Series: Smile

Chapter Thirty — Rosita

The motor of the Palace sounded sweet as we got going on dirt again. “Sure is a good truck,” I remarked, “and it’s taken a heck of a beating. How far have we traveled?”

Chuck glanced at the speedometer. “Four thousand, four hundred miles. That’s not counting the train ride.”

We had just passed a signboard, “MANAGUA, 100 KILOMETERS.”

I thought back, Guatemala, withal the washouts, detours and mud. Frank had been worth his weight in gold. Without him, I doubt if we could have made it, at least we would have had a very hard time doing it. His winning personality and knowledge of the language had made everything much easier. I wondered how Chuck and I would crossed the borders without him. After Guatemala we went through El Salvador, Honduras, and finally Nicaragua. It was a battle but we made it.

“I’m going to get a Spanish dictionary size thirty-six by twenty-four by thirty-six,” said Chuck and grinned.

“Blond or brunette?” Frank asked.

“That all depends. Maybe I’ll get a couple of them, maybe more. Joe tells me there are eight or ten Señoritas to every man in Nicaragua. A man should take care of his share, don’t you think?”

“I’ve been there before,” Frank said, “and I know how you feel. These Señoritas are much like a chocolate cake covered with frosting. When a man is really hungry and looks at the big cake, he thinks he can eat it all, but after a couple of pieces, he is no longer hungry.”

“I don’t expect to eat the whole damned cake in one evening, but give me time and I’ll eat it and howl for more,” laughed Chuck.

We enjoyed reading the signs along the road: “DRINK VICTORIA CERVEZA. CONTAINS MUCH VIGOR AND ENERGY.” “DRINK FLOR DE CAÑA. NEVER A HANGOVER WHEN YOU DRINK FLOR DE CAÑA.”

“They sure make it attractive.” Chuck said. How’s the beer here?”

“Good,” I told him. “There is a brewery on the left side of the road as we go into town, and there’s a big beer garden there too. I’ve never been in it, but I’ve passed it several times. Let’s stop and tip up a couple.”

When we came to the brewery, Chuck swung around and parked the Palace in front of the beer garden. As we started to walk in, I glanced back at the big letters on the front of the Palace. “SPORT KING,” I read proudly. Indeed, I felt like the King of Sport.

We went into a big open air patio containing dozens of tables and chairs. Leading from this was a large roofed patio about the same size. Between the two patios ran two bars, and drinks could be served from either side. The aisle between the two bars was just wide enough to allow the bartender to walk between them. The thing that impressed us most was the height of the bars. The darn things were at least five feet tall. The bartender stood about five feet, six inches and all we could see of him was the top of his head.

We climbed up on stools about four feet high and ordered beer. The bartender drew them, set the big frosty mugs in front of us and the gave us a puzzled look. Each of us had put some U. S. money on the bar, trying to be the first to pay for the drinks. The bartender shook his head, but we didn’t understand. Frank asked him a few questions.

“In Nicaragua you pay only when you leave,” The man explained. “It is the custom here.”

Come to think of it, I couldn’t remember having paid any bill in Nicaragua until I was ready to leave a hotel, bar, or any other place.

The beer was good, and we were on the third round when a fellow walked up to us. He was well-dressed and looked to be around forty. He smiled and asked, “Who are you? Where are you going? Where do you come from?” Then the famous words; “Who is the ‘King of Sports?'”

I introduced myself, Chuck and Frank, then told him we were here to mine gold.

“Good,” he said. “There is much gold here.”

He pulled out his billfold and gave me his card. The name on it was Ricky Muñoz.

“I am in the machinery business,” he said. “Do you need any kind of machinery?”

“We will need a tractor — either to rent or to buy one,” I told him.

“I have a D-8 tractor at Talpaneca,” he said. “I will either lease or sell it to you.”

This sounded good as it appeared that I was already getting a break.

The beer was fine and we sat swapping talk a long time. After about forty-five hundred miles of travel I thought it was time to celebrate. And celebrate we did. We sure emptied a lot of beer mugs, and Ricky Muñoz was the life of the party. “Today is my birthday!” he kept saying. “We shall drink to my birthday!” Later I learned that Ricky had a birthday at least once a week.

We were all becoming very buddy-buddy when I felt a tug at my leg. I looked down and saw a cute youngster. She was about three years old, had curly brown hair, brown eyes and was wearing a pretty red dress. She gripped my leg tight and smiled up at me. I reached down and lifted her up to sit on the bar. Her tiny fingers took hold of my nose. She giggled as she gave it a twist. I twisted her nose in-turn making her laugh. Then she started chattering to me in Spanish. I tried talking to her in English but she looked puzzled, so I started playing a game with her.

Gently, I twisted her nose again and told her to repeat after me, “nose.” She said it perfectly. With the word “eye” she did the same. Then I took her little hands and told her to repeat as I counted her fingers. In about twenty minutes she could speak more words in English than I could in Spanish. She sat there clapping her hands, her eyes bright and shinning, wanting to be taught more.

I turned to Ricky and asked, “who is this little doll?”

“We call her ‘Tiny’,” said Ricky, “because she’s so tiny and smart.”

“She certainly is,” I told him. “Does she have a mother?”

“Look behind you.”

I turned around. There stood a very lovely young woman about five-two wearing a red dress. She had short brown hair, brown eyes — and she was smiling.

“That is Tiny’s mother, Rosita,” said Ricky. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

I nodded. “Yes, Ricky — very beautiful.”

Rosita stood rocking back and forth in her dainty red slippers as though waiting for something.

Ricky said, “your camper, outside. She would like to see what it looks like on the inside.”

We were all getting a little bit “high” I guess. Chuck was showing Frank his teeth watch-fob and the scar on his chest. He had invented quite a colorful story. There had been many bandits and he had been very badly wounded and had fought for his life. He was getting to be a real showman.

I put little Tiny on my shoulder and Rosita followed. I unlocked the door of the Palace, pulled down the ladder and we went inside. Rosita’s eyes became big and round. Chuck and Frank had polished everything to a high luster. The cupboards of maple veneer were glistening and the full length mirror was spotless. I opened the refrigerator, turned on the stove, showed off the bathroom and turned on the hot water. Rosita held her hand under spigot for a moment, and then jerked it away, looking at bit scared.

After the tour of the Palace, we walked back to the bar and I ordered another beer. All of this time I had been carrying Tiny. Ricky and Rosita started chatting in Spanish, and finally Ricky said to me, “You like this little girl?”

“Sure,” I looked fondly at Tiny. “I’m in love with her.”

“Do you like her mother? I glanced up. There was Rosita standing nearby, swaying coquettishly side to side, looking very pretty, blushing a little and smiling at me again.

“Sure,” I said. “I think she is very nice.”

“She would like to marry you,” said Ricky. “Rosita and Tiny would like to go with you to mine the gold. Rosita would like to be your wife.”

I was flabbergasted. First stop at this place and I get a proposal!

“Maybe before you decide,” said Ricky, “you should get a little better acquainted.”

I told him I thought this was a good idea.

“I tell you what we shall do,” said Ricky. “You will take Rosita and I will take my number two wife who lives at Tipitapa, and we shall go to Talpaneca to look at the tractor.”

“That also seems a good idea,” I told him, “but I will have to phone my brother in the United States and talk to him first.”

Ricky nodded and said, “When you are ready to go, call me and I will make all the arrangements.”

I said to Frank and Chuck, “Let’s get out of here, quick before I end up a married man.”

Chapter Thirty-One — Welcome Home

We drove uptown to the Gran Hotel. As we approached the hotel, I said to Chuck, “The Palace is all yours. Better park it in the lot across the street. I’m going to get a room and have a long night’s sleep. That damned snoring of yours has just about worn me out.”

Frank grinned and said, “I know what you mean. I will get a room too. The Palace is all yours, Chuck.”

Chuck took the ribbing good naturedly enough.

