marta in the dark

dear rodrigo,

ok.  so i'm not really sure if where i am technically counts as jungle, but it looks and feels like it to me, so let's run with that.  i'm in the jungle!  i'm at marta's place.  i'm not sure if it's marta's house, exactly.  it's big.  it's built around a central open area so the jungle is contained (sort of) inside the house--  you can't get lost and wander off but you might still encounter beasties though probably not large ones).  the house is washed with blue paint in the way of mexican houses; it seems to glow and pulse with life, and the front door is entirely covered with milagros.  it made me think of hansel and gretel.  but i didn't scatter any breadcrumbs, and no one's coming for me anyway.

marta is older;  older than me, maybe quite old, maybe not.  she could be as young as fifty-five, if she had a hard life.  her features are ugly pretty--  like maybe once she was beautiful, but then she was taken apart and put back together without being properly alligned and had subsequently weathered down almost smooth again.  i love the look of her.  and she's nice in a blunt no nonsense way.

she sat me down.  she gave me tea.

you have it.  you know that right?

wait, i'm confused.

no you're not.  sometimes you are, but not now.  you weren't confused when they told you about the five ring either, you only pretended to be.  she looked deeply into my eyes, smiling triumphantly.

i don't know if i've told you that story.  i went to a fortune teller;  one of the things she said was that there were five rings in my future (or something like that, the five rings part i'm sure about but not the exact workding, maybe it wasn't in my future, exactly).  i asked her what she meant and she started guessing.  the guides told her everything in riddles.  that made her think of the olympics.  i was pretty sure that wasn't what they meant.

you pretended that you thought it had to do with the book of the five rings, but that was an example you you pretending to be confused.  you thought it was a very witte joke, but no one got your joke.  i know you knew it was from the twelve days of christmas all along.

excuse me?

it's ok.  you feel uncomfortable so you're acting confused again.  the five golden rings, that's the pretty part where you get to sustain the notes, plus it's a rest and breathe place before you run back into the craziness of the song.  also, when you were a kid it was the only gift that made any sense.  who wanted to get all those birds;  what would you do with them, much less maids-a-milking.  that song was in your brain, as a reference, one of almost no references containing the information needed.

how are you doing this, marta?

i'm going to do more than that.  i'm going to make you tell me the phrase they wanted you to know, that you did know, that you've pretended for seven years you didn't.

ok, marta.  you have the power.  i'm a believer.  on the fifth day of christmas my true love gave to me five golden rings.

love,
clementine