by Whitley Cox
He bared his teeth and grinned, his hands coming down to my hips and urging me to begin rocking. “You’re so beautiful. So fucking beautiful.”
I bent down over his body, so we were kind of in reverse missionary. His pelvic bone ground against my clit while my nipples rubbed his chest. Everything felt really good, and I wasn’t going to last long. And then he did something very unexpected, at least unexpected for the moment.
His hand left my hip, and he cupped my face, our eyes locking as I rode him. “You’re safe, Piper. I won’t let anything bad happen to you… I promise. Okay?” A runaway tear sprinted its way down my cheek, but he quickly wiped it with his thumb and brought my mouth down to his, murmuring again against my lips. “You’re safe with me.”
12
The next morning, we were picked up and packed away into a big van, with probably fifteen or so other Machu Picchu-destined tourists of varying age and ethnicity. We chose to leave our big backpacks at the hostel and just stuff enough necessities in our day bags (I’d had to buy a new one, seeing as my other bag had been stolen in Lima). Derrick, of course, had his camera bag as well, and I my purse, but otherwise we packed very lightly compared to the other passengers. I noticed a fair few rolling suitcases and even trunks stuffed into the back of the big bus.
It was a treacherous trip if I’d ever been on one, around mountains and cliffs, where there was nothing between us and the life-ending hundred-foot drops over the side into a ravine or a river. We passed snow-capped peaks and rolling hills, with random plots of inhabited farmland, or a tiny town made up of a few shacks and a corner store or a restaurant out in the middle of what seemed like nowhere. We stopped once for lunch, and then once again on the side of the road so everyone could pee. At first, I hadn’t understood why we were stopping. But then when the bus driver pointed at the dilapidated old shack just six feet off the highway, with a gaping hole in the ground inside, and a roll of soggy toilet paper sitting on the floor beside it, I realized I was supposed to pee inside that building. What the actual fuck?
And that wasn’t the weirdest part of it, oh, no. I watched as all the men on the bus wandered off in random directions, facing the bushes or a random tree. To the untrained or ignorant eye, it might look as though they were simply admiring nature, or pondering the wonders of the universe, but we all knew what was really going on. But the women, we were not nearly as lucky, forced to line up for this solitary three-walled shack, with a hole in the ground to do our business; all the while a little Quechua lady with a colorful hat, braids, and a floor-length skirt was collecting money. We had to PAY her to use her hole in the ground!
I shook my head when I realized what was going on, fury tasting acrid on my tongue. Like hell was I paying to use a hole on the ground, walls or no walls. I didn’t have to pee that bad, I’d hold it!
And hold it I did. Boy, did I hold it. It was another hour or so, maybe two — time seemed irrelevant and thus no longer really existed when our bus narrowly missed falling off the cliff and down into an icy river — to our dropping-off point. It was a place known (though I don’t think that was the actual name of the town) as Hydroelectrica. And when the bus finally stopped and everyone bailed off, I ran like a cheetah to the nearest bush where I copped a squat and peed, FOR FREE!
From Hydroelectrica we were told to follow the train tracks but stay off them, as the train did still run, and that would take us to Aguas Calientes, also known as Machu Picchu Town. Fortunately, it wasn’t raining, and it was a flat walk through the bushes, with nothing but chatter and excitement for the following day’s adventures fueling us forward.
When we finally got to Aguas Calientes, my mouth dropped open. It was something you would expect to find in a whimsical fantasy movie, or where the trolls or elves in a fairy tale lived. It was set deep in a valley with a river rushing right through the middle and high, looming, rocky mountains threatening to close in all around, while the train tracks ran right through the center along the river. I found it positively magical. I actually did a little hop and skip as we made our way up through the narrow streets, with open concept restaurants and shops inviting you in, cobblestone paths and stairs, hanging awnings and big flower pots lining the paths to keep you from falling onto the train tracks.