I climbed into the Palace, packed a small bag and checked in at the hotel. A bellhop took me to my room. As I sat on the edge of the bed wondering whether to call Bill tonight or wait until morning, there came a knock on the door. When I opened it I saw that same little golden skinned beauty who had come to turn down my bed the last time I was here. She walked past me to the bed, parted the sheets, smoothed the pillows, then gave me a smile.

I hesitated, then smiled back. Why not? “When you are in Nicaragua, do as the. . . .”

The ringing bells awakened me early. After I had shaved, showered and dressed, I stepped out to the hallway and found Jock waiting. He broke into his infectious grin and said, “Welcome back to Nicaragua. It is good to see you again.”

“How did you know I was here?”

“Your driver, Chuck, told me. I met him last night.”

I was hungry and suggested that we go up to Fermin’s and have breakfast. As we went out into the bright sunlight I saw the seven barbers playing spiritedly with their yo-yos. We walked on across the street to the Palace but we didn’t go inside to disturb Chuck. We knew he was still sleeping — we could hear him!

Fermin seemed happy to see me. I asked, “How goes everything?”

“Not so good,” he said.

“What’s the trouble?”

“Every time I get a good waitress who is pretty and can speak Spanish and English, someone runs off with her. I have a girl now that no one would run off with because she is so homely. But my best customers have quit coming and are going up the street to another place.”

Fermin had a problem that I couldn’t help him with it.

After breakfast I put in a call for Bill. The telephone here goes by tropical radio to Miami, Florida, and by regular line to its destination. So it takes quite some time to complete the connection, but at last I had Bill on the phone.

He told me the machinery had not been shipped yet; that things were okay, but moving a bit slow. I told him about the tractor.

“Look it over, Joe,” he said. “If you can get a decent deal on it, go ahead and buy it. You will need a tractor.”

“Okay Bill, give my best to Nell.” With this, I hung up.

I took out the card Ricky had given me and gave it to Jock.

“Go find this fellow and tell him we will look at the tractor any time he’s ready.”

After Jock took off, I went back to the hotel, put on a pair of trunks and went swimming in the pool. I spent most of the day there. Chuck joined me in the afternoon. His eyes were swollen and puffy, and he looked like hell, but he was grinning all over.

“How’s the King of Sports? I asked.

“It amazes me,” he said, with a vacant look, “how fast girls here can shed their laundry!”

That evening Chuck, Jock and I were up at Fermin’s drinking Flor de Caña and enjoying ham sandwiches, when Jock said to Fermin. “How about listening to the radio? There should be some news about now.”

It was just eight o’clock. Fermin turned on the radio, Jock mixed another round of drinks, and we sat there prepared to listen.

Suddenly the announcer was saying, “And now we present Pedro Max Romero and his band!”

I looked accusingly at Jock, but he was the picture of innocence.

I straightened abruptly as the announcer was saying, “And now for Señor Joe Parker from the United States of America, the beautiful Connie Oro will sing, ‘Sabor a Mí.'”

Again, I looked accusingly at Jock, but still he was the picture of innocence. “You rat,” I said.

He only grinned.

“She is a beautiful girl, Señor Joe. She has been waiting for you. We sat there and listened to the song as my mind drifted back to Siuna, the dance, the swimming pool. Connie had said, “it is written in the stars that some day we will be married. We will have one blue-eyed baby girl.” And she had put a curse on my foot! Connie was a witch all right.

When the song ended, Jock suggested. “It is only a few blocks from here to the studio. Would you like to see the rest of the show?”

Chuck was eager to go. I had made up my mind to stay away from that girl, but I was outnumbered, so we went.

The studio was packed. There was hardly standing room. Somehow Jock managed to get us seats right in the front row. Connie was nowhere in sight. Pedro was giving out with a love song in Spanish that I couldn’t understand. But he sang with such emotion tears came to my eyes. When the song was over, the whole audience cheered. Then Connie came dancing across the stage.

“You call that a witch? She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen!”

I looked up at Connie. I had almost forgotten how beautiful, and how charming she was. No words could really describe such beauty.

When the broadcast was over she stepped down from the stage and came up to me. She sat down beside me and laid her head on my shoulder. Very softly she said, “Welcome home, Joe.”

I squeezed her slender waist. “It’s good to be back, Connie.” I didn’t know what else to say.

She looked up. There were tears in those marvelous eyes.

“I knew you would come back, Joe. Mama Morales told me you would be back.”

“Yes, I’m here,” I said quickly. I drew her to her feet. “We’d better leave now.”

We all went to Fermin’s. Jock, Chuck, Connie and I; also along with us came Pedro Max Romero and the rest of the band. We put on a celebration. It took many bottles of Flor de Caña, and indeed it was a happy reunion. When the party was over I put Connie in a taxi, paid the driver and walked back to the hotel. For some reason this beautiful Connie — the sweetheart of Nicaragua — I was afraid of her. I knew she was a witch. I thought of Maria. I had been in love with Maria. I wouldn’t let myself fall in love with Connie.

If life is a game, then I am going to be the dealer!

Chapter Thirty-Two — The Celebration

The next morning Jock came up to my room. He said, “I have the arrangements all made. I have talked to mister Muñoz and we’ll be able to go to Talpaneca today. We will meet him at the brewery at ten o’clock. Also, I have talked to Chase. He wants to go.”

“Good work,” I said, “It will be fine to see Chase again.”

I had been studying a map. Talpaneca is south and east of Ocotal and south of Quilalí. It lies on the banks of the Rio Coco which is the end of the road going from west to east. Talpaneca is indeed the end of the road.

Chuck had polished the Palace and it was shining from end to end.

“Chuck,” I said, “you’re getting to be a better housekeeper.”

“I’ve had a lot of help. Plenty of gals really like to show me what good housekeepers they are. The girls here are just like you said, but one thing you forgot to tell me. How in hell do you get rid of them?”

“I don’t know” I laughed. “You’ll have to figure that out for yourself.”

At the brewery we picked up the rest of the passengers. Ricky was there with his number two wife. She was a cute little thing, probably about twenty and a little on the chunky side, but the chunks were in the right places.

Rosita came in smiling. She was dressed in blue jeans, boots and blouse, and she carried a small traveling case. On her head was a cocky white Panama hat. She sure looked cute. Chase came in and it was sure great to see him again. We shook hands and exchanged back slaps. It was a happy reunion.

Ricky said, “Neither of the girls have been to the Rio Coco. This journey will take them farther from home than they have ever been.” It was about two hundred miles to Talpaneca as nearly as I could figure.

Chuck, Jock and Chase rode up front in the cab. Ricky, his number two wife, Rosita and I, all settled ourselves comfortably in the rear. Chuck pulled to the street and we began a trip that, as I reminisce, seems one of the most eventful and stirring experiences of my whole life.

The Palace rolled smoothly along the road and I guess all of us were caught up with exuberance like that when starting a jolly picnic.

Ricky opened a bottle of Flor de Caña and mixed some drinks. “Today is my birthday,” he said. “We shall drink to me on my birthday.”

It seemed odd not to be able to talk to a girl. When I tried to say something to Rosita in English, she would shake her head and smile, then say something to me in Spanish. We didn’t seem to be getting anywhere in this conversation. But after about the second bottle of Flor de Caña, we discovered that universal language we could both understand — not so noisy, but something more in common.

After a couple of hours of travel, the Palace came to a halt. Rosita and I had been practicing this newly discovered language on my bunk above the cab. Ricky and his number two wife were cozily settled on another bunk, and both sound asleep.

I could hear some lively talking. Jock was arguing with someone in Spanish.

Finally he came back to the open window beside me and said, “We cannot go through until this evening. They are oiling the road just ahead of us and won’t let us through till they are finished.”

“Fine,” I told him. “Pull off to the side of the road and we will take a siesta.”

That evening we started on again. The last fifty or sixty miles of the road were crooked and rough. We had to climb high mountains, and in places the road was so steep and narrow we had a hard time trying to stay on it. We didn’t dare sleep. If we got dumped out we’d better be on the alert to save ourselves.

After a harrowing night, we arrived in Talpaneca about three o’clock in the morning. Chuck parked the Palace beside the big tractor which Ricky had directed him to. This was close to the center of the town and across from the hotel.

