One morning I found a huge smear of what proved to be human excrement on my sleeve. Hopefully my own.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No.” Her tone was a mix of disdain and disinterest.
“Do you want one?”
“No. Even if I did, I wouldn’t want you, loco.” Leticia had a lighter brown complexion, almost red and big, thick thighs she stuffed into the top half of her jeans. Her legs were crossed, so I reached over and pinched the mound of flesh above her knee. Her body shifted forward and her face radiated. She restrained herself from slapping me. “Don’t ever touch me again. EVER! My legs are mine. Keep your hands to yourself.”
“Sorry. You have nice legs. I didn’t mean anything by it.” She relaxed and our conversation continued.
Leticia was single at 30. She was a virgin, which was unheard of in the Callao where infidelity was the way of life. Her family was good and Christian. We got to know each other, as she worked in a different locutorio on the other side of Dominicos. I had never been to it before, but I owed money where Sarah worked. Since she had seen me around, she trusted me to pay her back, and after that I only went to her locutorio. I walked her home one night and even met her mother who was sick.
It never made sense to me why Leticia talked to me. Green eyes, like mine, are a novelty in a country where 99% of people are brown eyed and brown skinned with black hair. Maybe it was a bad boy thing. I was kind to her, but I was bound in addiction and violence in the streets. Such contradiction in a man draws women.
“Sueltame” by Grupo Nectar was a cumbia song we both liked and sang together sometimes when we talked at midafternoon in her store. Our knees touched when we sat. “Let me go. Break the chains. I don’t want to live like this,” are the lyrics. It was about a break up, but it described my chemical bondage well. I brought her cookies when I came to see her.
The name of my favorite cumbia song was “Ojala que te mueras,” or “I hope to God you die,” in English. It played loud in El Vaquerito, while Miguel told a story about how he and Chino had defeated a group of 4 men. We were talking about my violent exploits. The incident with Pablo had incited in me a hunger for violence. I had developed a habit of talking trash to groups of young men who were no strangers to violence and hated gringos. After several close calls, I ended the previous night hanging out of a car window going 50 miles an hour, because the taxi driver didn’t want to give me a ride, and I tried to jump in through the window. 18-year-old Miguel boasted how tough his family was. Chino waited to speak.
“That was a long time ago.” Chino looked at me. “Fighting is how people get hurt. Around here, that’s how people get killed. One blade or one bullet on an unlucky night is all it takes. Then, you’re dead. You need to stop, Colorado. Everyone can die. Those guys across the street. Me. Him. You. Everyone.” His thick finger dug into my chest and face twisted in emotion.
“No one messes with us, huh, Chino?” His little brother insisted.
“Shut the f*** up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Chino charged his younger brother.
“Chino is mad, because his woman is giving him problems. Then, he’s got Yolanda and her kid hanging around the family businesses like a couple of sick dogs.” It was a cruel thing to say about the mother of Chino’s illegitimate child and the kid. She hardly had enough sense to take care of herself, much less the baby.
Chino jerked up and reached over to slap his brother. His meaty forearm and open palm swung short, because Miguel was falling backwards out of his chair. Miguel ran to his mother’s bar.
I went to visit Leticia, one evening. Her desktop computer was in pieces. The door to one of the phone booths was on the floor. It was Pablo’s routine. First Disaster, now Leticia. He never hit her but scared her for money. I puffed up and punched the wall. She asked me to stop in a quiet voice and walked close. We squeezed each other in a long embrace.
“It’s okay, Riley. It will be okay.” She was the only person who knew my name and pronounced it well.
There were only two things I ate for those few months besides cookies. Anticucho is a marinated beef kebab, usually sold with tripe, grilled right in front of you on the street corner. It is delicious and sold at night by women making an extra dollar for their household. Most of the women who sold it laughed when I came to eat. It was not uncommon for me to eat ten skewers in a row or more.
The other dish I ate was ceviche. Ceviche is originally Peruvian, not Mexican, and it doesn’t involve tomatoes. Cubes of white fileted fish are cooked by the acid of lime juice. Red onions, a hot pepper, light seasoning and salt, toasted corn kernels, steamed sweet potato and a piece of lettuce complete the dish. Each afore listed element eaten together was what I loved. The first time I ate it, I couldn’t believe how good it was. Peruvians don’t eat ceviche after four in the afternoon. It has to do with the freshness of the fish caught that morning. Inca Kola is a yellow colored cream soda, which I drank with my ceviche.
Other nights I wandered the streets looking for danger. I knew the territory north of Tomas Valle well. There was La Huaca where dirt and rubble covered the ground and getting robbed is a guarantee, and I knew 33rd street where the boys dressed like girls sold themselves on the corner after 9. They injected silicone or baby oil directly into their face and butt cheeks to soften their jaw lines and square hips. Some of the prettiest girls you will ever see are not really girls.
Back in another direction there was an apartment complex where the courtyards turned into a zombie apocalypse every night from 12 to 4 a.m. Never have I seen anything like it. It looked like the newer zombie movies, where the zombies move fast and are everywhere, but they smoked pasta basuca and drank cheap wine. A woman’s hair was pulled. Incoherent verbal altercations teetered on the edge of physical violence. A glass bottle smashed on the ground. Everyone twitched and jerked around for the pasta, clucking like malfunctioning mechanical chickens.
I walked to La Huaca at four one morning to score. It was stupid, and the house all the cocaine came from didn’t want to sell me anything. On the way back three men tried to strong-arm me, but I presented more scrap than they cared to deal with. An old lady watched through the bars of her bedroom window. She said something, and they ran away.
The first light of day was in the sky and several mototaxi drivers had pulled over to watch the commotion. Only the hood of my jacket was torn off. I raised my hands in victory towards the spectators on the side of the road and screamed in Spanish, something like, “Did you all see that?”
Mario heard about it and came to see me the next evening after I slept most of the day. I bragged. He complained about the hard time his hook up was giving him for me going out there. He yawned while I bragged about how tough I was.
“Look at my eye.” He pulled off his glasses in the car parked on Dominicos in front of a restaurant called La Braserita. It was right next to the hotel where the prostitute had gotten us a room that night. The red and orange lights of the electric sign came in through the window and lit up the right side of his face. “Do you see it?” Milky, blue scar tissue covered half of his brown iris. “I used to fight in the streets. I got hit with a big stick. They say they can remove it, but I don’t have enough money for the surgery. Fighting comes with a price.”
There was a 10-foot drop from the second story balcony of Hostal Dax. I just jumped. No stairs. The owners hated it and didn’t understand, but they knew I was crazy. A combination of my years on skateboards and the chemicals running through my blood made me agile and stupid. I pushed the limits of it, like everything else and lived out delusions of being some kind of super hero protecting the innocent. I climbed the sides of buildings and shimmied up street lamps with ease. I was a crack headed spider man. More than once, I perched on a street lamp in broad daylight, high out of my mind and pretended that my life was a comic book.
“What’s wrong with you? Where is your shoe?” Mario asked through his car window.
“Nothing. I’ll tell you, right now. Everything is fine.” We were meeting for the daily quarter ounce. Sometimes we met twice in a day.
“What do you mean? It doesn’t look like everything is fine.”
My hands and feet had bled all over. Every line and crease in my palms and on the backs of my knuckles dried out and cracked. It was like a curse out of a Stephen King novel. Blood dripped down my hands and soaked into my socks. No one I saw had an explanation or words of comfort. Chino stared sideways at what he saw. What words comfort someone willfully killing themselves with chemicals? It was eerie and scary. My right foot throbbed and stung, so I took my shoe off before I met up with Mario.
“Why is your shoe off?” I showed him my hands and foot. “You don’t need any more coke today. I’m not giving you anymore. Go home and go to sleep.” I didn’t have money at the moment, and he was fronting me the drugs so it was hard to argue. But I planted myself in his front seat until he gave me some. I got one gram before I left.
In the dark, the light of the TV flickered blue on the walls and over my skeleton. Blood flowed into my syringe before I pushed off, alone in the corner, and the curtains fell with me 8 feet through the open window to the flight of stairs leading into the lobby. I landed on my back and slid to the bottom. The ringing in my head got louder and louder. Shirtless and barefoot, I made the nine-year-old boy check the room for intruders. There were a few streaks of crimson down my arm mixing with my sweat, and the boy’s parents kicked me out.
I spent the rest of the night hiding behind cars parked on the side of Dominicos and jumping out into traffic. Headlights swerved and tires screeched. Spanish curse words flew out of the open windows, while drivers laid on their horns. Finally, I passed out in the grass of the median. It was the most comfortable sleep I had in a long time.
The life of the neighborhood continued as it always did on those nights. Pedestrians walked the bike path and around corners. Disaster’s chifa was open for business. The freckled waitress laughed with patrons. One of Papillon’s songs played loud through the door of El Vaquerito. On the corner an older lady and her husband sold anticucho the same as every night. They were Christians. Some of the younger people drank outside of the bar. Two or three together, they shared bottles of beer.
One of the llanteros was talking to two girls. We had exchanged words earlier that afternoon, so I walked out to the bike path on the median of Dominicos and offered him a chance to get crazy. I called him a coward and insulted his mother. It was obvious he heard me, but he was scared. His body language said it all.
A few hours later, they got me on the corner of Tomas Valle and Dominicos. It was Pablo who led the attack. El Callao was a suicide mission, and it was over.
I dreamed it would be my bloody masterpiece of pain and destruction, because these were my gifts from the world and all I had to give back to it. It was a piece of art in my mind, the messier the better. Pain was my life and death was the end of it.
But it was no fun getting turned into a chunky puddle of brains and blood like that on the sidewalk. There was only one person who even knew my name in the neighborhood. I could only think of my mother. Rocks ripped into my scalp. A rope of white snot hung from my lip. Light flashed across my field of vision. Shame was all I felt. It was impossible to scream, but inside of myself, I screamed with all I had.
There had been something like 20 brawls in the two months since I first fought Pablo in Disaster’s restaurant. Fights weren’t about bragging rights or boxing. They were about seriously hurting another person, even killing them. This one was about murder, my murder. A shot was fired.
submitted by ASavageLost to cocaine [link] [comments]


2017.10.11 21:22 ASavageLost Long story about doing too much cocaine and almost getting beat to death in Peru.

El Callao
El Callao, Peru Summer of 2008

Getting bludgeoned to death isn't as fun as it sounds. The thought occurred to me as my own brutal death unfolded one night under a street lamp. Most people come to that conclusion without taking things that far, but I never was that kind of person.

To the locals I was just a drug addicted American in a place he didn’t belong, doing things he ought not, and getting exactly what he asked for. El Callao is a port well known for its violence. I turned 22 in the 3 months that I lived there, and no one knew my name. They just called me gringo.

They chased me through 8 lanes of traffic and I fell twice, before they caught me. A pair of work boots and dirty tennis shoes shuffled and twisted for leverage on the pavement in the dim street light between unforgiving cracks of something heavy against the back of my skull. It is a gruesome thought to be beaten to death with rocks. I wanted my mother. I wanted to apologize, but it was over now. Life never flashed before my eyes, only shame as I lost my bowels.

