The Bites

We have developed leprosy of the arms. The many red spots that itch like hell are mosquito bites, according to people in the village who look at us in amazement. We are extra tasty to the mosquitoes, a flavor they hadn’t had in a while. We’d been wearing jeans and t-shirts or short-sleeved tops. I counted the bites on Pecos’s left arm from just above his elbow to wrist and when I got to sixty-eight he looked so stricken that I stopped. He favors going in the farmacias in San Isidro, where he talks to the pharmacists as if they are old friends. His language barrier is forgotten as he shows them his arm and looks pitiful. They look at him strangely and I regret telling Pecos that pharmacists are able to provide a diagnosis and prescribe medicine in Costa Rica. He goes from pharmacy to pharmacy to hear the same – that these are simply mosquito bites, not anything fatal.

He buys medicinal creams and applies them liberally to his arms. I tried to suffer in silence with my own bites, but acquiesced and used some antiseptic creams from his new collection. They help a little, but these bites are wicked. They are large and hard and red and itch for hours – at all hours. They form blistery clusters that raise long strands of mosquito-bite welts. We put on long sleeves, but that was too late as we were already bitten.

Pecos tells me that he will try to stick it out, but is unsure if he can if the bites continue for the duration of our three-month stay. The mosquitoes are so tiny that they are nearly impossible to see. They are silent, stealthy attackers. Then he tells me that he will come back every year, but not until the rainy season is over. I try to imagine being here without him. I could do it in dry weather but am undecided about doing so in the heavy rain.

Finally the rain subsides and everything is bright and sunny once again. On the morning of Christmas Eve we drive the long way to the beach, nearly a two hour trip since the roads going straight down the mountain’s steep sides are impassable from the rain. A family of friendly Ticos gives him a beer while I swim. They admire his mosquito bites, clap him on the shoulder while laughing, and tell him that in a week or two there will be no more rain and no more mosquitoes. Pecos is elated to hear this good forecast. He loves it here. He will stay. 