Rumblings in Peru

By Jonathan Peters

Copyright ©2026

Part One

Chapter One

What possible reason can I use to say hello?

We’d been stuck on the tarmac in Peru for over an hour. Our only interaction was the quick glance we gave one another after I confronted the kid kicking the back of my chair. It was one of amusement. And something else. Something still hidden from me.

I was preoccupied with thoughts of him when the plane landed in Cusco. It was eleven at night, and I was exhausted from a full day of travel.

I waited on my chocolate brown Delsey Paris Chalatet Air 2.0 carry-on—Thank you, Macy’s— to make its way to the baggage claim belt. I tapped my foot. I pretended to be in a hurry. But, inside, I was praying that my bag would be last to arrive.

The man on the plane was right next to me, also waiting on his bag.

“First time in Peru?”

It was him. He made the first move.

I glanced over at him before replying, drank him in. He had black, curly hair. I don’t usually go for curly-haired men. But his curls worked.

I’m only five feet flat. I came up to his shoulder. That puts him at, what, six foot one? Six two?

I like looking up at a man.

“First time anywhere,” I said. And it wasn’t a lie.

That’s why the new fancy luggage bag. I’d bought it just the past week, as a present to my newfound freedom and, hopefully, fresh start, beginning with my vacation to Peru.

It took me seven years to obtain my PhD in Andean Archaeology, but it was worth it. Or so I was led to believe. Now, at the age of twenty-nine years, three months, and twenty-eight days, I had my doubts.

About everything.

“I find that hard to believe,” he said, about my statement that I never went anywhere, ever. He was smiling at me. Thank god his teeth were naturally white and not that industrial white you see on tv personalities all the time.

I gave him my best grin, which is pretty good. Usually. Sometimes when I grin, I look like an elf.

“I’m Veronica.” I extended my hand first. He shook it firmly, which was a good sign. I love a man with a good handshake.

“Mateo,” he said.

“I just finished my PhD last month. I haven’t been anywhere in almost ten years, and the last time I went on vacation it was to my now ex college boyfriend’s parent’s house. Not exactly Peru.”

He laughed and so did I.

“What about you?” I changed the subject off me. I arrived in Peru to escape academics, not to talk about them.

“Business trip. I’ve got a presentation to give at the Palacio tomorrow evening.”

I laughed again and then blushed. I felt drunk. Maybe I was. I did drink several sparkling wines on the flight over.

“What’s funny about that?” he asked innocently.

“That’s where I’m heading too.”

“Machu Piccu?”

“Where else? How did you manage to get a business trip to Cusco? What are you selling, massage wands?”

He laughed, and then his cheeks turned red. I’d made him blush.

“Not exactly. I run cyber security for TechNar. We have conferences all over the world. I’m just lucky enough that I get to go to the good ones.”

“All expenses paid to come here? Yeah, you’re lucky.”

“Care to share a cab?”

This was the moment of no return and I knew it immediately. I hadn’t dated in almost five years, and it had been ten years since I’d had a serious relationship. I’d missed out on important social time to obtain that stupid degree.

I knew before I answered his question that my life was about to change. But for the better or worse, who can tell at such an early stage? I couldn’t.

“Sure,” I said.

Let’s see where this goes.

If I knew then what I know now, would I have given a different answer? Was all of it worth it?

There are some hurts that bury themselves so deep inside your body that they can never be extracted, no matter the tools you use.

We grabbed our bags and he hailed a cab for us. We spent that time in silence and small talk. He refused my payment when the cab dropped us off.

“I’ll pay for dinner,” I said as we approached the check-in desk.

“Deal” he said, and there was no hesitation.

I continued to steal glances at him throughout our interaction, and always he was looking back at me with those big, chocolate eyes.

We made plans to meet for dinner the next night since it was already so late and the restaurant was closed. I excused myself and went straight to bed.

I dreamed of him all night.

*****

I awoke to a crisp mountain sunrise, and the tile roofs of the colonial houses of Cusco beamed their famous red.

I took my coffee and croissants on my balcony. I’d spared little expense. It was the last of my student loans and I’d managed them just for this trip.