Luis came to see me off at the airport in Tarapoto, and I had to keep asking him if I was being set up. The imaginary men in tactical gear hiding in the bushes of the airport terrified me. I did my last line in the airport bathroom and tried to use the urinal, but my focus was on the window. Police would pour into the bathroom any second and arrest me. An old janitor made sexual advances as I tried to pee, but I wasn't interested. I swatted at him like a fly and peered over my shoulder.
Luis sipped a beer in the restaurant while I downed liquor. He assured me there was no ambush coming, but I didn't believe him. It was the last time I saw Luis, and the last light of dusk faded into night through the airport windows as I walked up to the ticket counter.
"Are you going to be okay to fly, Senor Chapman?" The girl asked me in Spanish with freckles and a look of doubtful concern. Her company uniform and elegant bun made her look smart. I smelled drunk.
"Yes, mam."
"So, no problems on the flight?"
"None."
"Very well." Her eyes rolled as she stamped my ticket and directed me to the security checkpoint.
Towards the end of the flight, a lady next to me struck up friendly conversation. She and her sister, in the seat next to her, lived in Lima and were delighted to know I was American. I talked and stared indifferently below at the light of the city glowing beneath the clouds. Didn't she realize that I smelled like alcohol? The effects of cocaine faded. Her offers for me to stay at her house and meet her family proved that she did not know me or what I was about.
Outside of the airport's automatic sliding doors, the night air was cool on my face, and the cherry of my Caribe cigarette glowed red as I drew in smoke. A blanket of grey clouds sat low over the city buildings. 300 soles are 100 U.S. dollars, and it was all I had except for my backpack with some notebooks, my passport, cigarettes and the clothes I wore.
A short, light skinned man in his black taxi uniform solicited me for a ride, but cocaine and a cheap room close to the airport were all I was interested in, so he pointed me to his slightly fatter workmate. I paid 14 dollars for a couple grams and seven more dollars for a room at Hostal Dax, on Dominicos avenue and Tomas Valle.
Bustling streets between dilapidated buildings drew me in. El Callao had a peculiar allure. It was real. I identified with its pain. Day to day life continued without looking up to acknowledge me as a visitor. There was nothing for gringos there, and no one spoke English. Across Tomas Valle from hostel Dax, the smoke of cooked animal fat filled the air from women who sold beef anticucho. Other ladies sold rice pudding in the evenings. Mototaxis and their drivers waited patiently in line for fares and read newspapers. Vendors sold candy and cigarettes. Every window and home entrance hid behind steel cages, most businesses too.
Only a few blocks away, in the quieter neighborhoods, boys dressed as women sold themselves after dark. Broken glass and rocks covered the ground. Some houses were pieced together with adobe and sheet metal. Rebar stuck out of most buildings, and others seemed to melt into puddles of earth toned rubble. Smog stained everything in a layer of soot. There were piles of stinky refuse on the sidewalks. Unintelligible graffiti decorated storefronts and homes. Somewhere in the bleak city scape, my own death cried out to me from a street corner. The smell was exhilarating. I wanted to dance. I was there to play.
It wasn’t all bad though. The construction was cheap compared to the U.S., but many buildings were finished and painted often. There was a lot of movement and commerce there, so a fair amount of money. It was clear that the local government was spending money to improve the area. The grass in the parks was lush. Dominicos avenue had a bike path all the way through it, with nice grass, benches, lights and trashcans. Some places were nice and well kept, a block or two away there was just rubble and dirt and no grass. Developing nation was the perfect way to say it.
The sun never shines for 9 months of the year, and it was Herman Melville who called it the saddest city in the world. El Callao sits on a peninsula of the Pacific and is more of a slum to Lima, than whatever mental images are invoked by its title: constitutional province. The Pacific coast of South America has no larger port.
Its history is hard and tragic, well reflected in the faces of the people who live there. El Callao and Lima served as the Spanish base of operations for the destruction of the ancient Incan civilization. Women and girls were raped. Men were enslaved. Everyone was indiscriminately subject to the cruel Spanish slaughter, and the trauma inflicted by the violence passed from generation to generation. To this day, the land is stained in the guilt of innocent blood proudly spilled by Conquistadors, and a curse sits on the city for the legacy of atrocities committed by its founders. They built cathedrals and colonial buildings as monuments to their conquest. There is no rain to wash it away, just dreary fog to keep the wounds moist.
Bloody rebellions raged in the 1800s. Throughout the 80s and 90s, guerilla factions terrorized the country in the name of communism. June of 1986 gave us the Peruvian Prison Massacres. No one was ever charged. Corruption runs rampant. By 1949, it had established itself as one of the biggest centers for cocaine trafficking in the world. That's why I got off the plane.
Back at Hostel Dax, I preferred the two English speaking channels. The one-gram bindles came in grey, wax paper, and I hid them under the TV between doing lines. It was a nice room for that part of town and even had a private bathroom. Rooms could be rented for periods as short as one hour. Those three hours in my room, I peeked out of the window, watched the XXX movies playing on the hotel’s closed-circuit channel and scribbled in my notebook.
When I finished the drugs, I walked a block and a half down Dominicos avenue and found El Vaquerito, or The Cowboy in English. AguaMarina was a similar bar to its left on the corner, but it was closed. A chifa, or stir fry, was still open to the right of El Vaquerito.
Cheap brown wooden tables with cheap brown wooden chairs were the only effects offered to patrons besides cumbia, cigarettes and liter bottles of Cristal or Pilsen beer. I sat at a table against the wall and lit my cigarette. The floor was filthy. Sad, dark figures sat slumped at a few other tables, drinking beer the way Peruvians do.
A shot is poured into one small glass. The bottle is passed to the next person in the circle. With a tap of the glass to the bottle, "Salud," is said and the shot of beer is knocked back. Whatever foam is left is poured into another identical glass sitting on the table. The process is repeated.
The song of a broken heart song belted out in Spanish over lively trombones, synthesized drums and the tacky effects of a keyboard. Cumbia is always about unfaithful love and heartache, but it's great for dancing.
Too much cocaine furrowed my brow, and a cigarette stuck out unnaturally from my lips. The lady tending bar came from the back and saw me. I mimicked a bottle in my hand. She nodded and reached into the cooler for a bottle and carried two glasses over to my table.
"How much?"
"Tres soles," which is about one dollar.
"Here." Our eyes met briefly. Her dark features were kind. She lived in the back with 3 kids and her husband. One of the kids wasn’t hers.
The shot of beer was cool and welcome. My head leaned back against the wall, and I blew cigarette smoke at the ceiling that glowed blue in the light of the bar. I snorted to clear my sinuses and thought about how much I hated myself. After a few more liters of beer, I felt like I could sleep and headed back to the room. In the morning I purposely overslept and missed any opportunity to fly back to Pucallpa.
Chino, the owner of the bar, told me his real name once, but I can't remember it. Sometimes, we called him Gordo, because he looked like Tony Soprano. His personality was as big as his belly, and he had the nicest clothes and jewelry available in town. His white hat always looked brand new, and a braided gold chain hung from his neck. Everyone in the neighborhood knew and respected him.
He had been running those streets since he was 10 years old, while his mother sold bread and pastries on the corner out of a wooden cart. Over time they built their enterprise together, saved their money and rented out the two spaces on the corner of Dominicos avenue, a block off Tomas Valle. His mother called hers Aquamarina after her favorite Cumbia band. They made good money selling beer, and ceviche was available before 4.
When I finally woke up from missing my flight to Pucallpa, I went back to El Vaquerito. I ordered a beer with some of the money I had left, but in Peru almost no one ever drinks alone, so Chino came out to see me. He stood over my table and introduced himself.
"My wife said a gringo came in last night, but I was in the back, counting money." I drank my shot of beer and handed him the glass. He poured a shot.
"Well, I'm that gringo." I laughed. His smile revealed large gaps between his teeth. Any facial hair he had was thin and stringy.
"What are you doing here? You speak Spanish well." He knocked his shot back.
"Yes, I speak. I'm not sure what I'm doing now, but I've been in Peru for over a year mostly in Pucallpa with the Shipibos.”
"In the jungle, huh? You're crazy." Chino continued the conversation. He seemed impressed by what I was telling him but not necessarily in a good way. I poured a shot. "With witchdoctors?" He shook his head.
"Crazy. Yeah. That is what they say, but I don't know. I just like Peru. Do you know where to get any coke?" He said his brother would be by in an hour or so.
We continued to drink beer and got to know each other. He introduced me to his wife and kids. One girl was about 7 and her slightly younger brother was mentally handicapped. He liked to eat dirt and oranges without peeling them. There was a 2-year-old boy, who was very cute. Only the girl and toddler were his wife's kids, but she took care of all three. He had another baby, with a girl named Yolanda. She lived with his mother, because he didn't want anything to do with her.
After a while we moved to his Mom's bar where his brother was supposed to show up. He and I got drunk and smoked the cigarettes I bought. At midafternoon, four guys walked into the bar. They were younger than most other patrons and certainly louder. The guy with the ponytail was the most vocal.
"Hey, Colorado, what are you doing here?" Colorado means red in Spanish but is slang for white boy in el Callao. I preferred Colorado to being called gringo. In my mind it seemed less insulting. Mostly men called me Colorado. Women called me gringo. I don’t know why, but it’s what I remember.
"Nothing, just drinking some beer." They menaced me with hostile tones and demeanor.
"I don't think you really belong here. This isn't the U.S. Maybe you should get going, gringo." He had grease stains all over his jacket and pants.
"Maybe, I should." It was unnecessary conflict. "But, I'm enjoying this beer and these cigarettes and the cumbia playing. Maybe I'll leave. Maybe not."
He walked up to the counter and paid Chino's mother for the beer and another bottle. The men followed him out the door back across Dominicos Avenue to the all-night tire shop. They fixed flats and replaced tires all day and all night, seven days a week. Cocaine and beer helped them work the long hours. They were more of a neighborhood gang than guys who ran a garage, and I referred to them as llanteros or tire guys in English.
"Hey, Chino, who was that guy?"
"Pablo. He's just a hoodlum. Thinks he's bad."
"Oh, do you think he likes me?" We laughed it off and got another cold bottle to drink. I paid for all the beer. Chino just drank it. He was knocking a shot of beer back when his younger brother walked in.
Miguel was in a phase of laziness and getting into trouble. He had dropped out of school and didn’t work. I heard all about it from the conversation Chino had with his mom.
Across Tomas Valle, Miguel introduced me to a mototaxi driver named William who hid me in his mototaxi as we rode to la Huaca. It was by far the most dangerous part of town, and everyone told me not to go there by myself. The houses were small and some had plastic tarps instead of roofs. There were no sidewalks, just dirt and rubble everywhere.
The real name is La Huaca Garagay. It’s supposed to be an archeological site. Besides a few rocks laid up by the hands of ancient man, some engravings and a deep hole in the rocks, there was nothing to see. Maybe it was a portal where evil leaked out of the netherworld into the neighborhood.
I only bought one gram and one more night at the hotel, because I was almost out of money. When I finished the gram that night, I Chino's 6-year-old boy was throwing a fit on the ground by my table. So I stood up and danced for him, but it didn’t help. Cumbia is a basic two step, and I danced at every chance I got. The chemicals only helped. One Saturday night, Chino's wife told another girl, that I was the best dancer in the whole place.
Sarah was short, dark and pretty. We met at the locutorio she ran where I made cheap phone calls, foreign and domestic. The clerk at Hostel Dax liked her, too. One night I saw her at the hostel, but she wasn’t there to see me.
She and her manager at the locutorio let me make phone calls and pay them later. Someone had been stabbed to death right there, where she worked. No good reason for it, but they died on the floor choking in a puddle of their own blood. Sarah's manager saw the whole thing. It had only been a few months.
There were a couple of computers, where I checked my email. A girl from Tarapoto sent me 2 or 3 a week. They always started the same, “Dear gringo, you are a savage. No one has ever done to me the things you did to me. When are you coming back, so I can see you?” She never got a response. I made long distance phone calls to my family asking for money. The money always came.
"I don’t know how long I'm going to make it, Mama."
"What do you mean, Riley?"
"I think I'm going to die soon. Something bad is going to happen. I know it."
There was a pause on the line. Her voice was shaky but tried to reassure me. "Why would you think that? Nothing is going to happen, Riley. It's going to be fine. There is nothing to worry about." She must have known I was getting high with phone calls like that. It was before I started shooting up again.
"Someone is going to kill me. I'm sorry, Mama. I'm going to die. I love you." I hung up.
William's hook up wanted to know who was buying so much cloro as they called it. His connection found out and introduced himself to me. I was easy to find, because there were no gringos in El Callao. Mario only offered a slight break on the price but had a phone number and delivered.
"Do you know what my name is?" The night fog condensed on the windows of his station wagon.
"Mario, right?"
"You won't believe it, but my name is Mario Jesus." He stared at me. My eyes followed a lady walking down the sidewalk. His stared intently at my face. "Jesus. You know? Like Christ. Like the savior. I care about people." I rolled my eyes now.
“You know, Mario, don’t take this the wrong way, but none of that s*** is true. I don’t believe in Jesus Christ. I don’t believe he was God, and the bible is a lie. So, I’m very sorry, but I don’t care. I don’t believe in that s***. Besides, Jesus didn’t sell drugs. So what are you even talking about?”
“How many do you want then?”
“Seven is the magic number.”
Paranoid delusions swallowed my mind in the hotel room every night. I squatted naked and sweaty in the corner of the shower. My hands clutched the heavy porcelain top of the toilet tank ready to smash whoever came in through the windows. Then I went to Chino's bar to drink beer, sometimes hard liquor. Xanax and valium were available and extremely cheap. Chino and his wife trusted me, so I helped with cleaning tables, serving beer and selling cigarettes. I did it for free while I came down.
But sometimes I stalked the streets at night jerking and twitching with pure evil in my blood, like some kind of creature coming to eat children in the neighborhood. The legend of the face peeler was told to every child as soon as they could understand it, so when they saw me they ran. Mothers led their children to the other side of the street. People watched from a distance like they expected me to find a stray dog and rip his throat out with my teeth. I certainly looked the part. Hours would pass before I could talk myself down and into returning to my corner bars or the hotel to relax.
A short, fat woman in a black dress saw me sitting on a bench on Dominicos. She was about fifty years old. Money was gone till I could call home again. She asked me what I was doing and plainly told me she was a prostitute. I told her I didn't have any money for that kind of thing.
"You come with me for the night. I will get us a room and buy your drugs. All I have to do is go sell my phone to the guy who owns that place." She pointed a block away to the neon sign of a place that sold grilled chicken.
"I just want some weed."
"Ok. How much do you need?"
"Like 10 soles." She reached into her bag and pulled out a bill marked for 10.
In the room after I smoked a joint, she told me about her life. We laid on the bed with our faces inches apart.