Talpaneca is about the size of Quilalí with a population of around two thousand people, one hundred thousand chickens, two thousand jackasses, five thousand dogs and hordes of pigs. The diesel power plant was silent, of course. There were two churches, a factory that produced firecrackers and other glittering displays. Every town of any size in Nicaragua has a factory of this kind.

“There is very little in this country for amusement.” Jock told me. “No television, and very few picture shows and no automobiles. The people like excitement — lots of noise. When they can find a red-letter day on the calendar, whether it’s Christmas, New Years or Mothers’ Day, they open up with the fireworks. This helps keep revolutions down.”

“Why should it?” I asked.

“Shooting of firecrackers and other fireworks seems to satisfy this urge for excitement that the people have,” he said solemnly.

All of us got out of the Palace and stretched our legs. Chuck was very tired as it had been a long hard drive. He said, “I’m for getting some sleep. How about the rest of you?”

We all agreed this was a fine idea, so we began preparing for it. Jock and Chase brought blankets and unrolled them beneath the truck of the Palace. If it rained, they would be protected. The rest of us went back inside the comfortable vehicle. Soon, Rosita and I were on the upper bunk, Ricky and his number two wife had curled up on one of the lowers and Chuck was alone on the other one.

Rosita’s head lay on my shoulder. She ran her soft fingers through my hair and I reached up and patted her hand, thinking how wonderful it was here, how peaceful and quiet. There wasn’t a sound.

Then Chuck snored! The first one he cut loose with was a masterpiece. It was a new variety I had never heard before. Rosita grabbed me around the neck, cuddled close, trembling. Ricky sat up, turned on the light above his bunk.

“This is my birthday!” he shouted joyfully. I knew he must be coming out of a deep sleep. His number two wife sat up startled.

Chuck was only getting started. He broke loose with the one that sounds like a hog with his nose in a bucket of mud. There was some gurgling sounds, then the smacking of his lips as if he were eating — and at the end, a whistle.

The four of us sat up and watched him. I had heard Chuck at his best many times before, but never bothered to turn on the lights to look at him.

It was something worth seeing. He slept with his eyes wide open and would open his mouth, inhale, hold his breath for several seconds then start turning the sound loose. It was horrific.

From outside the Palace came a high-pitched growl. Every time Chuck made a series of sound effects, the dog growled louder.

Ricky, now awake from the vibrations resonating throughout the camper got up and stood over Chuck, but he hadn’t heard anything yet.. Chuck cut loose with yet a new combination of healthy vibrations.

Ricky looked worried. “Let’s turn him on his side,” he said. “Maybe he’ll quit then.”

I didn’t think it would do any good, but I was willing to try. We put our arms under him, took hold and gave a big heave. He was in the middle of one of his favorite gurgles when we flopped him over. I guess we should have waited until it came out.

He cut loose with some of the most horrifying noises I’ve ever heard this side of the sound barrier. It was too much for the little dog outside. With a yip of terror poor little mutt raced down the main street of Talpaneca. He must have been really scared for he took off as if the devil himself were after him.

That dog spread the alarm throughout the local canine world. In a matter of seconds it seemed as if every dog in the town was barking. The roosters here don’t wait for daylight to crow, they crow whenever the occasion demands and crow they did now! The jackasses started to bray. The bell ringers in the churches evidently sleep in the belfry for the church bells began to ring. The guy that operates the city power must have started up the diesel engines, because every house in town suddenly lit up. All hell had broken loose!

Soon the fireworks started and Roman candles were shooting high in the air. Everyone must have had a good supply of firecrackers on hand. They were exploding by the thousands. Just a few minutes before everything had been so serene, and now the racket was terrific. We could hardly hear Chuck snore. He didn’t know as he lay there that he had started a celebration that would last for two days.

Trying to sleep now would be impossible so leaving the still “dead-to-the-world” Chuck, the rest of us went over to the hotel.

The woman who operated the place stood smiling as we came in. She asked if we would like her to cook us some food. Chase and Jock shook their heads, bought an armful of fireworks and joined the celebration outside. The girls were hungry, as were Ricky and I. So Ricky ordered breakfast.

The old woman kicked a couple of pigs out of the kitchen and started to fix a meal.

First, she brought us a big pot full of steaming coffee. It was strong but very good. Then she came in with two large plates containing beefsteak and eggs, and a big plate of corn tortillas. By the two plates she placed a knife, fork and spoon.

I looked blankly at Ricky and asked, “Didn’t you order for the four of us?”

“Sure,” he grinned. “I see you are not familiar with our customs.”

I didn’t want my ignorance to be too obvious so I sat down before one plate when Ricky sat down before the other.

The girls came over, took the chairs beside us, started carving the meat and feeding us — poking our mouths full of food. I felt like a fool at first, but as I watched Ricky leaning back in his chair enjoying himself, I got into the spirit of the thing. “These girls know how to treat a man all right,” I told myself. “If brother Bill could only see me now!” The girls were eating in between stuffing us — using the same utensils. Not exactly sanitary, I thought. But why quibble?

After the meal we bought an armload of firecrackers and joined the celebration. I felt like an overgrown kid. It had been a long time since I had played with firecrackers but I hadn’t forgotten how.

We were throwing them a bundle at a time, tossing them into the crowd and under one another’s feet. Everybody was shouting and laughing. We were having one hell of a time.

The celebration went on until daylight. A steer was killed and there would be a barbecue this afternoon. After a while we got tired of throwing firecrackers, found Jock and Chase and started walking up the hill to the Palace. We wondered how the innocent instigator of this celebration was doing.

There was a crowd of people gathered around the Palace. Apparently they had never experienced anything like this before, nor heard sounds like those coming out through any kind of walls. Chuck had slept through the whole celebration! I unlocked the back of the Palace, pulled down the ladder and went in carrying a bundle of firecrackers. I lit them and tossed them under the bunk.

The bundle was about half exploded when Chuck was up with a roar.

“Indians!” he yelled. He must have been dreaming of Indians.

We finally had him awake and the crackling and smoking was still going on.

“What the hell happened?” he asked, looking scared.

When we told him how he had created an advance buildup for a celebration, he grinned and said, “Well, the manly act of snoring has finally paid off. For years people have been giving me hell for it, but now we are among people where this talent is appreciated.”

He was quite the hero. The natives outside wanted to look inside the Palace so we organized a line to go through it and the examination took hours. This turned out to be part of the celebration. It was a real show to them.

Ricky explained to us later that the tractor had been brought up to clear away some big landslides caused by the rain which had blocked the roads. Now the dirt was cleared away and they no longer needed the machine. The tank was part full of diesel fuel. Chuck started the engine and listened carefully to it.

“It sounds good,” he said. “Guess it’s okay.”

I told him to take the tractor down to the river and give it a real workout to find out what condition it was in.

“I’ll sure give it hell,” he assured me.

He pulled down to the river with it, dropped the huge blade into a gravel bar and opened the throttle. The monster had plenty of power. It didn’t take long until he had a trench dug so deep we could barely see the top of his head.

He pulled the tractor out to level ground and said, “Well, she’s all right — at least in the low gears.”

He looked up the river. Here the Rio Coco is very wide and shallow with countless sand and gravel bars. Down in the pit Chuck had just dug were some of the natives already beginning to pan gold.

“Would anyone like to go for a ride?” he asked now.

Jock and Chase jumped on the tractor. In Spanish Jock called, “Anybody else?”

About half the town had followed us down to the river and all of them wanted a ride. About a dozen of them climbed on the big blade and some on the hood. Chuck had really started something again.

Jock and Chase began giving orders in Spanish to keep the crowd pushed back. They loaded the thing to it’s capacity, then Chuck took off up the middle of the Coco in high gear. He circled the gravel bars, keeping the engine about half under water. The passengers hollered and screamed. Many natives ran along the bank trying to keep up with the machine. Chuck was having fun. He took his passengers about half a mile up the river, and then back. Jock and Chase had a new load for him each time around. For hours and hours this went on and Chuck was the hero.

