Oaxaca ~ Part V
Ben awoke at dawn, surprised he still had on his clothes. As he sat up he felt something under his left leg. It was the binder he’d been reading when he fell asleep. He put the binder back into a weathered satchel and placed the satchel under the bed. He showered and put on fresh clothing.
As he entered the hotel lobby Ben observed the old night clerk reading a newspaper, sitting on a high chair behind the front desk.
“Buenos dias,” said Ben to the night clerk.
Putting down his newspaper, “Buenos dias. How are you today?”
“You speak English?”
“I do.”
“What’s your name?”
“José.”
“Well José I’m in Room 208 and I’d like to pay for two more days.”
“One moment please.” José looked at the hotel register. “I can let you have the room tonight, but after that the hotel will be booked up for the next week.”
“What? How’s that possible?”
“It is Santa Semana. The week of la Pascua.” Seeing that Ben looked puzzled José added, “Easter.”
“Of course. I forgot about that. Where might I find a room?”
“That won’t be easy but I can make some calls. If you’d like to have breakfast, I’ll let you know when you return.”
“OK, let me pay for tonight.” Ben paid for his room and turning to leave he stopped and turned back.
“Si Señor?” said José
“What’s the best way to get to San Cristobal in Chiapas?”
“There’s really only one way,” said José. “The night bus.”
“Night bus?”.
“Every evening a bus leaves for Tuxtla and San Cristobal.”
“There’s no other way?”
“You could fly, but it’s expensive.”
“I don’t care to fly.”
“The bus is quite pleasant. You sleep through the night and wake up in Chiapas.”
“I wonder if the hotels in San Cristobal will be booked up?”
“My son manages a hotel in San Cristobal,” said José. “If you like, I can call him.”
“Could you call him now?”
“Bueno. Let me try.” José punched the keys on the desk phone. He looked back at Ben with a smile. “Hola Hijo,” said José into the phone. “Digame, tiene cuartas para la proxima semana? Si, para uno hombre.” Then looking at Ben, “He’s checking. “Si?” said José into the phone. “Si, bueno… no… te llamare luego. Gracias mijo.” José hung up the phone. “You’re in luck Señor Gentry. He still has three rooms available for the week. It’s a very nice hotel in Barrio El Cerrillo, a good location in San Cristobal.”
Ben paused for a moment then said, “Can you make the reservation for the week beginning tomorrow?”
“You mean the day after tomorrow.”
“Of course. I’ll leave here tomorrow night.”
“Very well, Señor.”
Ben arrived at the Café Mitla at 7AM. The sidewalk tables were mostly unoccupied. As he sat down, a waiter arrived at his table.
“Si Señor, qué te gustaría?”
“Un espresso doble por favor.” Ben said.
“Si Señor. ¿Algo mas?”
“Luego,” said Ben.
As the waiter walked back into the restaurant the sound of a diesel motor broke the morning silence. A large tanker truck rounded the corner onto the street in front of the Café Mitla, passing within a few feet of Ben. In big block letters the side of the truck read AGUA PARA USO HUMANO, “water for human use”. The truck moved slowly toward the end of the block where it stopped in front of the last cafe.
The waiter returned with Ben’s espresso.
“Gracias,” said Ben.
“Bueno,” said the waiter.
Ben was flush with the excitement of moving on to San Cristobal. This sudden move wasn’t what he’d planned though he liked the idea of having no set itineraries. He’d long before learned that the destination of a journey is often the jumping off point for an adventure.
As he sipped his coffee Ben observed the parked water truck down the street. The driver was busy hooking up the mouth of a large hose to a spigot at the bottom of the truck’s great tank. Another man appeared at the edge of the roof above the second story of the restaurant. The man on the roof threw a coiled rope to the ground while holding on to one end. The driver brought the long, heavy hose to where the rope was and tied the two together. Then the man on the roof hauled up the rope and the hose. When he had the hose in hand he disappeared from view pulling the far end of the hose with him. After a couple of minutes the man on the roof returned to the edge and gave the driver below a hand signal. The driver went back to the truck and pulled a lever. The diesel engine revved and the hose expanded, delivering the water to what Ben assumed was a holding tank on the building’s roof.