"When I was a girl, as soon as I had breasts, my father would tie me up in the shed out back of our house, and he did whatever he wanted to me. And I mean whatever he wanted." She looked up at me with tears and moved close. Most of her teeth were missing. I remember that the condom broke and that I spent about 20 minutes in the shower scrubbing with soap, trying to wash away any disease. Afterwards, I left the room to go back to El Vaquerito for a while. When I returned at 4 a.m., she had checked out. It was the last I knew of her.
One night I watched my tears fall three and a half stories to the concrete below. For some reason, I was on the roof of Hostel Dax that night where they hung the bed sheets to dry. My toes hung off the ledge, but it didn’t seem high enough. I did not jump.
A cabbie picked me up on Tomas Valle and took me to another part of town for some powder. Two guys walked back into a hole in the side of a building to get it. It looked like an earthquake had cracked the building in half. After that I cried. The taxi driver didn’t know how to handle it and dropped me off as soon he could.
Two guys ran the late night, stir fry joint next to El Vaquerito. The owner called himself Disaster, and he had a lot of women that came to see him while he watched his business. They would sit at the table and dote over him.
Negro was from Ica, on the coast and said he missed it. He cooked. The food was salty, greasy and cheap, an ideal snack after a night of drinking, and the sign just said Chifa. A curly haired girl with dark freckles all over joked with patrons and waited tables. She teased me to give her a baby with green eyes.
"Hey, colorado, are you hungry?" It was one of the colder nights, and the early morning fog rolled in. I hadn't eaten or slept in days. Disaster showed me kindness with is offer.
"Yes. I can pay you back."
"Don't worry about it. Negro, make him some rice."
"Oh, gringo, you want some rice, huh? Well, let me get you some." Negro smiled with big white teeth. He made me laugh every time we talked.
Soon after that a crowd spilled out onto the sidewalk in front of their restaurant at night. I couldn't see what was going on at first, but Chino's mom skirted the crowd with me and looked worried. Two men held Disaster’s arms behind his back while Pablo swung at his face. Disaster’s braces tore his cheeks, and blood hung in black ropes from his chin.
I pushed past the crowd with ease and flew into the conflict. In my mind I was a 400-pound silver back, and instantly Pablo and I were the back of the restaurant, tearing a table apart as we fought on either side of it for a grip. The two other men offered no threat. Everyone watched. Chino's mom barged into the restaurant and broke it up. She grabbed us by our collars like she was holding two kittens by the scruff. The men promised me death, and the scene dispersed. The freckled waitress told me I was strong and asked me if I was crazy.
“Let me see it.” Chino said. I covered the dislocated pinky finger of my left hand with my right. It was obviously dislocated as I lifted it to show Chino. At the second knuckle, it bent backwards at 90 degrees. He held my hand and leaned down to examine it.
“This is really bad. Wow.” He laughed, and in a split second he pulled it with all his might. I screamed.
“What are you doing?” My voice broke. He laughed at me, in the backroom of his bar.
“How else was I supposed to do it? You weren’t going to let me, if I told you.”
“True. Well, thanks.” I chuckled for relief from the stress. It was still mangled, only slightly less. “Those idiots need to be stopped. They can’t be doing stuff like that. Why wasn’t anyone doing anything about it? Disaster is a nice guy, and the whole neighborhood just sat there watching it. I think Pablo really does like me.” I smirked. A stupid smile on his face, Chino didn’t say anything.
“Maybe because they don’t want to get killed later, when they are least expecting it.” The silhouette of Chino’s mom in the door way declared with matriarchal authority.
“She knows what she’s talking about. Listen to her.” Chino said. His mom left as soon as she saw I was ok.
“You are good people, Gringo.” Chino’s wife walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder. One of the kids was at her feet. In her soft Spanish, she said, “You’re a good guy, but you need to forget about it. You don’t need to be messing with that. Now go home and go to sleep. You’ve had enough for the night. We’ll see you in the morning.”
“Hueco! Quiero hueco!” Chino yelled at his wife and grabbed her butt, as I walked away. I turned back to look. Her calm face never changed expression, as her drunk husband made his vulgar demands. Hueco means hole.
I found a pharmacy that sold vials of liquid valium for cheap, so I bought a needle for it. I quit snorting cocaine. With the needle, my mind disintegrated. The cops were always about to bust me. It was common for me to be on my knees in the middle of the room with my hands behind my head and screaming,
“Come in! I surrender! I have no weapons. My hands are on my head! I won’t resist!” I didn’t want them to think I had a gun so I put myself in the most vulnerable position for them, but they never came.
The family that owned the pharmacy where I bought the vials were horrified to see me back the next day attempting to buy several more. It was too much for one person to do, but I persisted and settled for two before I left.
My mind was not sound. I was hygienically challenged anyway, but cocaine and pharmaceuticals exacerbated my condition. One morning I found a huge smear of what proved to be human excrement on my sleeve. Hopefully my own.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No.” Her tone was a mix of disdain and disinterest.
“Do you want one?”
“No. Even if I did, I wouldn’t want you, loco.” Leticia had a lighter brown complexion, almost red and big, thick thighs she stuffed into the top half of her jeans. Her legs were crossed, so I reached over and pinched the mound of flesh just above her knee. Her body shifted forward and her face radiated. She restrained herself from slapping me. “Don’t ever touch me again. EVER! My legs are mine. Keep your hands to yourself.”
“Sorry. You have nice legs. I didn’t mean anything by it.” She relaxed and our conversation continued.
Leticia was single at 30. She was a virgin, which was unheard of in the Callao where infidelity was the way of life. Her family was good and Christian. We got to know each other, as she worked in a different locutorio on the other side of Dominicos. I had never been to it before, but I owed money where Sarah worked. Since she had seen me around, she trusted me to pay her back, and after that I only went to her locutorio. I walked her home one night and even met her mother who was sick.
It never made sense to me why Leticia talked to me. Green eyes, like mine, are a novelty in a country where 99% of people are brown eyed and brown skinned with black hair. Maybe it was a bad boy thing. I was kind to her, but I was bound in addiction and violence in the streets. Such contradiction in a man draws women.
“Sueltame” by Grupo Nectar was a cumbia song we both liked and sang together sometimes when we talked at midafternoon in her store. Our knees touched when we sat. “Let me go. Break the chains. I don’t want to live like this,” are the lyrics. It was about a break up, but it described my chemical bondage well. I brought her cookies when I came to see her.
The name of my favorite cumbia song was “Ojala que te mueras,” or “I hope to God you die,” in English. It played loud in El Vaquerito, while Miguel told a story about how he and Chino had defeated a group of 4 men. We were talking about my violent exploits. The incident with Pablo had incited in me a hunger for violence. I had developed a habit of talking trash to groups of young men who were no strangers to violence and hated gringos. After several close calls, I ended the previous night hanging out of a car window going 50 miles an hour, because the taxi driver didn’t want to give me a ride, and I tried to jump in through the window. 18-year-old Miguel boasted how tough his family was. Chino waited to speak.
“That was a long time ago.” Chino looked at me. “Fighting is how people get hurt. Around here, that’s how people get killed. One blade or one bullet on an unlucky night is all it takes. Then, you’re dead. You need to stop, Colorado. Everyone can die. Those guys across the street. Me. Him. You. Everyone.” His thick finger dug into my chest and face twisted in emotion.
“No one messes with us, huh, Chino?” His little brother insisted.
“Shut the f*** up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Chino charged his younger brother.
“Chino is just mad, because his woman is giving him problems. Then, he’s got Yolanda and her kid hanging around the family businesses like a couple of sick dogs.” It was a cruel thing to say about the mother of Chino’s illegitimate child and the kid. She hardly had enough sense to take care of herself, much less the baby.
Chino jerked up and reached over to slap his brother. His meaty forearm and open palm swung short, because Miguel was falling backwards out of his chair. Miguel ran to his mother’s bar.
I went to visit Leticia, one evening. Her desktop computer was in pieces. The door to one of the phone booths was on the floor. It was Pablo’s routine. First Disaster, now Leticia. He never hit her, just scared her for money. I puffed up and punched the wall. She asked me to stop in a quiet voice and walked close. We squeezed each other in a long embrace.
“It’s okay, Riley. It will be okay.” She was the only person who knew my name and pronounced it well.
There were only two things I ate for those few months besides cookies. Anticucho is a marinated beef kebab, usually sold with tripe, grilled right in front of you on the street corner. It is delicious and sold at night by women making an extra dollar for their household. Most of the women who sold it laughed when I came to eat. It was not uncommon for me to eat ten skewers in a row or more.
The other dish I ate was ceviche. Ceviche is originally Peruvian, not Mexican, and it doesn’t involve tomatoes. Cubes of white fileted fish are cooked by the acid of lime juice. Red onions, a hot pepper, light seasoning and salt, toasted corn kernels, steamed sweet potato and a piece of lettuce complete the dish. Each afore listed element eaten together was what I loved. The first time I ate it, I couldn’t believe how good it was. Peruvians don’t eat ceviche after four in the afternoon. It has to do with the freshness of the fish caught that morning. Inca Kola is a yellow colored cream soda, which I drank with my ceviche.
Other nights I wandered the streets looking for danger. I knew the territory north of Tomas Valle well. There was La Huaca where dirt and rubble covered the ground and getting robbed is a guarantee, and I knew 33rd street where the boys dressed like girls sold themselves on the corner after 9. They injected silicone or baby oil directly into their face and butt cheeks to soften their jaw lines and square hips. Some of the prettiest girls you will ever see are not really girls.
Back in another direction there was an apartment complex where the courtyards turned into a zombie apocalypse every night from 12 to 4 a.m. Never have I seen anything like it. It looked like the newer zombie movies, where the zombies move fast and are everywhere, but they smoked pasta basuca and drank cheap wine. A woman’s hair was pulled. Incoherent verbal altercations teetered on the edge of physical violence. A glass bottle smashed on the ground. Everyone twitched and jerked around for the pasta, clucking like malfunctioning mechanical chickens.
I walked to La Huaca at four one morning to score. It was stupid, and the house all the cocaine came from didn’t want to sell me anything. On the way back three men tried to strong-arm me, but I presented more scrap than they cared to deal with. An old lady watched through the bars of her bedroom window. She said something, and they ran away.
The first light of day was in the sky and several mototaxi drivers had pulled over to watch the commotion. Only the hood of my jacket was torn off. I raised my hands in victory towards the spectators on the side of the road and screamed in Spanish, something like, “Did you all see that?”
Mario heard about it and came to see me the next evening after I slept most of the day. I bragged. He complained about the hard time his hook up was giving him for me going out there. He yawned while I bragged about how tough I was.
“Look at my eye.” He pulled off his glasses in the car parked on Dominicos in front of a restaurant called La Braserita. It was right next to the hotel where the prostitute had gotten us a room that night. The red and orange lights of the electric sign came in through the window and lit up the right side of his face. “Do you see it?” Milky, blue scar tissue covered half of his brown iris. “I used to fight in the streets. I got hit with a big stick. They say they can remove it, but I don’t have enough money for the surgery. Fighting comes with a price.”
There was a 10-foot drop from the second story balcony of Hostal Dax. I just jumped. No stairs. The owners hated it and didn’t understand, but they knew I was crazy. A combination of my years on skateboards and the chemicals running through my blood made me agile and stupid. I pushed the limits of it, like everything else and lived out delusions of being some kind of super hero protecting the innocent. I climbed the sides of buildings and shimmied up street lamps with ease. I was a crack headed spider man. More than once, I perched on a street lamp in broad daylight, high out of my mind and pretended that my life was a comic book.
“What’s wrong with you? Where is your shoe?” Mario asked through his car window.
“Nothing. I’ll tell you, right now. Everything is fine.” We were meeting for the daily quarter ounce. Sometimes we met twice in a day.
“What do you mean? It doesn’t look like everything is fine.”
My hands and feet had bled all over. Every line and crease in my palms and on the backs of my knuckles dried out and cracked. It was like a curse out of a Stephen King novel. Blood dripped down my hands and soaked into my socks. No one I saw had an explanation or words of comfort. Chino stared sideways at what he saw. What words comfort someone willfully killing themselves with chemicals? It was eerie and scary. My right foot throbbed and stung, so I took my shoe off before I met up with Mario.
“Why is your shoe off?” I showed him my hands and foot. “You don’t need any more coke today. I’m not giving you anymore. Go home and go to sleep.” I didn’t have money at the moment, and he was fronting me the drugs so it was hard to argue. But I planted myself in his front seat until he gave me some. I got one gram before I left.
In the dark, the light of the TV flickered blue on the walls and over my skeleton. Blood flowed into my syringe before I pushed off, alone in the corner, and the curtains fell with me 8 feet through the open window to the flight of stairs leading into the lobby. I landed on my back and slid to the bottom. The ringing in my head got louder and louder. Shirtless and barefoot, I made the nine-year-old boy check the room for intruders. There were a few streaks of crimson down my arm mixing with my sweat, and the boy’s parents kicked me out.
I spent the rest of the night hiding behind cars parked on the side of Dominicos and jumping out into traffic. Headlights swerved and tires screeched. Spanish curse words flew out of the open windows, while drivers laid on their horns. Finally, I passed out in the grass of the median. It was the most comfortable sleep I had in a long time.
The life of the neighborhood continued as it always did on those nights. Pedestrians walked the bike path and around corners. Disaster’s chifa was open for business. The freckled waitress laughed with patrons. One of Papillon’s songs played loud through the door of El Vaquerito. On the corner an older lady and her husband sold anticucho the same as every night. They were Christians. Some of the younger people drank outside of the bar. Two or three together, they shared bottles of beer.
One of the llanteros was talking to two girls. We had exchanged words earlier that afternoon, so I walked out to the bike path on the median of Dominicos and offered him a chance to get crazy. I called him a coward and insulted his mother. It was obvious he heard me, but he was scared. His body language said it all.
A few hours later, they got me on the corner of Tomas Valle and Dominicos. It was Pablo who led the attack. El Callao was a suicide mission, and it was over.
I dreamed it would be my bloody masterpiece of pain and destruction, because these were my gifts from the world and all I had to give back to it. It was a piece of art in my mind, the messier the better. Pain was my life and death was the end of it.
But it was no fun getting turned into a chunky puddle of brains and blood like that on the sidewalk. There was only one person who even knew my name in the neighborhood. I could only think of my mother. Rocks ripped into my scalp. A rope of white snot hung from my lip. Light flashed across my field of vision. Shame was all I felt. It was impossible to scream, but inside of myself, I screamed with all I had.
There had been something like 20 brawls in the two months since I first fought Pablo in Disaster’s restaurant. Fights weren’t about bragging rights or boxing. They were about seriously hurting another person, even killing them. This one was about murder, my murder. A shot was fired.
submitted by ASavageLost to Drugs [link] [comments]