In front of the hotel in Talpaneca there is a water hydrant. It looked like nothing to me but a pipe sticking up with a valve on top.

Ricky said, “If you would like to fill your water tanks in the camper, this is a good place. This is pure water just like in the United States. Back about 1929 the Marines were stationed here to capture the notorious bandit Sandino. He had been causing much trouble. The water made so many Marines sick with the fever they had to find some pure water. So they dug on the side of a mountain and made a reservoir to catch the water from a big spring. They boxed it in tight with concrete so no bugs or insects could get into it. The water was then piped down into town.”

Good! We wouldn’t need to boil this pure North American style water. In town there was a soda pop factory that made a sort of cola from this water by adding the juice of several different fruits and berries. I don’t believe the content of any two bottles was exactly alike. The stuff was a pinkish color and smelled something like bananas. It wasn’t carbonated but it was sweet and tasty and the natives enjoyed it. The caps on the bottles were from Pepsi-Cola and Coca-Cola bottles, but at least the town had a pop factory.

That afternoon the big barbecue was held. The local Judge made a speech, a band played and everybody had a wonderful time. Tomorrow there would be a parade, and preparations for this big event were already under way. The main street of Talpaneca was being decorated. A string or rope had been stretched across it every few feet and hanging every few feet, from each rope were bright, multicolored streamers. It was a sight to behold. The women must have ripped up every old dress, blouse and petticoat to make such a startling display.

In the evening there was a dance. The power plant kept going until one o’clock the next morning. There were a couple of power failures but somehow the plant was started again.

When the dance was over, and our group gathered, Jock said, “Señor Joe, Chase and I will stay at the hotel tonight. The Judge has invited Chuck to stay with him at his house.”

I laughed and slapped Jock on the back. It was marvelous how he thought of everything.

 

Chapter Thirty-Three — Keeping A Promise

Two days later we were back in Managua. We stopped at the cantina by the brewery. Just as we were seated and had ordered our cold beer, little Tiny came skipping out and jumped up on Rosita’s lap, giving her a big hug. Rosita kissed her happily. It was probably the first time they had ever been parted even for one night, and now Rosita had returned and everything was fine.

Ricky said, “Why don’t you make Rosita your number two wife? She is beautiful, little Tiny likes you very much, and it is time for little Tiny to have a father.”

I know my face got red. “Ricky,” I said, “I do not have a number one wife and I do not intend to get married — that is, not at the present time.”

Chase spoke up. “Señor Joe. What Ricky tells you is true. Rosita is a wonderful woman and she deserves a good husband and so does little Tiny. Don’t you think she should have a good father?”

These guys certainly had a way of putting on the pressure when it came to helping me.

“How many wives do you have, Chase?” I was trying to embarrass him a bit.

“None,” Chase said, “but I wish I had a nice wife and daughter like Rosita and Tiny!”

I decided then it was time for the party to break up. So I said, “I wish to thank all of you for a good time. We must go now. I have to phone my brother in the United States.”

I told Ricky I would ask Bill about the tractor, that we would probably make him some sort of a deal. Chuck, Jock and I would go on to town and spend the evening. We said goodnight, climbed in the truck and drove uptown.

As Chuck parked in the lot, I suggested, “Let’s walk up to Fermin’s and have a drink. I’ll buy a bottle of Flor de Caña.” They thought it was a swell idea.

It was getting along toward evening and what breeze there was had little coolness in it. Fermin seated us at a table on the sidewalk, brought out a bottle and some dainty little sandwiches. I invited him to sit down and join us. We told him about the celebration at Talpaneca and he seemed to enjoy the story and said he wished he could have been there.

We were the only customers at Fermin’s at that time and it was relaxing to be enjoying a few drinks with men I called friends. Women are wonderful of course, yet there are times when men like to be together and forget all about women.

We sat there a long time talking about mining, politics, the weather — things in general.

We were just about ready for our third bottle when someone paused by our table. We looked up and saw the girl smiling at Chuck. She was really a cute one. Chuck blushed and jumped to his feet. “Fellows,” he said, “meet Argentina.” We stood up. Argentina smiled again and said in broken English, “You are friends of Chuck?”

We nodded.

“Chuck is very handsome, no?” We nodded again. Now, she had an arm around his neck.

Fermin brought another table and seated Chuck and Argentina and Chuck ordered a Flor de Caña and sandwiches.

Argentina was really attractive. She was tall and slender with plenty of curves, and she had big dark brown eyes and long dark eyelashes, and that beautiful “sun tan” complexion seen so often in this country. Her hair was blue-black and wound in a knot on top of her head. She wore a comb in her hair that looked like real diamonds. The old goat Chuck was sure getting around.

An hour later we had a lively party going. Fermin, Jock, and I were getting real buddy-buddy. Chuck was in excellent voice; his singing carried all over the place. He was bragging to Argentina, making himself out quite a fellow, and saying, “There was a big fight. The man came at me with a knife. He almost got me!” He displayed the scar where the old Señora of El Fuerte had wounded him. Then he doubled up his fist shaking it under Argentina’s nose. “I hit him and how!” Then came his dramatic moment. He reached down and pulled out his watch-fob. There were the teeth of Cortez grinning at us. His act was great, but a little spooky.

With one ear I was listening to him tell Argentina of our adventures in Mexico and with the other I was listening to Fermin who was getting a little “high.”

Fermin was saying, “I have lost most of my English speaking business to a place up the street. Tonight my place should be packed; but no, the fellow up the street has a beautiful Señorita who can speak both Spanish and English!” Fermin looked sad, “My girl here speaks both languages but she is very homely and does nothing to keep the people here.”

Chuck was saying, ” . . . so that afternoon we arrived at Veracruz. . . .” I sat up and listened, “. . . The water in the Gulf of Mexico was very muddy and there were many boats-fishing boats. . . .”

“If only I could get a beautiful Señorita who could speak both Spanish and English,” Fermin was saying, “then I would get back many of my customers. . . .”

Without thinking, I stood up. Something inside me was trying to put things together and suddenly I remembered what it was. “Juanita!” I had almost forgotten her. She had said, “I have prayed that you would come.” I had promised that someday soon I would get her out of that prison. I started pacing back and forth on the sidewalk, thinking of that day in Veracruz.

She had begged, “Take me with you, Joe. Take me to the United States.”

“I am not going to the United States. I am going to Nicaragua.”

“Then take me to Nicaragua.”

A beady sweat was breaking out on my forehead. I sat down in the nearest chair, my mind in a whirl and, could hear her saying, “My name is Murphy, I think. My father was a fisherman from the United States. . . .”

I had made a promise. This promise I must keep, or at least try to keep it.

“Fermin,” I said, “I know a girl. She lives in Mexico and her name is Juanita Murphy. Her father and I were great friends,” I lied. “He was a fisherman at Veracruz. Many years ago her mother passed away, leaving only Juanita and her father. Last year he was out on a fishing job, a bad storm came up and the boat was sunk and all were drowned except one fellow who managed to survive. He brought back word of the tragedy. I stopped at Veracruz on the way down this time and Juanita said she would like to come to Nicaragua. She now has a job working in a restaurant. Maybe if she had the promise of a good job here I might be able to persuade her to work for you. She is very beautiful, with blue eyes and golden hair and she’s a real lady. She speaks both Spanish and English.”

Before I was scarcely through talking, Fermin was saying, “We have a nice room for her to stay in and her meals will cost her nothing. I cannot pay her a big salary, but if she is an experienced waitress, she will make many tips.”

I ordered another bottle and started looking through my wallet praying that I had not lost that address. Yes, here it was — Dick Domonick, Passports, Visas, Mexico City . . .Phone. . . .

Jock had been listening to the whole thing; his eyes growing bigger and rounder. Apparently I had painted a vivid picture of Juanita.

“Can I do something to help” he asked, a little too eagerly.

“No, I must make a phone call and I’ll see you in the morning.” I went over to the hotel, ran up to my room and picked up the phone. “Give me Tropical Radio, please.”