I had an excellent view of the colonial buildings, the cobbled streets, and the mountains in the distance. I could feel the tension leaving my body before I began on my second cup of espresso.

My phone pinged. I checked it once—it was a notification reminder to take my medicine—and then turned it off. I wasn’t here to be glued to my phone. I’d spent enough time on that already.

It was nine-thirty in the morning by the time I finished breakfast. I took a shower and brushed my teeth and then dressed for a day of sightseeing.

My itinerary was to spend two full days in Cusco before making my way to Machu Piccu. Then I would spend the next several days on the Inca Trail on my way to Machu Picchu. It was to be a grand adventure.

I was out the door before ten o’clock. I had my hat, my daypack, and my maps downloaded to my phone.

I didn’t run into Mateo on my way out. In fact, I had almost forgotten about him once we went our separate ways the night before.

Almost.

As I traveled throughout the day, I forced myself to not think about him. Which wasn’t too difficult, given how much there is to see and do in Cusco.

I love a good crypt, especially of 17^th-century Franciscan origin. That is, after all, what my thesis is in. I have an invested interest. My first stop was to visit the catacombs of San Francisco de Asis. 

*****

I arrived at the catacombs just before eleven a.m. I wondered amongst the crypts, murals and statues for a solid two hours before finding myself in the serene, hedge-enclosed maze and cloister.

“Veronica!” came a man’s voice from the other side of the hedge. How he could see me through the thick bushes was a question for another day.

“Mateo?” I asked uncertainly.

“Don’t move, I’ll be right there!” he responded.

Footsteps hurried off toward the end of the hedge. I quickly ran my fingers through my hair. I hadn’t combed it that morning; rather, I had settled for the time-tested ponytail.

Mateo rounded the corner and jogged up to me. He was wearing tan hiking pants that hugged his thighs and a long-sleeved, dark green shirt that clung to his muscular chest. He was grinning at me like the Cheshire Cat. I smiled back but inside my nerves were dancing. I was not prepared for this rendezvous.

“I’m not surprised to see you here, honestly,” he said. He leaned in for a quick peck on each cheek and I enthusiastically accepted.

“The catacombs are my specialty,” I said. My eyes lingered on his for a moment too long.

Something wet splatted on my forehead. I thought it was a raindrop, at first, although there were only minimal clouds and none of them were heavy with rain.

I wiped my forehead off and looked at my hand.

Bird shit.

Bird. Shit!

Mateo began to laugh. And laugh. And laugh.

“Laugh it up, chuckles!” I said, partly hysterical and fully embarrassed.

He took a handkerchief out of his back pocket and wiped down my face, now fully serious. He was gentle and, despite my desire to wipe my own face down, I let him do it. Physical touch is, at least for today, my love language.

“Let me see your hands,” he said.

I’d already wiped the crap onto my jeans, but I gave him my hands anyway. He wiped them down and then put his handkerchief in his back pocket.

“What thirty-something keeps handkerchiefs with them?” I said teasingly.

But seriously.

“I get a box for Christmas every year from my mom, whether I want them or not.”

He hadn’t let go of my hands, and I wasn’t pulling away.

“She comes from a time when men carried—”

I reached up and kissed him, gently, not hesitantly. I wanted him and I was sure he wanted me.

Bird shit and all.

Chapter Two

We roamed the catacombs, together, for another hour, hands held. I had so much difficulty concentrating on Saint Francis paintings because I couldn’t stop thinking of our entwined hands.

What would it mean? Are we dating? I haven’t even invited him over for coffee yet.

But it felt so...comfortable. Like we’d been doing it already for years and still enjoyed every minute of it.

Romance doesn’t make sense.

Is it supposed to?

I finally pulled my hand away as we were leaving the catacombs, resisting the urge to wipe it on my shorts because it was so sweaty. I let it air dry instead.

We were set to have dinner that night, but as we were out sightseeing, we got hungry. Lunch together seemed like the obvious move.

“The Palacio is supposed to have an excellent restaurant. My treat.”

