by Lou Cameron
Captain Gringo nodded graciously and replied, “We have known what it is to be less rich than one might desire, señora. Just give us time to unload our own gear and fashion it into packs and we’ll be on our way.”
She blinked and flustered, “For why do you call me señora? Can you not see I am only a campesina, señor?”
He said, “Forgive me if I offend you with ignorance of you own customs, señora. But in my country it is the custom to treat all women of good character with the same respect. My people do not feel the head of any household should be referred to as merely hombre or mujer, as may be the custom here.”
She sighed and said, “One can see that you are a stranger in this part of the world. Bueno, we shall tend to your sick animals after you go with God.”
She turned away to go back in the shack. Another chicken and a teenage girl in the same sort of Pipil costume came out to gape beside her brothers or whatever as Captain Gringo and Gaston unloaded their gear and tossed it aside for now. The girl wasn’t as pretty as her mother, if Señora Rosa was her mother. She bore a family resemblance to the two youths. If they were all from the same litter, the guy who’d fathered them with the woman inside had been one ugly son of a bitch.
Neither soldier of fortune was impolite enough to ask questions about the family tree or how come the man of the house was a woman these days. If Papacito was off somewhere jumping borders, he’d no doubt told everyone here not to mention his name in vain.
Once they’d set what they meant to carry aside, they unsaddled both horses but left them bridled so the Indians could handle them, if and when they figured out where they wanted to put them. Then they made up their packs and shouldered them, along with their carbines. As Juanito hunkered down to lovingly run his hands over a saddle, Captain Gringo told him to pay their respects to Mamacita and told Gaston, “There’s rain in them there hills to the northeast, but most of it’s falling on the far slope, so let’s see if we can make a few miles and a dry campsite by moonset.”
Gaston saw no reason to argue. They knew which way the high country was from there. So, rather than retrace their steps, they cut across the clearing to hit the trail again from that angle. As Captain Gringo had hoped, the trees on the far side were still virgin growth and spaced widely enough for easy walking across dry pine needles. Because of more water and warmth than their Nordic cousins got, it was a paradox of tropic pine forests that they smelled more piney and north-woodsy than the piney north woods of the States.
As they trudged along, Gaston observed, “Since others now know the trail we were following, I am not as sure as I was earlier that we should still be following it.”
Captain Gringo shrugged and replied, “We’ll make better time on such trails as there are than we would bush-busting, and time is what we could be running short on. That other outfit will surely be on a trail, leading mules, and our best bet of meeting them calls for us to follow the most sensible trails.”
“Is the trail we are now headed for on your map?”
“No. I see what you mean. It’s too bad those charcoal burners back there were so shy around strangers. We’ll just have to hope we can get better directions once we’re closer to making contact. The spine of the isthmus is still miles ahead, though. So pick ’em up and lay ’em down and we’ll worry about it later.”
Gaston protested, “Not so fast, you species of long-legged moose. Have some respect for your elders, at least when they’re short! I am not as worried about what lies ahead as I am about what we just left behind. Do you really feel we can trust them not to take grim advantage of us after dark if we fail to red-herring our trail at least a bit?”
Captain Gringo looked back without breaking stride and observed, “We’re not leaving much sign. We can’t play hare and hounds every time we bump into people, damn it. To do it right calls for more zigzagging than we have time for, and if you can’t do it right, why bother? Why are you so suspicious of that last bunch, anyway?”
“Sacré God damn, I am always suspicious when people act suspicious. The woman was right about your ignorance of local custom, Dick. It is bred into the bones of Spanish speaking peasants that a stranger is never turned from the door without even the offer of food, even if one must slaughter the family cat.”
“What can I tell you? Maybe they didn’t have a cat. The woman had a right to feel uneasy about us. She’s been left alone with unarmed boys and a girl who could still be cherry.”