As I lay back on the bed waiting for the connection, I thought to myself, Joe Parker, for once in your life you are doing something magnanimous. That beautiful girl will spend the rest of her life in that hole if you don’t get her out. Besides, I had made her a promise. Maybe I’d had one drink too many but I had started something and it meant too much to several people for me to back out now. Mexico had been kind to me and my companions. We had come through this country like a bunch of bandits trying to get Mexico’s gold at about half price. Mexico has her laws and we were not abiding by them. We were trying to cheat the government and the Mexican people. Yes, we had been the real bandits. My share of the profit on the one gold brick had been almost two thousand dollars. As I lay there thinking of Cortez and Pedro lying in the road I shivered. Had we killed? We had made a terrible mistake. The money really belongs to Mexico. Well, now I would start putting some of it back.

“Your party is on the line,” said the operator. “Go ahead please.”

“Hello, hello!” It was the familiar voice of Dick Domonick on the other end of the wire.

“Hello Dick, this is Joe Parker, remember? You got our visas for Central America. We were the men with the camper, the Sport King. Do you remember us?”

“Oh sure, I remember. How was your trip to Managua? I hope everything is all right.”

“Everything is okay,” I told him. “Now I have another job for you, so listen carefully, then tell me whether or not you can do it for me. In Veracruz there is a girl, her name is Juanita Murphy. She would like to come to Managua. I promised her I would send for her. She has no money and probably doesn’t have a birth certificate, but she needs a passport and visa to get here. I know this is a bit irregular but can you help me?”

There was silence for a minute. Then he said what I expected he would. “Señor Joe, for a price I can do anything, but it will cost much money.”

“I know. I didn’t expect to get the job done for nothing. But how much money?” The damn robber would charge me as much as he thought he could get by with — of this I was sure. Before he could answer, I said, “Listen, you bandit, I’m running low on cash, so take it easy.”

“I would have to make a trip to Veracruz. I would have many expenses for there are people I must pay. Maybe for five hundred American dollars I could get the job done.”

“Maybe, hell!” I said. “I have to know for sure!”

“For seven hundred I am certain it can be done.”

“Okay, you’ve made yourself a deal. Now listen. Tomorrow, you go to the Bank of America and pick up the cashier’s check made out to you. Five hundred of it will be yours when you put the girl on the airplane for Nicaragua. With the other two hundred you will buy her ticket and give her the change for food. When she arrives here, I will send you another two hundred. I am trusting you with seven hundred dollars, so I guess you can trust me for the other two.”

He laughed. “Señor Joe, the job is as good as done.”

“One last word,” I said. “If you let me down, I’m going to come up there and, (I did some quick thinking) kick your teeth out and wear them for a watch-fob.”

“Have no fear,” he laughed. “I will send Juanita Murphy, but now I must know where do I find her?”

“You will find her — she works — well darn it Dick, you will find her at the whorehouse — that big one with the high wall around it. There is a policeman at the gate.”

He chuckled, “You must like this girl very much, no?”

“Yes, Joe, she is a very fine little lady, so treat her as such. No fresh business now.”

I hung up and leaned back. For once in my life I was doing something real big for somebody and a feeling of satisfaction swept over me. And, I don’t think it was all caused by rum either.

I went to the bank the next morning and transferred seven hundred dollars to the Bank of America in Mexico City. When I found Chuck I told him what I had done and he grinned. “She’s a doll all right. Can’t say as I blame you.”

“And listen Chuck, listen carefully. When she comes to town she is coming as a lady. The story is to be that her father was a good friend of mine and was drowned at sea. She is a friend of the family. If word leaks out about where she comes from, it can start from only one person and that’s you.” I shook my fist under his nose, “One word, and I’ll be wearing your teeth for a watch-fob.”

Chapter Thirty-Four — The Earthquake

It started to rain. There had been a lot of rain during the past month; more than usual and now it was the 10th of October. Usually, the rains are pretty well over by this time. The whole year had been unusual as the rainy season had been late coming, but it was certainly making up for it now. It rained so hard that towns and villages were under water and part of the railroad to Corinto was washed away. Bridges were washed down stream, and it would be quite a while before we would be able to go to Santo Domingo. The machinery for digging gold had not yet been shipped, so there was only one thing to do. Wait. Wait for the equipment and wait for the roads to be repaired.

About a week had gone by and I hadn’t heard from Dick Domonick since I had sent him the money. Chuck, Jock and I were sitting in at Fermin’s having a beer; Fermin was continually asking me, “When is this beautiful Señorita going to arrive? We have a room all ready for her.”

“Any day now,” I told him, “most any day now.” I had begun to wonder myself. Maybe I had made a bad bargain. Seven hundred dollars. Twelve and a half to one makes a lot of pesos, but I really hadn’t given up hope. Not yet I hadn’t.

“Señor Joe,” said Jock, “tonight Pedro Max Romero and his band are playing at the Lido Club. There will be a big dance and Connie will be there. Have you forgotten Connie?”

I shook my head, “No, Jock, I sure haven’t forgotten her. The trouble with Connie, she believes in this hocus-pocus stuff; she reads the stars. She told me that someday she and I will be married and we will have one blue-eyed baby girl. She has quite a fancy line of talk.”

Jock looked hurt. “Do you not believe in the stars? If it is written in the stars it is true. The stars do not lie.”

I let it go at that. If belief in stars made him happy, why worry him with my disbelief?

That night Jock and I went to the dance held in a big hall. Tables were placed around the edge of the room and in the center was the dance floor. We found a table, ordered a bottle of Flor de Caña, some Coke and ice.

While Jock was mixing the drinks he said, “The band has been out of town on another tour and this is their first night back in Managua.”

We sat and listened to the music. Pedro Max Romero was a great singer. When he sang, the crowd cheered loudly, but when Connie, looking gorgeous in a pink frilly low-cut gown, wiggled those curves of hers, I thought they would tear the place down.

“She is very beautiful, Señor Joe,” Jock said. “She would make you a wonderful wife.”

All of my friends seemed to be trying to get me married. I only shrugged. Just then Connie came to our table and sat down. Jock mixed her a drink and lit her cigarette.

“I am glad you came,” she said to me. “I would have been very disappointed if you hadn’t.”

I felt more than a little flattered and managed to squeeze her hand under the table.

We were spending a very enjoyable evening and about twelve o’clock Connie said, “The next number will be ‘Sabor a Mí,’ Would you like to dance it with me, Joe?”

“Sure, Connie, I’d love to.”

When the number started, we got up and I put an arm around her and we began dancing.

Connie laid her head on my shoulder and hummed, “Sabor a Mí,” — ‘taste me.’

We danced into a dimly lighted corner of the hall and halted. Connie looked up and said, “Taste me, kiss me, Joe.”

I held her close, tilted back her head and kissed her long and hard. She was indeed lovely.

Just as this thought crossed my mind, the moment was abruptly interrupted by a violent trembling of the floor beneath us. It took only a moment to register what was happening.

An earthquake!

As the earth continued to move, the overhead lights swayed widely back and forth.

The band stopped playing, then started up again. Playing faster, Pedro grabbed the mike just before it fell. He shouted into it, “Too much Flor de Caña.”

The dancers scrambled to their tables to get their bottles of rum that could crash on the floor. Other voices joined in with shouting, “Too much Flor de Caña! Too much Flor de Caña!”

Then, there came an extra big heave of the building and louder yells and cheers went up.

I was amazed. These crazy people! They were turning a dangerous earthquake into a happy event! The tremor lasted for about two minutes, but it was the longest two minutes I could ever remember.

Then when the floor stopped moving, Connie looked up at me. “I knew the earth would move if you kissed me,” she giggled.

I kissed her nervously.

Jock had saved our bottle and he poured us drinks. I sure needed it.

Connie took a piece of paper and a pencil from her purse.

“I will be staying with Mama Morales,” she said, writing down the address. “When will I see you again?”

I told her I would be busy for a few days but I promised to see her soon. The dance would last another hour but I was tired, so I excused myself, jumped into a cab and rode back to the hotel.

As I opened the door of my room I saw a yellow envelope on the floor.