“Let’s not go back to the hotel just yet,” I said. I was worried that going back to the hotel for lunch would lead to something else, and while I wanted that something else more than I wanted air to breathe, it was also way too soon. I didn’t even know Mateo yet.

We opted to stay near the Plaza. We went for a restaurant that served typical Peruvian dishes. The place was called Territorio, and it was one of the busiest, and tastiest, restaurants I would end up visiting in Peru.

I had the shrimp in rocoto butter, and he had a sashimi style dish called Tiradito. We even shared off each other’s plates because, well, we’re in Peru on vacation and that’s just what you do when you’re falling for someone.

“Tell me about your family,” I said through sips of my Cusquena Negra beer.

“My great-grandparents came to America after Castro took over in ’59. My sister and I grew up shoeless running the streets of Miami.”

His eyes, when he spoke of his family, looked far away, as if he was remembering long gone days with his sister. I imagined their tiny feet slapping the dirty pavement of dimly lit Miami alleyways. I imagined three generations of a family living on top of one another, fights and love intermingling.

“I’m sure it was hard for you,” I said with all the gravity the situation demanded.

He paused and then that grin I was starting to recognize spread across his face.

“I’m just kidding. I grew up in the suburbs of Santa Fe.”

I lightly smacked his arm and gave him a Shocked Pikachu face.

“Garden variety hippy parents. Dad’s an architect and my mom paints desert flowers onto random objects and sells them to old rich ladies.”

I wasn’t sure if he was serious, so I crossed my arms and gave him a Serious Glare.

“I’m serious!” he said, reading my mind.

“Ok. I believe you. For now,” I retorted.

At the ripe age of thirty I finally figured out that there are moments in life that alternate your trajectory. These moments can affect your career, your friends and family.

Your lovers.

A deep, groaning rumble bowled over our conversation.

I looked up at the buildings around us, certain that they were falling on top of our heads.

I wasn’t wrong.

It was an earthquake.

Our table shifted violently and our platters and glasses smashed on the ground. A rectangular, copper sign outside the restaurant clanged to the ground and a giant bay window split down the middle. We were on the patio, thankfully, away from any ceiling that might squash us.

Once the shock of what was happening wore off, Mateo grabbed me by the hand and led me out into the narrow streets, where we congregated with other frightened tourists as the world around us crumbled to the ground. We weren’t in the street for more than five seconds when the awning we’d been sitting under crashed right onto the patio. Soon afterward, the roof of Territorio caved inward, the support beams of the restaurant failing, and the restaurant exploded like something out of an ‘80s action movie.

Dust from other crumbling buildings filled my lungs and I began to panic. Screams were all around me and through the haze I saw the first of many fires. It erupted from a nearby sidewalk and flared twenty feet into the air. I could smell the hair burning from some poor soul that had been consumed by the flame.

Mateo grabbed my hand and we ran. We never stated where we were going out loud, but we instinctively knew we were headed back to the hopeful safety of the hotel.

It took us five times as long to reach the hotel because of the chaos. The tremors finally stopped but the car alarms and the hysteria did not. Everywhere I looked there was broken concrete, smashed windows, and enormous piles of debris. The street we were on was tilted and it forced us to walk at an angle as if we were in some type of hellish carnival maze.

We finally got back to our hotel. This side of the plaza seemed to have taken less damage as many of the buildings were still intact. We dashed into the hotel amid the chaos and joined a group of tourists near the front desk. Everyone was talking at once as we waited for more information from the hotel clerk, who looked as frightened and overwhelmed as the rest of us.

The floor was covered with tourists guides and maps from a stand that had fallen over. For no reason, I picked up one of the pamphlets and stared at it.

Welcome to Peru it said in bright, sun kissed colors.

Welcome to Peru, indeed.

End of Part 1.

 About the author:

Jonathan Peters is a writer of erotica, crime and horror fiction. He holds an MFA 2D Studio from the University of New Mexico and a BFA from Texas State University. He is currently seeking agency for his first book, Far Away Girls, a fictional crime noir novel. You can find his most recent work here at Bareback Magazine and at the Bath Flash Fiction Award. He lives in the southwest U.S. with his two cats.