The importance of Indigenous women as seen in the “Lupita” documentary, the growing research of the Indigenous before Columbus, the idea of God as a Woman, and relating these ideas to the plot of Erased Faces.
After you have completed the readings for Weeks 2-3 and watched the documentaries, write a 600 word (minimum) response regarding the aspects of Indigenous cultures before colonization, the importance of Indigenous women as seen in the “Lupita” documentary, the growing research of the Indigenous before Columbus, the idea of God as a Woman, and relating these ideas to the plot of Erased Faces. How do you see Indigenous spirituality and the idea of God gendered as a Woman. Try to make as many connections between the sources as you can.
Cite each source (both written and visual) at least once. No need for a Works Cited unless you cite an outside source. I provided the reading down below
No plagiarism!
Requirements: 600 words and more | .doc file
erased faces
erased facesA Novel ByGraciela Limón
This volume is made possible through grants from the City of Houstonthrough the Houston Arts Alliance.Recovering the past, creating the futureUniversity of Houston Arte Público Press 452 Cullen Performance Hall Houston, Texas 77204-2004Cover design by James Brisson Photo courtesy of Eduardo Vera, “Mayor insurgente Maribel, EZLN, October 1994” http://evera.home.ige.orgLimón, Graciela. Erased Faces / by Graciela Limón. p. cm. ISBN 978-1-55885-342-31. Women photographers—Fiction. 2. Women revolutionaries—Fiction. 3. Americans—Mexico—Fiction. 4. Indian women—Fiction. 5.Mexico—Fiction. I. Title. PS3562.I464 E7 2001813?.54—dc212001035543 CIP The paper used in this publication meets the requirements of theAmerican National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence ofPaper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1984.© 2001 by Graciela Limón Printed in the United States of America10 11 12 13 14 15 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3
In memory of those who perished in the massacre of Acteal, Chiapas 22 December 1997
Although set against a background of conflict in Chiapas, this work is anovel. Places and people portrayed have been fictionalized.G. L.She meets with her face erased, and her name hidden. With her comethousands of women. More and more arrive. Dozens, hundreds,thousands, millions of women who remember all over the world that thereis much to be done and remember that there is still much to fight for.EZLN communiqué: Twelve Women in the Twelfth Year Subcomandante Insurgente Marcos 1996
ContentsAcknowledgmentsChapter 1 She didn’t look like me.Chapter 2 Adriana decided never to speak again.Chapter 3 We repeat ourselves.Chapter 4 She wondered if white things felt pain and sadness.Chapter 5 The mountain spoke to us.Chapter 6 You have already been among us.Chapter 7 Our people built that church.Chapter 8 The soil was gray; it had no color.Chapter 9 She felt that floating would turn to flying.Chapter 10 The gods made men and women of maize.Chapter 11 Why don’t you come and see?Chapter 12 In the end, los patrones are severe and unforgiving.Chapter 13 He even owns a mule.Chapter 14 Kap jol, the anger of the people.Chapter 15 I’ll see that he’s taken care of.Chapter 16 There was only emptiness.Chapter 17 The night in Tlatelolco had shaken him.Chapter 18 We call him Tatic, Little Father.Chapter 19 They crush us but we also crush ourselves.Chapter 20 There cannot be equality in a false peace!Chapter 21 He wondered if he would ever see her again.Chapter 22 It was quick. It was merciful.
Chapter 23 In these parts the only thing that matters is a signature.Chapter 24 They were innocent!Chapter 25 Why is the day moving in reverse?Chapter 26 What about me?Chapter 27 Emboldened, Juana mingled with the crowd.Chapter 28 You are my blessing.Chapter 29 The leash snapped!Chapter 30 In lak’ech. You are my other self.Chapter 31 The anguish, too, was the same.Chapter 32 She asked me to be the lips through which their silenced voiceswill speak.Books by Graciela LimónAbout the Author
AcknowledgmentsI’m sincerely grateful to Letitia Soto, my dearest cousin, as well as toAndy Soto, who accompanied me to Chiapas during the month of June1999. Circumstances were intimidating to travelers at the time, especiallysince we had to travel through the mountains between Palenque and SanCristóbal de las Casas, a region filled with armed military checkpoints. Iknow that I would not have had the courage to do it on my own. Letitia andAndy’s company, their courage, their chistes and cariño of what we sawand experienced, made that journey unforgettable and rich in information.Roberto Flores, valued colleague, shared remarkable photographs anddocumentation on the Zapatista War, and for that I’m indebted to him. Ithank him most especially. I’m very grateful to Mary Wilbur, one of thefirst readers of Erased Faces. Her input, suggestions and research enhancedthe work beyond my initial concept of it. Also, much gratitude to ToniZepeda for her numerous readings of the manuscript and for her helpfulinput. Finally, but not least of all, is Acción Zapatista which has been sohelpful to me in gathering information.G. L.