I tore it open and read the cablegram. “Package will arrive on plane at four p. m., tomorrow. Best regards, Dick.”

Chapter Thirty-Five — A Lady Comes To Town

The following afternoon Chuck, Jock and I were in the airport station. The rain had stopped and the bright sunshine was a welcome change.

“Sure is hot,” Chuck said. “Wish I could take off this damned necktie.”

“You’ll wear that tie,” I said, “or I’ll choke you with it.”

I studied Jock a moment. He too looked very neat and without a tie he wouldn’t. I ran my fingers around my own collar thinking of what a great relief it was going to be when I took the damned thing off. But this was a special occasion for a very special lady who was coming to town, and we mustn’t look like a trio of hobos.

Four o’clock had come and gone and the flight was late. I’ve often wondered what would happen if a plane arrived or departed on time in this country. If so, probably no one except the crew would be on it. Why they bother to set a time schedule I can’t imagine.

Around four thirty we heard the thunderous approach of the plane’s engines. I said to Chuck and Jock, “You fellows wait here in the lobby and I’ll bring her in and introduce you.”

There were some things I had to tell Juanita before she met anyone. I must tell her who she is supposed to be, her complete role in the play acting she was about to begin. Nobody must learn about her past.

The aircraft came gliding into a perfect landing. In a minute or so she would come walking down the ramp. The other people waiting with me all looked expectant. One or more persons very special to each was surely expected on that plane.

The plane glided in and landed smoothly. The engines were cut, the big ladder was put down and the passengers began coming down the ramp, waving greetings. The line of passengers was dwindling and I was a little worried. Had Juanita missed that plane? Had something gone wrong? Finally she stood at the top of the stairway with a small traveling case in each hand glancing from face to face as though a little scared.

“Juanita, Juanita!” I cried quickly. I held out my arms and she dropped her bags and ran to me like a frightened child. I caught her and held her tight a long moment. She was sobbing, and even my own eyes developed quite a stinging sensation.

Chapter Thirty-Six — Election Time

Since the arrival of Juanita in Fermin’s cafe, his former customers were coming back. There were even some new ones who suddenly found his place a pleasant one for dining and drinking. One of the new ones was a fellow by name of Slade, a newspaper man from the States. I didn’t like him from the first minute we met. He was a huge man. His hairy arms and the bunch of hair sticking from the front of his shirt made me think of a gorilla. His boastful mouth was what I disliked most.

One day at Fermin’s, Slade said, “I’ve been here in Central America many times and in the past seventeen years I’ve covered fifteen revolutions. Just finished the one in El Salvador and it didn’t amount to a damn. The army gathered up the President and his bunch, put them on a plane and shipped them out of the country — never fired a shot.”

He shrugged and went on. “It’s pretty hard to write anything interesting about a revolution like that, but there will be more of them. There always are in a country like this and this country is about due for a swell one. I can feel it in the air.”

“You act like you wish a revolution would soon start here,” I said.

“Sure, I can’t make a living just writing about the weather.”

The days went by and when I called brother Bill he told me that the mining equipment had been shipped and should arrive in about three weeks. The road to Santo Domingo was being repaired and it would take about three weeks for one of the bridges to be rebuilt, so there was nothing for us to do but wait.

Every day I went to Fermin’s. Juanita always had a welcome kiss for me. She was a lovely girl.

Finally Fermin said, “Business is good, but I am very worried.”

“What about, Fermin?”

“When you go to Santo Domingo you will want to take Juanita with you.”

“Have no fear, Fermin,” I laughed. “I’m not taking any women to Santo Domingo.”

I often went out to the brewery to visit with Rosita and little Tiny — that little girl who had really captured my heart. I taught Rosita as much English as I could and she was learning fast She was also attending a night school where she was being taught English. Chase usually went along to act as my interpreter.

Diriamba, a town several miles from Managua, was the home of Mama Morales. Jock and I had driven out there in the Palace a couple of times to see Connie. Mama Morales operated a little restaurant and beer parlor. There was a high board fence around her house and a gate opening into an open air patio that had a roof over part of it to provide shelter for her customers when it was raining. There was also a juke box and a small dance floor.

Each time Jock and I had been to the restaurant we had left early. After all, we had Chuck’s bed in the Palace with us, We couldn’t leave poor old Chuck out in the street. Connie would always pouted a bit. “Always you go home early, and make me suspicious,” she would say. “I think you have a sweetheart in Managua.”

“Two of them,” I would reply.

One evening when she walked out with us as far as the Palace, she asked, “When are you going to take me for a ride?”

It was true, I had been neglecting this beautiful gal, so I said, “How would you like to take a drive to the ocean? Just you and me.”

“That would be wonderful. When shall we go?” she asked.

“I’ll let you know later,” I told her. “Chuck can stay in my room at the hotel, and you and I will take trip alone to the ocean.”

The days rolled by. At last came a Tuesday when it was election day in the United States. Everywhere we went people were talking politics. Large pictures of John F. Kennedy and Richard M. Nixon were on the front pages of the newspapers.

I said to Chuck, “It seems funny that people here know more about what goes on in the States than many of our own citizens, and I’ll bet there isn’t one person in twenty back home who can spell Nicaragua.”

He laughed and said, “Don’t ask me to either.”

We went up to Fermin’s. The political talk was in full swing here too and John Kennedy for President was the favorite.

Fermin asked, “Who are you guys voting for?”

“I’m a Kennedy man myself,” I told him. “How about you, Chuck?”

“Me too,” said Chuck. “We won’t get to vote this year because we are down here, but if I were in the States I would sure vote for Kennedy.”

Fermin scowled. “You mean you are not casting an absentee ballot?”

“No, Fermin. We forgot about it, I guess.” I said sheepishly.

Fermin lit in on us for that. I felt my face getting hot and I was really ashamed. Never again would I let my country down, I promised myself. The people here do not have a chance to vote. We men had our chance and we neglected it as though it wasn’t of much importance. Fermin would never be able to understand this.

Fermin had a powerful short wave radio in his cafe, so on election night we sat there listening to the election returns from Miami, Florida. The reports were exciting because of the popularity of each candidate about to be elected to the highest office in the USA. We could see that the final reports wouldn’t be in by Fermin’s closing time, and I was tired so I went to the hotel and to bed.

The next morning I bought a copy of the local Spanish newspaper and covering the whole front page was a picture of John F. Kennedy. Across the top of the page were just two words in English — “Jack Wins!”

I went into the dining room and ordered breakfast wishing I could read Spanish because I wanted to read about the election. I would ask Jock to read it to me. I hadn’t paid much attention to their local paper before, but this time I opened it up and started looking through it. There was a comic page and the funnies were good. I burst out laughing. There was Dagwood and Blondie talking to each other in Spanish, a Spanish Mutt and Jeff, and even Donald Duck quacking away in Spanish. There was also Ripley’s “Believe It or Not,” and a crossword puzzle just like those in our newspapers at home.

After breakfast I walked up to Fermin’s and found all sorts of people gathered there talking about the election. The outcome was popular with most everyone. President Roosevelt-a Democrat had done much for their country. The people believed that President Kennedy being a Democrat and a Catholic might be able to do even better.

This country has much to offer; gold, silver, lots of timber, a long coast line and good fishing, and all kinds of tropical fruits. If this were one of our own states it would be the richest in the union. The “Commies” had moved into Cuba and were trying to get in here. Soon the United States would be surrounded by Communist countries. Yes, we had better do something — the quicker the better.

Chapter Thirty-Seven — Connie Deals

A couple of weeks went by and it wouldn’t be long now until the equipment would be in. So I said to Chuck, “How about letting me borrow the Palace for a few days? I’ll trade you my room at the hotel for it.”

“Where you going?” He grinned knowing what I was up to

“I don’t know, but I’m on my way. Connie and I may visit the beach to start with; from there we may go anywhere, but I’ll be back in a few days. If anyone asks you where I am, tell’em I’m checking on the road to Santo Domingo.”

“Has your foot been bothering you lately?”

“Yes,” I said. “It hurts like hell.”