2016.06.01 16:05 Zalogon Primaria 4

府 Government

訓読み- No tiene
音読み- フ
ejemplos
政府(せいふ) Government

不 FU prefijo como in- im- en español y un- en ingles

訓読み- No tiene :D
音読み- フ
ejemplos
不可能(ふうかのう) IMposible
不足(ふそく) INsuficiente
この地域では水が不足している Water is scarce in this area
彼は経験不足を補うために一生懸命に働いた He worked hard to make up for his lack of experience.
不幸(ふこう) UNhappy cuando es adj; DESGRACIA/bad luck cuando es sustantivo;
彼女は自分の不幸な運命にため息をついた。She sighed over her unhappy fate
空腹は最大の社会的不幸の一つである Hunger is one of the greatest social miseries
戦争は恐ろしい不幸を引き起こすWar causes terrible miseries
彼は貧乏なのを不幸のせいにする He ascribes his poverty to bad luck
貧しい人々が必ず不幸であるとは限らない The poor are not always unhappy
不注意(ふうちゅうい) descuidado
彼女は不注意運転で罰せられた She was punished for careless driving
ドアに鍵をかけ忘れるなんて不注意でした It was careless of me to forget to lock the door
不思議(ふしぎ) Maravilla; misterioso; fantasioso; extraño (as in strange coincidence).
この湖についての不思議な伝説が位言い伝えられえている。A mysterious legend has been handed down about this lake
皆留守だというのに、不思議なことに家中の電灯がついていた。Strange to say, all the lights in the house were on, though no one was at home
彼女がその賞を受賞したのは少しも不思議ではない It is no wonder that she was given the prize.
この薬は鼻水に不思議なほどよく効く。 This medicine will do wonders for a runny nose
私は昨日不思議な夢を見ました。I had a strange dream last night
不安(ふあん) uneasiness

夫 Husband

訓読み- おっと
音読み- フ・フウ
ejemplos
夫(おっと) neutral word for “husband”. Safe to use it for your own husband or husbands in general. Also what appears in legal documents.
日本では妻は夫に従うのが当然とされていた。It was almost obligatory for a wife to obey her husband in Japan.
Notas extra de un japo:
A wife can say for her husband = (私の)夫・主人 both interchangeable. (*1)
A husband can say for his wife = (私の)妻・家内 both interchangeable
you can say for somebody's wife =(○○さんの/あなたの)奥さん・奥様
You can say for somebody's husband = (○○さんの/あなたの)御主人(ご主人)・御主人様(most polite)
The maid would say 奥さま, ご主人さま. Para wife and husband respectively bc they’re both superior
(*1) Even for a Japanese, we are often confused with which word would be proper to use, so in official or business settings, or when speaking to your senior, 主人 is kind of "a safer word" to use. However, it is speaker's choice and both are correct and natural. (You don't need to know this, just for info.)
夫婦(ふうふ) a (married) couple
大丈夫(だいじょうぶ) daijoubu. I’m not gonna pretend you don’t know this from anime. Así es, los kanjis son gran-genio-marido, no tiene sentido :v deal with it

副 Secundario

訓読み- No tiene :D
音読み- フク
ejemplos
副作用(ふくさよう) side-effect
この薬に副作用はありません Esta medicina no tiene efectos secundarios
副社長(ふくしゃちょう) Vice president of a company
副大統領(ふくだいとうりょう) Vice-president of a country
副詞(ふくし) Adverbio

粉 Polvo

訓読み- こな・こ
音読み- フン
ejemplos
粉(こな) Polvo
粉々に(こなごなに) To pieces
コップは床に落ちて、粉々に割れた。The cup fell to the ground, shattering to pieces.
彼女は金づちで鏡を粉々にしました She shattered the mirror with a hammer.
屋根から落ちてきたタイルは粉々に砕けた。The tiles that fell from the roof broke into very small pieces.
小麦粉(こむぎこ) Harina
花粉症(かふんしょう) Hay fever; pollen allergy

兵 Milicia

訓読み- No importa tanto
音読み- ヘイ
ejemplos
兵士(へいし) Soldado; Cadete
兵器(へいき) Armas militares
核兵器(かくへいき) Armas nucleares
化学兵器(かがくへいき) Armas químicas
古代兵器(こだいへいき) Ancient weapons

別 Distinción; Discernir

訓読み- わか
音読み- ベツ
ejemplos
別れ(わかれ) despedida
彼は手を振って我々に別れを告げた。Nos dijo adiós con la mano.
彼女は私に別れのあいさつを述べた。She bade farewell to me.
彼は別れも告げずに行ってしまった。He left without saying goodbye.
彼は俺に別れも告げずに立ち去った。He left without even telling me.
人生は出会いと別れでできてるんだ。Life is made of encounters and partings.
お別れを言いにちょっと立ち寄ってみました。I just dropped in to say goodbye.
別れる(わかれる) to split. No necesariamente de “break up” sino partir caminos en general
トムは彼女に別れ話を切り出した。Tom started talking to his girlfriend about breaking up.
トムはついにメアリーと別れる決意をした。Tom finally made up his mind to leave Mary.
トムはガールフレンドと別れた。Tom broke up with his girlfriend.
ボブとルーシーが別れたんだって。I hear that Bob and Lucy have broken up.
彼女は別れた夫に赤ちゃんを任せた。She committed her baby to her divorced husband.
そんな彼氏とは絶対別れた方がいいよ。He's the kind of boyfriend you really should break up with.
別れる前に彼は彼女にいつも口づけをしています。He always kisses his girlfriend goodbye when they part ways.
二人の学生は曲がり角にくると別れた。The two students parted when they reached the corner.
特別(とくべつ) Especial
彼にはそこへいく特別の理由はなかった He had no particular reason to go there
服装に関する特別な規則はない There are no special rules as regards what clothes we should wear
それをするには特別な道具が必要だろう You'll need a special tool to do it
トムは特別な子です Tom is a special child.
あなたは別に特別じゃない。You're not so special.
彼女は特別な作り方でパンを焼いている。She has a special way of making bread.
ベジタリアン用の特別メニューはありますか? Do you have a special menu for vegetarians?
別の(べつの) diferente; otro; alternativo
別の本を探して欲しいです。 Could you find another book?
私たちは別の方法を採用した。We adopted an alternative method.
ごめんなさい、別の約束があるの。Lo siento, tengo otro compromiso.
詩を別の言語に翻訳するのは難しい。It is difficult to translate a poem into another language.
ここから出る別の方法はありますか? Is there another way out of here?
数日後、トムは別の仕事を見つけた。A few days later, Tom found another job.
知識を得るのと、その知識を用いるのとは全く別のことである。 Una cosa es adquirir conocimiento. Aplicarlo es una cosa totalmente distinta.
蔵書があるということと、それを活用することとは別のことだ。To own a library is one thing and to use it is another.
「通じる英語が話せる」のと「英語が完璧にできる」のとは全く別のことです。There is a vast difference between being able to make oneself understood in English and mastering the English language perfectly.
Comments de un japo:
別の means "another one but same type product(or object.)".
他の means "other which is different type from first one."
Comments de otro japo:
このりんごは腐っているから、別のを選ぶ。(this apple have rotted, so I choose another one.)
りんごは好きではないから、他の果物を選ぶ。( I don't like apple, so I choose other kind of fluits.)
Comments de otro japo:
ほぼ同じです。It is almost same.
「別の」は、少しカジュアル、または少し冷たい印象で、モノに使う事が多いです(ただし、人にも使えます。)。"別の" is a little bit casual, and it looks like cold, so it is used for things, mainly. (However, it could be used for Human.)
「他の」は、フォーマルです。全ての場合に使えます。 "他の" is formal. It could be used for every situation.
Comments de otro japo:
When you went to buy clothes, and you found the clothes you want, but you want to get a different color.
If the store has many colors, you can ask 他の色(いろ)を見(み)せてください.
If the store has only a few colors, you can ask 別の色を見せてください.
When you were asked how to go to a store you don't know at all, and you don't know if there's a person who knows the store around there, you can say both 他の人に聞いてください and 別の人に聞いてください.
Comments de otro japo:
One way to understand the difference is that the antonym of 他 is 自 (self, identity) whereas the antonyms of 別 are 同 (same), 一緒 (together) and 共(together).
別に(べつに) en particular; aparte; single something/someone out
短気なのを別にすれば、彼女は申し分がない。Apart from her temper, she’s alright
2、3の欠点を別にすれば、彼は信頼できるパートナーだ。 Apart form a few faults, he is a trustworthy partner.
たまにまる1日ぼけっとしていても別に悪いことじゃない It’s no crime to just idle the whole day once in a while
たまに朝飯を抜いたって別うに悪ういことじゃない。 It’s no crime to skip breakfast once in a while.
彼の両親を別にすると、誰もその容疑者を擁護しないだろう。Apart from his parents, nobody would defend the suspect.
ソースを別にください。La salsa aparte por favor
「A: 腰はいたむ?」「B:いや、別に」「Aそう、それは不幸中の幸いね」A “Te duele la espalda?” B “No en particular” A: “bueno, por lo menos es ganancia”
区別(くべつ) distinción; telling things apart
彼の双子の妹たちを区別することができない No puedo distinguir a las gemelas
犬は色を区別することができない El perro no puede distinguir los colores
羊と山羊の区別がわかりますか Can you tell a sheep from a goat
顔だけでイギリス人とアメリカ人を区別することは難しい It's hard to tell Englishmen from Americans just by the way they look
看護に携わる女性を「看護婦」、男性を「看護士」と区別していた呼称は、2002年に「看護師」に統一して変更された。The separate names used for female nurses "kangofu" and male nurses "kangoshi", were unified in 2002 into "kangoshi"
性別(せいべつ) gender
性別による差別は禁じられています Discrimination on the basis of gender is prohibited.
この部屋の中にいる人は皆性別が同じ。Todas las personas en esta sala son del mismo género.
別々に(べつべつに) por aparte; individualmente
勘定は別々にしてください。Por favor denos las cuentas por aparte
感情署は別々にお願いします。We’d like separate checks
彼らは別々に住んでいる。Ellos viven por aparte
別々に包んでください Por favor empáquelo por aparte
差別(さべつ) Discriminación
人種差別(じんしゅさべつ) Discriminación racial
性差別(せいさべつ) Discriminación por género
分別(ぶんべつ) juicio mental (habilidad de discernir lo racional de lo irracional)
きちんと分別のある人は決して盲信などしません。A person of good sense will certainly not believe blindly.

