Early mornings.

The doorbell rang at 8.30am. Everyone in the house dutifully ran. At 8.30 in a house full of travelling types you naturally assume you´re the only one awake. The one who spoke the least Spanish got their first.

I watched from the door as she opened the gate on two women. One was a perfectly normal Cusqueñean woman. The other was purple.

´¿Habla Español?`

´Nope.`

I couldn´t stop staring at the purple woman. Her hair was violet. Her suit, quite a smartly cut suit, was purple velvet.

´No necesitas hablar Español cuando tu hablas con dio.`

She was so purple. Ribena adverts and Violet Bouregard flashed through my mind. Lisa looked at me for support. I was lost in the purple. Purple Haze. Purple Rain. Her eyeshadow matched her suit and her hair. I wondered if her god was purple too.

´¿Sabes Dio?`

Do you know God?

Lisa kept insisting, no hablo español.

´Hablamos con Dio.`

The purple woman started to turn more purple at our absence of reaction or response. She was becoming a ribena berry. She´d been the right shade but now she was puffing and swelling into a satisfying berry shape.

´Lo Siento` LIsa closed the gate on her.

´They said they speak to God` I said.

´Was it me or was that woman purple?`