In the city of San Jeronimo de Tunan, the mayor, Jesus Vargas, had called off the search, the manhunt for me that is, and I was quite relieved, as he was, both of us being friends.
Here in this small town-let, village in the Mantaro Cannabis Culture Valley, were adobe houses and lovely cottages, some dating back to the mid 16th century, time of the conquistadors, as did the church called Saint Sebastian.
In the larger houses, mansions that is, there were chapels and narrow gardens, plants of all kinds, cactuses, and wildflowers: little pathways that led to and around the houses. Many of the window ledges were filled with pots of flowers and foliage plants: a peaceful climate for me undeniably. Here is where I’d stay I figured, it was what everyone wanted, and I got to liking the idea also. I bought the Mayer’s mother’s house and got it for a fair price, and moved in.
After dinner one evening, cigar in my mouth, a quick shot of light-dry red wine, I strolled over to the little adobe church, San Sebastian, I liked it so much, I once tried to buy it, and the Mayor thought I was kidding, if not crazy, and that was that. Anyhow, I walked over to this 16th century church, more of a ruins I should say, it looks like a small fortress, thick walled adobe place of worship, no roof over it, a hill behind it, there I stood in the middle of it. I liked the atmosphere, it filled my spirit, then I got thinking, whistling a tune, likened to the chant of the Sumerian tablet, then appeared those eyes, the Manticore on the hillside looking down into the unroofed church, not moving up to the church, just staying a good distance away from it on the prominence. The evening was enchanting, twilight came, and the moon glowed upon the hill: hence, she showed her full self—she looked like a queen this evening, she was gracefully beautiful; then her eyes disappeared within the hills beyond.
It was a lovely evening I told myself, as I thought: how quiet and still the atmosphere is, the dark has so many shadows: but the main disturbing element of these hours of darkness was: or so I felt were, or had to ask myself: was the cat, or in particular, the Manticore, wooing me?