My stalker.
His sister-in-law is my good friend, Martha, and before
Martha and her hubby broke up I hiked up to their farm a handful of times to
give spontaneous, ineffective English lessons and drink coffee.
Pablo is what you would call a strong man – his muscles have
the benefit of a thin layer of fat over them, making him look as powerful as he
is. Close to 6 feet tall, his frame is broad and round. At this point in time
he was 21 years old and had been working on coffee farms since he was 5. His facial features are soft, his nose
being the most distinctive characteristic because of the pockmarks dug into the
skin.
His rather un-impressive physiognomy was made up for by his
serious manner, which, after a short time interacting with him was shown to
contain an intense passion for poetry. His calmness, too, proves to be a
controlled façade of his quick, deep shifts from mood to mood, which you could
see in the clenching of his jaw and the hardening of his small, dark eyes.
I spent so much time observing him because the family
refused to let me walk the 20 minutes back to my house alone, insisting it was
far too dangerous. They may have thought that, or they may have been trying to
set me up with Pablo. Or both.
We walked back from the farm chatting as best we could, as
my Spanish was still less than fluent. He would tell me the names of flowers,
trees, and birds, and point out sloths and howler monkeys that lived in the
trees lining the small trail. I appreciated his knowledge and the palpable love
he had for his surroundings. He talked animatedly about Ruben Dario, the
most well known poet in Nicaragua. Poetry is an almost sacred thing here; poets
are extremely respected and honored.
It became clear immediately the Pablo was a smart,
determined, hard-working person. It also became clear that he let his emotions
rule over his logic. He had a slight stutter that worsened when he felt
defensive or upset. His frustration when things were not done or said in the
“correct” way was obvious and alarming. Once he laughed derisively in my face
when I said that yes, I did believe in evolution, and I could not understand
why his reaction made me feel at once evil and stupid for believing it. After
three times walking back with him, and three times having my arm jerked
forcefully in its socket when he pulled me in to kiss me on the cheek, I
resolved not to walk back with him ever again. I dreaded going to the farm, or running into him in town.
When he started sending me text messages, I replied at first
to be polite. I had not personally given him my number – Martha had, without my
permission. His text messages talked about how beautiful he thought I was, how
much in love with me he was, that I was the most amazing woman he’d ever met.
When I stopped replying to his messages, he would send me 20 within 30 minutes,
telling me in various was that he couldn’t understand why a woman so “bella”
could be so “difícil”. In one text
he would insult me or say that I was insulting him. In the next he would praise
my voice, or face, or gracefulness.
His grandmother, when she saw me in town, would ask me why I
wasn’t coming up to the farm anymore. I told her that Pablo was sending me strange
messages and calling me repeatedly and it made me feel uncomfortable. She
refused to believe it, saying that he would never do that because he was a
respectful boy, and that I must not be telling the truth.
Once, the grandmother called me, and said that Pablo was
sorry and that I should come up to the farm. I told her I would be willing to
talk Pablo about the situation in my living room if he desired. Later, when
Pablo called me to talk with me, I told him I would not talk over the phone. He
neither called nor texted me again for months… The next time I saw him was at a
boxing match. I was with my boyfriend. Pablo was wearing a white tank top,
black jeans, cowboy boots and nothing else. His shiny black hair was spiked
into a small mohawk and he glanced over at me and Leonel consistently and
pointedly, after which his friends would look at us and they would all laugh. I
was terrified. His unbalanced messages had made it clear to me that he was
potentially dangerous. Luckily, nothing happened, but I was paranoid for my
boyfriend and myself for the next week.
Pablo disappeared from my life for so long that I had almost
forgotten about him. Then, two weeks ago, my phone got a call at almost
midnight from an unknown number. I answered because of the potential of it
being an emergency – a friend, family member… it was Pablo. I was very confused
and half asleep. “Pablo? Who is that?”
“You don’t remember me? It’s your friend, Pablo, Martha’s
old brother-in-law… You must remember me. Were you sleeping? Why don’t you like
me? Why don’t you come up to the farm?” I didn’t feel fear, just annoyance at the absurdity of the
situation, and at being woken up. I hung up and saved the number in my phone as
“Pablo, stalker.” Never a dull moment in this life.
NOTE: I use the term “stalker” because that is what the
Peace Corps Safety and Security Officer used when I called him to get advice
and support early on. I do not use it in a sarcastic way. Stalking is a serious
crime and paralyzing threat to the victims.
