Pink Dolphin Oil

PINK DOLPHIN OIL

By Marty Malin

Lupita wakes early, before the first rays of the sun set fire to the surface of the muddy Rio Itaya flowing lazily beneath her bungalow built on stilts in the shallow floodplain. She’s up and dressed in sandals and a pink cotton shift before grandfather and grandmother or the small children stir on their mats.

Mother is dozing, nursing the baby. Her father snores softly on his mat beside them.

Carlitos lies on his mat apart from the others, his body turned facing one of the thatched walls, the thin blanket dancing on his hips, covering his busy hands, losing the battle once again to the spicy phantasms colonizing his thirteen-year-old imagination.

Lupita’s heart goes out to him.  Her own body sometimes makes demands she would prefer not to honor but has little power to control. Especially when she thinks of Felipe. She hopes he will come to her stall today, as he often does, when he guides the turistas through the safer parts of the sprawling Belén mercado.

She will remind Carlitos when she returns home this evening that he must not forget to confess to Father Raul on Saturday about his busy hands, before Sunday Mass. Her prompting will be unassuming. She would not want to shame him, although his face and chest always turn crimson when she mentions confession, nor does she say anything in front of others. She does it so his soul will remain clean. She knows young boys often forget.

She will hug him and smother his forehead and cheeks with kisses, not allowing him to escape her embrace, reminding him his name, Carlitos, means “manly” and she will swear God is in the process of making him the finest, most handsome young man in Iquitos. She will hold him tightly, not letting him escape, until the blushing is washed away by giggles and kisses. She will continue to overwhelm him with love until he stops struggling and melts into her embrace as he has always done, since he was a small child.

Carlitos likes Father Raul. He will not think Carlitos’ transgressions overly serious and will treat him compassionately.  Still, unconfessed sins pile up, like dust on a floor that is not regularly swept.  Everyone’s soul needs to be dusted at least once a week. Even Lupita’s.

It is sometimes necessary for Lupita to lie with one of the fat white turistas that infest this rainforest city to earn money for her family. Or submit to one of the soldiers garrisoned in the city who nobody dares deny, though they never pay. Father Raul understands these things and is as gentle with her spirit as he is with Carlitos’. His penances are light and understanding of the realities of life in this place.

She recites her Ave Marias  and paternosters, forgiving in her heart the men who profane her, except for Coronel de la Garza who she prays the Devil or Anaconda Woman will swallow whole, expunging his evil from the cosmos. When she is finished with her penance, she prays for everyone in her family, especially Grandfather who has the sickness in his lungs, and her beloved brother Carlitos.

Lupita will tell you the gossip about her is false if you ask her politely; otherwise, she will ignore you. The false chamans in the Pasaje Paquito gossip that she is a bruja—a witch or sorceress. She will deny it gently, gaze directed downward so as not to worry you that she might cast the evil eye to steal your spouse or your lover.

She will demur she is only a curandera , a traditional healer skilled in the remedies of the rainforest. It is not her fault the nostrums sold by the charlatans in the Pasaje Paquito have no effect. Their potions dishonor the plants they plunder from their homes, the plants who do not consent to be part of their elixirs. Plants that have been pillaged will refuse to bestow their gifts upon on the sick and dying.

Lupita knows where the rainforest plants are most strongly infused with medicine spirits, the roots and tree barks most powerful. She knows the ikaros of respect and welcome to sing to the plants, so they will come with her willingly, to fortify her medicines. The plants in her medicines have not been kidnaped or forced into servitude.  They dwell in her elixirs contentedly, eager to relieve pain, distress, and the danger of slipping toward death. 

When your baby or your mother-in-law is sick, and the potion you bought from the false chamans in the Pasaje Paquito has no effect, Lupita will bring a cure. She will visit your sick child, your aging husband, your young daughter experiencing the pains of womanhood and heal them. She will come if you need her, to smile, sing, and apply her remedies and all will be well.

If you ask her about the young men who have disappeared without a trace, she will tell you she had nothing to do with it.   If your husband has disappeared, you can no longer find your son, or your suitor is missing Lupita has not enchanted them, made them slaves to her passion, or bound them with spells that have eaten away their souls, despite what the charlatans in the Pasaje Paquito say. 

