FICTION
Anthony Kerrigan
IN NICARAGUA WITH NELSON "MANDALA"
AND MY DIVA
For Richard Elman, who was there first with his fi ve senses, for
which he was censored by the publishing establishment
My diva ("lover," in the mode of the day in the media: "girl" is
out in any vaguely serious connotation) and I had set out for Managua-La
Habana from Miami. When we took our seats in the TACA plane (Costa
Rican registry) which serves Central America we found ourselves in close
proximity to a man imposing by virtue of being covered in turquoise; a large
blue-green centerstone on a belt studded with an infinity of other similar
stones, hands full of rings, pectoral pendants hanging from chains. Once he
took off his Western hat a ponytail snaked down his back.
We were soon talking about the stones and their meaning. Several
pendants had ritual significance, it was made clear, and had belonged to this
Chiefor that one.
We asked the man if he himself were a Chief.
"Well, I am and I'm not. My tribe is not too happy with my views."
On the face of it, the man did not look like an Indian. His eyes were
ice-blue. He looked like an Irish or Anglo-Irish adventurer with a certain
zeal, a commercial missionary perhaps. He was from Minnesota, spoke un–
nuanced and unspecific American, and was not actually a Chief
He was only
part
Indian, it turned out; how much was unclear. We
asked his name.
"Nelson Mandala."
My diva ("lover") and I looked away, to stare out the plane window.
We did not look at each other.
"I am so called, have bestowed on myself that name, to honor a distant
far-off hero who cannot himself carry out his revolutionary commitment to
the Revolution and to Nicaragua, where he is also honored as well as by
me."
"Mandala? Mandaaala?" my diva (" lover") drawled, drawing out the
"a," in unique commentary. An English-born singer, her throaty voice was as
full as her lips and clung to the syllables. the one vowel. She was dressed for
the tropics in a white minimalist dress. "Onomatopoeia?" she added sugges-