“Then you’d better be careful,” warned Chuck.

The Palace was shinning inside and out. Argentina had been a good housekeeper. I drove out to Mama Morales’, parked the truck, opened the gate and stepped inside the restaurant. There sat Mama Morales and Connie.

“Okay, Connie. Are you ready to go for that ride?”

“I had begun to think you were not coming, but Mama Morales told me that you would come, so I am ready.”

This Mama Morales was a witch all rightm but she was a very pleasant one and smiled as she helped Connie gather up a few of her personal belongings.

When we were leaving, Mama Morales walked out to the Palace. She and Connie embraced and kissed each other good-bye. I kissed Mama Morales on the cheek and she gave me a sly smile. “Take good care of my little Connie.”

“Sure,” I promised. “The very best.”

Connie and I climbed into the cab. I started the motor, put it in gear then glanced over at Connie. Her dark eyes were sparkling. She was very beautiful. Everything seemed right. Hell, I should have taken her for an outing a long time ago.

It was about noon when we left the city and started to climb the mountain range between Managua and the ocean. At last we were on top of the divide looking down on the blue Pacific ocean. What a gorgeous sight. We stopped and took some pictures.

As we drove down the other side of the divide, we came to a fork in the road; at the right was Leon and Port of Corinto; straight ahead was the ocean and a beach. There was no town, just a beach, so we headed for it. We could be alone there — maybe.

The tide was out and there was a long stretch of white sand. We could see only one building — if you could call it a building. It was a large open air affair with a grass roof and several tables and benches scattered about its’ yard which also contained a few hammocks. There was a well and a big wooden bucket with a rope tied to it and a windlass above — evidently the shower.

Today was Friday. This beautiful beach only an hour’s drive from a big city and only a half dozen cars here! If this ideal spot were in the States, there wouldn’t be standing room on the sand.

Connie and I changed into our bathing suits and went swimming. The water was warm as milk from a cow; quite different from the cold ocean water that I had been in many times. We swam, dug holes in the sand and lay stretched out on the beach. My skin was turning pink, but the bright sun and the water had no effect on Connie’s. She had been born with a beautiful tan and her skin was conditioned to it.

We were thirsty, and I suggested we enjoy a cold bottle of beer from the well-stocked refrigerator in the Palace; but a shower first. We hired a man to bail up buckets of water from the well. And as we bent over with our heads nearly touching the ground, he drenched us with bucket after and bucket of fresh, cool water. He charged us one cordoba for each bucketful. But it got all the salt water off our bodies and we felt rejuvenated.

After dressing, I brought a couple of cold beers from the Palace. We lay back in a couple of hammocks and relaxed. The day was almost gone and soon the sun would disappear. The few people who had been here had left, and we were alone. As the sun sank lower it seemed to turn into a ball of fire and it looked huge. As it slowly disappeared, it cast long rays of gold into the clouds — a lovely sight.

A cool breeze floated in over the water and Connie shivered. “Are you getting cold, Connie?”

“A little bit,” she said.

“Let’s go up to the Palace. We can turn on the stove to take off the chill.”

As I took her hand strange thoughts began racing through my mind. Here I was alone with this beautiful girl and what did she expect of me-what should I do-should I take her back to Managua? She had packed a traveling case!

I could hear brother Bill again saying, “Life is a game, Joe, like a game of cards, when you learn to play the game of life like a game of cards you will find happiness…”

Was Connie playing a game?

Then I remember repeating to Bill, “Life is a game like a game of poker and from now I will do the dealing!” But somehow I had lost the deal. Strange cards were being dealt me and I could only play them as they fell.

I unlocked the back of the Palace, pulled down the little stair steps and we went inside. I turned on the lights, lit the burner on the stove. What now? I would wait for another card. Connie was the dealer. I sat down on Chuck’s bunk and waited while Connie went to the refrigerator, surveyed the contents and opened two bottles of beer, then handed one to me.

“You are probably hungry, she said. “There are some eggs in the rack. Can I fix you an egg sandwich?

I nodded. “The frying pans are in the bottom drawer of the stove.”

In a few minutes she had the sandwiches ready and they were darn good too. She had used a bit of onion and pepper sauce. I didn’t know that an egg sandwich could be that tasty.

After we finished eating, I said, “Connie, the sandwiches were delicious. I know you can sing, but I didn’t know you could cook.”

She smiled sweetly. “I have many talents. I can also sew. I make all my own clothes. Mama Morales has taught me many things.”

Her traveling case was on the other bunk. She got up, set it on the table and opened it. I got up and stood beside her. She lifted out a garment of shimmering gold; pure silk hand embroidered, and hand stitched with dainty ruffles around the arms and neck. But what was it? She held it in front of her. It was — yes, a beautiful nightgown! I didn’t know what to say.

She smiled again. “Do you like it?”

I nodded. She laid it on the table, stepped close to me and put her arms around my neck.

“Many years ago when I was fifteen — I’m twenty-two now — Mama Morales helped me make this gown and I have kept it all this time without wearing it. I have saved it for you.”

She looked up at me with those adorable dark eyes, “And,” she whispered, “I have also saved myself just for you.”

She picked up the beautiful gown and turned her back to me, “Unhook me, Joe. Tonight, I shall wear it just for you. . . .”

Chapter Thirty-Eight — Another Election

For three days Connie and I wandered up and down the coast like a couple of gypsies. We went to Port of Corinto and inquired about the machinery, and found it had not arrived. On Sunday we went to Leon, one of the oldest towns in Central America and one of the most attractive. The church we attended covered most of a city block, and was built of heavy adobe walls several feet thick and stained dark with age. There were no cracks in any of the walls. The roof was tile, also dark with age. On the top of the building was a steeple holding twenty or thirty bells, and above that, a golden statue of Jesus Christ. Over the main entrance door were the numerals 1561. A church four hundred years old! Four hundred years ago the people in this community must have been much better off financially than they were now.

On the evening of the third day we arrived back at Mama Morales’ feeling like children returning from a picnic. Mama cooked a big dinner and I brought in a bottle of Flor de Caña. We had a delightful feast. Customers who were dining, drinking, and dancing to the music from the juke box added a glad note. The most popular records were those of Nat King Cole, sung in Spanish.

The evening was warm and after dinner I was sitting alone at a table on the outside patio. I looked up at the sky. There wasn’t a cloud nor a star in sight and no moon. It was very dark. Mama Morales was busy with her patrons and Connie was waiting on tables.

Finally I managed to say to her, “I have to go now, Connie. Chuck and Jock will be worried about me.”

“Don’t leave just yet,” she begged. “Mama Morales will join you soon. Please wait for her.”

She sat down at the table and poured a drink for me.

“Stay for just a little while, Joe.” She seemed nervous.

I sat there for about an hour and the bottle was about empty, but I wasn’t. At last, Mama Morales, appeared on the patio looking very serious. Ignoring me, she motioned for Connie to follow her. They halted by a doorway and began whispering. After a minute of this, Mama hurried to a couple of tables and said something to the people there which made them leave quickly. I stood up wondering what was happening.

“Good night Connie, I’m going now,” I told her.

She rushed breathlessly up to me. “No, Joe, you would be in danger! I can’t let you get hurt! Mama Morales has just told me! Tonight there will be a revolution!”

“What’s she been doing, reading the stars again?” I laughed. “There isn’t going to be any revolution Connie. I’m going back to town, so goodnight.”

“No, you will not! You will come with me to my room. We will both be much safer there.”

She clutched my arm.

“Now, listen here, Connie. I would love to spend one more night with you, but it’s impossible.” I started to pull away.

“No, no! You must not go! Please — please!”

She threw her arms around my neck and began sobbing. There came an explosion — a big one. It sounded like a mine blast. This was followed by many popping noises. “See!” cried Connie, “It has already started!”

“Aw, hell,” I said, “those are firecrackers. They’re only celebrating.”

Then there was a different sound — a “rat-a-tat-tat” not far away that did sound like machine guns. Now we were standing a few feet from the table when a hail of bullets came pouring through the fence, shattered the bottle of Flor de Caña on the table, and then buried themselves in the opposite wall.

