It's Thursday, and I've been in Guatemala for ten days now. I'm halfway through my 9th day of Spanish school, and I'm spending my lunch break sitting on the roof of the school, where a table and chair have been set up, gazing out at Lake Atitlán. It's sunny and warm, which is rare for a September afternoon. I take my sweater off and hang it on the back of my chair.
Soon, Antonio comes up the stairs and joins me on the roof. He has come to gather the clothes from the line, anticipating the afternoon rain. "¿Cómos estás?" he asks me with a broad smile. It's become a sort of joke between us - the fact that both of us sneak up to the roof whenever we get the chance. "Bien, gracias," I answer in my hardly sufficient Spanish, "¿y tú?" "Estoy bien," he answers, still grinning madly. "Siempre estoy bien."
And it's true. Antonio is always bien. Antonio is always happy, always calm, always friendly. He is always working, always sweeping, always watering the plants, always cleaning the bathrooms. He is always deep in thought.
Antonio is always looking out the window when it rains. He is always opening doors for me. He is always drinking tea during his breaks. He takes a lot of breaks. It rains a lot.
Antonio has a wife and two daughters. Every morning he wakes up at 5:00 and goes for a run to Santa Catarina. He arrives at the Spanish school at 6:50 to unlock the doors. It takes Antonio ten minutes to walk to school.
Antonio always asks how I am. He always listens carefully and patiently as I slowly attempt to tell him in Spanish about my day. I always return the question. Antonio always tells me carefully and patiently in Spanish about his day.
Antonio's father couldn't afford to send him to school. When he was 16, Antonio left home to find work. He knocked on all of the doors on Calle Santander asking for work. No one would employ him unless he knew how to read and write. At age 18, Antonio left Panajachel to work in the fields of Guatemala.
Antonio got married when he was 21 and had a baby girl nine months later, whom he named Candelaria. When Candelaria was six years old, he asked her if she wanted to go to school. She said yes. He got a job as a janitor in a hotel, and Candelaria went to school.
When Candelaria finished primary school, Antonio asked her if she wanted to go to secondary school. Candelaria said she did. Antonio began working an extra shift at the hotel, and Candelaria went to secondary school.
Now, Candelaria is a teacher at the Spanish school where Antonio works as a janitor - she got him the job. His other daughter is a doctor in Venezuela.
When Antonio's father visited the Spanish school and saw his granddaughter, he dropped to his knees and apologized to Antonio for not sending him to school. Antonio had already forgiven him 40 years ago.
It's starting to rain, indicating that it's time for Antonio and me to get back to work. We descend the stairs leading down from the roof. I walk toward my classroom for my afternoon class. Antonio makes his way to the window with a cup of tea to watch the rain.
