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Somewhere Between Flores and El Remate

Amber Foster

    You’re a foreigner. Where are you from? American! And traveling alone? Most foreigners are afraid to take the local buses. I would be afraid. In fact, I wouldn’t be traveling alone myself except I didn’t have any other choice. Usually my son, or his wife, takes me. They own a car dealership, very successful. But they couldn’t drive me today.
    You will like El Remate. It’s not far. Maybe half an hour. You’re going to see Tikal? You won’t believe it, but I’ve lived here my entire life and I’ve never seen the ruins. I keep telling myself I’ll go, but now I think I’m too old.
    I’m going to see a woman. She is famous in this area, for speaking in tongues. My priest recommended I go see her—after my vision. I’ll tell you—I thought I was crazy, at first. After it happened, my husband took me to Guatemala City, and four neurologists—four!—looked at my brain. No tumor, nothing. I wondered—am I going crazy? Am I sick? But now I believe.
    It was two months ago, in the middle of the night. I was sleeping in my bed and I opened my eyes, all at once, like this! Then I felt a presence. I can’t describe it, other than to say it was powerful, beautiful. Then I looked down, and there, at the foot of my bed, was a great golden chalice. Yes, a golden cup! And then there was a man coming out of the chalice. He had on a white robe and sandals. The robe was open a little at the neck, and I could see his chest, with little dark hairs. He had long, brown hair, down to here.
    “Aurora, Aurora,” he said. That’s my name. And I cried out in fear. I was trembling. Do you see my hands now? I shake thinking about it. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to cry, it’s just the presence—the presence!
    I asked him what he wanted of me. “Aurora,” was all he said, and then he was gone. I was alone. My husband wasn’t there—he lives with another woman.
    I don’t want to talk about that.
    When my husband came home—that’s when the whole mess started. The doctors couldn’t tell me anything. Doctors don’t know anything about God.
    When I got back home, I prayed and prayed. I was on my knees in my room, asking Him what He wanted of me. And He was there. Only the voice, this time, whispering in my ear. “Do not eat meat,” it said.
    I thought—it’s not possible! But the next day I knew. I was at a big family get-together, with my son and his family. They were serving churrasco, have you tried it? It’s delicious, grilled meat with spices. I sat down with a big plate of food, and opened my mouth with the fork right here, like this. And I couldn’t eat. Something, some force, stopped my hand! No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t eat!
    So I put down the fork. I knew I had to obey. But I’ll tell you a little secret. I’ve had meat once or twice, since then. I know what you’re thinking, but it’s hard! We Guatemalans are very good at cooking meat.
    May I ask you—what religion are you? Ha! I knew you couldn’t be Catholic. You listen to me. You’re a good listener. The Catholics, they don’t believe me. They say, “Just because you have money doesn’t mean you’re better than us.” They say, “You’re crazy, God doesn’t speak to anyone.” The only person who listened was the priest. The father told me to visit the woman, the one I am going to see now.
    Nobody knows I left the house today. They didn’t want me to go. My son, my husband. They refused to drive me. But I’m here. I’ll see the woman, and she’ll tell me why I’m having these visions, why He has chosen to speak to me. She speaks in tongues, did I tell you that?
    Wait—this is my stop. Driver! Stop here! You should come visit me sometime—will you be coming back to Flores? I live in the complex by the big “Bimbo” sign. Ask around, everyone knows it. I’d like to talk to you some more. Come visit me. Please. Have a nice trip—good-bye.

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