During the time Ben watched the water truck a dozen more patrons sat down at the tables around him. Street vendors were converging everywhere, peddling their arrays of items. The waiters shooed the peddlers away from café patrons.
A raspy singing voice could be heard in the distance. Looking down the street Ben saw the figure of an older man dressed in a faded, ill-fitting Gaucho costume. He wore cowboy boots with heels so worn down he teetered slightly to his rear. A little over five feet in height he carried himself like a much larger man, exhibiting a swaggering strut. Ben figured the entertainer had a six-note range with a jarring, off key delivery. As the troubadour approached, Ben looked down at his coffee trying to avoid eye contact. The singing stopped. Ben looked up to see the minstrel standing directly in front of him. The man held out a scratched up audiocassette with a hand printed label on it. The label read ‘Señor Oaxaca’. Broadcasting an odor of un-metabolized alcohol he said, “Compra mi música?”
“No gracias,” said Ben. He saw that Señor Oaxaca was wearing theatrical make-up and sticking out from under a much-distressed gaucho hat his hair was dyed dark purple.
“Cincuenta Pesos,” said Señor Oaxaca. Ben smiled, acting like he didn’t understand.
“Feefty Pesos, Señor.”
“No gracias,” replied Ben.
“Cuarenta?…. Fordy pesos?” said Señor Oaxaca. Ben shook his head. “Bueno, Veinte. Twenee pesos?”
“No lo quiero ,” said Ben. “I don’t want it.” Ben stopped smiling.
Señor Oaxaca stepped back. Assuming an air of dignity, he turned and continued on his way. He began to bellow out another song. A waiter appeared next to Ben.
“Tienes hambre? Quieres más café?” Said the waiter.
Ben looked around to see that the waiter was Luis Carrillo from the previous morning.
“Hello Luis,” said Ben.
“Hola, Señor Ben. Don’t mind him.”
“Who?”
“Señor Oaxaca,” said Luis. “He’s a fixture around here. A borracho, a town drunk. Some mornings he shows up without his boots or his hat, sometimes even without his guitar.”
“The poor bastard,” said Ben.
“I suppose,” said Luis. “Is the lady coming today?”
“What lady?”
“The lady from yesterday.”
“You mean Diane.”
“Si, Diane.”
“Actually I don’t know her.”
“She seemed like a nice lady.”
“I expect she is,” said Ben.
“Uh-oh,” said Luis, “my boss is giving me the eye. Con permiso.”
Luis hurried off as Ben sat quietly, observing the Plaza. It seemed more animated than the day before. The colors of the Jacaranda and Hibiscus blossoms appeared brighter, the sounds of the morning seemed somehow musical. An old campesino passed by leading a donkey that was pulling a cart, which was loaded with small wooden cages that contained live chickens. As the cart went by Ben realized the chickens were fighting cocks. His eyes followed the cart as it continued on its way.
“I wonder if I might share this table with you.” Ben heard the words and turned to see Diane Sloane standing behind him.
“Remember me?” Diane said.
“Of course! Please, sit.” He made a move to pull out the chair on his right. Diane took hold of the chair and sat herself down. The two looked at each other for a moment and then spoke at the same time. They stopped and smiled.
“You first,” Ben said.
“I think I owe you an apology.”
Ben said nothing.
“Yesterday I was rude to you,” she said.
“I don’t know, I did barge in on you.”
“Still…”
“Well? How ’bout a fresh start?”
“Sure,” she said.
For a few moments the two shared a gaze. “You’re here to learn Spanish?” said Ben.
“That’s the idea.”
“Why Oaxaca?”
“I’m visiting an old friend who lives here.”
At that moment Luis Carrillo arrived at the table. “Buenos Dias. Would you like coffee?”
Luis’s arrival gave Diane a start but she smiled and said, “Yes. Café Americano, Por Favor.”
“Si bella dama,” said Luis. “Volveré pronto.” Luis hurried back into the restaurant.
“Bella dama means beautiful lady,” Ben said.
“I know,” she said.
“How long will you be here?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” said Diane. “A month, maybe longer? Or I could go home tomorrow. I’m uh… well, as you can see, I’m not…’
Ben said nothing as Diane struggled for words.
“Maybe you should talk,” she said.
“Sure,” he said. “I’ve been in Oaxaca a couple days now, and in Mexico for about three weeks.”
