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The river around us, the stream within us: The traces of the sun and Inka kinetics

The stones of the Inka wall were larger and stranger than I had ever imagined; they bubbled beneath the whitewashed second story, which facing the narrow street, was blind (i.e. no windows). Then I remembered the Quechua songs, which continually repeat one pathetic phrase: yawar mayu, river of blood; yawar unu, bloody water; puk-tik' yawar k'ocha, lake of blood that boils; yawar wek'e, "tears of blood." Couldn't one say yawar rumi, "stone of blood," or puk' tik' yawar rumi, "boiling stone of blood"? The wall was stationary, but its lines were seething and its surface was changeable, as that of the flooding summer rivers, which have similar crests near the center, where the current flows the swiftest and is the most terrifying. The Indians call these muddy rivers yawar mayu, because when the sun shines on them they seem to glisten like blood. They also call the most violent tempo of the war dances, the moment when the dancers are fighting, yawar mayu. Puk'tik yawar rumi!' I exclaimed aloud, facing the wall.' —José María Arguedas, Rios Profundos (1958)