We checked into our hotel and dumped our stuff in the room, deciding to take advantage of the last few hours of daylight and explore the city. Aguas Calientes might not be very big, but we quickly learned that it was confusing as hell. A series of bridges connected both sides of the town over the narrow river with its fast current and white water, while small side streets suddenly led to local markets and, if you kept walking, morphed into promenades with even more stores and restaurants, convenience stores and massage parlors. We wandered through one of the many markets, with rows and rows of stalls, shopkeepers selling everything you could imagine and more. Scarves and toques, blankets and bags, magnets and carved figures of alpacas, it was the tourist and souvenir enthusiast’s dream.
We made our way back up from the market toward our hotel, stopping in at a restaurant whose menu out front boasted lots of local dishes at reasonable prices, which according to the walking, talking tour guide I also let share my bed, was rare. Most restaurants in Aguas Calientes charged roughly double what they would in Cusco, because everything had to be brought in by train.
“Oh, my God,” Derrick said, turning his nose up while making a face as though he might suddenly gag. We were sipping wine and watching the world go by from our seats. The small street was filled with tourists and locals wandering around; it was so much fun to people-watch, even if the majority of the people were tourists just like us.
“What? What’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “I grew up on a cattle ranch, I’m a carnivore, but that’s just not right. I guess we know why this place was so reasonably priced.”
I spun around to see where he was looking. “What?” I asked more emphatically.
“That guy over there ordered the guinea pig, and look how they brought it out. Completely intact, belly up on the plate, hairless and roasted and still with its teeth.”
I gaped at him and craned my head around, trying to catch a glimpse. And then, sure enough, I did. I turned back to face him immediately, in complete disgust and not shy about showing it.
“I had guinea pigs as pets as a kid,” he said with a childish pout.
I looked down at my plate; I’d suddenly lost my appetite. “So did I.”
His face was drawn down into a contemplative frown for a moment or two, and then he lifted up his beer. “To Smokey and Beatrice… what was the name of your pig or pigs?”
I smiled and lifted my wine glass. “I had Jellybean and Molly.”
He gave one curt nod. “To Smokey, Beatrice, Jellybean and Molly. Who never ended up on anyone’s plate, but will remain forever in our hearts.” We clinked glasses and then each took a sip, smiling at one another over the rims. Smiles that said more than just sadness about our long-dead pets, or about our aversion to seeing rodents on a plate served alongside undercooked French fries, which seemed to be the norm here in Peru. They were smiles of understanding, of companionship and what we intended to do to one another later on back at the hotel.
13
Machu Picchu promptly opened each day at six o’clock in the morning and closed each and every day at five in the afternoon, and although we had no intention of spending eleven hours on the mountaintop, we did want to get our money’s worth and make the most of this big, expensive adventure. Besides, I’d made a promise to Ray. I had to get to the top. If it hadn’t been for the promise, the plan, the fact that this was supposed to be my honeymoon, after everything that had taken place so far, and that maniacal drug-lords or gangsters were after me, I’d have packed up and headed for home long ago. But no, I had a promise to keep, I had a plan, and I intended to see it through. So we set our alarm for 4 a.m., ate a quick breakfast of instant oatmeal and banana — we’d purchased a few rations before re
tiring for the evening the night before — washed it all down with coffee, and set out for the mountain by four thirty, wanting to beat the rush.
Apparently, the majority of Machu Picchu visitors either hike the Inca Trail or catch the bus in Aguas Calientes, which takes you right up to the very top. But we were trying to be frugal, we’d already lost a lot on the trip, and we needed to count every penny, so we decided to hike up. But as it turned out, the term hike was a bit of an understatement, because what it really was, was 1,500 stairs straight up. Now add fifty minutes of torrential rain, and my green plastic poncho quickly morphed into a steaming sweat box of death while Derrick looked more like a hot mess of gorgeous, with his spiky eyelashes and his shirt sticking to his abs.
I had a mini, no, let’s call it, microscopic hissy fit around step 1,000 when we discovered the first covered resting spot, and it informed us with belittling glee that we only had 500 steps to go. We encountered no other tourists hiking up, only locals heading to work, and maybe all of ten people passed us coming down, which prompted us to start wondering if we were doing something wrong — if maybe we weren’t supposed to hike up.