I threw Connie to the floor and fell on top of her. There came another explosion, then all the house and street lights went out.

“Are you all right, Connie?” I whispered.

“Yes,” she whispered back. “Are you?”

“I’m okay.”

She took hold of my hand. “Come with me,” she said quickly.

We crawled across the patio and on back to the dwelling quarters. She reached up and opened a door, and we crawled across a room. “The adobe wall is very thick in here,” she told me. “It is much safer.”

It seemed as though we were under something. I reached up and felt boards.

“What’s over us,” I asked.

“My bed,” she whispered back.

It was like all hell was breaking loose outside the building. Sirens screamed and people yelled. It reminded me of the night at Talpaneca, only these were not firecrackers. Half a block away, a shell hit the church steeple and bells made weird harmony as they came tumbling down over the roof to crash on the ground.

I had never been so scared and Connie was trembling violently. Slade, the newspaper man, wanted something to write about, so here it is, I thought.

The shooting seemed to be getting farther away and we began to breath a little easier. Then suddenly it was getting closer — too darn close. There was a terrific explosion just over our heads. It must have been from a mortar shell or hand grenade. It landed on the roof and the heavy red tile was blown skyward, then all the same tile came crashing down on us. Tons of it!

Connie screamed. Something hit me on the head and I thought I saw stars, moons and rockets, and then I passed out.

How long I was unconscious I don’t know, but it must have been quite a while. The first thing I heard was Connie’s sobbing.

“Joe, talk to me, Joe!” She was shaking me, “Please talk to me!”

She started to pray. I was coming out of it fast and things began to make sense.

“Are you all right, Connie?”

“Oh yes, Joe, I’m all right, but you have been hurt.”

I raised a hand to my head and felt a big lump. My hand came away sticky.

“I’m all right, Connie. It’s just a big bump on my head.”

She continued to sob hysterically. “I thought you were dead! I thought you were dead!”

I shook her just enough to get her attention.

“Look here, Connie, if it’s written in the stars that you and I will be married and have one blue-eyed baby, you should know I’m not dying.”

She stopped crying, but there wasn’t anything to do except stay where we were. The shooting was coming closer again and it seemed the revolution was going full speed, giving the town everything it had in the way of weaponry.

Connie started to pray again, first in English then in Spanish. She kept repeating some names — names I had never heard.

“Who are you praying for?” I asked.

“My two cousins,” she whispered. “They are fighting for the revolutionists, and I was praying that their lives will be spared. They cannot win, but they will try. They are very brave.”

“How do you know they will not win?”

“The Army is too strong. They have many soldiers, big guns, tanks, airplanes. No, the revolutionists cannot win.”

“Do they know that they can’t win?”

“Yes, but they will try. They will go down in history as ones who tried.”

“Good Lord,” I thought, “people out there fighting and dying and knowing they can’t win. Just for history.” This I couldn’t understand.

“What are they fighting about?” I asked.

“For hundreds of years our people have been fighting — fighting for something better and they will continue to fight. That is the only way that they know how to try to better our country. They cannot vote, and this is the only way there can be a change of government.”

“A hell of a way to get voting privileges,” I thought.

“Who’s side are you on?”

“I am not a rebel,” she said simply.

I lay there trying to figure the thing out. Nothing made sense. Maybe it was the blow on my head.

Mercifully, mother nature played her hand. Rain began to pour down on us. It seemed as if the sky opened up and fell in on us.

I had seen rain in this country before, but nothing like this. It came down in torrents. Within a few minutes, water was running everywhere and we were darn near drowned. We started to pick our way out of the building, throwing aside broken roof tiles as we went. There was one thing for sure. If Connie and I hadn’t been under that bed, we would have been killed.

I could see a little better now for daylight was breaking through.

Finally we got out and Connie’s first thoughts were of Mama Morales, so we went to her room. She had crawled under her bed, but it had collapsed, pinning her beneath it. I worked frantically throwing the tiles aside and at last got her free. She was still alive, but one leg was horribly twisted.

Part of the house had escaped damage, so I carried her there and we made her as comfortable as possible. With the downpour of rain, the shooting had stopped. Thank God for that. Neighborhood women came in to help. One of them went to find a doctor. I couldn’t do any more for Mama Morales, so I said to Connie, “I’m worried about Chuck and Jock. I’m going to try to find them.”

The Palace had several bullet holes through it, but the engine ran. I started it up and headed for the city. I was stopped a few times — the Army was everywhere. I waved my little green passport at them and they let me through. I drove up to Fermin’s, parked and went in. The place was crowded. Chuck and Jock were there and so was Slade.

Slade was saying, “I’m disgusted. It looked like we had a good one going, then that damned rain. Hell, these people won’t fight in the rain — just like a ball game, they got rained out. They were doing damned good too. They blew up the bank, got several million cordobas, then took the fort at Diriamba. Then that rain made most of the rebels quit and go home.”

“The Army has sixteen or the revolutionist leaders cornered in a schoolhouse and they’re holding the kids as hostages,” he continued. “The rebels have offered to give up if the government will give them political asylum. I could have made some real money if they had kept going. Now what the hell am I going to write about, the rain?”

This guy was making my blood boil. I walked over to him. “You like to write about a fight don’t you, Slade? Write about this one!”

I hit him in the belly and he staggered backward. I walked up close and grabbed his shirt-front. “Come outside, Slade. I don’t want to mess up Fermin’s clean floor.”

He only stood there. I gave a pull and he still didn’t move, but his shirt did. I threw it on the floor. “Are you coming, Slade?” I reached out and grabbed his belt. “You coming?”

I was looking into the eyes of a coward. He was big, he was strong, he liked to write about a fight all right, but he was yellow to the core.

I pulled him close by his belt and slapped his face. He began to mumble and beg. I twisted his belt tight and pulled closer. He was naked from the waist up now. I grabbed a handful of hair just above the belt buckle and gave a yank. He groaned then. It was like picking a duck. I started with the hair at the navel and made a path clear to his Adam’s apple. He began to whimper as little drops of blood ran down his belly.

I let go of him. “Get out, Slade! You make me sick!”

He headed for the door. As he weaved away, he turned around and faced me. There was a look of hatred on his face. “I’ll get you for this! And, I’ll get you good!”

I laughed at him as he staggered off.

Chapter Thirty-Nine — Martial Law

Martial law was declared and no one could leave the city. A curfew was in effect — lights out at nine o’clock, everyone off the streets. Several days went by, but the rebels were still in the schoolhouse. The rain had stopped, the weather was hot and sultry. There were many whispers going around. The rebels would attack again because they had to free the men and children in the schoolhouse. The tension was terrifying, and we felt as if we were sitting on a powder keg. The local newspaper was putting out very little news as it was now government controlled and the government printed only the information it wanted to circulate.

We tuned into Miami, Florida, on Fermin’s short wave radio and listened. We were in the news all right. We had been making headline news. All hell had broken loose in Guatemala and a full scale revolution was going on there. The rebels had attacked in force. One of the big forts had been taken and the Army was winning. Planes were bombing the fort. Some of the rebels had been captured, and according to the announcer, some of them had been Cubans — Castro’s boys. The Guatemalans were claiming that the attack was inspired and headed by the “commies” from Cuba. An army from Cuba could be expected to land at any time. News? Confused news.

Uncle Sam sent down some real battle wagons and they were patrolling the coast. I reminded Chuck that our country doesn’t interfere in the troubles of these countries unless some other country tries to bother them and that’s when we step in. But we didn’t really know what was going on.

I telephoned Bill and asked him if he had heard about the fighting that had been going on down here.

“Are you kidding?” he said. “The papers are full of it.”

“Send me a few copies. The darn papers here tell us nothing. You know more about what’s going on here than we do.”

“Sure, I’ll mail you some papers.” Then he added, “Your equipment has arrived at Port Corinto according to a telegram I received from the steamship line.”

“Fine,” I said. “When things quiet down a bit, we’ll take it to Santo Domingo and start mining the gold.”