Skiing
We drove past Pie de la Cuesta, where the waves rose to goliathan heights, crashing into the beach with the thunder of raw power. The white sprays caught in the morning light cascaded inland under the force of the Pacific.
We continued driving to the Lagoon of Coyuca. We entered the parking lot of the restaurant resort El Garzón, a huge, white, open wooden construction built on thick stilts over the lagoon and covered by a thatched roof called a palapa.
We could see the lagoon with its island in the center, the water channels, the palms, the mangroves, and the white herons. Sunlight illuminated the waters of the lagoon, and a rainbow arched through the sky while steam rose lazily from the steel-blue water surface into the midmorning sun. It was a beautiful postcard of a day.
After parking, we walked into the resort and went to the water-skiing office, selected the best-fitting skis, and rented a speedboat with an instructor for one hour. Charlie and I had skied before, but not Caleb. Our instructor was a short, dark brick of a man, with curly, oily black hair down to his shoulders, a potbelly, and arched legs, and he was dressed in dirty white shorts and a white T-shirt with holes all over it. He went by the name of Pipiaca.
“What a weird name,” said Caleb.
“Is that an Indian name?” asked Charlie.
I exploded with laughter. After I regained some composure, I said, holding my gut, clearing the tears from my eyes, and laughing in between words, “That is not a proper name. It is a nickname that means piss and shit. You know, pipí and caca put together.”
We went out on the speedboat, and I asked Charlie, “Would you like to go first?”
“No, you go first.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” I said.
Pipiaca wanted me to wear a lifejacket, but I said, “Thank you, Pipiaca, but I don’t need it.” I fell out of the boat and held the rope handle while the boat slowly moved away. I positioned my skis while the boat accelerated, and I was up in no time, traveling on the water at full speed with the breeze in my hair and the sun on my back. There are few sensations like waterskiing—the sense of freedom, the thrill of adventure, the joy of sliding over the immensity of the lagoon and the openness of the heavens.
I took some deep breaths, released one of my skis, and started skiing on my left ski. I started showing off, doing some full turns. But the water was choppy, and after a couple of jumps, my ski sidetracked me and I went down hard. I had skied for twelve minutes. The boat came back for me, and Charlie went in.
He was a basic, solid, no-frills skier. He could ski at full speed and move well to the sides, but it was just that: no-frills, straightforward skiing. After ten minutes and going quite a distance, he signaled us to stop. We picked him up. It was time for Caleb to give it a go.
Caleb did not appear nervous or concerned, despite the fact that it would be the first time in his life on water skis. He was a city boy. Pipiaca had been instructing him on the basics and the principles of the sport. Caleb seemed not to be paying attention. He did not ask a single question. He fell back on the side of the boat and grabbed the rope handle. The boat moved slowly away from him. He positioned his skis with the rope between his legs, but it was difficult for him to hold the position. It took three tries before he was able to stand on the skis. However, stand he did. He was doing everything wrong. Instead of bending his knees, he kept his legs ramrod straight. His feet were moving ahead faster than his upper torso. His legs were wide open, and his arms kept moving forward and backward. He was such an ungainly, awkward, ungraceful sight that I said to Charlie, “I bet you two hundred pesos that he falls in the next two minutes.”
Charlie replied, “You’re on!”
I had never seen anything like it. He seemed to have an inbuilt equilibrium mechanism, keeping his footing at all times despite doing everything wrong. And he would have continued except that Pipiaca shouted that it was time. “It’s been an hour. Let’s go back,” he said.
As we disembarked onto the wooden jetty, I tipped Pipiaca and the speedboat driver.
Charlie looked at me as he extended his hand. So, I said, “You just gave your winnings to Pipiaca!”
We went to the car for dry clothes and changed in the bathroom.
It was getting close to lunchtime, so we went to the restaurant to grab a table. The place was filling up, as the tourists were taking advantage of the first sunny morning in days. As the maître d’ was leading us to our table, lo and behold, I saw the two Canadian girls from the nightclub Acaquila sitting at the table next to the one we were heading to.