Chapter 1 She didn’t look like me.The Lacandona Jungle, Chiapas, Mexico, 1993.Her ankle-length dress caught in the thick undergrowth. Her legs andbare feet were bleeding from cuts inflicted by roots and branches mattingthe muddy ground. She ran, plunging headlong into a snare of decayingplants, oblivious to the pain that shot up her ankles, through the calves ofher legs, lodging deep in her thighs. She ran because she knew the dogswere gaining on her; she could hear their baying, and in seconds she beganto sense their clumsy paws pounding the darkened jungle floor. Terrified,she ran, lunging forward, panting, her body covered with sweat and her facesmeared with tears of dread.She could not be sure, but she thought that there were others runningalongside her. In the thick gloom of the forest, she caught sight of womenrunning, desperately clinging to babies, tugging at children trying not tolose their way in the darkness. Long cotton dresses pulled at them as theyplunged through the growth; straight, tangled hair stuck to their shoulders.She saw that those women were also afraid that the snarling dogs wouldcatch them and tear them to pieces. Men were running, and they, too, wereterrified—their brown, sinewy bodies pressed through the dense foliage,their loincloths snagged and ripped by gigantic ferns that reached out withdeadly tentacles.The Lacandón women and men ran because they understood that soonthey would be overcome and devoured by the ravenous pursuers. She ranwith them, but suddenly she stopped; her feet dug deep into the jungle slimeas she halted abruptly. She began to turn in circles, arms rigidlyoutstretched, but she could see nothing; she was blinded by fear, and shedarted in different directions. She had lost something, but she could notremember what it was that had slipped through her fingers. She dropped toher knees, groveling in the mud, digging, trying to find what it was that shehad lost. Her fingers began to bleed when her nails ripped from her flesh,
and her desperation grew, looming larger than even her pain, greater eventhan the terror of being overcome by the dogs.She was on her knees when she felt her long straight hair wrap itselfaround her neck. It got tighter and tighter. It began to strangle her.Frantically, her fingers dug into the taut coils that were cutting off herbreath. Nearly drained of air, she felt that her lungs were about to collapse.With each second, the hungry dogs got closer, but she was paralyzedbecause the pain of having lost something that was precious to her naileditself into her heart.Adriana Mora awoke startled, panting and covered with perspiration.She sat up choking, out of breath and in the grip of an asthma attack. In thedarkness she fumbled, trying to reach the inhaler that she had placed on therickety crate next to her cot, but her groping hand got tangled in themosquito net. She struggled with the mesh, knocking her dark glasses to theground, almost spilling a cup half-filled with water. When she finallyreached the device, she pressed it into her mouth and plunged once, twice,relieved to feel air clearing her throat and reaching her lungs.When Adriana’s heart returned to its normal rhythm and her lungsreadjusted, she sat with her back to the wall, still shaken and breathingheavily. Making out the palm ceiling as well as the earthen floor, she lookedaround the tiny hut, a palapa. Through the ridges between the cane stilts,moonlight seeped casting elongated shadows on the dirt. Trying to gain ahold on herself, she stared at the small table where she had propped herequipment: cameras, tripod, note pad, canvas jacket with its pockets stuffedwith lenses she used to capture the faces and bodies of Lacandón women.Adriana drew her legs up until her knees pressed against her breasts.Wrapping her arms around the calves of her legs, she leaned her headagainst her knees; she stayed that way, thinking of the nightmare fromwhich she had awakened. She was listening to the jungle sounds that filledthe night: the jumble of insect chirping that scraped against the heavybreathing of iguanas and other reptiles. Howling monkeys barked,chattering angrily as they swung from branch to branch. Screeching parrotscomplained because of the hooting of owls and other nocturnal birds.Adriana tried to decipher each sound. She wanted to identify what animal,