Gaston shook his head and insisted, “Even if the daughter has so far been able to outrun her brothers, I am not discussing sensible motives, Dick. I am discussing the gut reactions of people who obtain their deeper thoughts from a très rural religious institution. Those others who meant to murder us avec machetes had at least the good grace to offer us free water and shelter for the night, remember?”
“Bullshit. They wanted us bedded down in their barn to save them the long walk. Try it this way. You act more friendly when you’re planning to crook a stranger. If you’re harmless, you want him the hell away before he can harm you, see?”
He stopped to shift his pack. Then he sighed and added, “Oh, shit. When you’re right, you’re right.”
Gaston had heard the same running footsteps at the same time. So he, too, dropped his pack and flopped behind it on the forest duff, levering a round into the chamber of his carbine.
But as the two soldiers of fortune covered their back trail with bated breath, the first thing that appeared in their sights was the young girl from old Rosa’s so-called rancherita. She spotted them at the same time, stopped, and bawled, “Oh, do not shoot me, por favor! Mamacita only sent me after you for to invite you to dine with us!”
Anyone could see that her hands were empty. The only thing she had pointed their way were her perky young boobs. So they both rose to their feet as Captain Gringo asked, “Do you always wait for people to leave before you invite them for supper, señorita?”
She nodded and said, “Si, Mamacita was testing your true intent. She said for to follow and make certain that you were not circling back. She said if you turned out to be what you appeared to be, I was to tell you she was sorry and to bring you back. Are we forgiven? I know we behaved very badly, pero we are all alone up here. There are bad men in these hills, so—”
Captain Gringo cut her off by saying that they understood and thought her mamacita was pretty smart. He asked Gaston, “What do you think? We don’t need tortillas when we’re packing bully beef. But we do need more information, and they do live around here.”
Gaston shrugged and said, “If I flipped a species of coin, I would still not know the answer. If we refuse, they will think us très rude. On the other hand, who cares what people think as long as you are not there?”
Captain Gringo picked up his pack and told the girl they’d be proud to dine with them. She blushed and said she was called Rosita. It figured. The way back was down-hill. So they made better time as she scampered them home with her.
When they got back to the clearing, they saw that the sick horses had been corralled in a hastily erected brush enclosure. Since they were both still standing, someone had probably watered them as well. La señora came out to meet them carrying a big wooden tray heaped with steaming earthenware bowls and tin cups. She bent to place it on a big straw mat she’d already spread outside her door on the earth. As they joined her she dropped to her knees on the mat and explained, “There is no room inside. I was telling the truth about that. Pero I confess I fibbed about the food. Won’t you join me, señores?”
They could and did. Some of the bowls held what New England Indians had introduced to early settlers as succotash. Captain Gringo had yet to meet traditional Indians of any tribe, north or south, that didn’t have some version of what had to be a very ancient traditional dish, though Rosa flavored her corn and beans with a hell of a lot more red pepper than any Pilgrim had ever had to swallow. Other bowls held more Hispanic rice and goat meat, smothered in goat gravy. There was a heaping
platter of tortillas in the center, of course, and the tin cups were filled with hot chocolate that could have used more sugar but gave the same lift as coffee at least.
Rosa’s kids had apparently already eaten, as she’d said before, and they noticed that she was only tasting enough to be polite. So once he’d eaten enough to break the ice, Captain Gringo reached behind him to get some salt and sugar from his pack. As he offered the two waterproof packets to their hostess, she looked delighted and hurt at the same time. Sugar wasn’t much of a problem for tropic Indians who didn’t have much of a sweet tooth to begin with, but salt was a rare luxury, away from the coasts, to people who lived mostly on bland vegetable grub. She protested, “Oh, no, I couldn’t! It would be as if I were demanding payment for simple hospitality, no?”
Captain Gringo said, “No. In my country it is the custom for guests to bring presents when they come to dine. I would be most offended if you refused, señora.”
She put the few cents’ worth of salt and sugar aside with a pleased smile and insisted that they call her Rosa. She didn’t even argue when her guests produced cigars after the modest but tasty meal. She just smoked her claro with obvious and rather childlike enjoyment.