As Charlie and Caleb were sitting down, I walked over to the table and said, “Hey there. Fancy meeting you here.”
“Oh, hello there. It’s you again.”
“In the flesh,” I responded. “So, do you like waterskiing? I took you more for downhill skiers.”
“No, when it comes to skiing, we are not much of anything,” she said. “We came here because we had read that it was a beautiful, still-unspoiled lagoon. And, to be frank, we would prefer not seeing any speedboats or skiing out there. However, be that as it may, it is still a lovely place and perhaps the best spot to spend the only sunny day of our holidays.”
“Look, would you like to join us? Of course, if you want to keep to yourselves, I would understand.”
“Aren’t those guys with you? The same ones that you had an argument with at the nightclub?”
“Yes, they are, but we saw the error of our ways, and we are now hanging out together,” I said.
“Yes, we will join you guys as long as you don’t start an argument or a fight.”
“I think I can promise you that,” I said.
As we approached our table, Charlie and Caleb stood up, and I said, “This is Charlie, this is Caleb, and I am Santi.”
As they shook our hands, the pretty blonde said, “Hi. I am Juliette, and this is Camille.” She pointed to the attractive Eurasian girl.
They both sat together. Charlie sat next to Juliette and Caleb next to Camille.
That was nice, I thought. I pick them up, and they reap the benefits of my efforts. What a shame—two uncouth gringos had just outmaneuvered me!
As I was feeling sorry for myself and being left progressively more and more out of the conversation, my eyes fell upon the most attractive rear end walking by in a tiny G string. When I finally broke the magnetic pull of those two dancing cheeks and looked up, I saw another surprising apparition: the beautiful brunette with the soft brown eyes who had given hell to Charlie and Caleb, the same girl who had got us into trouble in the first place at the nightclub.
As I saw her walking and sitting down at the bar, I thought, what a small world this is, and how funny life can be. It felt as if this was destiny and we had all been given a second chance. So I stood up and went to her.
“Excuse me. I don’t know if you remember me, and I hope you won’t be offended, but I saw you on Thursday night at Acaquila when you got irritated with those two big ugly gringos over there,” I said, pointing toward Charlie and Caleb.
She said, “Of course I remember. I got annoyed because not only did they interrupt my conversation with my friend, but they started hitting on me. ‘Hey, gorgeous, let me get you another drink!’ What kind of a pickup line is that? Couldn’t they have just waited for us to stop talking? Couldn’t they have said, ‘Excuse me, but would you…?’ No, just, ‘Hey, you, let me buy you a drink!’ as if they were paying for a chance to get into my panties! I got mad at the arrogance and rudeness. Even though I got a little cross, I could have dealt with them. I didn’t need you to rescue me. It was most definitely not enough for you to fight over! However, to be honest, it was a little sexy. This was the first time that somebody had fought on my behalf. But you never came back, and I was worried that something might have happened to you.”
She said all of this in one go, one sentence after another, in a rapid-fire, staccato manner.
“Wow. That was quite a speech,” I said, looking at her gorgeo
us eyes.
“Sorry about that,” she replied with a mischievous smile, patting my hand. “But I’ve been having a couple of rough days.”
“Aside from the bad weather, what happened to you?” I asked.
“A long story. You wouldn’t be interested.”
“Try me,” I said, adding immediately, “By the way, my name is Santiago Carrasco Portillo.”
She stood up and gave me a peck on my cheek while telling me, “Pleased to meet you, Santiago. My name is Valentina Villacorta Fajardo.”
“Very pleased to finally meet you,” I said. “So, please go ahead and tell me your long story. I have the time if you do.”
“Well,” said Valentina, “I came here to Acapulco with my brother and his girlfriend, the same girl I was talking to at Acaquila.”
“I didn’t see a man with you,” I interrupted.
“He had gone to the men’s room.” She rolled her eyes, faking annoyance. “Do you want to hear my story or not?”