which insect had made what noise, but it was impossible because it allmelted into an indistinguishable cacophony of murmur, hissing, andhowling. The night vibrations of the jungle fused with the sad groaning ofthe muddy waters of the river that coiled around the tiny village ofPichucalco.She thought of the dream, trying to discern its meaning. She hadexperienced it before, but never had it been as vivid, as terrifying. The othertimes, the woman had been remote, someone else. This time, however, shehad no doubt: It had been she who was being hunted, she who was runningin the forest along with other natives. It had been she who had lostsomething precious, something loved and so riveted onto her heart thatreliving the dream made her feel pain beneath the nipple of her left breast.With outstretched fingers, she rubbed the palm of her hand over her chest;she was thinking, concentrating, trying to recognize what she had lost. Butit was useless, because she could not remember anything that had evermeant so much to her, not even the distant memory of her mother andfather.Unable to find the answer, Adriana straightened her head and cocked itto one side, this time listening to her dream. She stayed that way for a whileuntil she realized that she heard only the sound of menacing dogs. Hersearching mind then focused on the woman in the dream.“She didn’t look like me!”Mumbling out loud, Adriana flung aside the net and slid off the cot. Shewent to the stand where she kept a basin and water jug that she used towash her face and hands; above it, she had nailed a small mirror. Sheunhooked it and made her way past the gunny sack that covered theentrance of the palapa. Once outside, Adriana found herself in moonlightthat was bright enough to see her reflection.“It couldn’t have been me.”She studied her face: brown angular features, high cheekbones. Adrianaconcentrated, turning her gaze on her mouth and head: thick lips; short,curled hair. Then she went back into the hut, stretched out on the cot andstared at the palm-frond ceiling. She reflected on her nightmare, the bayingof dogs still echoed in her memory as did the sensation of pain. She broughther hands close to her eyes, turning them palms up, then down. There wereno cuts, no bruises.
She touched her forearms, searching, but her fingertips found only thescar tissue inflicted on her left forearm by scalding water when she was achild; she had been seven years old when that happened. Adriana’s mindhalted for a few seconds, remembering that day. Then she returned herattention to the dream, to any traces it might have left on her. She went onfeeling her body, pausing, searching for signs of pain, or even a slightindication of having been hurt, but she discovered nothing.A nagging sense of loss forced Adriana to shut her eyes because she feltthe sting of tears burning behind her eyeballs. She flung her arm across herface and remembered her life, how ever since she could remember, she hadfelt lost, separated, alone, always filled with fear. She was twenty-four yearsold, but sometimes she still felt as she had when she was a child; nothing inher life seemed to change—not inside of her. She was now a woman, on herown, making a living as a photographer. Wanting to be accomplished in herprofession, to publish her work, she had chosen to come to the jungle tocreate a photo history of the women of the Lacandona.Adriana stared at the thatched ceiling, her eyes wide open and vacant.She was remembering that when she had finished college in Los Angeles,she had drifted to New Mexico, where she stayed a short while. After thatshe decided to go south to Chiapas, so she made her way to the border, andfrom that point down to Mexico City, and from there she traveled toMérida, Yucatán, where she stayed only a few days. Then she pushed on toPalenque, attracted by the prospect of capturing on film what was left ofMayan civilization, but once there, she realized that it was for living facesthat she searched. So she put her things on a dilapidated bus that hadPueblos Indígenas painted in large letters on its windshield. When she gotoff the vehicle, she was in Pichucalco, on the edge of the Lacandona Jungle.Her thoughts drifted back to her childhood, probing incidents in her life,trying to explain why she had always felt such deep isolation. Then sherelaxed her body, allowing her memory to return to the past.
