Intrigue

Walking through the marketplace, I noticed the couple I had met at the hotel, both dressed more appropriately for a vacation on the Hawaiian islands rather than this place. They were arguing over the price of gold trinkets. There was another couple—elderly, more sedately dressed—sitting at a table in the outdoor café. When I passed them, I heard the woman say something about there being “only a little while to wait.” Suffering the annoying buzz of a slight hangover, I stopped at a fruit stall and bought a pear.
While I ate my breakfast and observed the activities and listened to the sounds of the crowded market, I ruminated over the consequences I would soon face as a result of my article having been published in the morning edition of The Gazette.
I needed to see Raoul. I needed to speak to him before Dana called Beto.
And there was the matter of the newlyweds, Sarah and Ivan, their problem and what they had discovered. If Captain Balthazar interrogated them, the wrong answers could land all of us in deep trouble.

Balthazar has been in this place a long time, long enough to have achieved a position of authority. Some would say he’s been here too long—that he’s a tired old man in need of a vacation. But isn’t that the reason many people have come here? He told me he wouldn’t rest until he brings all the wrongdoers in these parts to justice. He believes in his mission and he will see it through, even if it takes another ten years.
Whatever anyone wants or needs can be gotten on the black market. Somebody runs it, but nobody’s talking.
Raoul is on Balthazar’s list. Dana too. And Beto. Sometimes it seems like everyone is on his list. For that matter I, myself, may be one of his targets, although he often gives the impression that he’s confiding in me. I investigate situations, yet I know of nothing any of the others have done that could be considered wrong. But then, I guess that depends on who’s considering their actions and what point of view one has.
Sarah and Ivan seem too naïve to be involved in anything illicit. They came here on their honeymoon. They’ve stayed, however, for more than five months. That’s the longest honeymoon I’ve ever heard of.
I had just finished eating my fruit and was about to go for a cup of coffee when two men in uniform tore through the marketplace in a jeep, creating a great disturbance among the merchants and pedestrians. No one appeared to know who they were, but that was only the first mysterious occurrence in a string of events that were about to unfold. Nobody could have predicted what happened in the next few weeks.

“Beto,” Dana said, “Be there with the money at two-thirty, don’t fail me.”
When did I ever fail her? he thought. He derived special pleasure from seeing her smile when he performed his role correctly. It was his theory that a happy Dana was a significant factor in the success of their operation.
The financial rewards involved were relevant to their continued partnership.
The telephone rang. Beto used considerable restraint in hiding his enthusiasm upon answering but then realized it wasn’t Dana calling back. The voice on the other end was deep and gruff.

Balthazar had told me that he was going to call Beto, but feeling insecure, I attempted to contact him first.
“Beto,” I said to him, “The captain will be calling on you. Please be careful in what you say to him.”
“I am aware of this, O’Brien,” he said, “As a matter of fact, I have just spoken to him.” I could tell he was trying to give the impression of being on top of the situation, but he sounded confused. Then he said, “You know, a person wanting to be a smuggler has to be more careful.”
I played dumb, and he hung up on me before I had a chance to ask where I might reach Dana.
I felt relieved because all these people were going down.

Ivan flicked some lint off the lapel of his white jacket, adjusted his handkerchief, and smiled at his wife. Sarah was very happy because they were finally getting out of there.
It seemed everyone had decided to come to the bazaar. Sarah and Ivan were waiting for the soldiers to come. Everything was fairly quiet for about half an hour, and there was a palpable sense of expectation hanging in the dense and torpid air. Only the bargaining of a couple of gaudily dressed tourists rose above the silence. Apparently they did not know what everyone else knew.
Soon the soldiers did come in a jeep and they immediately started to register the entire place.
In the end, hopefully, everyone who should be would be behind bars and the newlyweds would be able to return home.
When they entered the cafe, they saw a lot of people. Sarah remarked that these people were very strange, but Ivan wasn’t one to assess the minor players. And nobody appeared odder than those tourists, haranguing about the prices of things which would eventually be confiscated. They sat down at a table and waited.
They had arrived for a honeymoon, but it was not long before Ivan became aware of the black market. They, or he at least, had seen some things. Shortly thereafter, they were contacted by a person named “Raoul”. He told them not to say a word and not to try to leave. These were dangerous times, especially for travelers. They were scared but acted normally, and for a while it seemed no one noticed there presence.
Raoul told them about Balthazar, who was investigating illegal operations, and he said that they mustn’t talk to him.
Ivan, due to Sarah’s prompting, had talked to Balthazar. He told him someone had called, though he did not know who, asking them for favors which would involve them in a black market. He realized too late that that had been a mistake for though he tried to convince the captain that they were not involved in anything illegal and had no intentions of becoming so, Balthazar likewise advised them that they should not leave until the investigation was completed.
Weeks grew into months.
Now they sat watching and waiting for something definitive to happen.
There was a great hubbub at the stalls. They had seen this kind of thing before. It usually ended with the arrest of one or two people and then investigations continued. This time promised to be different, conclusive in some way. Ivan capitulated to Sarah’s hopeful expectations.
He placed his hand over hers and their rings clacked. At least they still had each other.

