Serpent spirit

Joey and I are brother and sister from the moment we meet. Like the farm cats, we curl up into each other's bodies whenever possible, seeking comfort and warmth, caring for each other deeply.

Joey leaves the farm in early June. In his last few days, he gets sick. We are all sick. We try to combat the parasites by flushing our systems with several litres of salt water. The experience is bonding, for sure, but ineffective as far as I can see. We all continue to struggle each morning.  It would get us down, but everyone enjoys the companionship that shared misfortune brings.

Rainy season is in full flow, washing chemicals into the lake from the land. Bacteria colonies begin to clog up the bays with luminous green mats. These floating islands are talked about but tolerated, just like the piles of rubbish drifting up on the shores. To the residents, this is just part of life on the lake.

I swim once in June. It is a beautiful day and we've been digging all morning. We dive in and feel the water rinsing us free of earth, trying to ignore the sensations of the bacteria strands touching our skin. It is uncomfortably like being in giant bath full of dog hair.

The spirit of the lake loops around me with her serpent swirls, wide-eyed and barely there. Blinking.

Joey leaves and I try not to cry. His face looks so happy and I know I will deeply miss his energy. I watch his boat as it turns into a dot in front of the volcano. The lake is magic this morning.

Days later, Guillermo, one of the lancha captains, tells me he had to make an urgent trip to the hospital because Joey lost the ability to walk.

My heart dives.

News filters in - Joey is paying $1000 dollars a day to exist in the intensive care until at Guatemala City Hospital. They still do not understand the reason for his paralysis. He is bedbound.

I think of Joey, laid out in hospital white, and superimpose an image of him as I saw him last. He is such a beautiful dancer. He does not obey any rules when he dances, he simply goes where his body wishes to move him. We once said we could watch each other dance forever. I feel panicked.

News of Joey spreads across the lake. And with it come further tales of neuropathy - two cases in Panajachel - and speculation about the water. The green strands in the lake are cyanobacteria, caused by too many nitrates and phosphates in the water. Of the millions of strains out there, a few produce a neurotoxin when they biodegrade that can cause numbness and paralysis in humans.

We don't know for sure that this particular type of bacteria is present in the lake, but the coincidence rings hard. Suddenly our toilet humour and blasé attitude to swimming reveal a darker side.

I look out at the glinting lake, cradled in its gentle volcanoes. They say this is the most sacred lake in the world. It is certainly the most beautiful - of that I have no doubt.

But then I think of my friend, with his dead legs and his cold hospital, and my serpent takes me down to her depths. I try to pick her free of the strands but she can no longer open her eyes. Her elegant strength, her diving flows are sodden and clogged with rubbish.

What have we as a species done, that we have created such horrors within perfection?