I have travelled several
times across Peru for work reasons, I have been to different cities
and towns, gotten to know new people, stayed in rooms other than my
bedroom, become accustomed to new climates, and eaten dishes that I
had never tasted before. I've been a visitor to these places, not a
proper apartment dweller, nor have I been called a tourist who is
able to relish the visit to local landmarks; for most of the time I
was at work and when I had spare time, apart from hanging out with
friends, I would go downtown and would be keen to visit only the main
square. Yet there was something missing in the experience; in spite
of the sky being different and although in some places the buildings
were smaller and in others bigger, they were only a part of the
whole, and it did not make any difference whether the square was
bigger or smaller, more or less crowded, quiet or loud; it was never
the open space where I used to go when I wanted to since I was in
high school. None of them compared to the main square of Trujillo.
I was walking down an
avenue, along with a girlfriend–I
was accompanying her to the bus stop–and carrying a book in my hand, when she asked
me where I was going afterwards and I answered I was heading towards
downtown to have a time on my own in order for me to think about
important issues; those were poetry and art-related matters, my
primary concerns at that time. I was sixteen years old, was going to
enter my last year in high school, was more idealistic than my peers
and found much joy in being in solitude. As soon as I got downtown I
used to walk along a street where a bookshop was sited and there I
sought literature books although I could only afford a few.
Sometimes, after leaving the book store, I would go to the main
square for a walk, or just crossed over it to go to the other streets
before going home. Soon, this main square turned into my final
destination, to where I would stride unconsciously or on purpose.
There was something peculiar in it, something that attracted me and
made me return several times: I had found it suitable for my need of
calmness, peace and quiet, and thenceforth it became a witness to
important events in my life.
Since I finished high
school it became closer to me, for I used to attend art exhibitions
in one gallery in the main square and in others situated on streets
off it. Thus, it was closely associated to one of my great fountains
of pleasure, with its trees reminding me of the ones I saw in the
canvases hung on the walls of the galleries, and its sky always
welcoming me even though the grey clouds of winter could appear to
some people as though it was an invitation to look for shelter. I
appreciated its beauty better in the darkling sky of the evening,
when the street lamps drew shades of the cathedral and the statues of
the main monument seemed to emerge from its centre, freeing
themselves from their stone prison, and come to life leaving behind
their shadows cast by the combination of the moonlight and the light
of the lamps, watching the people as they passed by, sometimes
looking as human as us and projecting an apparent gloominess like
that of a loner.
This main square was also
the scene of the unveiling of the actual nature of a girl's lies on a
dismal day, acted as a friend that would rather unmask the liar than
let their confidant believe deceptive tricks, providing me with a
shield to defend myself against the temptation to embark upon a
perilous journey from steadiness to a moment of madness. However,
some years later it was the glade where I smelled the air of a
summer's afternoon filled with the scent of the honesty of a lovely
foreign woman–who
had invited me an ice cream cone bought in a store on a street
nearby–while
we were seated on one of its benches, talking and laughing, wrapped
up in our conversation, until a street trader interrupted us, and
then we commented on his impolite way of approaching people.
When I graduated from
university I was given my diploma in a Peru's colonial epoch building
on one corner of this main square. It had to be present at the moment
when I was officially declared a proper potential worker, like
parents are at the birth of their children, hoping the best to happen
to them, knowing a long road to walk on is expecting them. And as an
adult visits their parents on vacation, I often went to this main
square the first day off work, and it would greet me with an open and
wide sky, a perfect ceiling under which I would feel quite safe while
walking on the floor of this large and unusual room, sometimes
pretending it is my own room, and then realizing it is also home to
other people who have lived their stories there many times but have
probably never been aware of this fact.
Nowadays, as I have been
idle for a while, I hardly ever visit the main square, for I am
taking advantage of this time to read and do some research by myself
and to pass more time with relatives and friends; but when the
necessity of breathing well arises, I head for the bus stop and
within fifteen minutes I am walking down Pizarro street in downtown
Trujillo, getting closer to the main square with each heavy footstep,
knowing that only the air in there can clean my equilibrium lungs
out, and as soon as I get there an absolute certainty of getting
relieved fills my chest and an awareness of a strong attachment to it
comes to my mind. I wonder whether I will find another intimate,
warm, and mind-refreshing place.
