I ask her, "Do you know what you want?"
Her mind goes somewhere far away for a moment and then, "Ya. Ya, I know. I didn't before, I had hints even on the plane here. But ya, I have something in mind." We hold ourselves dizzily against a boulder of shouting tangerine lichens, forgetting to breathe between the tobacco smoke. I tell her that I've seen past lives, and if she dares to focus on my eye, we may see hers. "My eye condition will make it difficult, I will go cross-eyed, it's frustrating."
The sun is all over the place, then a black cloud comes from the mountain behind us, from the eucalyptus and cacti-covered earth. I feel a drop and predict the rain. It's heavy, we're soaked right through our waterproof jackets. Puddles in the dirt path ripple in the dance of rain and she stumbles over sentences. "I like the word better in German, it sounds the same way it does when you jump into one."
We joke about the rain, it seems to be guiding us somewhere, perhaps to a rainbow where we will finally discover the elusive marijuana dealer of this Andean valley. I think the rain is guiding her to a truth she has been searching for. We trade glasses, different prescriptions, beads of rain warping our vision, sepia vertigo. She will be in the wind by next week, and I will be here, searching for that rainbow.
