Buenos Aires - Part 3

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EMILIANO, THE NEIGHBOR’S LITTLE BOY

The kid who lives just behind my house is a total crack-up. He does things that are very adult-like. His name is Emiliano and he’s twelve. I’ve talked about him before. He has a mild to moderate case of Down’s Syndrome, and he lives with his mother and grandmother, plus his pretty sister of 17. Tonight I was having dinner with them, and he had us all in stitches. His mother told him three consecutive times to put his glass down behind his plate. Though he obeyed the first time, she was in a feisty and playful mood from reigning him in all day. So, she was teasing him: “Put your glass down there. Put your glass down there. Put your glass down there.” After the third time the kid had had enough. He expressed this frustration by putting his hands out in front of him, palms up, while bouncing them up and down. Argentine readers will recognize the gesture as the classical sign for “You’re busting my balls!” Down here near the Antarctic it translates literally as “You’re making my balls swell!” It was so funny to see a little kid do this, particularly since there are some aspects of communication that are cut off to Emiliano because of his Down’s Syndrome.

I enjoy his mom’s attitude, though. She has a good time with things. She tells me most of the other moms at Emiliano’s school walk around like Jesus during the last ten meters he walked on earth, cross on back, bunions on feet, dying for a camelback or a squirt of holy water. Gaby has a different attitude. She says her kid is a blessing and a gift. He’s gentle and he’s intuitive. He’s loving and he always want to learn. I’m often humbled by the care given him by his family. He has three generations of people caring for him - his teenage sister, his mother Gaby, and his Grandmother Elsa, truly a gem and a powerhouse of a human being. The sister often dances Reggaeton with him; the mom in her 40s chides him and has a good time; and the grandma (well into her 70s) dries the dishes and explains to him where each one goes. (Oh, and she does a bit of dancing too!) I witnessed the exercise with the dishes one night when the boy was placing the big bowls ATOP the little bowls. I would have killed him, but grandma understood he was just trying to help. “No, that’s not the way it’s done. Look, if you want to help I’ll show you how. First you open the lower cupboard… then.”

One of my early interactions with Emiliano was on the couch when he and his sister were listening to music. He was trying to say something with a sound that was difficult for him to pronounce. He has the most trouble with certain consonants, and if you ask him something that can be answered in the affirmative, he’ll respond not with “si” but with something that sounds like “eeh” to an English speaker. He’s not being difficult; he just can’t form his mouth into the position needed to pronounce the “s.” Equally hard are words like the verb “to break” which is “romper.” Americans who took Spanish as a second language in high school will be familiar with the boy’s frustration in rolling his “Rs.” It was fascinating to experience him speak.

I had never before had Emiliano beside me for more than a few minutes, as he prefers to scamper and jump from one activity to the next. This time, however, he seemed comfortable beside me. In the past I think he was a bit spooked by my size, as his father is out of the picture and he lives with three women and a smallish grandfather. More than once I saw the poor boy jump back when I reached out to shake his hand or give him a kiss. On this night, though, his mom and I were chatting while he jumped in occasionally to give his two cents worth. He said something with the letter “R” - “Gabriela” or “reggaeton” or “rico.” I had noticed before that he has a penchant for repeating things; it gives him comfort I think. Reminds me of children with development issues who rock themselves in order to find some peace. He said something where he skipped an “r,” and I repeated the word correctly, exaggerating the rolled “r” while putting his little hand on my Adam’s Apple as I said it. The strange tingling made him laugh a little. I did it again—keeping his hand against my Adam’s Apple while I rrrrrolled the Rs. He seemed to be getting a kick out of it. We had a good time with the Rs that evening, and sometimes he showed the beginnings of a proper pronunciation. Of course I laughed when I asked him if he liked it, and he responded with “eeeh!”

