Warriors in Paradise (5 page)

They specialized in conducting raids, ambushes, and seizures. As a two-man team, they pulled terrorists out of their beds and flex-cuffed them before they even woke up.

After three years in the army, they decided to get out and pursue their academic interests under the GI Bill. They were not disillusioned—just frustrated by the dysfunction of war.

Charlie decided to study law at American University in Washington, DC, one of the best law schools in the country. It was also located close to the public office he so aspired to.

Caleb was more inclined to mathematics and physics. He chose Georgetown University, which met two of his requirements. It had a good science and physics school, and it was close to Charlie.

They rented a nice two-bedroom apartment in Arlington, Virginia, a few minutes away by Metro from their campus.

They came to Mexico, before starting university, to decompress from their last Afghan tour. They came because of Acapulco’s promise of sun, beaches, and relaxation. They were flush with cash from a year’s tax-free pay with combat bonuses.

However, after two days, all they had seen was rain and more rain. They came to Acaquila to have fun, savor a few drinks, and meet some pretty girls. However, that didn’t work out. A girl rebuffed Charlie, and a Mexican—me, me, me—had challenged them to a fight.

So far their trip had been a nightmare.

I hope that was going to change. Then again, I could be wrong.

We talked for more than two hours.

Dancing

After our meal and powwow, we went to the club. It was half empty because of the rain. However, there was a busload of Ukrainian university students dancing and making a racket. Some of them were good looking and athletic. We joined them and danced until closing time.

Of course, modesty apart, I was the best dancer. You know—all those Latin genes! Charlie was a robot, dancing as if he were in the middle of a swamp with cement boots. Caleb had rhythm and moved with a certain instinctive animal grace. Even though he was not familiar with some of the music favored by the international clientele, he felt the music at a primal level and sensed the people dancing around. He was soon dancing as if he were born to it.

I don’t know how long we danced, but we were soaked in our own sweat.

We flirted some with the Ukrainian girls, but it was only that. They were too much into themselves and were leaving the next day after a one-week visit to Mexico City, Cuernavaca, Taxco, and Acapulco. Besides, some of those girls had not learned proper hygiene. When you are in a hot and humid place, such as Acapulco, with a temperature hovering around thirty degrees Celsius and a humidity of close to 100 percent, you should take at least one shower a day, and you have to use deodorant. Otherwise, your presence is loudly announced by your body odor.

At two o’clock in the morning, they all marched in a single line, like good little soldiers, to the bus that was going to take them to their hotel on their last night in Mexico. I hoped they would take a shower before boarding the plane, or they would run the risk of being charged and convicted for contravening the law on the prevention of biological weapons of olfactory mass destruction.

We left soon after, and the rain was still coming down hard. There were no taxis around. The avenue looked like a river.

“Hey, guys,” I said. “Since you made such an effort to come all the way here to beat my sorry ass, you’re welcome to stay at my place.”

Charlie asked me mockingly, “Santi, are you feeling lonely and in need for someone to warm your back?”

“No, not particularly, but it’s understandable that an ugly gorilla finds me irresistible.” I answered.

Without their saying yes or thank you, we ran toward my car and drove home under the constant, unwavering rain. My wipers were at full speed, and still I had to drive very slowly. I could hardly see five feet ahead.

I started to get concerned. The constant rain would be the end of Acapulco unless it stopped soon. Acapulco was full of domestic tourists because of the long Independence Day weekend. The ground and the reservoirs couldn’t take any more rain. In a couple of hours, I was sure there would be mudslides and flash floods. What a recipe for disaster: a multitude of tourists and downpours.

We arrived home after a one-hour drive. We were still in high spirits, so we had a couple of beers, talked some more, and then went to bed at about five in the morning.

These damned gringos sure can party! I thought.

Chapter 3: Food and Lies

Morning

I
n spite of going to bed late, I woke up to a sunny and dry morning. A promising day—the first without rain in four days.

I put on my bathing suit and flip-flops and went down to wake up Charlie and Caleb.

“Rise and shine, you lazy gringos,” I said as I walked into the room. “We have a sunny morning for the first time in days. It looks like Manuel is taking a break. Come on; let’s make the most of it.”

“Shut the fuck up, man,” said Charlie. “First of all, give me back my head, will you? Second, bring us a bucket of OJ.”

“Come on, guys. We have an appointment with destiny. We are going water skiing at the Lagoon of Coyuca, which I’m sure you haven’t heard of.”

“Santi, we don’t have our bathing suits. We need to go to the hotel for our stuff.”

“Take a shower,” I said. “I am bringing you bathing suits and T-shirts, which I’m sure will fit you. After breakfast, we will go to your hotel to pick up your stuff, get you checked out, and then go to the lagoon. How does that sound?”

Fifteen minutes later, Charlie and Caleb were down having breakfast. We started with mangoes with lime and chili piquín. I was surprised that both of them were adventurous eaters. Most Americans are conservative when it comes to eating.

Caleb said, “I have to take this chili pepper back home. Man, this is great. I have never had fruit spiced in this manner.”

We then had enfrijoladas filled with machaca, which is dried beef covered with grated manchego cheese, and three fried eggs on the side, accompanied by a blended orange, grapefruit, and marañón juice and fresh Veracruz coffee. I like Chiapas coffee better, but Veracruz coffee is a close second. It has a good aroma and a depth of flavor that makes you appreciate that you are alive.

As soon as I put the green chili sauce over my enfrijoladas, Charlie and Caleb followed suit. Charlie put on so much sauce that he was sweating profusely. His nose and cheeks turned progressively redder until he looked like a ripe tomato. So I told them, “You taste chili twice—once when it goes in and the second time when it comes out. So, Caleb, I would keep my distance from Charlie tomorrow morning if I were you!”

I drove them to their hotel in Condesa. It took us a while because of the Acabus roadworks. We placed their backpacks and hand luggage in the trunk, and we headed toward Pie de la Cuesta and the Lagoon of Coyuca. The traffic was a nightmare until we hit Mozimba, but it thinned out after that. Nevertheless, we had to drive slowly because of the potholes and the trash that had washed down from the hills by the constant rain.

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.”