Chapter 2 Adriana decided never to speak again.Adriana was barely four years old the night she was awakened by loudvoices. She sat up, hugging her raggedy stuffed rabbit, listening, turning herhead toward the door, trying to make out who was screaming. Her eyeswere beginning to adjust to the darkness of the room when a blast silencedthe voices. The girl was struggling to make out the noise, when a seconddetonation shook the walls. Time passed but nothing happened. Then asmoky stench seeped into her room from beneath the closed door. Therewas no more yelling, no more explosions, so she slipped back onto herpillow.Everything was quiet again; she could not hear or see anything, not evenwhen she peeked out from under the covers. The girl listened for hermother’s voice, or the sound of her father’s heavy footsteps, but all sheheard were cars driving by their apartment. She wanted her mother to comeand wrap her arms around her, but there was only silence. Adriana driftedback to sleep.She opened her eyes again, but this time it was the sun that hadawakened her. With the frayed rabbit still in her arms and her legs crampedfrom being rolled in against her body, she stretched and looked around theroom. In one corner were her toys and on the other side was the smallcloset. She could see her dresses hanging neatly, one next to the other.“Mamá?”Adriana called her mother just as she did every morning. She waited,hugging her toy to her chest, but nothing happened. Her mother did notopen the door and peek around it to smile at her. Trying to see the sky, shelooked out the window. There was nothing there except the bare branches ofa tree.“Mamá?”This time Adriana’s voice was edged with tears because she wasremembering the noises she had heard the night before. She began to shiver,
thinking that her mother and father had gone away, leaving her alone. Shehad never before heard the house that quiet. She decided to go out to thekitchen to find them.Adriana, with her rabbit dangling from one hand, shuffled down thehallway to the bathroom, where she struggled onto the toilet. After that shewent to the kitchen. When she walked in, she felt happy all of a suddenbecause she saw her father taking a nap at the table. She looked carefully,taking in how he was sitting in his favorite chair, leaning his head in hiscradled arms. She was relieved to see him, although she had never seen himsleep that way.She tiptoed across the kitchen to the stove, where she expected to findher breakfast. At that moment, she wondered why her mother was not there.She looked first in the service porch, thinking her mother might be puttinglaundry into the washer. When she did not find her there, Adriana searchedthe small front room, where she found the television set turned on. That wasall. From there she made her way to her parent’s bedroom.“Mamá? Mamá?”She found her mother lying on the bed; she was taking a nap, too.Adriana decided not to go near her; she might awaken her. Still clinging tothe dingy stuffed rabbit, Adriana returned to the kitchen because she washungry. Trying not to make noise, she opened the cupboard and looked forher favorite cookies, but when she saw that the package was on a shelf toohigh for her to reach, she put down the toy and struggled to edge a chairinto position. She was able to do this quietly up until the last pull, when oneof the legs stuck in a crack in the linoleum. She yanked, then flinched at theloud, grinding noise that filled the kitchen. She shut her eyes and hunchedher shoulders, expecting her father to wake up and scold her, but nothinghappened. When she opened her eyes to look at him, she saw that he wasstill asleep. Relieved, she climbed up and lowered the box. Then she wentto the refrigerator, where she found a small carton of milk. Again she couldnot reach a glass, so she took the cookies and the container to the frontroom, where she munched as she watched cartoons until late into theafternoon.When she needed to go to the bathroom again, she decided to awakenher mother. As she neared the bed, Adriana saw that the sheets andbedspread were stained red, and that her mother held her father’s gun in one
hand. She saw also that there was a big bump on one side of her mother’sforehead, and that, too, was dripping with a red mess.Adriana was so frightened that she felt pee dripping between her legs;she could not help it, and she did not know what to do. She reached out andgrabbed one of her mother’s shoulders and shook her, trying to awaken her,but she felt that her mother was stiff and cold. Crying, she ran to where herfather was still sleeping, and she tugged at his shirt, hoping that he wouldwake up to help with her mother. Instead, her pulling pried loose one of hisarms; it fell inertly and dangled from his shoulder.She understood that something awful had happened to her mother andfather. She ran to the front door. Doña Elvira would know what to do; shealways did. When Adriana tried to open the door, however, she realized thatthe dead bolt was engaged and that it was too high up for her to reach, evenif she stood on a chair. She screamed and pounded on the door, but no oneheard her cries for help; no one heard her frail fists beating on the door.Night was falling, and the gloom inside the apartment terrified Adrianaso much that she ran to her room, where she hid under the bed, clutchingher stuffed rabbit. She came out only to nibble on crackers or to drink waterthat was in a container by the sink. She banged on the front door severaltimes during the days that followed, but gave up when no one heard her.Each time, she returned to the hideaway under her bed; its narrowness gaveher comfort and lessened her fear. But the tiny space began to lose itsprotection for Adriana; its confines seemed to close in on her, taking awayher breath, making her heart race and pound until she lost consciousness.She did not know how many times this happened to her.Finally, it was the stench, not Adriana’s weak pounding, that alertedDoña Elvira Luna. When that happened, the elderly neighbor stood outsidethe Mora apartment wearing an apron and still clutching a wooden cookingspoon in her hand. She twitched her nose, sniffing around the edges andhinges of the locked door, then banging on it as she stuck her nose up intothe air, wiggling her nostrils and upper lip, her wide open mouth gaspingbecause of the foulness that was polluting the air. When she realized what itwas that she was smelling, she ran down to the manager’s office.“Don Luis, come with me! Now! Something is terribly wrong in theMora apartment.”“What do you mean?”