“A vacation?”
“Not really. I’ve only just started on a long journey.”
“A long journey.”
“A kind of walkabout.”
“To where?” she asked.
“Argentina.” he said.
“Goodness.”
“My idea is to travel overland taking local buses from town to town. I plan to go all the way to Tierra del Fuego, at the bottom tip of South America.”
“Sounds ambitious. I’ve read accounts of mariners who’ve sailed around Tierra del Fuego, that is Cape Horn.”
“Yes,” said Ben. “Are you a sailor?”
“Have been,” she said. “And you’re taking buses to Tierra del Fuego.”
“Yes.”
“Who does that?” she asked, “Why would you take buses across two continents?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s something I’ve thought about for a long time. And I’ve done this before, when I was a young man. The epic journey is an essential theme in human experience.”
“You think?”
“I do. It’s the underlying substance of Homer’s Odyssey, of Don Quixote, Moby-Dick… even Star Trek.”
“That’s interesting,” she said, “but why now?”
“What?” said Ben.
“You don’t seem young enough to be footloose or old enough to be retired. So why now?”
Surprised at Diane’s statement he smiled and said, “Why not?”
“Fair enough,” said Diane.
“What about you?” said Ben.
Diane was still for a few moments. In little more than a whisper she said, “I guess I’m on my own journey.”
Again she was silent. Ben saw she was searching for words. He knew not to say anything. He felt the gravity of her stillness.
“Café Americano,” said Luis. His sudden arrival startled Diane. “Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s Okay,” she said.
“Si bella dama. Would you care for anything else?”
“No thank you Luis,” said Diane.
Luis looked over at Ben who politely shook his head. Taking the hint Luis nodded turned and left. Ben continued to wait silently for Diane’s next words.
“Sorry,” she said. “This is not a good time for me.”
A weathered, white Mercedes sedan pulled up on the street directly in front of Ben and Diane. Lucy Olquin sat in the front passenger seat. “Hola Chica!” exclaimed Lucy.
“Hola Amiga,” Diane replied. Then to Ben, “I’m afraid I’ll have to excuse myself.”
Diane got up from her chair and put a twenty Peso note on the table. She pulled a pen and a slip of paper from her purse and quickly scribbled on it. Handing the paper to Ben she said, “My address here in Oaxaca. Please write to me and tell me about your journey.” As Ben took the note Diane put her hand on Ben’s shoulder. Quickened by her touch, Ben grasped her forearm as the two shared the moment.
“Adios señor,” she said.
“Good luck,” said Ben.
Diane opened the back door of the Mercedes and got in the car. She smiled at Ben as the car pulled away. Ben responded with a curious expression and a subtle wave of his hand.
Passing through central Oaxaca, the Mercedes drove slowly along the crowded Calle Miguel Hidalgo. Lucy’s companion, Gunther Stahl, was at the wheel. Lucy and Gunther spoke to each other in German. Diane looked out the window at the passing sights. Then Lucy said, “Gunther. English for Diane.”
“Don’t worry about me,” said Diane.
“No,” said Lucy, “this isn’t anything private.”
“Yah, Diane,” Gunther said with a thick German accent, ”Ve are chatting about ze Alebrijes in Xoxocotlán. Dat’s Ver ve go now.”
“What’s that?” said Diane.
“I told you about it,” said Lucy. “The fantastical sculptures.”
“Oh, the painted wood carvings?” said Diane.
“Yes,” said Lucy. “Gunther and I have a business exporting them to galleries in the United States and Europe.”
“You haven’t mentioned that,” said Diane.
“We’ve had other things to talk about,” said Lucy. “Which by the way, was that your American stranger?”
“It was.”
“And?”
“And, nothing,” said Diane. “We only spoke for a few minutes.”
“He must’ve told you something… you know, about himself?”
“A little. He’s on a long trip through Central and South America,”
“Will you meet him again?”
“I don’t know. Probably not.”
“Maybe you should join him,” said Gunther.
“Yes,” said Lucy. “Have an adventure!”
“Tell me about the painted wood sculptures.” said Diane.
“Seriously?” said Lucy.
“Diane,” said Gunther, “you vill love zis story. It all started mit a dream.”
The white Mercedes continued on its way toward the village of Xoxocotlán.
to be continued…