Raoul, peering through the shades of a nearby window, watched the uniformed men roughing up a drunk. The soldiers could always count on getting some useless tidbit of information from a drunk to report back to Balthazar, either for the price of a cup of wine or by force depending on the degree of the witness’s inebriation.
He also noticed the young couple sitting nearly unfazed in the café. He read their look of slight concern as one of resignation more than for their own well-being. He knew then that he had lost them to the other side. He had foolishly believed they might be helpful when they arrived, but so many things had occurred in the last few months. He would not make a mistake like that again.
The black market was the main source of money for all these people.

Ernest Savage and his wife Eleanor were upset. Shopping was the only thing they had planned for the day. Now, as the soldiers intervened, that was put on hold. Their only other option was lunch and then back to the hotel where Eleanor would write in her journal and then take a nap while Ernest sat in the bar.
“That couple that came five months ago, they’re somewhat suspicious characters, don’t you think?” Eleanor asked. “I mean how much time do you need for a honeymoon? Young people nowadays are just crazy.
“Last night I heard them arguing about something they did wrong. They were saying something about a procedure they had messed up. Now do you see my point?
“A procedure?!? The main question is: Did they really come here for honeymoon? I don’t think so.
“This morning, they passed near me heading towards the village. They were talking, no, no, no, whispering! It’s obvious that they didn’t want me to hear what they were saying.”
Ernest nodded. paying scant attention to his wife’s ranting. His mind was elsewhere. He was thinking how much he used to complain about his job at the factory back in the States before retiring to this godforsaken place, and how he’d give anything to be back there now complaining or not. One can never recapture the excitement and enthusiasm of a first vacation. Times change.
“Are you listening to me?” Eleanor asked.
“I told you last night,” he said, “That wasn’t their room you were eavesdropping on. That’s the room where the dark-haired philly is staying.”
“Dark-haired philly! Ernest, you’re impossible,” she snapped, “I wasn’t eavesdropping. They were arguing very audibly. And I didn’t imagine them purposefully dropping their voices when I passed them this morning.”

Beto on his way to meet Dana and with several hundred thousand euros in his briefcase saw the young couple as they exited the bazaar. Strange he thought why are they going into Balthazar’s office? He despised his gruff manner. Hadn’t he ever heard that one could win more flies with honey than with vinegar?
Balthazar was the dominant personality in this community. Someone wanting authority here only had to seize it. Balthazar had already questioned Dana and Beto about their activities, which is why they both avoided him if they could. They always maintained sufficient space between them.
Now the sounds of shouting and weeping were coming from the big man’s office. Uh oh, thought Beto, more victims added to the tyrant’s list.

“There are some who prefer to wallow in their miseries and misfortunes, surrounding themselves with dark influences at times when their lives are equally black,” Dana said, “But if you prefer to look up at the stars when you're lying in a gutter, you’ll pick yourself up, get in a car and drive to the nearest empty field you know. Bring a bottle of wine or an ice-cream cone. Park in that field, sit on the ground, and let music play from your open car doors. Loudly. And then you'll know what Raoul knows. Everything is going to be all right.”
That was her way, to speak in parables. I had no idea why she trusted so much in Raoul. He seemed barely able to keep himself out of the hands of the law. And yet, somehow, he always managed to do just that.

While We Were on Hiatus...