“Don’t talk! Come!”The man and woman ran up the stairs and when they turned the cornergoing in the direction of Adriana’s apartment, Don Luis came to a suddenhalt. He, too, smelled the vile stench.“¡Santo Dios!”His hands were shaking so much that he could not insert the master keyinto its slot, so Doña Elvira snatched the ring, slid the key into place,disengaged the latch and opened the door. The manager flung himselfbackward as if he had been struck with a blunt weapon; he gagged andreached into his back pocket for a handkerchief, which he nearly stuffedinto his mouth.Doña Elvira was just as shaken, but she regained her balance after a fewseconds. Taking off her apron, she tied it around her nostrils and mouth, andentered the gloomy pestilent place, going first to the kitchen. When she sawMario Mora slouched over the table, one arm stiff and dangling, she knewhe was dead.“¡Marisa! ¡Adriana! ¿Dónde están?”Shouting for the girl and her mother, Doña Elvira ran from the kitchen tothe front room, where the television set was on but inaudible. Then shestaggered to the larger bedroom; there she discovered Marisa Mora’sdecomposing body.“¡Virgen Santísima!”She spun around looking for the child’s room, but when she finallyfound it, the door was closed. She flung it open and looked around; it wasempty. She was about to leave when something told her to search, so shewent to the closet and began poking and pulling at hanging dresses andplaysuits, but she found nothing. Then she glanced at the unmade bed. Withdifficulty, Doña Elvira got down on her hands and knees to peer under it;there she discovered Adriana, who at first also looked dead. Doña Elvira letout a wail so loud that even the cringing Don Luis forced himself into theapartment.By that time, Doña Elvira had recuperated enough to drag Adriana outfrom under the bed. As she did this, she realized that the girl was not deadbut unconscious. With the manager’s assistance, the elderly woman got toher feet with Adriana in her arms, and with unexpected energy, she ran pastMario Mora’s body, past the room where Marisa Mora lay; nothing stopped
her until she reached her apartment. There, she put Adriana on the frontroom sofa. Adriana lay there for hours before she could be awakened fromher trance, despite the ambulances, patrol cars, coroners, televisionreporters, investigators, and curious neighbors swarming through theapartment complex.The girl finally sat up; she was groggy, hair disheveled, confused, butaware of two men speaking in hushed tones in the kitchen. She felt DoñaElvira hugging her at one moment, then gently nudging her out of sleep.“Adriana, you have to wake up. Open your eyes!”The girl struggled with confusion, trying to focus her blurred eyes onDoña Elvira. Suddenly, one of the men came and plucked her off the sofaand carried her to the kitchen, where the light bulb hanging from a cordmade her blink even more. She thought she overheard Doña Elvirawhispering to her husband, and she was almost sure she could make out thewoman’s words.“No le digas ahorita.”“But we must tell her now. Later will be worse. You have to rememberthat the police want to talk to her. She has to know before then.”Doña Elvira’s husband spoke loudly, clearly. He was opposing his wife’swarning not to tell the girl what had happened.“¡No!”“¡Sí!”Adriana was now fully awake and she knew something terrible washappening. Whatever had occurred was so bad that Doña Elvira and herhusband were almost arguing over it. The man carrying Adriana intervened.“Your husband is right, Doña Elvira. The child must be told. If you waituntil later, it will only hurt her more.”Adriana looked at Doña Elvira and at her husband, then at the man whoheld her. They were neighbors, and although very old in her eyes, they werekind. They often looked after her while her mother and father were at workor out of the house.“M’ijita… “Doña Elvira’s voice quivered, then broke off, leaving her unable tospeak. She turned away and put her hands on the side of the kitchen sink.Her husband picked up where Doña Elvira had stopped.
