Many people gave me the words for this book. Obviously, Mariano and Na-
zario lead the list: they were the words I wrote, and have been with me as I
wrote them even when they were gone. Elizabeth Mamani Kjuro comes im-
mediately next. She accompanied me to Pacchanta, came to Davis where we
read together the conversations she had transcribed, and patiently welcomed
my stubbornness to “not necessarily translate but get the concepts!” Liberata,
Nazario’s wife; Víctor Hugo, their son- in- law; and Rufino, their son, gave
me words as coca leaves for Ausangate, and freshly earth- baked potatoes to
warm my hands and my stomach. José Hernán, Nazario’s grandchild, gave
me words involved in laughter, and Octavio Crispín expressed them with his
Andean flute, his quena. My sister, Aroma de la Cadena, and her husband,
Eloy Neira, introduced me to Mariano and Nazario, the event that opened
me to them and their words. For that event my gratefulness will never be
enough. Aroma and Eloy also shared with me their friendship with Antonio
Guardamino, the Jesuit párroco of Ocongate at whose dining table I spent
hours learning about his despachos with Mariano, his participation in rondas
campesinas as part of his Catechism, the encroachment of mining corpora-
tions; Antonio likes words and generously offered them to me. At his house
I met strong and sweet Graciano Mandura who would later become mayor
of Ocongate (although we did not know that yet). In their own personal
ways, they all introduced me to Ausangate—the mountain—when I did not
yet know it was also an earth- being (and they did). Thomas Müller gave me
photos of Mariano—gratefulness is not enough.
Cesar Itier’s help with words was as precious and subtle as his erudition
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