The Paper Pickers of Buenos Aires [Non-fiction]

I arrived in Buenos Aries four days ago and my first reaction to the paper pickers, as I call them now, was "�b"�ee careful "�."�"�It was the same reaction a women on an elevator in our hotel, who had just arrived said she had; our hotel was right off the largest street in the world called "�9th of-July Street." An independence thing, from what I was told. I like the obelisk, I told my wife, and you could see it from our window on the 9th floor.

It was funny; when I first arrived I asked to get a room with a good view of it, and now my wife keeps asking me, "�What you looking at"�"� I keep saying, the "�"�obelisk honey, the obelisk"� Sometimes you get a fixation on something, and you end up marveling at it unknowingly, as I was doing.

"�You know, what"s new baby, the obelisk is,"� is what I"d say to her, and add, "�You"re the cutest little thing this side of the Universe."�

Anyway, as I was saying, or about to say, I watched these "�Paper Pickers", for a number of days now. I could see them from my 9th story window, and of course as we"d walk home during the evening they"d be by the hotel. They could be mistaken for bums, young ones. But they were working, so the bum thing went out the window. They knew you were walking by them, but they never caught your eye, they wouldn"t look at you, just kept putting paper into sacks, and breaking down box"s, and then they"d put them on to a wheelbarrow and brought them across that busy long, very wide street to the other side and down a few more streets, and down an alley, hour after hour, after hour, they did this. But I"m getting ahead of my story I think.

They were as I had said stuffing these huge bags full of paper, and tying the box"s tight, from 2PM in the afternoon to 12:00 AM at night; a good ten hour day"s work. The streets after 9:00 PM seem to bare most of the mountain of paper, as they did their work right off main street across from our four-star hotel.

It was the forth day, and my Spanish speaking wife and I stood by the Hotel door watching them. It was about 10:00 PM. I started walking over to them---slowly, approaching the group whom where somewhat scattered within a thirty food line, although they were stagnated several feet apart from one another; -- in groups of two"s they worked at their trade together;--making for about twelve this evening. A few eyes started to stare at us, and then looked another way, but Victor whom would speak to me in a moment; stood a little surprised that I was nearing him, --I caught his eyes. He was about twenty-two years old. As I stepped forward to greet him, he extended his hands, and I introduced myself with my wife. He still was estranged from what was taking place, I think he was simply use of going through basic motions, and when you altered that, by and large, it stopped the whole process. That is to say, not knowing what my intent was, and surely knowing from my blue eyes and auburn hair, and light complexion, I was a gringo, with a Spanish wife. That was suspicious in itself.

"�Hello,"� he said in Spanish, kindly, he was quite calm, standing by his cart, half filled with paper compound, as compared to the full carts of the other couples. He was alone.

"�I see you"re alone, not like the others who have a companion to help?"�

"�My partner got sick on me tonight, and so I have to do it alone."� He commented.

"�So you have to try and take care of business like normal, for you must have certain people that depend on your arrival?"� He smiled.

I had noticed he rarely made eye contact with me, but my wife and I kind of forced Victors hand. My wife told him, I had several questions I"d like to ask, if he didn"t mind accommodating me with the answers, and all related to his work.

As we stood there talking, he explained to me he worked this ten-hour day, going from hotel to hotel, to apartment store to apartment store, collecting paper and cardboard. Bulking it together and tying it down, then delivering it in black twenty-five gallon bags.

When they got enough filled they would bring them to the tuck parked a few blocks away, the people would weigh them at .40-cents per each kilogram [two pounds]. In a day or evening he would make 4-piceos, equal now to $1.20 [US]; a few years back that might have been about $4. Dollars but the pesos were really down in comparison to the dollar. But he was working, which he was proud to show, not begging like so many and wanting money for standing and doing nothing.

Victor explained also that plastic was also recycled, but they had to bring it to another location; --Victor"s eyes were dark brown, small and round, almost hypnotic; --a very pleasant laid back person, and graceful. I"m sure his parents were proud of him, for he was proud of himself.

His voice was steady, calm, soft. I pulled out a 10-piceo bill, gave it to him. He looked at me as if he was in disbelief, not sure if he should accept it or not. But my wife assured him it was for the information he provided, and therefore was and had worked for it [of which this story came from]. He looked at it a second time and took it.

As we walked away, I stopped and turned around to see him one last time, he was talking to some of his comrades in particular, two guys by him who where standing and he was showing while holding the bill with two hands, still in disbelief I would guess. It was 2 ½ days pay, but well worth it for this story. And I"m sure he didn"t mind his friend being gone the night, for he had a good story to tell him tomorrow about the gringo and the Spanish lady.

Author Dennis Siluk his books can be see at http://www.bn.com or http://www.amazon.com