By this time the sun was setting, and sunsets didn’t linger long in the tropics. Rosa glanced up at the red, western sky, sighed, and said, “I fear it shall be bedtime all too soon. So I must tell you without further delay that I have been praying for someone as kind and trustworthy as you Caballeros to come our way.”
In English Gaston muttered, “Now we get the tab.”
Captain Gringo nudged him to shut up and asked Rosa just what they could do for her. She said, “You have done more for me and mine than we deserve, Ricardo. My request is for the poor sisters at the convent of San Pablo, a day’s walk in the direction you are going.”
“Oh? Some nuns are in trouble, Rosa?”
She shook her head and said, “Pero no. Not even El Condor would dare to attack a convent. Pero the Mother Superior has been looking for someone like you two. Trustworthy men of arms who might be on their way northeast in any case.”
“Por que, Rosa? Has she something she wants delivered farther into the rain forest under guard?”
Rosa shrugged and replied, “¿Quien sabe? They do not tell secrets of the church to mere campesinas. We were only told to watch for men like the two of you and ask them for their help, should any come our way. I think it has something to do with troubles down in El Salvador. That is all I can tell you.”
Gaston growled, “Merde alors, that is all one needs to be told.”
But Captain Gringo said, in English, “Traveling under the protection of the church beats asking howler monkeys for directions.” Then he asked Rosa, in Spanish, just how one got to the convent she was talking about. She said she knew where it was, of course, but that the directions were a bit complicated. He took out the map and spread it on the mat between them. He’d hoped she knew how to read a map. As it turned out, she could even read writing. She studied the now somewhat sweat-soiled paper for a time, and said, “I do not think the person who drew this knew Honduras as well as I. Pero the things he did draw in seem close enough. The convent would be about here, in this blank space. There should be a lava butte rising, here, as well.”
Captain Gringo fished a pencil stub from his shirt pocket to draw a pair of circles where she indicated. He could see neither was far out of the way, if the mapmaker had been right about the few passes through the spine, even further to the northeast. He asked the Indian woman what she could tell them about the Sierra Neblina, and she said, “Nada. Not even my man went that far into the high country when he was still alive. Nobody with any sense goes there. Aside from evil spirits and constant fog, it is said that El Condor’s stronghold is somewhere among those haunted peaks, Ricardo!”
He said, “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned this El Condor. What is he, some sort of bandit?”
She crossed herself and replied, “¿Quien sabe? Some say El Condor is himself an evil spirit, perhaps a wizard who can turn himself into a real bird when la policia are near. Few who have ever met him in the flesh are in any position to describe him. Think of him as a pajaro de la muerte to be avoided in the Sierra Neblina, like the other dangers of a haunted place.”
Captain Gringo mused aloud in English, “Right, he’s a bandit, and not a very nice one. That’s his problem. Our problem is intercepting Hakim’s column and nuns wanting us to smuggle something the other way might put us on the right path.”
It was now so dark, he could see little of Rosa but the glow of the cigar he’d given her. He said, “We don’t want to stumble through those pines again in the dark. So we’ll stretch out here, with your permission, and catch a few winks before moonrise.”
She said, “You will find it dark in the pines even by moonlight, and if you spread your rolls here in my yard, the chicken lice may bother you. When one keeps chickens, one must either keep a smudge fire most close or sleep where chickens do not scratch. I told you there is barely room for us inside. Pero if you move up the slope beyond the charcoal kiln, you will find the earth dry and free of vermin.”
Captain Gringo said that sounded like a good idea, got to his feet, and gathered his gear as she asked him if she could expect him for breakfast. He laughed, said it depended on the moon, the clouds, and how tired they really were. He added that if this was it, they thanked her for her delicious meal. She told them to go with God some more, so they went.
On the far side of the smoldering charcoal Captain Gringo kicked the soft, now invisible soil and said, “Well, we’d be more likely to meet bugs in the woods. I’m flopping right here. What about you?”