Upon entering the monument, I felt slightly deflated. There was no majestic, iconic view. That first look is reserved for the mud-caked trekkers who spent the last five days on the Incan trail, with their backpacks, wet clothes, dehydrated food, and pricey Sherpas. But we made our way inside, and as I had hoped, the clouds did part, the sun came out, and I was finally granted my tiny little moment of bliss. Complete with a sudden warm gust of wind lifting the hair off my neck and into a whirl of yellow fire around my head.
We walked forward, and Derrick stopped, digging into his backpack and bringing out yet another book. I lifted one eyebrow, and he grinned. “Machu Picchu Guidebook. The Ultimate Traveler isn’t nearly in-depth enough.” I rolled my eyes; I bet he was going to be more informative than many of the guides. He wandered off toward the edge of a small ledge to get a better view, and I took the opportunity of sudden solace to observe my surroundings in peace.
A harsh sob caught in my throat as I slowly took it all in, took in the magic of the ancient ruins, the history, the immense feeling of getting to witness something so much greater than myself. The Incas had built a city on the top of the mountain, long before the days of cranes and wrecking balls and dump trucks. It was incredibly humbling, and I couldn’t believe I’d made it to the top. I was finally here. Finally, where I was supposed to be on this specific day. I’d fulfilled my promise. Carried out the plan. I was here for my honeymoon… it just wasn’t with Ray.
“Well, Ray,” I said under my breath, making sure that no one, not even Derrick, could hear me. “We made it. I made it. I’m here, as planned, as promised.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a vial the length of my pinky finger; it contained a small of amount his ashes. They’d managed to recover his body, along with a few of the other crew members a short while after their boat had capsized, their bodies having washed up on a nearby island after the storm. I had been grateful in a way that they’d found him, but also horrified that he’d laid on a rocky arctic beach for so long, denied his final rest. But I knew he’d want to see it all, too, to spend time here, even if just in the afterlife.
After all, Machu Picchu and Peru for our anniversary had been his idea; he’d wanted to see it his entire life. He’d taken the course on the Incan culture while in university; he’d been the one who had done all the research and planned the trip nearly two years in advance. We were to hike the great Inca Trail all the way, five days sleeping in a tent and carrying our food on our back, with a guide and Sherpa. So, I guess I hadn’t done everything exactly as planned. But it was for this reason I’d wanted to hike up rather than take the bus. I wasn’t a camper. I would have done it for Ray, but I much prefer the comfort of a nice cozy bed that isn’t on the cold, hard ground. But I would have sucked it up and enjoyed it because I would have been with Ray, and that was what had mattered.
I opened the vial and waited until no one was around. Derrick was a busy bee snapping shots with his camera, and for the moment, no one was in my space. I poured the ashes out into my hand, whispered a final goodbye, and let them go on the breeze, tears burning my eyes as I watched my husband float away, up high into the sky. As I finally let him go.
“Ready to go?” Derrick asked, coming up behind me a few seconds later, wrapping an arm around me and planting a quick peck on my temple.
I hastily wiped my eyes with the back of my wrist and nodded. Ray was already gone, his ashes caught up in the gust of wind and seeing the ruins from the clouds. I said one last goodbye in my mind and then turned to go, nodding and plastering on a big grin as I followed Derrick down the path toward the first ancient doorway.
The place was incredible, to say the least. Inspiring and jaw-dropping at every turn. And my tour guide, with his nose buried in the book, rattling off information like Siri, was incredibly informative. Our first view was of the agricultural plaza, which was run by a posse of territorial alpacas. They didn’t appear to be afraid of humans, but I steered clear, standing at a safe distance and tossing on a giant fake smile when Derrick asked me to pose for a picture.
Machu Picchu is huge, and what we were expecting to take an hour or two to explore took closer to four. We would stop and read the guidebook, chat with other tourists, or if the guidebook seemed to be lagging, inconspicuously hang out and listen to a paid-for tour guide give his or her spiel about a certain room or funky-looking rock.