辺 Vicinity

訓読み- あた・べ
音読み- ヘン
ejemplos
辺り(あたり) area; rumbo
このあたりは空気がきれいだ The air is pure around here
私はこの辺りに不案内だ I'm a stranger in these parts
あたりを見まわしたが、何も見えなかった I looked around, but saw nothing
私もこの辺りは初めてです。お役に立てないと思います I'm a stranger here myself. I'm afraid I can't help you
この辺(このへん) same thing as このあたり; por aqui; por esta area
この辺だと思います I think it's around here
ジョンはこのへんには友達がいない John has no friends here
正方形には四つの辺がある A square has four sides
まだその辺にいるのかな Are you still around
海辺(うみべ) por la playa; el area por donde esta la playa; n the vicinity of the beach Comments de un japo
海辺 is more vague and broader. 海岸沿いの道 (a road alongside the beach) can be rephrased as 海辺の道.

変 change

訓読み- か
音読み- ヘン
ejemplos
変える(かえる) I change something
私の忠告にもかかわらず彼は決心を変えようとしない He will not change his mind in spite of my advice
彼は仕事を変えた He changed his job
暗殺が世界の歴史を変えたことはない Assassination has never changed the history of the world
変わる(かわる) algo cambia
秋に木の葉は赤や黄色に変わる In the fall, the leaves turn red and gold
信号が青に変わるまで待ちなさい Wait until the light changes to green
相変わらず(あいかわらず) as always
変わった人 a strange person; an odd fellow
「トムのこと嫌いなの?」「嫌いじゃないよ。ちょっと変わった人だなとは思うけど」 "Do you hate Tom?" "I don't hate him, but I do think he's a bit strange."
変な人(へんなひと) Una persona rara que no te da una buena impresión.
変更(へんこう) Modificación; alteración; cambio
予約を3泊から5泊に変更したい I'd like to change my reservation from three to five nights
価格は予告なしに変更されることがあります。The prices are subject to change without notice.
列車が遅れて到着したので、彼らは予定を変更しなければならなかった。They had to change their schedule because the train arrived late.
彼は私に計画の変更を知らせてきた。He acquainted me with the change of the plan.
変化(へんか) Transformación; cambio. Change official plans.
天候が急に変化した。La temperatura cambió bruscamente
患者の病状は日ごとに変化する La condición del paciente cambia día tras día.
いつの日かこの芋虫は美しい蝶へと変化することでしょう。This caterpillar will become a beautiful butterfly.
Comments de un japo:
"変更する"は、公式な予定などを変えるときに使うことが多いです。
「明日の集合場所を"変更"します。」・・・「変える」で言いかえられます
変化する"は、自然となにかが変わったときに使うことが多いです。
「秋には葉が黄色や赤色に"変化"します。」・・・「変わる」で言いかえられます
変(へん) raro
大変(たいへん) Terrible(por si solo); tremendamente (al lado de adjetivos); AF; intensely
大変だ!ESTO ES TERRIBLE!
彼は今大変忙しい。Terriblemente ocupado
その車は大変速い Ese carro es tremendamente rápido
大変助かりました。esa fue una tremenda ayuda
彼女は大変頭がいい。ella es tremendamente inteligente
あの橋は大変美しい。That bridge is beautiful AF
私は大変腹立たしい。 I am angry AF
大変申し訳ありません。I am very sorry
変態(へんたい) Pervertido

便

訓読み- たよ
音読み- ベン・ビン
ejemplos
便り(たより) news from someone (how they’re doing and stuff, not on the newspaper lol)
依然として彼から便りがない I still haven’t heard from him
最近お姉さんから便りがありますか。 Have you heard from your sister lately?
私は母から毎月便りをもらう。I hear from my mother every month.
郵便局(ゆうびんきょく) Oficina de correos
航空便(こうくうびん) airmail
便利(べんり) Conveniente
不便(ふべん) Inconveniente
小便(しょうべん) Termino médico para “pipí” :v orina
排便(はいべん) Término medico para “defecación”

包 Envolver

訓読み- つつ
音読み- ホウ
Ejemplos
包む(つつむ) Envolver. Broad meaning; To wrap
美しい包装紙に包んでもらえますか Could you gift wrap it?
彼女は赤ん坊を毛布で包んだ。She wrapped her baby in a blanket
私たちは、爆発の音を聞き、その家が急に炎に包まれるのを見た We heard the explosion and saw the house burst into flames
包み隠す(つつみかくす) to cover up (the truth)
政治家が、インサイダー取引を包み隠そうとした。the politician tried to cover up the insider trading
小包(こづつみ) parcel; un paquete que envías por correo
彼に小包を送った。I emailed a parcel to him
包み(つつみ) paquete pero no es algo que necesariamente tienes la intención de enviar por correo; algo envuelto. Se usa mucha para referirse a algo envuelto para regalo.
包みを開けて下さい Please undo the package
このインスタントスープは1つ1つ包みの中に入っているThis instant soup comes in individual packets
とにかくその包みはどこかに置きなさい Just put those packages anywhere
包帯(ほうたい) bandage
医者は少年のけがをした足に包帯をした。El doctor bendó la pierna lastimada del joven
包丁(ほうちょう) kitchen knife 包装(ほうそう) envoltura; forma formal de decir 包み
食品包装は腐敗を減らす Food packaging reduces spoilage
それを贈り物として包装していただきたいのですが I'd like to have that gift wrapped
クリスマスプレゼント用に包装してください Could you wrap it in Christmas wrapping

法 El pasado

訓読み- さ
音読み- コ
ejemplos
去る(さる) una persona parte (de un lugar); una cosa o evento cesa; things pass
彼は永久にアフリカを去った He left Africa forever
彼はさよならも言わずに去って行った He left without saying goodbye
その翌日、彼は去った The next day he went away
我々は最悪の事態が去ったことを知って大いに安心した We were greatly relieved to find that the worst dangers were over
雪は解け去った The snow has melted away
その翌日、彼は去った He left the next day
彼がなぜ突然町を去ったかは依然としてなぞである It is still a mystery why he suddenly left the town
過去(かこ) El pasado
私たちは過去を後悔しがちである We are given to regretting our past
警察は彼の過去と経歴を調べた The police looked into his past record
自分の過去をじっくりと振り返ってみてもよいだろう It's time to reflect on your past
この世を去る To leave this world
立ち去る(たちさる) To walk away
話が退屈だったので彼らは一人また一人と立ち去って行った The speech was so boring that they went away one by one
Comments de un japo:
立ち去る is to walk away on foot from some place. If you get on a car or train immediately after saying goodbye to someone, that's not 立ち去る. 去る has a broader sense, "to leave" in general. Depending on the context, it can mean something very strong, for example, quitting a company forever, parting with someone forever. when you describe something that can happen everyday, 立ち去る would sound a bit safer.
走り去る(はしりさる) to run away
小さい少年たちはドアのベルをならして走り去った。The small boys rang the door bell and ran away.
警官を見ると男は走り去った。Seeing the policeman, the man ran away.
去年(きょねん) El año pasado
過去形(かこけい) Past tense
過ぎ去る(すぎさる) To pass by
暗がりを1台の車が過ぎ去った A car passed by in the dark
数年が過ぎ去った。Several years passed by
彼の死後10年が過ぎ去った 10 years have gone by since his death

望 Deseo

訓読み- のぞ
音読み- ボウ
ejemplos
望む(のぞむ) desear; desire
誰もが永久平和を望んでいる。Everybody wants permanent peace.
国民全体が大きな変化を望んでいるThe country at large is hoping for great changes
みんな彼女が勝つことを望んだ Everyone hoped that she would win
私達は平和を望みますWe hope for peace
えみがすぐ現われることを望みます。もう待ちくたびれました I hope that Emi will appear soon. I'm tired of waiting for her
彼は日本で自分の絵を展示したいと望んでいる He hopes to exhibit his paintings in Japan
望み(のぞみ) ILUSIÓN; wishes, anhelo; sueño que suena imposible. こうなればよいと思うこと
彼の望みはハムレットの役を演じることです His ambition is to play the part of Hamlet
彼の望みは実現したようだ。His wishes, it seems, have come true
彼は望みを捨てた。 He gave up hope
ついに私の望みは叶った。 Finally, my wish has come true
彼は彼自身の望みに反してそれをするように説得された。He was persuaded into doing it against his own wishes
希望(きぼう) Esperanza; to long for; aspiration; 希望する; esperar (con esperanza) que…; more literary than 望む
その成功で彼は希望に燃えた The success animated him with hope
彼は決して希望を失わない He never loses hope
希望を捨ててはいけないよ You must not give up hope
彼の両親は、ジャーナリストになりたいという彼の希望には賛成しなかった His parents did not sympathize with his hope to become a journalist
>生きている限り希望がある While there is life, there is hope
君が共産主義者にならないように希望する。 I hope you’ll never turn communist.
彼の希望は無残に砕かれた。His hopes were shattered
彼は弁護士になっれると言う希望に執着していた。He clung to thee hope that her could become a lawyer
願望(がんぼう) deep desire
私の願望は母親を助けるために医者になることだ. I want to become a doctor to save my mother's life.
人間はいつでも二つの基本的な願望を持っている。即ち苦痛から逃れること、快楽に到達することである Human beings usually have two basic desires: to get away from pain and to arrive at pleasure
高望み(たかのぞみ) aim too high

牧 pastor

訓読み- No importa tanto
音読み- ボク
ejemplos
牧師(ぼくし) El reverendo de la iglesia

末 El fin de algo

訓読み- すえ
音読み- マツ
ejemplos
週末 (しゅうまつ) Fin de semana
今週末 This weekend
私たちはすばらしい週末を過ごしました We had a wonderful weekend
週末に泳ぎにいきませんか How about going for a swim this weekend
月末(げつまつ) fin de mes
月末に近づいている The month is drawing to an end
彼は博士論文を月末までに教授に提出しなければならない His doctoral thesis must be submitted to the professor by the end of the month
彼は月末までにお金をすべて使ってしまっているでしょう He will have spent all his money by the end of the month
月末にはお金がほとんどなくなります I have so little money at the end of the month
年末(ねんまつ) fin de año
橋は今年末までには完成されるだろう The bridge will be completed by the end of this year
年末は猫の手も借りたいほど忙しくなる We become very shorthanded at the end of the year
結末(けつまつ) the ending; El desenlace de una historia
私は悲しい結末の物語が好きです。Me gustan las historias con finales tristes
その映画の結末はどうなっていますか? How does the film end?
そのミステリーの結末を私に教えないで。No me spoils el final del misterio
物語は結末に近づいた。The story drew to a conclusion
「その話の結末はハッピー・エンドですか」「まあ、とにかく、心温まる結末ではありました "Does the story have a happy ending?" "Well, a warm one, anyway.
今年末(ことしすえ、ことしまつ, こんねんまつ) Comments de una persona no japonesa que vive en Japón
Both ことしすえand ことしまつ Are fine but they are slightly different. すえ is more long term like the last two weeks of December まつ is like December 30th.
Comments de un japo al preguntarle como lee 今年末:
こんねんまつ 普通は年末しか言わない ことしすえも言い方としては言えるけど ねんまつでいいよ 去年の年末 年末 来年の年末 まつとすえは人による こだわるところじゃない 普通ねんまつって言うのにわざわざことしまつって言う人は言わない
期末試験(きまつしけん) End of term exam; finals
末っ子(すえっこ) El mas chiquito de la familia; the baby off the family
両親は末っ子をえこひいきするかもしれない。Parents may favor the youngest child in the family