I would like to think I'm productive and had full intentions of using the break from work to post some new entries on this blog, but truly I'm one of the great procrastinators!
Meanwhile, my friend Álvaro has been blogging away, doing a good job reviewing movies, recent and old, on his blog Cinematronics and I'm impressed by how quickly he reacts to everything he views.
I will probably use this space to essay on fiction and its creators, if I can only get myself in gear and start producing.
This post is a segue.
The voice I am seeking is almost within my grasp. That is to say, I am seeking to find my writing voice. One by which my readers will immediately recognize me, and hopefully will appreciate what I am trying to say.
I say it is almost within my grasp because lately I am beginning to garner reviews for things I have written and these reviews are telling me I am proceeding in the right direction.
As I near a landmark birthday, I am thinking, it is about time I have arrived at something manageable and repeatable. Too often in the past I wandered aimlessly among sandlike prose of my own distribution. Perhaps like fantasy castles at the beach, while wet these sand edifices stood and were perhaps admired, more often disdained, but were always of only temporary strength. The waves of fortune and taste came, lapped at the base of my architecture and after having weakened its foundations, one good surge would wash it away, leaving not even rubble, but only a hole where briefly my creation had stood.
Now others are telling me they hear my voice and it is allowing me to strengthen my buildings. I am getting some idea where to insert hard things like shells and pebbles, when to wrap in seaweed, which when dried in the sunshine will prevent disaster.
And I feel prolific. It is no matter whether this is warranted or otherwise. I feel it, therefore I can work with it.
My voice.
A friend told me, "Even when you get to thinking that it has all been said and written before, remember no one can tell it from exactly the same viewpoint as you can nor in the same tone of voice unless they parody you, and if you are parodied that is proof positive that you have a voice distinctive enough to be imitated."
My voice is beginning to sound in the night. I sure hope it will guide me to a resolution. I keep my fingers crossed that I will not be taken in by the sound of my own voice nor be misled by false compliments.

Descending and Rising Damp

On a Wednesday evening at his dining room table in a rented house in Tuxtla Gutiérrez, Michael took his Palm and portable keyboard out of his black school bag.

Something was wrong with the keyboard because no matter what he tried, including replacing the batteries, he couldn't get it to work.

He was feeling old and tired from too long summer hours in classes; parts of his body were aching and the keyboard problem just added to his frustration, which had arisen from his not having completed, nor yet started, his students' third partial reports.

He decided to go online with his laptop and see if he could find a solution on the Palm site.

As he started to go upstairs to get his laptop, he discovered there was water all over the living room floor, water that had run down the stairs due to flooding on the upper floor.

He mopped up most of the water, but by the time he was finished he felt as if it had seeped into his bones, and rather than retrieve the laptop from the upstairs closet, he tried once again to get the keyboard and Palm to work.

He smelled the dankness in the air and it made him think a miasma had settled on his house causing everything to react erratically including his usually reliable little keyboard.

Lighting a cigarette added to the stale barroom ambiance, but in that moment it was all he could think of doing-to smoke and reflect on life's vicissitudes.

He could replace the keyboard if it truly wouldn't come back to action, if he responded to the General Director's request for particular English lessons, which would mean extra money.

Yes, that was how he would resolve his problem by taking on more work, which would leave him too tired to enjoy the use of his electronic toy, but also keep him out of the house for a greater part of his days.

He lit another cigarette, gulped some Light Coke directly from the two-liter bottle, noted it was half-past midnight and there were still the reports to write up and he pretended the wetness didn't bother him.

Why Not?

Because it's not allowed.

Because it's not good for you.

Because your eyes will stay that way.

Because we didn't have that luxury in my day.

Because it isn't fair to the rest.

Because no one's ever done it.

Because it's too hard or too easy.

Because once you do it you won't want to stop.

Because in all likelihood you'll find it isn't what you'd imagined it to be, but by then it will be too late to undo it.

Because it's uncouth or uncool or it shows bad breeding, or too much in-breeding, or it's not being clever. In any case, it's just not done.

Because 'Y' is a crooked letter.

Go ask your mother, or conversely, go ask your father. If s/he says it's all right, then it's all right with me.

You'll understand when you're older.

Because you're not a kid anymore.

You just shouldn't.

No, really, you should.

I don't see why not.