“Yes, of course I do!”
“Well then, stop interrupting!”
“OK, no more disruptions, interruptions, interferences, or anything like it!” I said, smiling.
“Fine,” she said in a good-natured, playful manner. “I will now continue.
“Rubén, my brother; his girlfriend, Guille; and I came to Acapulco for the long Independence Day weekend. The three of us study at the Tech in Monterrey. Guille’s parents called her yesterday and asked her to return to Monterrey because they were concerned about the storm. They heard that it might be turning into a hurricane. Guille decided to go back, but I wanted to stay. My brother chose to follow his sweetheart and left me on my own. I thought about going with them, but what the heck, I am a big girl. Furthermore, I don’t really like my brother’s girlfriend all that much. That is the story. They left last night, and I am now talking to you and getting ready to eat after skiing for half an hour.”
“That is not a long story. It is more like a short, sad story with a happy ending,” I said. “On the one hand, I am sorry that your brother chose his girlfriend over you, but that was to be expected. You know the saying, ‘Two breasts have more pull than an ox!’ On the other hand, I am happy that you’re here and that I am talking to you. And I don’t know whether you will believe me or not, but when I sat at the bar two nights ago and saw you, I had decided to move closer and talk to you, but the two huge gringos arrived and sat between us.”
“Yes, I believe you. You did try to defend me. But tell me, what happened that night after you left the bar with them?”
“Nothing much,” I said. “We threw a few punches and called it quits. You know, they did not intend to be rude. They were just trying to pick you up in an American kind of way, very direct and perhaps a little naive, unaware that they were being impolite. They are good guys. We got to talk. We saw the error of our ways, and now we are here together.”
“Aren’t those girls with them the same ones you were talking to at the nightclub?”
“Yes, they are,” I said. “This is bizarre. The six of us, who were sitting next to one another on Thursday night at Acaquila, are now here and happily talking to one another. It seems the universe is giving us a second chance. How strange can that be?”
“It is indeed strange,” said Valentina. “But who are we to challenge destiny!” She said this with a coquettish smile that made my heart flutter.
I said, “Would you like to join us? I promise you, Charlie and Caleb—those are the names of my American friends—will be on their best behavior.”
“Don’t you think they are going to be a little sore at me?” said Valentina.
I laughed and replied, “Valentina, you can rest assured that they will be fine.”
She stood up, grabbed her purse, got hold of my arm, and walked with me toward our table.
So there it was, as fortune would have it: Charlie and Caleb were with the girls who had rebuffed me, and I was with the girl who had rebuffed them. The chips in the universe were in balance once again.
They had not seen her. They were talking to one another. Charlie had just said something funny, and everyone was laughing as we came and stood next to them. As they looked up, they first saw me, and next they saw Valentina. Suddenly I could see a surprised look of recognition in Charlie’s eyes. Caleb acted as if it were the most natural thing in the world to find her at the Garzón. Juliette and Camille had not recognized her. People look different at night and when fully clothed.
I had to laugh. Valentina chuckled. I said, “Fancy us—life’s second chances, we get to start again where we left off. Juliette, Camille,” I said, “this is Valentina, whom we also met the same night we met you. Do you mind, guys, if we join you?”
“Please do,” said Charlie as he stood up. “As long as you don’t kick us in the balls for being too American.”
“Don’t worry,” said Valentina. “I think we have already established our likes and dislikes. By the way, I am sorry that I got upset at you, but you came on too forcefully at an awkward time. It was a surprise combination of the unexpected and the wrong moment.”
Afternoon
As we were sitting down, I could see the sky getting darker, and a sudden gust of wind struck the palapa. Not long after that, it started to rain again. We had not even ordered our food, and we were already soaking wet. “Well, so much for our sunny, beautiful day,” exclaimed Valentina.
“Not necessarily,” I said. “Let us continue the party at my place. My mother just left this morning, so we have the whole place to ourselves. Are you guys game?”
They were game.