And then, just for good measure, and because we’d paid for it, we decided to put our quads and hammies through the wringer one more time and made our way up the foreboding big brother mountain Huayna Picchu. Another 1000-plus steps, steeper than the first fifteen hundred, and with a slew more people coming down and passing us slowpokes on their way up. But it was so worth it.
I had a mild touch of vertigo when we finally reached the top. It was a loooong way down. Machu Picchu looked like a tiny, elaborate ant farm, and there wasn’t any fencing or barricades between the throngs of tourists, bumping into one another for that “perfect shot” and a long fall and bone-shattering crash at the bottom. We spent roughly an hour up on Huayna Picchu, taking pictures and relaxing in the sun, but eventually, we knew we had to go back down.
It was on that last and final step, coming off the mountain, that Derrick stumbled and nearly fell head-first into a rock wall that I’m sure had at one point served as part of a house or church or something.
I grabbed him by the arm and helped him stand up. “Are you okay?”
He looked green; no, he looked gray, and his pallor was frightening, and I immediately ushered him over to a couple of big square rocks, instructing him to sit down. I took the backpack from him and brought out a water bottle, taking the cap off and handing it to him. He chugged it greedily, a few droplets making their way down his neck and onto his shirt.
“You okay?” I asked again. Panic threatened to unleash itself in my body if his answer was anything besides “absolutely.” We were on the top of a mountain, we’d just hiked two mountains, and he was still recovering from an infection. What had we been thinking doing those hikes?
He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “I’ll be okay. I’m…I’m just going to lie here for a bit, but I’ll be fine.” He slowly fell back against the rock and curled up into the fetal position, hugging himself, a wince of pain drawing his mouth and eyes tight.
“Where does it hurt?” I asked quietly, sitting down next to him and brushing his hair from his forehead. He didn’t have a fever, and his skin wasn’t clammy; these were both good signs.
“My stomach,” he groaned, curling up even tighter. “I think I may have overdone it.”
I rolled my eyes and scoffed. “Uh, yeah, you think?” But then I immediately felt awful, realizing that both the first hike and Huayna Picchu had been my idea. They'd been Ray’s idea, but I’d needed to do them. Derrick was in pain because of me. “I’m sorry. I sho
uld never have made you climb up here, or do Huayna Picchu. This is my fault. I’m so sorry.”
He opened his eyes; his hand came up to cup my face. “This isn’t your fault. I did those things because I wanted to. I’m glad we’re sharing this experience together. But maybe just give me thirty minutes and then we’ll go, okay?”
I turned my face into his palm and nodded, and his lids fluttered shut. Checking his pulse one more time to make sure he was just resting, I let out a relieved sigh, hunkered down next to him, pulled out the guidebook and started to read.
It was roughly an hour or so later when Derrick finally roused and attempted to sit up. He’d fallen asleep, and even though he’d asked for thirty minutes, I was loath to wake him. And it was probably a good thing I hadn’t. His color was better, and the life was back in his eyes. He also no longer had that pinched face, the face he made when everything hurt.
“Ready to go?” he asked, having stood up and stretched, offering me his hand to help me to my feet.
“Should we see about taking the bus down? Might be best, seeing as you’re not feeling well.”
He shook his head. “It’s like ten dollars. We can go buy some wine and a decent meal each for the price of our tickets. Besides, it’s all downhill now. It won’t take nearly as long. I’ll be fine.” He reached for my hand and pulled me toward the exit. Meanwhile, all I could think about was the possibility of him keeling over halfway down the trail and me having to sling him over my back and Sherpa him down the mountain.
We were quiet for the first thirty minutes of the hike down. He’d given me another terrible fright, and I wasn’t quite sure how to handle it. I couldn’t lose him, not here, not now, not ever. I stuck close to him, offering to help him down any steep or slick rock, but he would just shake his head and say he was okay. So I’d clam up again, put my head down and power forward.
