inhibition. Her assistant is ever so attentive, directing us to the adjoining massage area with mattresses on the floor, soft, colorful hand-embroidered swaths of cloth embracing the walls … and Jesus and The Virgin watching over us, a focal point of the room. No need, though, for Doña Mariana now joined by her able helper and masseuse, continue to be our sole source of comfort, guidance and reassurance.
Several minutes of calm and quiet follow, lying face down, alone in the room as it should be, with only my life partner, reborn together, as soft relaxation music begins. We’re resting in silence, though my mind slowly returns to the practicalities of life. Will the young Zapoteca massage each of us? Has Doña Mariana finished taking us to a certain point in the journey, now turning over control to her apprentice? With the momentary nakedness in the presence of three women, the experience takes on a subtle undercurrent of healthy sensuality, at least for me, and perhaps for my partner. Not the thought process to which one might normally admit, I would think, but no matter. It would perhaps continue, and build, if no one entered the room for an hour. And it would make no difference if I was to be massaged by the younger masseuse or Doña Mariana. I would be equally satisfied and fulfilled with the 20-year-old Oaxaqueña or the 60-year- old Doña Mariana touching the totality of my body, as Doña Mariana has assured, “from the tips of your toes to the top your head, you will be given a full massage.”
And so beside one another, we partake in the final phase of the process, each of us massaged simultaneously, the continuity of the temazcal in tact as creams and unknown