Chimera

Volumes where the golden insect crawled fetch glory by the yard, but there is no communication between the ink and the eye, for try as they might, libraries cannot express the depth of what they lack in emotion. Sharp-toothed keys assist the explorer in gaining entry to a world renowned for its emptiness, but there is never any action in the quotidian balance. Read, read, read, they said. However, he was left alone to ponder the fruitlessness of his desperation. Sadly, Hugo observed the declination of reason as three virgins giggled and proceeded to retain their innocence, which, by the way, was neither innocent nor retainable. They must have known what was on offer without the experience, he calculated, for there was guile in their laughter. One of them, she of the radiant halo, dipped and scooped up the golden spider leaving only its latest unreadable tome in a web of silky verbosity. Virgin or muse, he could not tell. Still, he was news once again without the slightest perception of validation. Everything he touched glowed and shimmered in an ephemeral way. Yet, he never doubted all was at their behest.

Popping, he shriveled almost immediately and shortly thereafter he noticed he was losing hair again and there were liver spots.

It's My Belief We're All Crazy

It's my belief we're all crazy. I think we have to be to survive without scars.

There is no point in trying to deny the healthy aspects of approaching the game from the other end of the terminal. If you try to play by the rules, someone with a wider perspective will find reason to oust you. Take the limited but keep an ear to the conductor's announcements. There is more to be found at the next stop.

Sun comes up. Sun goes down. That's all you need to remember.

Don't make long term plans, but do listen to the weather report. It's only guesswork.

Seventh son of a seventh son. No reason to think you're blest in any degree.

Meet the regulars. Say hello. Don't give out more information required than enough to get you a seat. It's a long ride and you will grow tired standing. But again, be adaptable. As often as things are capable of change, they probably will. Keep your eyes peeled for an available seat, but if after three stops none becomes available, make your own. Sit on the floor.

Two men walk into a bar. That's a different story.

If the sun doesn't rise tomorrow, forget the preceding and go with Plan B.

Keep watching this space for further updates.

The Man is not on your side. He works alone. Notice his flawless skin? No scars? Think he's sane? Could be He's playing a different game. Maybe, though, He's been playing this one so long, the rules do not apply. Plan B involves living long enough to make your own rules.

Plan C is a combo situation and requires quick stepping back and forth between the previous two. It is inadvisable due to the wear and tear it affords. There is some scarring. There is no Plan D. Best to proceed until a roadblock presents the need to decide; do so rapidly and take another shot. Don't vacillate. There is never much to be gained.

Veterans achieve a measure of immortality but never beyond the measure of the species.

Best to you each morning. Sun comes up. Get dressed. Otherwise, plan your funeral. Don't bother with obituaries. Most people don't read them. And those that do, well, isn't it obvious why they do?

Try spot remover and remember laughter causes lines but it's the least painful course. Listen for the whistle. Have your ticket ready and hop on.

Nobody here but us chickens.

Resolution

A few minutes before midnight on New Year's Eve, with the sound of fireworks preventing his usual attempt to sleep through the curve, Michael sat looking at the ball clock on the small table in the corner of his dining room. His cell phone was charging and it was unlikely anyone else would call with wishes for prosperity as he had earlier spoken to his sister back home; his MP3 player, filled with soothing New Age music, which might have helped drown out the celebrants, was also charging in another socket, so he stared at the clock to try catching the changing display in the act of inaugurating the new year. He was not yet bored with his responsibilities, nor those to come, but was aware that inertia was a heartbeat away.

At 12:00, the clock's display wished him a Happy New Year, and that was his only resolution - to be happy no matter how often he might find himself running on a treadmill during the coming semester. Be happy and keep in shape; maintain good health - prosperity was out of the question on a teacher's salary. Save enough money, however, to go to England in the spring.

He said a silent thank you to the clock, and its green, glowing numbers and letters moving around inside the sphere seemed to twinkle in appreciation.

It did not require charging and ran consistently on observatory time. It had been programmed so even if there were a blackout, it would pick up the correct time when power returned.

Perhaps, Michael thought, he would visit his family in New York in April and cut the London trip short by a few days. He was such a long way from home, and hadn't seen any of them face-to-face in over eighteen months. Yes, that was what he would do, and he would gift his sister and brother with clocks like his. Time knows no location. It can't be bound in place.

