Story of an Amate

We were in Cuernavaca. I went with Julie and Tony (an American friend). We went to swim. Tony showed his bargaining power. In front of Cortez's house in the Zocalo a man came up to us.

'How much,' said Tony?'

'300, said the Man.'

'No thanks' said Tony, walking away.

'200 said the man.'

'Still not interested,' said Tony walking towards another trinket seller.

'100 then.' said the man.

'No. Look, I don't really want to buy anything, but if you make it 80 I might buy three.'

The man hesitated. Tony moved away. 'OK 80.' said the man.

'To late. I'm not intersted any more.'

'60' said the man.

Tony stopped.

He bought three and the man sellling the amate's looked crestfallen.

'That's how you bargain,' said Tony, turning towards us.

I can't say I admired Tony for that.

At the pool it was very hot and soon we were burnt. Tony asked permission to rub mint moisturising cream onto our backs. We let him do it. My skin soaked up all the cream and felt soft and cool.

Amates are bark paintings. You see them everywhere in Mexico. They sell them to the tourists at resorts. Bright fluorescing drawings on tree shrouds.

*      *       *

Ten years later we are about to go to South Africa. We live in Ladron de Guevarra. Ladron de Guevarra near the statue to the Minerva and the Arcos Vallarta, in front of an old observatory, not far from Avenida Vallarta. The four lane highway is almost empty at on Sundays. It feels provincial. There is a Bing ice cream parlour around the corner. Alfred Horn started it up in the 1960s. All the streets are lined with trees. The leaves rustle. Most of the trees are sour orange trees. You can smell them.

The corner shop is an OXO and the church is opposite. Move away from the traffic and into the shadier streets. There it is. It is the building with half-folded concrete wings.

And we meet an amate seller at the entrance to the church. But he's not selling. We buttonhole him.

'May we see your amate's?' we ask.

'OK.' and he unrolls them onto the tiled area in front of the entrance which is a wide flat plinth with a flight of steps on either side. The amate's are breathtaking. Better than any I have seen. Tere looks impressed too.

'Are you selling them,' we ask.

'I'm taking them to an exhibition. They have one every year.'

And I think, 'Now this could make a beautiful present for Mom and Dad, in their new home.

'Will you sell us one?' He looks reluctant. But then.

'OK.' He says. 'Which do you like?' and he spreads out three of the best. I choose one with orange birds that swirl and sweep and catch.

'Well done,' said the artist. 'I painted that amate. My sons did the others.'

It's very expensive for us, but as it is beautiful and unique, we spend the money.

In South Africa we unscroll it. Mom and Dad are impressed.

'Why this is beautiful loves! Thank you so much.' And so they hang it in the living room above the mantelpiece.

Mom thinks, perhaps, we bought it for a song. No, In fact we didn't bargain, we said. This is a piece of art. That's why we paid up. For you.

Amates are art; and they are craft. There is a difference between a little amate sold to a tourist eating a mango sorbet at the beach and an amate painted with great care and talent.