His name was Camilo. He was my favorite fruit/vegetable peddler during my time in Chiclayo, Peru. Camilo died in April, 2020. To my knowledge he was one of the first in Chiclayo to succumb to Covid.
Camilo was our alarm clock. Bright and early every morning except Sunday while on his route he would push his cart beneath our bedroom window while calling out, "Buena palta!" and "Veinticinco limones uno sol!" among other chants advertising his wares. Maribel's sister Magali was one of his regular customers.
I made up a little ditty based on one of Camilo's chants that we still sing whenever we're reminded of him.
Veinticinco limones uno sol
Y tengo buen Milo
Cuarenta soles kilo
Veinticinco limones, Veinticinco limones
Camilo was one of those people who you just felt good being around. The local skuttlebutt is that he lived alone, had no family and that his body wasn't discovered until a fellow vendor noticed that Camilo's cart hadn't moved in two days. Everyone who knew him including me felt sad thinking about him living and dying alone. And yet he always seemed genuinely happy. Many people and cultures have an image of what death should be like...someone surrounded by friends and family while dying peacefully at home. When I think about it, that's probably my image also but I wonder what Camilo would say? Is there a distinction between living alone and living in loneliness? Is there a distinction between dying alone and dying in loneliness?
Years ago in northern Wisconsin two old timers, Charley and Andy; former lumberjacks from the glory days of lumbering in the early 1900s lived by themselves in separate cabins some miles apart. The only time they saw each other or anyone else for that matter was when they showed up at Larry's tavern. Larry would cash their social security checks (and unregretfully watch Andy drink up a good portion of his check...Charley limited himself to one beer). Both had family in Milwaukee but rarely saw them. I had the impression that both preferred it that way.
Andy was found dead one day laying outside of his cabin. He apparently died while splitting logs. Charley was found in his cabin laying on his couch, his head on a pillow and his hands behind his head. The television was on. Based on little more than observation and my interpretation I would bet that all three; Camilo, Charley and Andy lived their lives and died exactly as they wanted and expected to. I hope so.
To Charley and Andy, "sharp saws and axes", my friends. To Camilo, "Buena palta", amigo.
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