The Lost Steps

Ruth, a secondary character and the narrator’s wife, is largely defined through the narrator’s perspective, making her more symbolic than fully fleshed out. At 34, she’s an actor trapped in a repetitive role due to a restrictive contract, longing for more meaningful parts like those of Nora (in Henrik Ibsen’s A Doll’s House) or Medea (in the eponymous tragedy by Euripides). Instead, she remains trapped in a Civil War drama, having performed the same role over 1,500 times, making her a metaphor for the creative frustrations that the narrator must escape.

When her husband disappears in the jungle, she organizes an extensive search operation, offering a reward for any information on his whereabouts. The narrator perceives her profound grief as performative, finally getting to play all the parts she always wanted to: “She was Genevieve of Brabant back in the castle; she was Penelope listening to Ulysses speak of the conjugal couch” (242). Upon his return, she seems to be pregnant, a situation that later turns out to be a misunderstanding. The narrator places the blame for their divorce’s difficulties on her, disclosing his affair with Mouche, whom he despises. Initially, she responds with sympathy to his predicament, but her attitude hardens when she learns about Rosario, prompting her to make the divorce proceedings more challenging for him.

Mouche serves as both a mirror to the narrator’s flaws and a foil to his character. Her presence highlights his insecurities, particularly his fragile masculinity. Though he describes her in the narrative as an off-and-on lover, he identifies her publicly merely as a “friend.” In the narrator’s eyes, Mouche is a symbol of the urban sophistication of post-war society that he wants to escape, highlighting the theme of The Dichotomy Between Civilization and Nature. Despite her intellect and bohemian lifestyle, the narrator dismisses her as a pseudo-intellectual: “When confronted with a topic Mouche had not previously heard an opinion of, she was completely unable to formulate one of her own” (70).

She believes in mediums. She’s tried her hand at poetry but now makes her money telling horoscopes through the mail and sometimes in person. She is sexually liberated, representing post-World War women’s liberation, challenging the narrator’s conservative outlook even as he exploits these freedoms.

His reactions to her provide insight into his harsh, judgmental nature. When Mouche sits with local sex workers and is thus mistaken for a sex worker herself, the narrator blames her for the ensuing violence, reflecting his unfair expectations and prejudice: “It was just like her to have gone and sat down with the prostitutes” (105). His reaction to her appearance and condition during her illness, finding satisfaction in her looking “ugly,” showcases a disturbing pleasure in her suffering and in nature rejecting her.

Yet, Mouche subtly counters the narrator’s narrative, especially upon his return from the jungle, hinting at their affair to dismantle the heroic facade he sought to construct for financial gain. This act, alongside her calm demeanor in their final encounter, contradicts the narrator’s attempt to cast her as the cause of his misfortunes: “She was to blame for everything that was happening to me” (256).

Despite facing judgment and aggression, Mouche’s reactions suggest resilience and a better understanding of the narrator’s flaws than he has himself. She serves as a lens through which the narrator’s biases, cruelty, and insecurity are amplified, contrasting with his perception. Mouche embodies a blend of modern independence and complexity that the narrator, with his desire to uphold traditionalist views, fails to fully comprehend.

Rosario becomes the narrator’s romantic partner as he journeys into the jungle. Her mestiza identity, blending Indigenous, Spanish, and possibly African ancestry, makes her an embodiment of the region’s complex colonial history. To the narrator, she is a symbol of nature in the theme of The Dichotomy Between Civilization and Nature.

Introduced while unresponsive on a jungle road, Rosario is immediately romanticized through the narrator’s colonialist imagination. He likens her to figures from ancient cultures: “She took on an ancestral silhouette that brought her much closer to these [Indigenous] women than to those whose blood, in generations past, had lightened her skin” (172). He compares her to Penelope from The Odyssey, even though his own actual wife is waiting for him back in New York. Her simple request—to accompany him wherever he goes—is disregarded when he returns to New York, demonstrating the narrator’s failure to understand or value her desires truly. Her depth is overlooked by the narrator, especially evident as she copes with her father’s illness and eventual death.

The narrator’s descriptions of Rosario reveal more about his perceptions than about Rosario’s true character. His embrace of marianismo culture—a set of expectations around ideal femininity—prevents him from understanding who Rosario really is. Her intellectual capacity and independence peek through in her interest in The Story of Genevieve of Brabant, a legend of female resilience and autonomy. This contrasts with the narrator’s patriarchal views and his surprise at her reluctance to marry. Rosario’s declaration that marriage strips a woman of her defenses against men challenges the narrator’s assumptions of her and her culture and shows her rejection of machismo and marianismo culture.

She’s described by the narrator as a woman deeply connected to the earth and the simplicity of existence. Her philosophy that it’s unwise to overanalyze life’s greater forces speaks to wisdom and acceptance of the world’s mysteries. The narrator’s idealized perception of her is challenged when he returns to the jungle and learns from Yannes that she has married Marcos, the Adelantado’s son, and is expecting a child. This revelation breaks apart the comparison between Rosario and Penelope and emphasizes Rosario’s independence and humanity, surpassing the narrator’s idealized perception and asserting her own individuality.

The Adelantado [translated in some editions as the Pathfinder, though the word, literally meaning advanced, was also used in Spanish colonies to refer to a colonial governor] is a static character, depicted with bushy eyebrows and a unique companion, his dog Gavilan, who drinks beer from a cup. He embodies the classic archetype found in El Dorado adventure tales, knowledgeable about the jungle and crucial in aiding the narrator’s quest for a mysterious instrument. Notably irreligious and dismissive of women’s opinions, he is the father of Marcos, and he starkly differentiates between his companions and the Indigenous people, stating, “We were three men and twenty Indians” (158). Starting as a restless young man from a small town, the Adelantado becomes a bold miner and eventually establishes the city of Santa Monica de los Venados. His life, driven by the lure of Manoa’s rumored riches, leads him to prefer the untamed wilderness to society’s corruption. By founding a city away from the outside world’s grasp, he carves out a space of adventure and solitude for himself.

Fray Pedro, depicted as an aged, bearded, and gaunt Capuchin friar, is a secondary, symbolic character and mirror to the narrator. His experience and wisdom make him adept at navigating the challenges of the jungle, even diagnosing Mouche with malaria. He is intelligent and pragmatic yet deeply traditional and Christian. He represents a facet of colonialism, symbolizing the effort to spread Christianity and tame the jungle’s untamed aspects, reflecting the theme of The Dichotomy Between Civilization and Nature. Despite his critical view of the narrator’s quest for El Dorado, Fray Pedro himself is on a parallel mission, mirroring the contradictions in the narrator.

As the “Headman of the Indians” in Santa Monica, he attempts to set a Christian example for the Indigenous population, albeit with questionable decisions like planting onion beds against Marcos’s advice, leading to the granaries’ flooding. His decision to plant onion beds there, initially seen as a mistake, was deliberate, foreshadowing his readiness for martyrdom in his mission to spread Christianity. This action alludes to Odysseus receiving Allium Moly for protection before facing Circe in The Odyssey, symbolizing the preparation for the dangers of his quest to convert uncontacted Indigenous peoples. Learning of his violent death from an article, the narrator sees the harsh reality of pursuing colonialist dreams.