“Adrianita. Listen to me very carefully. Something has happened to yourmamá and papá. They were in a bad car accident. And now… now… theyare in heaven. Now you must stay with us.”Adriana knew. She had lost her mother and father. They were dead, andshe knew that it had not been in a car accident. Adriana was only four yearsold, but she knew that her mother had killed her father. She knew becauseshe had been there when it had happened. What she did not understand wasthe reason why her mother had done such a thing, or why her mother hadabandoned her. Knowing, in conflict with understanding, collided in thegirl’s mind, causing her to lose her breath, strangling the air out of herlungs, and it was there, in Doña Elvira’s kitchen, that Adriana experiencedher first asthma attack.After that, when Doña Elvira Luna took her in, Adriana decided never tospeak again, because she was afraid that if she opened her mouth, thebreathing attacks would recur. But despite her not speaking, the attacks didreturn to torture her. Years passed, and because she was always silent,people became convinced that she was incapable of speaking. Only DoñaElvira knew the truth; only she understood the enormity of Adriana’sanguish and confusion. That old woman was the only one who realized thatAdriana’s soul had withered during the days in which she was a prisoner inher mother and father’s tomb.In the palapa, surrounded by the murmur and hissing of the jungle,Adriana felt her recollections so vividly that her nose twitched because thememory of stench surrounded her, as did the isolation of self-imposedsilence. Her heart beat wildly against her ribcage, just as it had done thatnight long ago, just as it did whenever she remembered.Struggling to control her racing heart because she feared anotherbreathing attack, Adriana conjured her mother’s image in her mind: browncomplexion, willowy body, black straight hair that hung to her waist. As ayoung woman, she had migrated with her family from Campeche in Mexicoto Los Angeles. In that city she met Adriana’s father, loved him, marriedhim. Yet, she had shot him dead, taking her own life at the same time andleaving her daughter alone. Now Adriana’s heart struggled with anger andlonging to know what had compelled her mother to do such a terrible thing.
Then the image of Adriana’s father rose from the rubble of her little-girlmemory. She saw the skin of his African ancestors, the muscular bodyinherited from a mix of races, the nappy hair of his family. This pictureblurred, giving way to the form of a man slumped over a kitchen table, onearm hanging inertly by his side. She was able to tolerate the image only afew seconds before her mind shut down, fatigued by the memory of hurtand abandonment. She drifted back to sleep until sunlight awoke her.
Chapter 3 We repeat ourselves.“¿Qué soñaste anoche?”The toothless Lacandón native Chan K’in asked Adriana this questionevery morning. In the beginning she found it strange that he never greetedher with a simple buenos días but always asked what she had dreamed thenight before. After a few days in the village, however, she discovered thatdreams were so important to the people that the question took the place of agreeting. At night, instead of buenas noches, she was told, Be careful ofwhat you dream tonight.“What did you dream last night, niña?”Chan K’in repeated the question. Despite the humid, warm air of thejungle, Adriana felt a shiver as she recalled her dream. She had decided toput it behind her, to disregard it, not to try to find meaning in what she hadexperienced. It was too frightening because it brought back the pain ofinexplicable loss. But now, as she stood looking at the old man, she feltcompelled to tell him.She was dressed in khaki pants and shirt, and she wore hiking boots.This was her usual way of dressing, and although it was different from thegarments worn by the native women, no one seemed to mind. They knewwhy she dwelled among them, and they trusted her enough to allow her totake photographs of them as they toiled in the jungle or fished in the river.“I dreamed many things, viejo. A dream that I’ve dreamed before, butnever so vividly.”Adriana spoke to Chan K’in in Spanish because she did not know hisnative tongue. She liked conversing with him, asking questions about thetribe’s traditions, its history, its culture. It was Chan K’in who explainedmeanings to her when she did not understand. As she gazed at the old man,she studied his frail face, and body. She did not know his age, but as shescrutinized him she gauged that he was very old; the skin of his brown facewas leathery and cracked. His nose was a beak, and his eyes were those of
an Asian nomad, or an eagle, she thought. Chan K’in wore his hair in thetradition of the men of his tribe: shoulder-length with straight bangs thathung covering his eyebrows. But unlike the younger men of the village, hishair was completely white. Since he sat on
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