Coronel Diego de la Garza, commandant of the garrison summons Lupita to his quarters at least once a week to interrogate her about the missing men though he knows she is not to blame.  She is certain he knows what befell them and, in fact, had a hand it. His frequent interrogations are only a pretext for commandeering her body with a promise no harm will come to her or her family if she submits to his desires, so she participates in his ungodly ruse. She gives him what he demands and no more. He can force her to surrender her body, but not her soul.

The Coronel pays her 50 soles each time, half what the odious turistas pay,  but she does not spend his filthy money. She places it in the poor box before confession, then tells Father Raul as much as she can, as much as is safe for herself, her family, and him. He understands why she doesn’t confess everything. His penance for dusting her soul each week, from the dirt tracked in by the Coronel and the turistas, is merciful.

As the sun rises, Lupita walks across narrow planks bridging the stilt village to the muddy shoreline of the Rio Itaya and the Belén mercado where she sells medicines from her stall. She stops first at a baño near the entrance to the mercado where for one sol anyone can use the toilet and shower. The price is more than she can afford but the proprietor’s wife is a distant cousin of her mother. They allow her to use the facilities without payment so she stops here every market day to bathe.  

Lupita knows the proprietor peeks at her while she undresses and showers, but he is otherwise harmless.  It’s a small price to pay, she thinks, for the opportunity to use the flushing toilet and bathe with running water.

She turns off the shower, wrings her hair dry and ties it up with a black elastic strung with red huayruro seeds, the same elastics she sells at her stall. She studies her appearance in the pitted  mirror and nods with satisfaction.

The faithless mirror can’t diminish the beauty of her sleek cola-colored body, dancing deep brown eyes,  frosty-white teeth,  and glossy black waist-length hair sporting a neon pink streak.  A little makeup can wait until she reaches her stall where she has a better mirror.

She replaces her shift with a fresh skirt and blouse she has brought from home.  The magenta skirt slumps low on her hips as it falls to her ankles, covering the tops of her sandals. She tucks a plain white sleeveless blouse into the waistband. Before she opens her stall, she will make up her face and tie the shirt, open at the throat, under her breasts, revealing alluring curves and a plank hard belly. She will rub rose scented cream containing pink dolphin oil on her exposed flesh, smoothing it on her bare arms and torso until they gleam like polished hardwood. The gossips and soldiers who watch her walk toward her stall will not see the finishing touches. Only her customers, and she hopes Felipe, will be treated to the full measure of her beauty.

The same gossips in the Pasaje Paquito who daily defame her nod politely as she makes her way between the stalls flanking the main pathway. Despite their duplicity, she still enjoys walking among the vendors, scrutinizing their wares.

The stalls in Pasaje Paquito specialize in charms and potions. Plastic bins overflow with herbs, bark, twigs, and vines. Some vendors display ropes of jungle tobacco thick as a man’s arm. Lengths of San Pedro cactus are neatly stacked along the walls, awaiting buyers who will slice it and cover it with water, allowing it to steep in the sun until the water evaporates, leaving behind crystals of mescaline.

Repurposed jugs and bottles filled with sludgy-brown ayuhausca and jungle honey march along the earthen floors.  She doubts whether Grandmother Aya still lives in this ayuhausca, since it should be prepared fresh before each medicine ceremony, but the honey looks sweet and inviting as it catches the morning light.

Animal skulls rest on tables next to desiccated boas and anacondas, festooned with red satin ribbon, tightly coiled, poised to strike. Caimán heads, eyes replaced with colored glass and semi-precious stone cabochons, regard her as she passes by.

Everything in this rainforest pharmacopeia comes with advice from the shop’s proprietors. The bottles of cane liquor with snake heads, for example, next to emerald-green tins of cow bile for liver ailments, will bring good luck if left in a cupboard or drawer.  

She hears Felipe’s voice in the distance talking to the turistas he is escorting through the mercado this morning.  She doesn’t look back but quickens her pace toward her own stall.  She wants to be ready if he brings his group by her shop.

Lupita thinks Felipe is very handsome and he is.

He is of slender build and steps lightly around the refuse on the packed dirt of the mercado, his voice fulfilling the promise of his eyes as he describes the wonders of the Pasaje Paquito to his charges.   He’s about five feet six inches tall, twenty-five years old, two or three years older than Lupita,  with skin lighter than hers, neatly cropped dark brown hair, and a clean-shaven face set with laughing dark eyes. Of course, he will be wearing a nondescript t-shirt, beaten up sandals, and faded board shorts today as he does every day.  Lupita would dress him more elegantly if he would allow it.