Gaston said, “I shall move farther to the south. Not because I fear your snores, mais because I still do not like this at all.”
Captain Gringo nodded soberly and said, “Good thinking. Jumping two guys in the dark at once gets complicated when they’re armed and spread out. Don’t aim my way unless you know what you’re aiming at for sure, though. After all those beans I can’t promise total silence.”
Gaston laughed and moved off in the dark. It was surprising how quickly he vanished from sight. Captain Gringo glanced up and, yeah, there wasn’t a star in the black velvet above. He hoped it wouldn’t rain before morning.
It didn’t, although if the moon was up there at all now, Captain Gringo couldn’t see it when he awoke with a start. He had no idea how long he’d been sleeping or why he was awake at first. Then he heard the same sneaky noises and reached for the .38 under the wadded duds he was using as a pillow. He didn’t want Gaston throwing lead his way if they were talking about a wandering chicken. So he kept his voice down as he called out, softly, “¿Quien es?”
A feminine whisper replied, “Ricardo? Where are you? It is so dark.”
He growled, “I noticed. Who am I having this discussion with? Are you Rosa or Rosita?”
She giggled and told him, “Rosa, of course. Did you really think that child of mine would be creeping into bed with a man, Ricardo?”
He gulped and answered, “Is someone creeping into bed with me?”
She said, “Si, if ever I can find you. It took me forever for to get my children to sleep. But I knew you were waiting for me out here, you naughty boy.”
That was news to Captain Gringo. He’d thought he was treating an older woman with the respect only due her by rights. But she wasn’t really much older than him, and Gaston had apparently been right about women of her class not understanding the same social rules he’d been taught.
A groping hand found its way to his face in the dark. He moved over to make room and raised the tarp to let her in as she giggled and said, “I knew you for a man of the world. I was afraid for to flirt with you openly in front of the children, but I see you got my message and, Madre de Dios, you are stark naked, Ricardo!”
He chuckled, hauled her in, and asked, “Care to join me that way?”
She snuggled closer, ga
ve him a big wet smack, but said, “Oh, I couldn’t take off my clothes, Ricardo. What would you think of me?”
He started peeling her stiff, and in truth, not too clean homespun cotton as he replied, “I’d think you were soft and smooth all over. Don’t tell me you managed three kids without ever taking your clothes off, for Pete’s sake!”
She said, “I assure you that I have never been in bed, one way or the other, with anyone named Pete. What are you doing? You have my skirts up high enough, now, no?”
He answered, “No,” even as he rolled atop her between her wide spread, welcoming thighs. She welcomed him indeed by thrusting her heroic hips up hard to meet his hard-on. As he entered her she moaned, “Oh, what a lovely camote you have, Ricardo! It fills my soul. It fills my need. Pero could you get it in a little deeper?”
He could, so he did, still working her costume up as he went to work with his old organ grinder or, as she called it, sweet potato. She kept protesting, as she screwed him silly, that only bad girls took off all their clothes in bed. But the feeling of his bare belly against her own seemed to inspire her hips to greater effort, and as her big, moist nipples met his hairy chest she gasped. “¡Ay, caramba, si! I do not care what you think of me. It feels so nice and dirty!”
So he got the dumb thing off over her head, and they got down to business, stark and sweaty, with her big thighs wrapped around his waist and her horny bare heels digging into his bouncing buttocks. Her body was more matronly than he might have picked up at a paseo, but it was solid and rippled under his in a very yummy way. So he was about there in no time.
But since he’d been raised a gentleman and she’d pretty well established how fertile she might be, he slowed down to ask her if she wanted him to take it out before he came. She hugged him closer and moaned, “Don’t you dare! I may be a little naughty, but I do not commit crimes against nature! Do not worry about getting me in an embarrassing condition, you sweet thing. Had I not learned some time ago how to deal with such matters, my children would be much younger.”
