Article August 13, 2007 Issue

Communication from the heart

BY SHELLY RICHARDSON

I was completely lost, looking for the path to the house my family had rented for a month on Lake Atitlan in Guatemala. As I climbed over rocks and tree roots, I came across a mother and two children working in the woods. They lived in the area and spoke only Kaqchikel, a Mayan dialect.

For a few brief moments, I found myself caught in an awkward pause, realizing that I needed to somehow verbalize my dilemma. And so, with a smile on my face, the best I could do was lift my shoulders with a lost look and say, "Julian," the name of the Guatemalan caretaker of our rental house.

The mother started to laugh. For a few sweet unforgettable moments, I watched her talk back and forth with her youngest son, as she asked him to take me to my house. Although I didn't understand the few words they used, the gist of the conversation was all too familiar to me as a mother of two—the young son, timid, didn't want to show me the path, and the mother was obviously trying to talk him into helping me.

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