She can hear him nearby, from her stall just around the corner from the Pasaje Paquito, where she has been exiled by the charlatans and gossips who have forced her out of the main passageway. She arranges dozens of bottles bearing the distinctive labels of the El Otoranguito (Jaguar Cub) and Selva (Rainforest) brands of commercial elixirs in neat rows. Her own potions, like the cream with the pink dolphin oil, are displayed in jars she has hand labelled.

Felipe rounds the corner. He has an older white couple in tow, whose attire screams “American tourist,” and an attractive young woman about Lupita’s age, dressed more stylishly in a flowing white skirt, a blue cotton blouse ,and a colorful straw hat she has purchased in the mercado.

Felipe does not meet Lupita’s eye, intending to pass her stall by and get on with his tour, but Lupita has other ideas.

“¡Buenas, Felipe!” Lupita chirps sweetly. “¿No me vas a dar los buenas dias?” she asks innocently. “Aren’t you going to say good morning?

“¡Buenas dias, señorita!, he says embarrassed at not avoiding her trap. “Allow me to introduce my guests today, Bill and his wife Jill, from Sheboygan Wisconsin in the United States and their daughter Elizabeth.”

“Hola,” says Bill, extending his hand, proudly showing off one of his half-dozen words of Spanish.

“Good morning,” Lupita beams back. “Welcome to Iquitos and our little mercado. Elizabeth extends her hand and, reluctantly, so does Jill.

“I have something for you, Felipe,” Lupita says, her lilting voice matter of fact. Felipe hesitates and he is hooked.

He blushes as she hands him a bottle with the blue green Selva trademark labeled “Rompe Calzón.” She grins wickedly. "This is just what you need," she says. "New batch, extra strong."

Felipe takes a moment to compose himself. “It’s an aphrodisiac called 'Panty Ripper,'” he translates, handing it back to her. Elizabeth stifles a laugh behind her hand, enjoying Felipe’s discomfort.   “No need for that unless you might be interested, Señor Bill,” Felipe says. Bill looks at his wife, who is avoiding his gaze, then his daughter, and chuckles.

Lupita doesn’t give up, offering Felipe a pair of El Otoranguito bottles labeled “Duro que Duro” and “Para, Para.”

"These are good too, when you need a little help," she says, affecting a straight face, having a great time at Felipe's expense. His face contorts in a half scowl that slowly dissolves into a full grin.

"'Duro que Duro' literally means ‘Hard So Hard’ and 'Para, Para' means 'Stand Up, Stand Up,'” he translates. “I certainly don’t need those remedies either," he says, refusing to take the bottles from Lupita. His charges, except for Jill,  are enjoying the unexpected entertainment.

“That’s what all the huevónes say,” Lupita parries. “The pendejos, the ‘dudes’,” she translates. “But I sell a lot to their girlfriends. I’ll put these aside for you, just in case,” she says, scribbling “Felipe” on the labels with a marker. She winks at Elizabeth.

“Do they really work?” Elizabeth asks, prolonging the game. Felipe answers before Lupita has another opportunity to make fun of him.

“They’re just cane liquor infused with aromatic herbs and barks. They won’t hurt you but they won’t do anything for you either except get you tipsy,” he says.

“Perhaps the ladies would like some pink dolphin oil,” Lupita says, opening a small jar of what looks like rose colored hand cream and dabs a little on her wrists, rubbing them together. She offers a wrist for them to sniff. It’s lovely with the floral scent of damask roses, a touch of vanilla, and the sharp edge of limes.

 She dabs a little more of the cream on her stomach and rubs it in.

“Would you like some?” she asks Elizbeth.  The young woman lifts her shirt and Lupita dabs a little cream around her navel.

“It will help you find love,” she explains, as Elizabeth rubs the potion into her skin. “If you take a little on your finger and touch a man you like, you will make him fall in love with you.” Lupita feints toward Felipe with her index finger, and he backs away, laughing.

“But the pink dolphin can be very dangerous,” she warns. “He comes out of the Rio Negro at night dressed as a man wearing a white suit and a white hat,  singing songs of enchantment, searching for virgins to ravish.

“If he makes a girl pregnant, she will become violently mad and die as his child consumes her from inside her belly. But if she cuts off his pinga,” she says, gesturing toward Felipe’s crotch, “and takes it to a sorceress, she will make a potion that remove the baby and make the girl wealthy.”