Still, I was having too much fun to stop. The next letter I wanted to work with was the letter S. As in “eeeh!” I stood up tall and made myself into a serpent by clasping my hands way up in the air, high above my head. I then wiggled like I was responding to a snake charmer, all the while hissing “sssss.” He immediately took off his slippers, stood on the couch, and made a funny side-to-side movement; but no sound came out of him. I think my lesson on the letter S was an abject failure. I don’t want to think about what would happen to my self-esteem if I tried the letter T! Maybe this kid will sell me a vowel.

People with Down’s are closer to their original state than the rest of us, and as a result they are more natural, uninhibited, and therefore easier to read. When Emiliano is happy he smiles or bops around like music is playing; if he’s afraid he instantly backs away or creates some distance between himself and the scary stimulus; if he’s angry he shouts. And when these kids hit puberty—watch out! His mom told me that Down’s children are highly sexual beings, as they are fully in touch with their environment and their bodies and they don’t understand taboos. His mom is not happy about the challenge that lies ahead - explaining safe sex to a kid whose mental age is not on a par with his sexual age (hey men, that could apply to most of us!). Still, when I talked to his mother about her son’s upcoming developmental stages, she seemed unphased. When it’s raining outside you put on a coat; and when your kid is approaching puberty you tell him about the birds and the bees.


AN INDEPENDENT PLAY HOUSE - I’ve now seen the good, the bad, and the ugly

Going to a play without reading reviews can be dangerous. It’s like running into a movie house during a rainstorm and buying a ticket only to get out of the rain. “You don’t know what you’re gonna get.” Today’s play was beyond me. I understand a good portion of the idiomatic expressions in Buenos Aires, but despite that I was finding it difficult to laugh. The humor was largely sexual, with lots of men in drag and others playing homosexuals or bisexuals. The whole thing was fast-paced and over the top, with some audience interaction and the actors even laughing at their own jokes at times. Campy to say the least. I have no problem with levity, but the truth is the gay and bisexual stuff just bored me.

Maybe I lived in West L.A. too long, where men in drag are only slightly less common than palm readers. After a while maybe we get desensitized to the gay issue, or it just doesn’t affect us because it’s not novel. Flamboyant gays are like an electric blue Corvette—a welcome addition to the scenery but not something I want to take for a ride.

The Argentines, however, are entranced by homosexuals. The whole society is confused by them, and every man is deathly afraid of being mistaken for one. I suspect, further, that with regard to their sexuality, the males here are more insecure than other Latins. It’s just an early impression, though. At the same time, the men here are very open and expressive with each other. A kiss on the cheek, for instance, is the usual greeting between two men. In other ways there are very ‘macho,’ with philandering husbands being on a level with British royalty or French heads of state. Positively overwhelming. To give you an idea of the concept of marital fidelity here, I will recount a conversation I heard two weeks ago with my doctor friend, Dardo (“the dart”).

Some of the single women at the dinner table were about his age (early to mid 50s) and were therefore interested in having the good doctor hook them up with some of this colleagues or acquaintances. I am reminded of a poster my college girlfriend had in her dorm room: “A good doctor is hard to find; but a hard doctor is good to find.” I know at least two women reading this document who can appreciate such collegiate wisdom.

So, the conversation with the good doctor went something like this:
“Don’t you have any single colleagues?”
“Don’t you have anyone you can recommend for our friend Susana?”
“I thought you had a brother?”
“Well,” the doctor responded, “I DO have a brother.”
The women’s eyes perked up. “Is he married?”
“Yes, yes, he is, and he has some tendencies toward faithfulness.”

That is the highest praise that can be given an Argentine husband -- “He has tendencies toward faithfulness.”

Interestingly, the women here hold their own (in case anyone thinks infidelity is a competitive sport). Surveys show that something like 60% of wives cheat on their husbands, and just last week I met a friend who said that one of her clients at work is married, plus she has a lover on the side. “No big deal,” you say? Well, the interesting thing about this gal is she also has a boyfriend, all the while raising her two kids with her husband. Fantastic. The world is right on track for a return to wholesomeness.