満 full

訓読み- み
音読み- マン
ejemplos
満ちる(みちる) lleno
彼は人生のドラマに満ちていた。his life was full of drama
ことわざは知恵に満ちている。 Proverbs are full of wisdom
あの政治家は野心に満ちている。That politician is full of ambition
彼の心は苦しみに満ちていた。 His heart is filled with sorrow
満たす(みたす) yo lleno (transitivo)
彼はグラスにワインを満たした。El llenó el vaso con vino
バケツを水で満たしなさい。Lleva la cubeta con agua
そのリンゴは一時的に私空腹を満たしてくれた。The apples appeased my hunger temporarily
みんなの要求を満たすだけの食糧のないところが、世界各地にある。In many parts of the world, there is not enough food to meet everyone’s needs.
満足(まんぞく) Satisfactorio; Satisfecho
彼らは現状に満足している They were happy with how things were
不満(ふまん) insatisfactorio; insatisfecho; a let down
あの社会のサービスには不満だ。I am not satisfied with that company’s service
一般大衆は現在の政府に不満である The public at large is dissatisfied with the government
そのウェイターは大変いい人だったので私たちは食事についての不満を言いたくなかった。The waiter was such a nice man we didn’t like to complain about the meal
肥満(ひまん) obesidad
満点(まんてん) Perfect score (exámenes)
満点を取るつもりだ。 He is going to get full marks
先生は私数学に満点をくれた。 The teacher gave me full marks for math
満開(まんかい) full bloom; estado cuando las flores terminaron de abrirse; florecidas
桜の花は今満開です。The cherry trees are in full bloom now
今週は公園の桜が満開だ。This week the cherry blossoms in the park are in full bloom
満員(まんいん) lugar lleno; no seats left; packed
どのバスも満員です。Every bus is full
ホテッルウはその夜、満員だったので、遅い客か断らざるを得なかった。 Fully booked for the night, the hotel had to turn away some late guests
どの電車も満員で、持ち物を手から放しても落ちないほどです。But eevery train is so crowded that whatever we have in our hands doesn’t fall even if wee let it go.
満月(まんげつ) full moon

未 Todavía

訓読み- ま
音読み- ミ
ejemplos
未だ(まだ) todavía
まだまだだね。catchphrase de prince of tennis
未来(みらい) El futuuro
未熟(みじゅく) estar verde metafóricamente; when te falta practica :v
彼のフランス語の知識は未熟だ。 His knowledge of French is poor.
彼は商売は未だ未熟だ。He is still green in business.
未成年(みせいねん) legal minor; underage person
未満(みまん) under X amount
18歳未満の方は入場できません。People under 18 are not admitted
3歳未満の子供は入場無料 Niños menores a 3 años entran gratis
輸入車は8%未満しか占めていない。 Imported cars account for less than 8%

脈 Vena

訓読み- No tiene
音読み- ミャク
ejemplos
静脈(じょうみゃく) Venas; Veins
人脈(じんみゃく) conexiones con gente your social network;
彼は社外で人脈を築いている。
文脈(ぶんみゃく) Contexto
単語の意味ははそれが使われている文脈で決まる。The meaning of a word is determined by the context where it is used
動脈硬化(どうみゃくこうか) Artherosclerosis

民 EL PUEBLO (la gente del lugar)

訓読み- No importa tanto
音読み- ミン
ejemplos
人民(じんみん) el pueblo (la gente del lugar)
団結した人民は決して敗れない!¡El pueblo unido, jamás será vencido!、
国民(こくみん) the people that form a nation; nacional
中国人はよく働く国民だ。China ese una nación trabajadora
イギリス人は、実際的な国民だと言われてる。The English are said to be a practical people
私たちは保守的な国民。We are a conservative nation
多くの国民が陸軍にい入隊した。A great number of citizens want into the army
戦車や飛行機は軍隊を軍隊を打ち破ることはできようが、国民を征服することはできない Tanks and planes may defeat the troops but they cannot conquer the people
市民(しみん) ciudadano; ciudadanía; community
全良な市民は法律に従う。a good citizen beys the law
私は千葉県市民ですが東京で勤めています. I am a citizen of Chiba but work in Tokyo.
市民プールの監視の仕事に応募しました。I applied for a job as a lifeguard at the community pool.
住民(じゅうみん) habitants; inhabitants
新しい道路は山間の住民の利益になる。 The new road will benefit the people loving in the hills
民主主義(みんしゅしゅぎ) Democracia
民族(みんぞく) ethnic groups

無 Nada

訓読み- な
音読み- ム
ejemplos
言うでも無い(いうでもない) goes without saying)
正直が最上の策であることはいうまでも無い。It goes without saying that honesty is the best policy
母は蛇は言うまでも無く毛虫が嫌いだった。My m other disliked caterpillars not to mention snakes.
無料(むりょう) gratis
無理(むり) imposible
無事(ぶじ) unharmed; safe and sound
無駄(むだ) waste
時間の無駄だ Waste of time
無視(むし) ignorar
私たちの警告を無視して釣りに行くといって聞かなかった He would go fishing in spite of our warning
通りですれ違った時私をわざと無視した。He deliberately ignored me when I passed him in the street
運転者は停止信号を無視した。The driver ignored the red light
無能(むのう) inútil; no skill; bueno para na’

約 Promesa

訓読み- no tiene :D
音読み- ヤク
ejemplos
約束(やくそく) Promesa
約束を守る keep a promise
約束を破る break a promise
契約(けいやく) contrato
予約(よやく) Reservación; appointment
予約を取り消してください。Please cancel my reservation
バンクーバーまでのフライトを予約したいのですが。Quisiera hacer una reservación de vuelo a Vancouver.
歯のクリーニングの予約をお願いします。 I’d like to make an appointment for a cleaning
婚約(こんやく) marriage engagement
条約(じょうやく) political treaty or pact

勇 courage

訓読み- いさ
音読み- ユウ
ejemplos
勇ましい(いさましい) brave
勇気(ゆうき) courage
勇者(ゆうしゃ) courageous person; hero of a story, usually a medieval kind of story
勇敢さ(ゆうかんさ) bravery
勇敢に(ゆうかんに) bravely
Comments de un japo:
”He is brave." 「彼は勇気がある」…He has a 勇気 「彼は勇敢だ」 …He is 勇敢 「彼は勇ましい」 …He is 勇ましい 勇気 is a kind of spirit. 勇敢 has an image of fighting men. 勇ましい shows the state of a person.
Comments de otro japo:
(○ 勇ましい/○ 勇敢な)若者 a — young man or woman (○ 勇ましく/○ 勇敢に)戦う fight —ly (○ 勇ましい/× 勇敢な)マーチ a — march (song) (○ 勇ましい/× 勇敢な)軍服姿 in a — military uniform 犬が熊に(× 勇ましく/○ 勇敢に)立ち向かう a dog confronts a bear —ly
Comments de otro japo:
「勇ましい」は外見にも行動にも使いますが、「勇敢」は行動にしか使いません。 例 勇ましい行動=勇敢な行動 勇ましい姿=本人が何も行動していなくても、勇気があるように見える姿 勇敢な姿=本人が勇気のある行動をしている姿

訓読み- い
音読み- ヨウ
ejemplos
要る(いる) need. Nota. En anime a veces veo que interpretan いらない como “I don’t want it”
今のところお金はいらない。I don’t need money at present
ここで遠慮はいりません。Please make yourself at home?
つり銭の入らないようにお願いします Exact change, please.
君の助けはいらない。I don’t need your help
君のお情けなど少しもいらない。I don’t need any bit of your pity
要する(ようする) forma formal de decir 要る
必要(ひつよう) Necesario
パンとミルクは必要だ。la leche y el pan son necesarios
申し込むには君本人が行く必要がある。In order to apply, you need to go in person
最悪に備える必要がある。It is necessary that we should preparer for the worst
この仕事を完成するためには、以下の作業が必要となります。To complete this work, the following working items are recommended
この種の仕事は非常に忍耐を必要とする This sort of work calls for great patience
その仕事は10人の人を10日必要とする The work calls for ten men for ten days
小脳は血液の不断の供給を必要とする The brain needs a continuous supply of blood
私たちが新鮮な空気を必要とするように、魚はきれいな水を必要とする As we need fresh air, so fish need clean water (notice the dependency)
その企画は彼の承認を必要とする The plan is subject to his approval
要点(ようてん) el punto; EL GRANO; el concepto principal; the gist; la idea general ; el concepto
彼の話は短くて要点のついたものでした Su historia fue corta y al grano
お話の要点は分かりました I see your point
彼が言っていることの要点はわかった I got the gist of what he was saying
話の要点を書き留めなさい Take down the main points of the speech
comments de un japo:
要点 is "main point" while 重点 is closer to "emphasis". Also, 重点 is almost always used in the following forms: ~に重点を置く (to emphasize ~, to focus on ~) 重点的に~ (to ~ in a focused way).
遠回しに言うかわりに、ジョーンズはズバリ要点に迫った Instead of beating around the bush, Jones got straight to the point.
重要(じゅうよう) Esencial; importante (no solo importante, necesario) mostly written word;
要求(ようきゅう) exigencia
賃上げを要求したらどうですか。Why don’t you ask for a pay raise?
彼らは王がすぐに処刑されるように要求した。They demanded the king be put to death at once..
彼女の要求に応じる Accede to her request
需要(じゅよう) demand (from supply and demand)

養 Cultivate

訓読み- やしな
音読み- ヨウ
ejemplos
養う(やしなう) mantener
彼は養っていかなければならない大家族がある He has a large family to support
デイックは両親に養ってもらっていたが、今は両親から独立している Dick had been dependent on his parents, but now he's independent of them
彼らには養っていかねばならない子供がたくさんいた They had a lot of children to provide for
我々は良書を読んで心を養わねばならない We should cultivate our minds by reading good books
栄養(えいよう) Nutrición
食物が体に栄養を与えるのと同じように、書物は心に豊かさを与えてくれる Books are to the mind what food is to the body
彼女は子供の栄養に気をつけている She is careful about her child's nutrition
教養(きょうよう) Conocedor; to be a man/woman of culture; culture
その医者は教養のある人だ The doctor is a man of culture
彼はいわゆる教養人だ He is what is called a man of culture
多くの女性がより高い教養とキャリアを追求し、それ故に結婚と出産を先延ばしにしている Many women pursue higher education and careers, thus delaying marriage and childbirth
転地療養(てんちりょうよう) un cambio de ambiente (por salud mental)
私たちは南フランスへ転地療養に行く。We go to the South of France for a change of air.
転地療養で彼女は見違えるほど元気になった。The change of air worked wonders for her.
養子(ようし) adopted child

浴 bañarse

訓読み- あ
音読み- ヨク
ejemplos
シャワーを浴びる to take a shower
入浴(にゅうよく) meterse a la bañera
疲れを感じてる時は、入浴に勝るものはない Cuando estas cansado no hay nada que supere meterse a la bañera
浴衣(ゆかた) Yukata

