Word: morochata
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...bright morning poured throught the wide open doors of the church, intruding on the thick chill that hung within the heavy stone walls. The bell signalling mass had rung a few minutes before, and campesinos were now entering for the Sunday service. Few of them actually lived in Morochata, the village served by the church. They were, instead, from the surrounding campo, the countryside, where they lived and farmed in small communities of clustered huts up in the mountains. Their full dark-skinned faces and thick skull and cheekbones showed that they were pure Quechua Indians, unlike the people...
Padre Ray was to travel to one of the tiny outlying communities around Morochata, where he was training a catechist to administer masses and perform marriages and baptisms. All of the campesinos in the area were ostensibly Catholics, having been converted by missionaries like Ray over the decades. But they still lived the traditional life of the Quechua Indians, and were thus often Catholics only in name, still believing in the ancient pagan gods. El padre wanted to see to it that they became good practicing Christians...
...bring me a glass and a pitcher of chicha. "Norteamericano, no?" he asked, looking knowingly at the men beside him, peasants who obviously felt a bit uncomfortable in my presence. I told them a little about my background, about my work in Cochabamba, and why I was in Morochata. They all laughed when I told them about my momentary ascent into the priesthood...
...conversation. He would begin answering my questions even before they were half-stated, unable to wait longer lest I say something that might cast a shadow on the life of this, his pueblo. "No," he said proudly, "we have no trouble with leftists here. We are good people in Morochata, no Communists or atheists." Another glass for our guest, he signaled to the woman when he noticed I had emptied the pitcher. A second, and then a third glass more, despite all of my protestations as I felt myself going a bit dizzy. The room was beginning to expand...
...course, they wouldn't let me pay. I thanked them and tottered out of the chilly room. I heard birds singing, saw women satiated with love, felt the friendly rays of the sun: God was in his heaven and all was right with the little world of Morochata...