22 Noviembre 2011

As I was bringing the horse and donkey water this morning Doña Juana returned from a party to go move the cows because Roxana went to school. Before I had taken the time to make myself a cup of tea and breakfast she said Elvis was at the house of her brother with his parents drinking. I literally dropped the kettle, forgot about the last load of dirty laundry and headed for tio felix’ house. Elvis was standing next to his mother as she milked a cow. Whether he was drinking or not isn’t quite clear, but he was an hour late for school and clearly not intending on going.

I was hoping all I had to do was say, ‘jump’ and he would say, ‘how high?’ as usual. That was not the case today.

“Elvis,” I called over the adobe fence, “it is time to go to school. Let’s go.”

He ignores me.

“Elvis, you have to go to school. Come with me. I will go with you. Let’s go.”

His mother says something to him, without looking at me he responds to her, she hollers, “he doesn’t want to go.” And continues milking the cow.

“Going to school is not an option. You have to go to school every day Elvis.”

To which he ignores me and the charades begin. I hopped the wall with two dogs trailing me and tried every tactic in my book:

“You have to go to school so you can be smart and have lots of animals and a happy family when you get older.” “ It is your right to go to school.” “Your mom and dad and aunts and uncles want you to go to school.” “You know the fruit and hot chocolate I give you? That is because you study, if you don’t study I won’t be able to give you goodies.”

I was speaking to an unlistening ear, to a body collapsed on the ground crying in a silent tantrum.

“Should I hit him?” Elvis drunk father asked. Honestly, a good smack might have done the kid some good, “Probably not, but you can lift him to his feet.”

Ignoring my recommendation he curls up next to his son on the ground and tells him with alcohol on his breath how much he loves his son and begs him to go to school with his aunt Luz.

Then the excuses roll, “But, I will get in trouble for not doing my homework.”

“I will talk to your teacher and you and I will do it together tonight so you aren’t in trouble.”

“They will castigate me for not having my bible for study today.”
“I will buy you a bible. You know whenever you need anything I will buy it for you. When you said you needed a ruler, I bought you a metal one; when you said you needed markers I brought you crayons, colored pencils, markers, and pencils; when you said you needed pens I brought black, blue, and red. If you don’t have something you need, you know all you have to do is tell me.

“But I am late now and they will have started.”

“All the more reason to hurry up.”

He hit everything he could think of and I would have none of it. This is the first time I have ever been harsh with anyone in this community. I have put my foot down and pulled some ears, but I have never been so insistent and impatient.

An hour later Elvis’ mother had moved on to another cow and was ignoring the entire situation. Elvis father was still curled up begging his son to please go with his aunt (probably to make me shut up).

I admit, I understand. He is the most poor of the poor. He is the slowest of the slowest. I can’t imagine school is fun. His shoes are holey and don’t fit him right because they are hand-me-downs. Even his best socks have holes in them because he only has two pair. I am sure he doesn’t understand half of what the teacher assigns. He is probably embarrassed often. But, he is improving in his studies. I have been helping him improve in reading, and he has improved 10 words per minute since we started about 5 months ago, which is great. He is 14 years old and in third grade. He has to keep working at it. He has to be able to read. He has to be able to do simple math (adding and subtracting is still something we are working on). Even if he never makes it to secondary school, he has to finish primary.

As I am thinking of the men in town I know that might be willing to haul a 14 year old kicking and screaming to school Elvis father said, “Should I get the police to take him?” As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted it. Pablo, Elvis father, is still “en problemas” as we would say here because he is fighting for the right to get his daughter back after she was taken away by the government for being neglected by Pablo’s wife, Claudia (no, I don’t get it). If things went bad and police were involved, Pablo could be in deeper “probelmas”. But, before he could change his mind, I was off.

“Elvis, I am going to go get a police officer to talk to you.”

He does move, suddenly his mother is very interested in this conversation and moves over to talk to Elvis.

Minutes later I returned with a police officer. Elvis father lied to me and said they were still in our uncle’s house, but I saw Elvis with his mother walking back to our house to dress him for school. The officer walked briskly with me to reach the runaway. When we got to the house I asked his mother to get his clothes ready, and I boiled some water for tea while the sweetest and kindest Peruvian officer I have ever met sat on a rock and chatted with the truantor. As I distrated his mother and father from trying to talk to the police officer, he chatted away calmly with elvis about school and the importance of studying, and even offered himself if Elvis ever needed any help.

Quickly elvis was cleaned up and out the door. Señor Noe and I walked with him (which caused a bunch of wide eyes in the school, but Elvis walked proud), and talked to his teacher about the situation. She really is a great teacher and was very understanding. Surely, before we were even talking to his teacher, Elvis parents had already forgotten the entire situation happened and were back to drinking.

I was wrung. Like the wet rag that calms your fever, I was tossed aside in the bucket only to return to hungry, thirsty animals. The officer followed me back to the house, “I can take care of the suffering cat if you like.” He politely offered. Way out of his line of duty I greatfully excepted and started digging a hole to which he insisted I stop, that he would take care of it. Needless to say, I brought him a plate of homemade spaghetti for his lunch.