Announcing a new perspective

Well, my friend is here to make an announcement.
After five and a half years in residence, I have started the process of getting my Mexican papers. I think I will feel like I truly belong after I have those.
Of course, I should improve my Spanish enough so I don’t sound so ignorant all the time, but I’m working on it.
I always use the excuse, to anyone who appears to need one, that I am so busy working on English lessons that I don’t have the time to practice, but that is an excuse. When I’m not checking students’ work and preparing lessons, I try to get some writing done. And I’m always checking other people’s blogs and Arts & Letters Daily for news and items of interest, so I am rather busy.
Have recently been reading far too much about “information overload.” That’s my problem. I’m addicted to the acquisition of information.
Anyway, I’m going to try approaching my own projects from a new perspective in 2007. I’m going to be an American-Mexican.

From Y2K to 2012

Inside Outside-In: A Blog (game) for the 21st Century.
Beginning: 31 December 2000
Midpoint: 21 December 2006
Finish: 21 December 2012

Advice to the Friends of the Extranjero

Let him breathe. Give him a space which he can identify as his own. Remember he is a guest in your territory and will always maintain that status even if he stays long enough to acquire citizenship; your home will never truly be his home. I know, you will say things like, “Mi casa es tu casa.” But the subtext tells him it is your home and you are sharing it. It is not his home.

The ideal place, or space, he can occupy is most likely where he works. Don’t invade his livelihood, unless he invites you into that space, and if he does, be aware he may be selective in the process. He is not asking you to bring your entire lifestyle and accoutrements in with his invitation. If you are his connection to his new residence, he likely wants to be able to share with you some part of his life that is proprietary to return the favor of your sharing the other 95% of his quotidian activities. Remember, 100% of the space is yours but you must cede that small portion where he feels in charge to him and then act the guest. Failure to respect this small portion of the extranjero’s space is probably the greatest reason to send one packing. You are “at home” 100% of the time, but the extranjero is never truly at home. Play nice.

Respect that his ideas and ideals may be different from yours. This refers to food, customs, entertainment, lifestyle. The extranjero is an adventurer. If one has come this far, he is probably open to experiment, but has a lifetime of experiences already behind him. It is not that easy to change however strong the initial effort or drive may be. It is like the non-swimmer who likes to dip his toes in the water before plunging. Pushing one into strange waters can produce irreversible shock to the system. Give the experimenter time and realize that everyone’s “time” is different. Because you had a cousin that learned a foreign language in six months and seemed as fluent as a native speaker within two years, does not mean everyone can do so within the same timeframe. Your new friend may never become fully accustomed, despite a strong desire to do so.

Meet him halfway. Don’t make him do all the work of becoming accustomed. Surely you have heard the old maxim that the best way for one to learn a foreign language is by becoming fully immersed in the experience. For some this may be true, but in my experience it is scary to feel lost without a signpost. Speaking only your native language all the time is just as debilitating to the extranjero’s development as constantly deferring to his. Remember, everyone he comes into contact with, who is not yet a friend, will take care of this chore. As a friend, and most likely the reason for his being in your country, you must be the signpost. If you care about acclimatizing your new friend, you must be aware of his “moments”, those times when he is ready to try. While it is true that children can and must learn by constant exposure, it has been proven that adults are resistant to this practice. If you speak nothing but your native language to the extranjero, the process of becoming accustomed starts to feel like a second job. Likewise, if you constantly defer to his, he will become lazy about the process and avoid situations where that “work” is required. Become alert to the signals. Learn to recognize the openings.

Be honest. Of course, when these “chores” begin to feel like too much work to you, perhaps it is time to admit you’ve had enough. You can never be friends with someone for whom you must “work” all the time. Let your friend know that you need a break. Don’t depend on subtlety to get your message across. The other will read your discomfort as betrayal. Don’t try to arrange things to appear as if they have happened by chance, and don’t lie. Even a “white lie” can be a form of betrayal. Case in point: you have been invited to spend the evening with the extranjero and some of his co-workers. He is trying to mix his two worlds (It is one of those moments.), and you take charge by inviting cousins or friends to casually drop by at a place they are not known to frequent to join the party. Unless your new friend is ignorant, in which case such a ploy would not be transparent, your maneuver will clearly be read as your reaffirming of his “guest” status, someone whose social activities must be managed by a firmer hand. This kind of set-up may be appreciated by a newcomer of a couple of weeks or less, but is insulting to someone who has been in in situ for several months or more. It is condescending and sends the signal that you have made a private assessment of the other’s social development and found him wanting. You are trying to change your 95% into 100%. If in truth, you were the one who would feel uncomfortable without your “back-up” in a group of extranjeros, it would have been better to make other arrangements at the outset.