利 funcionar

訓読み- き
音読み- リ
ejemplos
利く(きく) servir; to use (a body part); to be effective; to make use of…
その見知らぬ人はひどく驚いたので、口がきけなかった The stranger was too surprised to speak
口を利く:Use your mouth
この子は大人のような口を利く。 This child talks like an adult.
俺に・・・俺にそんな口をきくな You don't... you don't talk to me like that
それにおれに口を利くときは帽子くらい取れよ And when you talk to me, take off your hat
彼はまるでこの世の中のことを何でも知っているような口を利く He talks as if he knew everything under the sun
君は僕によくもそんな口がきけたものだ How dare you say such a thing to me
目が利く: to have a discerning eye (for art/ antiques/etc.)
気がきく ser atento con otras personas
お、ありがと。気が利くね。 Oh, thanks! How thoughtful.
ワインを冷やしておいてくれたとは気が利いてるね How thoughtful of you to have chilled some wine for us
この薬はあなたに効くでしょう This medicine will do you good
霧で視界が100メートルしかきかなかった. La visión no da a mas de 100 metros por la neblina
この料理は塩がききすぎている This food is too salty
便利(べんり) conveniente
東京駅へ行くには何が一番便利ですか What's the most convenient way to get to Tokyo Station
これは大変便利なものです This is very useful
駅の近くに住んでいるとたいそう便利だ It is a great convenience to live near a station
利用(りよう) Utilizar
利益(りえき) profit
右利き(みぎきき) right handed
左利き(ひだりきき) left handed
有利(ゆうり) Ventaja (pokémon agua contra fuego); favorable; a favor
機会を捕らえてそれを有利に利用する I seize the moment and turn it in to an advantage
彼女は私より有利だ She has an advantage over me
外国語を知っていれば有利である事が君にもわかるでしょう You'll find it your advantage to know a foreign language.
不利(ふり) Desventaja(pokémon fuego contra agua); infavorable; en contra
現場には彼に不利な証拠品は何もなかった There was no evidence against him found at the scene
意志を持たない事が最悪の不利だ Having no will is the worst handicap
警察は彼にのっぴきならない不利な証拠を見つけだした The police discovered damning evidence against him.
この証拠は彼にとって不利だった This evidence was against him
ポケモンには色々タイプがあるの!でタイプには相性あるから、ポケモン勝負の時有利だったり不利だったりするの。Hay muchos tipos de pokemon, y cada tipo tiene una affinidad. A la hora dele combate les puede dar una ventaja o una desventaja (dialogo de un NPC en pokemon)

陸 Land

訓読み- No importa tanto
音読み- リク
ejemplos
大陸(たいりく) continent
離陸(りりく) Despegar
飛行機はあと1時間で離陸する。The plane will take off in one hour
その飛行機は10時きっかりに離陸した。El avian despegó exactamente a las 10 en punto.
着陸(ちゃくりく) Aterrizar
飛行機は6時きっかりに着陸した。The plane landed at 6 o’clock to the minute
陸軍(りくぐん) the land army (as opposed to the airforce)

良 Good

訓読み- よ・い
音読み- リョウ
良い(よい) bueno
最良(さいりょう) the best
人生最良の日 The best day of one’s life
正直は最良の策だ、と私は信じている。Honestly, I believe, is the best policy.
良心(りょうしん) consciencia; la vocecita buena de tu mente
良心が彼を苦しめた。His conscience stung him
良心が彼をとがめた His conscience pricked him
私良心にやましいところはありません。My consciencia está limpia
そんなことをするなんて君には良心があるのか。Do you have the conscience to do such a thing.
仲良く(なかよく) llevarse bien; no tener tensión con nadie
彼は妻と仲良く暮らしている。He lives at peace with his wife.
彼らが仲良くやっていけない予感がする。Tengo un presentimiento que ellos nunca se llevarán bien
彼女がクッラスメートみんなと仲良くしている。ella se lleva bien con todos sus classmates
監督と仲良くやれなかったので彼はチームをやめた。Dejó eel equipo porque no se podía llevar bien con el manager
仲良し(なかよし) good friends
トムとジョンは仲良しです。tom and John are good friends
行儀よくする(ぎょうぎよくする) Comportarse
彼女は息子に家で行儀よくするように言った。Le dijo a sus hijo que se comporte dentro de la casa.
ejemplos

料 Ingredientes; fees

訓読み- No tiene
音読み- リョウ
ejemplos
無料(むりょう) Gratis
料理(りょうり) Cuisine as in cooking with certain ingredinets/techniques but también significa platillo ya preparado
料理の本を見ながら初めてスペイン料理を作ってみましたが、大成功でした。 Mientras veía un libro de cocina, hice mi primer platillo español y fue todo un éxito.
香辛料(こうしんりょう) Spices
料金(りょうきん) a fee; a charge
このホテルの宿泊の料金はいくらですか? What are the charges in this hotel
バスの車掌は彼女に料金を払えないので降りるようにと言った Thee bus conductor told herr to get off because she could not pay thee fare
給料(きゅうりょう) wages

量 Cantidad

訓読み- No importa tanto
音読み- リョウ
ejemplos
大量(たいりょう) Una cantidad grande; one big amount of (tienes que poder traducirlo en ingles y en español de la forma que te lo he puesto para usarlo en lugar de 多量)
彼女は大量の血を目にして恐怖で顔をそむけた She turned away in horror at the sight of so much blood.
その犠牲者はまちがって大量の毒を飲んだと考えられる The victim is thought to have taken a large quantity of poison by mistake
彼はかなり大量の蜂蜜を使った He used a lot of honey
多量(たりょう) muchas cantidades; a copious/abundant amount (tienes que poder traducirlo en ingles y en español de la forma que te lo he puesto para usarlo en lugar de 大量) Mucho; Muchos Bastante; (Muchas unidades de la misma cosa); Opposite of Few;
多量の酒は知覚をまひさせる Too much alcohol paralyzes our perceptive powers
機械は多量の電気を使用する Machinery uses a lot of electricity
彼女は休暇に多量の額のお金を費やした She spent a good deal of money on her vacation
外国語を習得するには多量の練習が必要である It takes a great deal of practice to master a foreign language
多量の水が残っている There is much water left
Comments de un japo:
量が大きいか、多いかの相違です。
「魚が大きい」と「魚が多い」という関係です。
comments de otro japo:
Relative value vs absolute value 相対値と絶対値の違いです。
多量=他に少ないものがあって、それに比べて多い。
大量=とにかく量が大きい。

輪 Anillo

訓読み- わ
音読み- リン
ejemplos
指輪(ゆびわ) anillo; sortija
車輪(しゃりん) neumático; llanta
五輪(ごりん) olympic ring
輪ゴム(わごむ) rubber band
七輪(しちりん) el tatuaje de ariana grande :v

類 Tipo

訓読み- No importa tanto
音読み- ルイ
ejemplos
書類(しょるい) Documento; papers
金庫の中の書類が消えてなくなっている The papers that were in the safe are gone
この書類に苦情の取り扱い方が丁寧に説明してある。The document spells the correct procedure for dealing with complaints
種類(しゅるい) Tipo
ボブは色々な書類の木の実を見つけた。Bob found various types of nuts
これは珍しい種類の魚です。Este es un tipo extraño de pez
1種類3個ずつください。 I’ll take three of each type
オークはどんな種類の木ですか。What kind of tree is an oak?
人類(じんるい) la humanidad
その日、人類は思い出した。この世界は残酷なのだ。That day humanity had a grim reminder. This is a cruel world.
分類(ぶんるい) clasificación
クジラは哺乳類に分類される Whales are classified as mammals
親類(しんるい) reelative (family)
彼は私生きているただ一人の親類だ。He is my only living relative.

令 Comando

訓読み- めい
音読み- レイ
ejemplos
命じる(めいじる) Ordenar
ルルーシュヴィブリタニアが命じる LELOUC VI BRITANIA COMANDS YOU
命令(めいれい) Orden; Dar una orden
指令(しれい) Instrucciones que DEBES seguir. Suena militar
命令形(めいれいけい) Forma imperativa de la gramática japoneesa

冷 frío al tacto

訓読み- つめ・ひ・さ
音読み- レイ
ejemplos
冷たい(つめたい) frío al tacto
氷のように冷たい frío como el hielo
私はとても喉が渇いたので何か冷たい飲み物欲しかった。I was very thirsty and I wanted to drink something cold
北から冷たい風が吹いていた。There was a cold wind blowing from the north.
冷える(ひえる) Se enfría; grow cold
ゼリーは冷えると固くなる Jelly sets as it cools
彼女は冷えたスープを夕食のために暖めた She heated up the cold soup for supper
冷えたビールがあればたまらないね A cold beer would hit the spot
ハワイってさ、暖炉つきの家が多いじゃない?あっちも朝夕は冷えるから、寒がりの人は暖炉を焚くんだ Hawai, y'know, has a lot of houses with fireplaces doesn't it? The mornings and evenings over there get cold as well so people who feel the cold light fires
泳いでいる人達は体が冷えて感覚がなくなっていた The swimmers were numb with cold
私は骨の髄まで冷えた I was chilled to the bone
足が冷えます。Mis pies se enfrían
冷やす(ひやす) Lo enfrío
ワインをもっと冷やしたい。 I want to chill the wine more
病人の頭を氷でええ冷やした。 I cooled the patient’s head with cracked ice
金属は冷やされると縮小する。Metal contracts when cooled
冷める(さめる) cool down; descalentarse; enfriarse (de caliente a temperatura ambiente)
食べ物が冷めます The food is getting cold
料理が冷めてしまっています The food is cold
彼の私に対する情熱はさめない His passion for me doesn't cool
彼の愛情はさめかけていた His affection is cooling
冷静(れいせい) Calma; Tranquilidad; Serenidad
たとえ何が起ころうと、冷静でなければならない Whatever happens, you must keep calm
その娘はたいそう美しいので非常に冷静な男でさえも彼女に惹かれる That girl is so beautiful that she attracts even the most self-possessed men
状況は我々の冷静な判断を必要とする The situation calls for our cool judgement
カナダとの関係は公正かつ冷静な状態が保たれていた Relations with Canada remained correct and cool.
冷静に考えて見ろよ Try thinking with a cool head
ミサトは冷静でいようとしたが、ついにかんしゃくを起こしていた Misato tried to be calm, but finally she lost her temper
冷蔵庫(れいぞうこ) Refrigerador

例 Ejemplo

訓読み- たと
音読み- レイ
ejemplos
例えば(たとえば) Por ejemplo
例える(たとえる) Comparar metafóricamente; hacer analogía
その詩人は死を眠りに例えた。That pet compared death to sleep
コンピューターはよく人の頭脳に例える。The computers often compared to the human brain
人生はしばしば旅に例えられる。Life is often compared to a journey
例外(れいがい) Excepción
比例(ひれい) Relative
供給は需要に比例する。Supply is relative to deemand
例文(れいぶん) Example sentence.
事例(じれい) Instance; case

歴 historial

歴史(れきし) History
履歴(りれき) Historial personal; log
警察はその男の履歴を調べた。La policía investigó los records de ese hombre
彼の履歴についてはほとんど知られていない。Muy poco es sabido de su historial
検索履歴 El historial de búsqueda en search engines
履歴書(りれきしょ) One’s work resume
学歴(がくれき) Academic background

連 Conexión/Take along

訓読み- つれ
音読み- レン
ejemplos
連れる(つれる) llevar a alguien a algún lado
彼はたいてい犬を連れて公園に行く He usually takes his dog to the park
父は私を車でここに連れて来てくれた My father brought me here by car
この建物には犬を連れて入れません You are not permitted to bring dogs into this building
彼は親切に私を病院に連れってくれた He was kind enough to take me to the hospital
彼女を病院に連れて行こうとしても無駄でした It was no use trying to take her to the hospital
なぜ奥さんをパーティーに連れてこなかったの Why didn't you bring your wife to the party?
友達を連れてきなさい。estar alineado
訓練(くんれん) Entrenamiento
軍事訓練とは兵士たちが受ける訓練である。El entrenamiento militar es el entrenamiento recibido por soldados
氏を習うことは記憶力を養うよい訓練兵団となる。Learning poetry is a good discipline for memory
私はその犬をゲイ芸当ができるように訓練した。Entrené a ese perro para que haga trucos
彼女はフィットネッスクラブで毎日訓練する。Ella entrena todos los días en un club de fitness
私たちは昨日防火訓練をした。We had a fire drill yesterday.
連絡(れんらく) contactar; to get in touch; comunicarse
ところで、最近彼から連絡はありましたか I will get in touch with you again about this matter
もし緊急なことがあれば、私に連絡して下さい If there's anything urgent, you can get in touch with me
ここに来た時は(必ず)連絡してくれ Please get in touch me when you are here
ところで、最近彼から連絡はありましたか By the way, have you heard from him lately
2、3日おきに電話して、そうすればもしなにか起きても連絡が保てるから Call me every few days, and in that way we can keep in touch if something happens
彼に電話連絡できなかった I couldn't get him on the phone
トムと連絡が取れない I can't contact Tom.
連続(れんぞく) occurring in succession; seguidos. X+veces+連続して= X veces seguidas
気温は連続して何日も氷点下だった The temperature has been below freezing for several days
彼女は連続して医学的発見をした She made a series of medical discoveries
3日連続して雨が降った It rained three days on end
もう2日連続で電車が遅れて、今週は最悪だったよ This was a bad week. My train was late two days in a row
連想(れんそう) Asociar (mentalmente)
緑は草を連想させる。El verde es asociado con el pasto
私たちはダーウィンという名前を聞くうと進化論を連想する。We associate the name of Darwin with the theory of evolution
その言葉には不愉快な連想がする。That word has unpleasant associations
夏といえば何を感想しますか。What do you associate with summer?
関連(かんれん) connected to
これに関連してどなたか発言がありますか Do any of you have anything to say in connection with this
喫煙と肺ガンには関連がありますか Is there a link between smoking and lung cancer
少年は暴動に関連したために逮捕された The youth was arrested for being involved in a riot
これと関連して知っていることはみな話しなさい Tell me all you know in connection with this

