Crazy for the Storm

We ate fish and Papaya kept looking at me. Her dark eyes were impossible to interpret. I could not tell if she was pleased or angry. She said something to one of the elders and they turned and looked at me too. I got jumping beans in my stomach, and I hoped she might talk to me. If not tonight then tomorrow, and maybe since she was older she would kiss me and I wouldn’t have to kiss her.

Then the youngest vaquero said something to her and she began talking with him.

Let’s hit the hay, Ollestad, said my dad.

We thanked everyone and went to our hut.

I wonder what her name is? I said, half asleep.

Who?

The pretty girl.

It was dark but I knew he was giving me a goading look. Shit why did I say pretty?

Esperanza, he said.

How do you know?

One of the old ladies told me.

Where’s her family?

Her mother and father both died.

How?

I think they got sick, he said.

We surfed under heavy-bellied clouds in the dawn. The surf was smaller and I got a lot of short tubes. With each the purifying sensation carved itself deeper.

My dad went to check out the truck with the older vaquero and the youngest vaquero. I put on flip-flops and took off with a gang of kids. They captured a huge iguana and we towed it by a vine around its neck and sometimes it tried to run, jerking against the collar. They showed me a cave and we watched the bats hanging upside down, sleeping. They mimed how the bats swooped down on the cows and sucked their blood.

When all the kids went in for their siestas I rested on my blanket and fell asleep also.

After my dad woke me up and made me drink water I noticed there was a dent in the head of the guitar case. My dad saw me eyeing it and he opened it. He pulled out the guitar and there was a ding on the headstock. I thought of the gunshot.

He strummed the guitar, said it still played, put the guitar away, and said he was going to paddle out. I was tired and the sun was high so I stayed in the hut.

I kept thinking about Esperanza, holding hands with her, even kissing her. But my pleasure was undercut by a yearning to leave. I wanted to get to Grandma and Grandpa’s or get home. The crisscrossing desires tied me into a foul mood.

My dad returned with a big grin.

Old cowboy Ernesto rode to town to get a mechanic, he said. He should be back pretty soon. And maybe tomorrow the truck will be fixed.

Why don’t you know how to fix cars? I said.

I was never interested in that kind of stuff, he said.

Well you should know.

He laughed.

You should, I said.

Think about all the good things, Ollestad. That’ll make you feel better.

When we arrived for dinner Ernesto sat by the fire next to his wife and three kids. He appeared worried or upset and my dad spoke to him and he spoke back in short curt sentences. My dad went to our hut and returned with some paper bills, pesos. Ernesto refused them and my dad dropped them in an empty clay bowl. Ernesto spoke to his wife and she took the money out of the bowl and walked to our hut and then came back empty-handed. My dad opened his hands.

Lo siento, he said.

No one spoke around the fire. The elders passed down the bowls. My dad handed me a bowl and it smelled like pork. I thought about the pigs around back. I was so hungry that I ate it anyway.

Esperanza appeared from the center hut and sat between the elders and ate. Her hair was in a braid and without the thick mane around her face her eyes looked as big as walnuts. Her beauty stood out even more tonight. Like it didn’t fit with the humble people of the village and their hardships and silence. She seemed destined for somewhere else. In the firelight her beauty seemed dangerous. I inhaled her sweet aroma. You will always be Papaya to me.

Ernesto and the other vaqueros finished first and stole away into the main hut with a lantern. My dad repeatedly glanced at the hut aglow from the lantern. Then Ernesto came out and he stared at my dad. My dad stood and went to him. They spoke in quiet voices. My dad nodded. Ernesto nodded. Then he went back into the hut.

My dad sat down beside me and his face was drawn.

What’s wrong, Dad?

They’re worried that the federales will find out they’ve been helping us.

How’d they find out about the federales?

In town I guess.

I thought you said the federales would never find us?

They won’t. Not while we’re here. But later. They may figure it out and hassle everyone.

Are they pissed? I said.

Yeah.

Is that why you tried to give him money?

He nodded.

I thought they just wanted money.

Not these kind of people.

He rubbed his palms together. He only did that when he was thinking really hard. I got scared.

He saw it in my face and put his arm around my shoulder and smiled.

Ollestad. It’s okay. No problemo.

What are we going to do?

I saw Papaya watching me and I realized my face was pinched, on the verge of tears. I buried my face in the crook of my elbow.

Tomorrow we’re going to leave, said Dad. Before you know it we’ll be in Vallarta with Grandma and Grandpa, surfin’ Sayulita. No sweat.

My face was buried in the crook of my elbow and I was shaking my head wildly. He rubbed my back and my dread turned to anger. Not only could we get kicked out of the village and who knows what else—end up starving in a Mexican jail—but I had ruined everything I had gained with Papaya by falling apart in front of her.

All eyes were on us, so I got myself together. I sat up straight and breathed evenly. Dad handed me a coconut. I drank it because I wanted to be agreeable, as if that would make our circumstances agreeable. My dad stood up and said he’d be right back.

Papaya collected the bowls from the kids and I avoided looking at her. No one spoke and it was somber around the fire. The vaqueros came out of the hut and each drank from a coconut, as was their custom.

Then my dad appeared with his guitar. I bristled. How could he be so stupid as to believe they wanted to hear him play and sing? The lying gringo! He sat down, fitting the guitar’s curve between his thighs and leaning over the instrument while he strummed flamenco. My arm lurched out to stop him, but it felt like a betrayal and I ended up only petting the air. My dad began to sing in Spanish and Ernesto hardened his eyes and studied my dad’s fingers. I stared at the pink fire-lit dirt and hoped it would end soon.