THE COUNTRYSIDE and MAMMALIAN COMMUNICATION

I was out with the same group of friends a month ago, spending some time in the countryside an hour north of Buenos Aires. It’s a place which many of you have seen in the photos I sent several weeks ago. The location was out in the middle of nowhere - perfect for a house in the country. The original wooden staircase was still in place, where each step was teensy weensy, maybe 8 or 9 centimeters deep (4 inches). That’s perfect if you’re Mayan, but for the rest of us it’s a precarious climb. So up I went with my size 45 shoes (size 12 in the U.S.) and got to the top floor where the boards creaked and you really got a sense of what life must have been like a hundred years ago - raw, physical, and connected. If you wanted to have hot water, you poured some in a pot (probably sourcing it from a well), and then you put the pot in the chimney or on the wood-burning stove. Frustrating, yes. But no more frustrating than trying to make an appointment to meet a friend for coffee in the 21st century. God knows which is the better reality. Still, the house in the country was very cool, with a small placard greeting visitors. The placard was hand-written by the owner three generations ago (at the turn of the 20th century) inviting all who come there to enjoy the serenity and the calm.

Out in the fields there was a small herd of cows (about 20) and one bull. The cows were grazing peacefully, while the bull sat on his haunches with his back toward the house, looking over the scenery of his 20 companions. There is no doubt the females knew he was there, but he was so remote, chilling at a distance of 15 meters.

I got as close as I was comfortable doing, understanding what happens to those guys at the running of the bulls in Pamplona when they tempt fate. The cows didn’t change their behavior in any perceptible way, but I’d be surprised if they were unaware of my arrival. It got me to wondering what kind of communication animals have with one another. They don’t talk in the way humans do, but that just means they are required to be better communicators, more adroit at observing, feeling, and “listening.” Naturally, humans have plenty of non-verbal communication too, and the most adroit people are able to seamlessly send and receive those cues.

Later that afternoon I was observing the horses, roaming around the ranch close to the house. They had climbed a mound of earth that is about twice the size of a pitcher’s mound. The three horses were at the drinking well, and I just sauntered over to see how close I could get. I’ve always loved horses and I used to ride them once a week. I have a real affinity for these big beasts. At one point I got a bit too close, and what transpired was a picture perfect moment of what happens among animals in the wild when they are made nervous by some external stimulus. The horse nearest to me raised one hoof and stomped it down on the ground. Immediately, the other two turned their back to me and trotted away, heads turned toward me with their eyes keeping a close watch. Do they know how beautiful they are in their simplicity, their grace? I thought of humans and how little attention we sometimes pay to our demeanor, our carriage. A horse in his least elegant pose is still more graceful than an overworked attorney when he gets up for work in the morning, shuffling around the house with one hand on his aching lower back, the other one on his balls.

In terms of non-verbal communication, I had another lesson on the subject at a party I attended with some of my Argentine friends. I walked into a lounge with two young, good-looking women. Right away we greeted the people in our vicinity, and here’s the conversation I overheard among these gals:
“Hi, I’m Claudia.”
“Oh yes, I’ve heard about you.”
“Well, sure you have, I’m friends with Dardo.”
“Yes, but he and I go way back. I have known him since he was in medical school.”
“Oh, that’s nice.”

A few minutes later there was more posturing among these women, with the new-comers being the subject of smirks and hushed conversations all around the table.

I tried to imagine a world in which men behave the same way:

A guy who’s taller than me walks into a room.
The guests immediately look in his direction.
I straighten my posture.
He smiles, and I notice his teeth are whiter and longer than mine.
I puff out my chest.
He starts to walk around the room. He’s got a bigger chest than me.
I stand up.
He keeps walking, and I can see he’s in good shape.
He comes over and greets my female companion and me. His eyes are deeper than mine.
I step between him and my female companion.
He offers me a hand shake.
I accept and then turn away, inviting my female companion to sit down.
I sit next to her and say “What a jerk, huh?”

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Photos

the girls
Subject of some jealousy at the Doctor's party...