“This is Mexico, Hap. Stories like that are real here. The final word is this. We owe him money. We are behind in our payments. He has threatened my father. He and his thugs.”
“Your father doesn’t seem worried.”
“He is worried. But he keeps it to himself. He will seem even more congenial now than before. It is his way of dealing with disaster. Tomorrow he will lose the big charter because of this, and then there will be no way to pay the money.”
“My God, how much could he owe?”
“In American money, it would be eighty thousand dollars.”
“Christ. A fishing trip, even if these guys catch ten trophy fish apiece, won’t pay for that.”
“But it will keep him at bay. We have managed to pay some of the debt already.”
“He loaned a fishing peasant eighty thousand dollars? He’s an old man. How would he think he’d ever pay that off?”
“The debt is his, then it passes to me. He pays what he can, and I continue to pay throughout my life. With interest, of course.”
“You should have stayed in the U.S.”
“Then they take it out on my father.”
“Then he should have come to stay with you.”
“It is his debt, and he feels obligated to pay it. It is not like for you, Hap. He could not just go to a bank and get a loan.”
“Hon, I couldn’t get a bank to loan me the time of day.”
She studied me carefully, to make sure I was serious. She sighed abruptly and looked off toward the ocean. I had the uncomfortable feeling she might be waiting for me to offer her money.
I said, “Seems to me it would still be worth sharing with Jose and his brothers. That would be the best way, wouldn’t it? Have them help you fish, pay as you go.”
“My father does not want to give away his place to fish. Jose and his brothers, they are good boys, but they would tell others. They work for whoever they have to work for. I do not blame them. But this place, my father needs to keep it secret.”
“If it’s so full of fish, why does he often go without fish? Today he didn’t come back with fish. Except the shark that bit him.”
Beatrice didn’t answer.
“Listen, Beatrice. I’m just an ol’ East Texas boy, but I’m not dumb. And I mean no disrespect, but what you’re telling me, it doesn’t add up. I hate to be one to talk about welshing on a debt, but in this case, where your life is in danger, why don’t you just run for it. Go to the States and forget it. Pay it back later if you feel you owe it. When you can.”
“You cannot run from Juan Miguel. Don’t worry, Hap. I have told you more than I should. Really, this is not your business.”
It never is, I thought.
We walked back into the main part of town and ordered some food for Leonard. They wrapped it in brown paper and put it in a sack. I went back to the doctor’s house. The doctor loaned the old man a pair of crutches, and he used them to go with us back to his boat.
Beatrice and I helped him secure it, then we made our way to their car, and Beatrice drove us to their place.
On the way, the old man talked very pleasantly to me. You would have thought nothing had happened to him. That this injury didn’t matter. He acted like someone eccentric and wealthy who didn’t worry about money.
Beatrice, on the other hand, was quiet. A cloud seemed to have descended over her. Or perhaps I should say a darker cloud. From the moment I met her there hung about her a grimy aura of disappointment, as if all her ambitions were living things that she had seen slaughtered.
At their place I checked on Leonard first thing. He said, “It’s about time you came back. Hell, I’m bored. I read the Vachss book. Great. I got up enough energy to look for more books I wanted to read, but there wasn’t much in English that interested me. Where’s Beatrice? The old man? What’s his name?”
“Ferdinand. By the way. He had an accident.”
“Accident? What kind of accident?”
I told Leonard all about it. Gave him the details of the day.
“I’ll be damned. Where is he?”
“With Beatrice in the kitchen. Fixing some food. I brought you some. I thought we’d be back a lot earlier. Sorry. Hope you weren’t too hungry. I was going to get you some vanilla cremes or wafers, but couldn’t find any. Actually, I didn’t look that hard.”
“Gee, thanks.”
I sat down on the edge of the bed and handed Leonard the grease-stained sack. Inside were burritos and tacos.
“Think you got enough?” Leonard said, peeking into the sack.
“I figured you’d be hungry.”
“You’re right. I ate the bread and cheese right away. Got bored. This smells great… What about us going home? You made a call, right?”
“Right. Go ahead, eat.”
“Something’s wrong? It always is, so why wouldn’t it be now.”
“I didn’t say that.”
While he ate, I said, “You know, I heard a joke the other day at the chicken plant.”
“Oh no. I don’t want to hear it. Your jokes suck, Hap. And that means things aren’t going well. You always try and soothe me with a joke. It only makes it worse. So just cut to the chase.”
“I didn’t say I had bad news.”
“But you do. I know you well enough to know something’s come up.”
“All right. I have some bad news.”
“I knew it.”
“Well, considering I have some bad news, you might want to hear my joke.”
“Just skip the joke and go straight to the news.”
“Then you’ll never hear this great cowboy and Indian joke.”
“I can see now you’re going to tell the joke. No matter what I say or do, short of killing you, you’re going to tell me this goddamn joke. Am I right?”
“I heard it from a fella out at the chicken plant.”
“You said that. How bad is the news on the other side of it?”
“Not that bad.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Go ahead… Wait. Why me, man? Can’t you just save these for someone who cares? I hate jokes. You always do this when I’m sick or injured. Which, come to think of it, when I’m around you, is pretty frequent. I got to tell you, Hap. I been thinkin’ I want to put my feet up some. Know what I’m saying?”
“You want to put your feet up.”
“I mean, I love you, brother, but there’s something about us, when we mix together, it makes shit. Know what I’m sayin’?”
“I do.”
“Maybe we could call one another, have lunch, go to a movie. Double-date. Me and John. You and whoever… But man, we plan something big together, I seem to always get shot, knifed, beat, et cetera. And come to think of it, you look pretty good. You aren’t cut up or banged up.”
“I got a few bumps. And hey, I been on the bad end before. Don’t make yourself too special. Now the joke. There’s this cowboy-”
“Shit. Go for it.”
“-and he’s captured by Indians. The chief says, It’s the custom of our tribe to give the condemned man three days of granted wishes. Stuff besides ‘I want to go home.’ That kind of thing.”
“This sucks already. You can’t tell a joke to save your life.”
“So, the chief says, Cowboy, you got three days and a wish a day. Use them wisely. What do you want first?
