Interview Notes

Soft light filters in through the open window. Two brothers peak in from outside and disappear when I catch their eyes. I notice the light reflecting through the right earlobe of the pig trader we are interviewing. Reminds me of one of Debra’s dance classes back in Cambridge. Dance Complex studio, lights out, watching beautiful bodies moving near the window. Seeing the way the light plays on each other’s muscles and bones, showing through the fleshy earlobes and creating its own dance as we move. I miss dancing. Miss Debra’s classes. Craving home lately. Have a glimpse of what home will be next. Over Skype, I see Paul putting books on our bookshelves and the empty walls waiting for me to fill them with art. Penguin lazily wanders in and out of the frame of the camera. Light through our windows in Charlestown like this window in front of me. I’m writing this on loose-leaf torn from a spiral notebook instead of listening to the price per kg per pig. I hear talk of pig disease. My belly aches. Oogy from something I ate and hungry, but hungry for something safe. Last night there was an animal claw in our vegetables. Seriously, poor Vijay excavated it from his mouth and passed it around subtly so as to not alert our hosts of our discovery. Horrified, we giggled hard under our breath at the absurdity of it all. In this moment, I’m feeling vulnerable from sleep deprivation and too much moving around. So much of this year I’ve been nomadic, and I’m beginning to feel the tug of grounding myself soon. Should pay more attention now. Instead I notice that one of the men on the periphery of the interview is drunk. It is afternoon and I wonder if he is kind to his kids and wife. Rain keeps falling outside – constant and soothing and I’m drowsy. A handsome man so neatly dressed re-enters the room. Is he the policeman? In this province we get a police escort – to protect us and so they can watch us to make sure we’re not doing anything suspicious. Watch us watching them. Us - from far away worlds trying to make sense of their livelihoods. Asking question after question that must seem silly and mundane to them. I sigh. “He wishes he has more quality pigs to sell” the translator says. She’s adorable in her pink-rimmed glasses. She looks only 16 years old but must be much older. It sounds like the interview is coming to a close. The handsome man picks his nose now. There is something gentle in the way he does it. Hum of a car outside. The brothers, inside now, chase each other from right to left in and out of the room. Now left to right and they’re gone. Interview coming back into focus for me. Translator speaks. I watch her delicate fingers gesture against the backdrop of the light coming in the window. Her full lips so perfectly symmetrical. She clicks her pen. Click click. Room chuckles for some reason and I squeeze this last sentence onto the last inch of paper.