The six of us jumped in my Honda CR-V and headed home. Valentina and Juliette were sitting next to me in the front, while Camille was sitting between Caleb and Charlie in the back. I said, “Camille, you look like a hobbit between two orcs. I am sure Tolkien would have something to write if he saw you now.”
“Shut up and drive, little man,” said Charlie.
I laughed, and Valentina chuckled, saying, “They do look somewhat frightening and a little deranged, with their wet hair plastered to their faces and their wet clothing sticking to their muscular bodies.”
Charlie said in a voice filled with mock sadness, “The final proof of greatness lies in being able to endure criticism without resentment.”
“Who said that?” asked Juliette.
“Elbert Hubbard, an American writer, artist, and philosopher,” answered Charlie.
“Well, it seems these guys see themselves more as intellectuals than muscle men,” added Camille. And the three girls started laughing quite loudly.
I turned around and admonished Charlie and Caleb. “Please, no more smart remarks, or they will have us demoted to some protohuman category, just below a Neanderthal.”
“If we are lucky!” said Charlie.
***
The rain was falling hard. The sky had suddenly gotten even darker, obliterating our bright and shiny morning. The temperature had also dropped rapidly, and we were cold and wet. The car windows were fogging up, and I had to turn on both the heater and the air conditioning. As the windshield cleared, I started driving. The going was slow. We could hardly see ten feet in front of us. There were a few cars stopped in the middle of the road because of lack of visibility or mechanical difficulties, so we had to drive around them. It took us two hours to get back home, but we did get back. I do love my Honda CR-V; I think of it is as an amphibious, all-terrain vehicle. There is no pothole big enough to stop it or water deep enough to drown its engine…well, maybe.
Home sweet home
As we drove into the garage, Sandra came out and shouted, “Look what the cat dragged in. You boys are a sorry sight to see.” Saying this while looking at me and without missing a beat, she added, “Señoritas, please make yourselves at home.”
“Madrina,” I said, “this is Valentina, Juliette, and Camille. We were about to eat at the Garzón when the storm started up again. Do you think we have enough here for all of us?
”
“Yes,” answered Sandra. “I may have enough for your guests, though I don’t know if I would have enough for you.” Addressing the rest of the group, she asked, “Have you seen this man eat? I have to nail the plates to the table, or he would eat them too!” And without losing a beat, she asked, “Do you like Mexican cooking?”
“We will soon find that out. Won’t we?” I said.
Valentina immediately said, “Sandra, can I help you?”
“No, señorita. You’re all wet. Santi,” she commanded, “show the ladies to their rooms so they can dry out.”
As I was showing Juliette and Camille to their room, Valentina said, “Sandra is quite a character. What’s her story?”
“Really, not so much to tell. Sandra has been working for my mother for twenty years. They’re more like friends. She was a high school teacher in La Costa Chica. Her son joined the guerrillas and was shot dead in a skirmish with the army. Soon after, she was accused of being a collaborator. My mother is a lawyer and took her case, defended her, and cleared her name. She has been with us ever since. She took care of me as I was growing up. She doesn’t like Mexico City, but sometimes she would go there just to look after me. She is like my godmother. We are the only family she has. This house is pretty much her dominion.”
The five of them were listening intently. Juliette asked me, “What about the house? It looks huge! How long have you had it?”
We all stood inside Juliette and Camille’s room.
“Well, let me tell you a little about this monster of a house,” I said.
“The house is built on a rocky hill facing the Boca Chica Channel, across from La Roqueta Island. You can see glimpses of the island through the rain. It is very close, only about 250 yards away. The house and its terrain have eleven levels. We arrived from the street to the second level, the garage. Above the garage is the first level, where Sandra lives. It has a terrace and her rooms, including a kitchenette. The level below the garage is the third level. It has two double bedrooms and a terrace overlooking Boca Chica. This is the first bedroom, and these are your beds. There is the bathroom, and that is the door to the room next to yours, where Charlie and Caleb are staying. You should keep it locked at all times.
Warriors in Paradise Page 4