老 old people

訓読み- おい・ふ
音読み- ロウ
ejemplos
老いる(おいる) envejecer
かわいそうな事にその老いた女性はまたもバッグを盗まれた The poor old woman had her bag stolen again
故郷の老いた両親のことを考えて見るべきだ You must think of your old parents at home
彼は自分が老いていくのを感じた。He felt himself growing old
老ける(ふける) Envejecer (connotación negativa). He aquí ejemplos de gente viboreando :v
あの人って若いのに老け顔だよね。Esa persona es joven pero su tiene cara ruca.
彼は老けて見える He looks old for his age
彼女は30代だが、歳の割にはふけて見える She is in her thirties, but looks old for her age
気苦労で彼は急にふけた Care aged him quickly
Comments de un japo:
老いる generally means "to grow old in the due course of one's life" while 老ける is often used to refer to one's physical declines such as gray hair or wrinkles in the face.
老人(ろうじん) old people
老後(ろうご) old age
老後を安心して暮らしたかったら今から貯蓄を始めなさい If you want security in your old age, begin saving now
彼は老後に備えて貯金した He saved money for his old age
親孝行な息子さんがいるから、老後の心配しなくていいわね It must be nice having such a loyal son. You don't have to wonder if you'll be taken care of in your old age
老後のためにしっかりお金をためる Conscientiously save money for one's old age
彼は老後のために大金を貯えている He has a lot of money saved for his old age

労 Labour

訓読み- いたわ
音読み- ロウ
ejemplos
労る(いたわる) to care about something (body/ health) or somebody (sick people, people in trouble, etc). / to treat someone with care / to be concerned about someone / to be considerate / to console
体を労る to take care of one’s body/health.
人を労る To treat people (people in general, sick people or people in trouble) with care or in a sympathetic way.
老人をいたわりなさい Be kind to old people
彼(に)は労りの気持がない >He doesn’t have a feeling of caring.→He doesn’t care about others (who are in trouble).
怪我をした足を労って歩く To walk caring about the injured leg. To favor the uninjured leg and not use the injured one.
人は労り合って生きて行かなければなりません People have to live by caring for each other.
労働(ろうどう) Mano de obra; labor manual
労働者(ろうどうしゃ) obrero; ploteriado
苦労(くろう) hardship; trouble; pain; suffering
苦労なしに栄光はない No glory without hardship
彼らはほとんど苦労しないで金を稼ぐ計画を考えた They devised a scheme to make money with little effort
私は収支を合わすのに苦労しました I had a hard time making both ends meet
世の中のよいものはすべて苦労しなければ手に入らない Suffering is the price of all good things in the world
この種の音楽は年輩の人たちが理解するのに苦労するものだ This kind of music is something that older people have difficulty understanding
それが彼の苦労の種だった That was the source of his troubles
疲労(ひろう) fatiga
過労死(かろうし) death from overwork
労力(ろうりょく) el esfuerzo que te toma completar tareas この機械は多くの労力を省いてくれる。Esta maquina nos ahorra mucho esfuerzo

録 Record

訓読み- No tiene
音読み- ロク
Ejemplos
記録(きろく) record en el sentido de un documento o crónica para la posteridad
世界記録 world record
登録(とうろく) registration
会員の名前をいつ登録したのか When did they register the names of the members
登録の必要のない試用版は配ってもかまいません It is OK to redistribute the unregistered trial version
必ず本人が登録用紙に記入して下さい Be sure to fill out the registration form in person
利用者の登録 user registration
録音(ろくおん) Sound recording
submitted by Zalogon to KanjiEntendible [link] [comments]


2015.04.14 17:50 burtzev Stuart Christie - Einstein's visit to the Spanish CNT (No, it was his nephew who gave the speech at Durruti's funeral)

In February 1923 Albert Einstein visited Barcelona at the invitation of the Generalitat (the Catalan government) to give a series of sponsored lectures explaining his theory of relativity. On arrival he insisted on meeting with — and giving talks to — members of the CNT, the anarcho-syndicalist labour union. The following account of Einstein’s Barcelona visit is excerpted from ‘¡Pistoleros! 3: 1920-24. The Chronicles of Farquhar McHarg’:
‘I shared a rented room above a bar in the Carrer Cadena with two Soli editors, Liberto Callejas and Irenofilo Diaro. The bar was leased to a chef by the name of Narciso, a compañero who had taken it on after the collapse of the big waiters’ strike in 1919. We ate there as well — three times a day, our meals being included in the rent — and slept on foldaway camp beds during the day.
‘I was working for an engineering firm in Barceloneta as a toolmaker, but most evenings I spent translating and writing for Solidaridad Obrera’s international news section. Soli’s editorial offices had moved to no. 58 Conde del Asalto (now the Nou de la Rambla), in the heart of the Fifth District, which for some reason was now referred to in the press as China Town, the barri Xino. I was also helping out at Crisol! but that was much less demanding work.
‘It was at Soli’s office in Asalto that I met, of all people, Albert Einstein, the great theoretical physicist who was visiting Barcelona on a lecture tour sponsored by Esteve Terradas, an engineer, CNT sympathiser and a prominent Gran Oriente freemason. Terradas, an enthusiastic supporter of the rationalist schools, had brought Einstein from Berlin to give a series of lectures on his recently published and much talked about theory of relativity.
‘Einstein arrived with his wife, Elsa, in late February, and because he wasn’t such a celebrity in those days, not many people knew he was in town until the posters appeared announcing his lectures at the Syndicalist Athenaeum in the Carrer Mercader and the Sants Rationalist Athenaeum in the Carrer Vallespir.
‘The city fathers and ‘men of order’ were appalled when they learned that the great physicist was hob-nobbing with anarchists and cenetistas. That wasn’t all. He had booked himself into a dilapidated old pensión, the Grand Hotel of the Four Nations — Le Quatre Nations — at No 35 Las Ramblas, on the corner of Escudellers and the Plaça del Teatro. The city fathers tried to move him to the Ritz, but Einstein would have none of it, insisting that he preferred to remain where he was. When I asked him what was so special about that particular hotel, he said he specifically wanted to stay there, because it was where Michael Bakunin had lodged in 1869, just prior to the Lyons uprising and the Paris Commune. Einstein was an admirer of Bakunin and had specifically asked for the Russian anarchist’s old room. I wonder what his wife made of the hotel, or the room; it hadn’t changed much in the intervening fifty years — not that his wife’s opinions appeared to matter much to him.
‘Einstein’s first port of call after checking in at the Quatre Nations was to the Soli office where he found me writing my column. In he walked, unexpected and unannounced, asking to speak to Ángel Pestaña. At first I didn’t know who he was and assumed, because of his violin case and dishevelled appearance, that he was a street or café musician, a busker. He was in his mid-forties at the time, but even then he had an air of permanent distraction — other-worldliness — about him. He wore a shabby brown woollen suit with a cardigan, a white shirt with a high plastic collar and a red tie topped by a mop of tousled, unruly brown hair that stuck out in all directions making him look as though someone had stuck a live 2,000 volt electrode up his arse. His hair was already greying at the temples and roots — as was his droopy moustache, and his round, cheery face bore an expression of permanent, pleasant surprise; and his eyes shone with mischief and humour.
‘Salud!’ he said, seizing my hand warmly with both hands. ‘Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Albert Einstein and I, too, am a revolutionary, an anti-authoritarian: I am the original valiant and fearless Swabian. You, the anarchists and anarcho-syndicalists, of the CNT are also valiant Swabians, revolutionaries of the streets; I, however, am a new-generation revolutionary operating in the field of quantum physics and I will disprove the reactionary quantum theorists and carry the banner of the quantum revolution into ever-stranger territory and provide the final triumphant synthesis of unified field theory.’
‘I looked at him blankly, dumfounded, and — I’m embarrassed to admit — all I could think of to say to the great man was: ‘Really? Fascinating! Would you like some coffee?
'Pestaña wasn’t in, so I explained, briefly who I was and what I was doing in Barcelona, and offered to take him to the union offices in the nearby Carrer Nou, where we would probably find him. We hit it off really well and chatted away like old friends as we walked. The reason he wanted to meet Pestaña was because his anarchist friends in Berlin — Rudolf Rocker, Fritz Kater and Augustin Souchy — said he was the best person to explain what was happening in Spain.
‘Einstein was a delight to be with — sympathetic and supportive of everything we were doing. We chatted for hours in Pestaña’s office before heading off for supper. It was a memorable evening, full of little insights into the physical and metaphysical universe — and the man himself.
‘Nice to be somewhere where nobody’s bothered about quantum physics’ was one of his more memorable comments I remember. He loved his sausages and music, in no particular order of preference, so we chose the restaurant we took him to for its chorizo and resident string quartet, which pleased the ‘fearless Swabian’ enormously. As he said, ‘Fine sausages nourish the body and good music nurtures the imagination.’ In fact he was so excited when he saw the restaurant had an orchestra he leaped on to the podium with his violin and pleaded with the musicians to let him join in. What could they say? It didn’t take them long to realise their mistake, but everyone — audience and musicians alike — took his contribution to the evening’s entertainment uncritically and with good humour, and gave him a standing ovation at the end, probably to get him off the stage. His playing was appalling, and he seemed totally oblivious to his lack of musical talent. Einstein may have been able to predict the bending of starlight by the warping of space around the sun, but he was shit on the violin.*
‘Einstein was one of these people with a theory and opinion about everything, not just relativity, but he was never boring or pedantic — even about his pacifism. His conversation was riveting, and he bubbled on passionately about his loathing for state power and all forms of regimentation. ‘Politics,’ he said, ‘is for the present, but our equations are for eternity.’ The only thing he didn’t have a theory about, so far, was what he called einheitliche Fieldtheorie, a unified theory about everything — but he was working on it.
‘Over dinner he explained how the idea of relativity had come to him. It happened while daydreaming about travelling on a light beam. He described it as one of his ‘Aha!’ moments, when the ‘little grey brain cells’ suddenly have a breakthrough. ‘Insights explode on you when you least expect them,’ he observed, ‘when you think the brain has given up on the big problem you are wrestling with and you find yourself distracted and thinking of something completely unrelated.’
‘Another of those ‘Aha!’ moments led him to apply his theory of relativity to gravity. This particular epiphany occurred one day after lunch as he stared absent-mindedly out of the window of the patent office where he worked. Across the road he saw a slater perched precariously on the roof of a tall building. Suddenly, he had a flashforward of the man falling — and while even though it was a sickening thought that made him panic, at the same time he found himself calculating, incongruously, that until the man hit the ground he would be unaware of his own weight. That moment he described as one of ‘perfect certainty’; an inspired thought that he regarded as the happiest in his life so far. Everything is relative, I suppose.
‘The wider point of the story,’ he said, ‘was that if you feel you have hit an impasse the best way to think of all problems — be they mathematical, scientific, political, ethical, moral or even domestic — is to walk away from them. When it seems you can achieve nothing more, you should find a way of distracting yourself, maybe by walking the dog if you have one. The answer, my friends,’ he concluded triumphantly ‘will arrive when you least expect it and you will see the same old thing in a completely new way. Once that happens, you never go back!’’
• I should point out that Farquhar, whom I knew well in later life, suffered from congenital amusia and his judgments on anyone’s musical talents should be taken with a large pinch of salt. Einstein was a no-mean violinist who, no doubt, could turn his hand to anything from a sardana to a zarzuela, although Mozart was his first love. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MQFmSnG5Ets
http://www.amazon.co.uk/%C2%A1Pistoleros-1920-…/…/B008QPXC2E
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