Elizabeth looks at Felipe and bursts into laughter.  “You better be careful,” she says.

“Elizabeth!” Her mother scowls.

“Do not worry,” Lupita says. “I am not a bruja with power to turn pingas into money,” she says with a straight face.

“We should be on our way, folks,”  Felipe says, clearing his throat. “We’re going to the stilt village and then to the Pilpintuwasi butterfly farm,” he tells Lupita. “Maybe we’ll see some pink dolphins in the river, but we’ll make sure to be home before nightfall,” he jokes.

Lupita selects a reddish walking stick from a basket by the entrance to her stand and offers it to Felipe. The top is roughly but unambiguously carved to resemble the head of a penis.

“The finest chuchuhuasi root from the jungle, harvested by a powerful chamán. Very good for back pain and that other problem you say you don’t have.” She grins.

“No? Okay. I’ll hold it for you, she says, caressing the root and  polishing the carved head with her hand, “until you come to your senses.”

“Sure you don’t need one of these, Dad?” Elizabeth teases, selecting one of the walking sticks, polishing it as Lupita is doing,  “You know, for your back pain?“

“What do you think, dear?” Bill asks his wife, trying his best not to laugh.

“Couldn’t hurt, Dad,” Elizabeth cajoles. “I don’t think you can buy something like this back in Sheboygan.”

Lupita and Elizabeth can no longer control themselves. Everyone is laughing except Jill. "Might come in handy," Bill says, paying Lupita for the chuchuhuasi root.

“Felipe,” Elizabeth teases, as they leave Lupita’s stall. “I think she likes you.”  

“She thinks she is in love with me,” he says. “She has been trying to seduce me for ages.”

“And she’s failed? With all the magic potions in her shop? She’s very beautiful.”

“She sells more than magic from that stand, I fear. If I give in, I might need medicine of a different kind from a proper doctor to recover. But I agree with you. She is very beautiful and I am only a man, after all,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “I do not think she will give up. So, I keep visiting.” He grins like an adolescent at his first prom.

Lupita glows as she makes her way back to her bungalow at the end of the day. She is relieved she will have nothing of interest to confess to Father Raul on Saturday. The soldiers have not visited and the coronel has not insisted on interrogating her this week. She knows Father Raul feels the blessings of God for himself, as he invokes them for others, when he listens to her confessions and doles out such merciful penances.

After mid-day mass, on Sunday he takes Lupita aside.  “I have wonderful news," he says.  “Coronel de la Garza has been re-posted to Lima.  I have spoken to the new comandante of the garrison. He knows about the evil the old coronel and some of his soldiers have visited on our community. The new coronel has assured me that will no longer happen on his watch, thanks be to God.”

Lupita crosses herself and breathes a prayer to the Virgin.

“The new coronel promises he and his soldiers will come to mass regularly, as often as their duties allow. He says I must be prepared for terrible revelations at confession and that he will pray for me, that I will be able to endure them.

“There will be no more unexplained disappearances of our fathers and sons. God has heard our prayers and put an end to this wickedness.

“And how is your young man, Felipe?” Father Raul asks, striking a sunnier note.

“He still lacks the courage to ask me to marry him,” Lupita says.

The priest nods his head sagely. “It appears I will need to talk with him also. Young men sometimes have difficulty seeing what God wishes for them.”

Lupita’s heart is light as she reflects on her visit with Felipe and his  American turistas in the mercado, strolling from St. John the Baptist Cathedral to her bungalow the Belén stilt village in Rio Ataya. Carlitos and the other children greet her noisily.  She has hugs and kisses for all of them, but especially for Carlitos.

“I told Father Raul,” he whispers in her ear, blushing. He is still wearing the white shirt, purple polka-dot bow tie and frayed chinos he wore to early Mass with his grandparents and father.

“Que guapo estas mi sonrojito,” she says hugging him tightly. How handsome you are my blushing little guy, you with your freshly dusted soul.

She kisses her grandparents, her mama and papa, and the baby who never seems to detach from his mother’s breast. She prepares lunch while the younger children play.

Carlitos has caught fish which she will season and cook with tomato and onion and serve over rice. It is his favorite dish and Grandmother’s too.

Perhaps it will become Felipe’s.

Copyright © 2023. Harold Martin Malin, Jr. All Rights Reserved.