A cold uneasiness had stolen over Mingolla as Tully spoke, but he denied it and merely said that the place sounded interesting.
‘Oh, it dat all right. But dat ain’t why I told you ’bout it.’ Tully propped himself on an elbow and stared at Mingolla. ‘I got a feelin’ dat you gonna come dere someday, and dat’s de reason fah I make de map.’
‘I s’pose I might get up that way,’ Mingolla said, affecting casualness.
‘Dat ain’t my meanin’, Davy,’ said Tully. ‘You know what I’m talkin’ ’bout. I got me a real deep feelin’.’
It wasn’t until the second week of the voyage that Mingolla entered into another conversation with Ruy. He had been sitting beside Debora, who was sunning herself in a pale leakage of light through the overcast, watching the blackish green line of the Honduran coast, when Ruy came out of the wheelhouse carrying a cassette player and sat down by the door; he lit a cigarette and switched on the player. The volume was low, but Mingolla recognized Prowler’s rhythms and Jack Lescaux’s vocal style. He moved along the rail to within twenty feet of Ruy and pretended to be studying the shore, pleased to hear something familiar in all this foreign emptiness.
‘Like that music, man?’ said Ruy, cutting the volume. ‘I do.’
Mingolla said it was okay.
‘Bet the little lady down there, she like it. Maybe I invite her over to have a listen. She look so sad, I bet it cheer her up.’
‘I doubt it.’ Mingolla turned a baleful eye on Ruy.
‘That Debora, she’s a nice littte lady,’ said Ruy expansively. ‘Real nice! She tell me you in love, but I know that’s the crap you gotta hand ’em to make ’em do de backstroke.’
Mingolla hardened his stare but said nothing.
‘Love!’ Ruy sniffed and flipped his cigarette over the rail; he shielded his eyes from the glare and peered toward Debora. ‘Yeah, she sure is nice. I’m tellin’ ya, man, this ain’t casual with me. I’m really feelin’ somethin’ for her. I’m thinkin’ ol’ Ruy can put a smile on her face.’
‘All you done so far is bore the hell outta her.’
‘Then maybe I try harder.’ Ruy squinted up at him. ‘Tell ya what, we make a trade, okay? I’ll send Corazon to your cabin tonight, and you lemme see what I can do for the little lady.’
Disgusted, Mingolla turned away.
‘Hey, you gettin’ the best of the deal, man,’ said Ruy. ‘That Corazon, she got tricks that’ll notch your pistol.’
Something occurred to Mingolla, something he’d been intending to ask Ruy about. ‘You remember a guy named Gilbey?’ he said. ‘Short blond guy ’bout my age. He traveled with you ’round eight or nine months ago.’
‘Gilbey,’ said Ruy. ‘Naw, uh-uh.’
Mingolla searched his face for a hint of a lie. ‘You’d remember this guy. He was surly, y’know… had a bad attitude. Wouldn’t take shit from anybody.’
‘What you think?’ said Ruy with menace. I dump him over the side?’
‘Did you?’
‘You been talkin’ to them dumb cunts back in Livingston, that it?’ Ruy climbed to his feet, adopted a challenging pose. ‘Listen, friend. I ain’t a nice guy, I’m a fuckin’ criminal! But I don’t throw nobody over the side ’less they begging for it.’
‘Maybe Gilbey begged for it.’
‘Then I’d remember him.’
‘How ’bout your baby, you remember your baby, don’tcha?’
Ruy spat at Mingolla’s feet. ‘My baby’s born dead, man. I get rid of it ’cause my woman she can’t stand to be ’round it.’
‘If you say so.’
‘That’s what I say. Those bullshit savages back in Livingston, what they know ’bout Ruy Barros. What they know ’bout my work for the cause. I work my butt off for the cause, I do things nobody else got the belly for.’
‘That right?’
‘Yeah, that’s right.’ Ruy went chest-to-chest with Mingolla. ‘But what’s a fuckin’ gringo like you know ‘bout shit. You…’
Mingolla gave Ruy a push. ‘How you know I’m American?’
Ruy grinned. Debora, she tell me.’
‘That’s crap,’ said Mingolla. ‘How’d you know?’
‘Huh! Ruy Barros, he can smell a fuckin’ gringo. That’s a nice paint job, man, and you got the language down… but you walk gringo, you act gringo, and the things you say is gringo. And you don’t see that the cause is for all the people. For priests, murderers, whatever.’ He shook his fist at the sun. ‘La Violencia! Lemme tell ya, man. This war ain’t gonna end ’till we win it.’
Despite himself, Mingolla was impressed by Ruy’s vehemence, by the honest zeal it appeared to embody.
‘You don’t unnerstan’ nothin’, gringo,’ Ruy continued. And that’s why me and the little lady gonna work things out. ’Cause in her heart she know I unnerstan’ her.’
The time had come, Mingolla decided, to stake out his claim. You talk a lot, man, I like that. Guys who talk a lot, that’s all they’re up for.’
Ruy rubbed his chin, his long face grew thoughtful. ‘You sayin’ you can take me, man?’
‘Absolutely.’ Mingolla gestured at Debora. ‘And y’know what? She can take ya, too. You ain’t a threat at all, beaner. So set it out, give it a shot.’
Ruy’s shoulders tensed as if he were preparing to throw a punch, but he must have thought better of it. He hitched up his pants, scowled at Mingolla, and went into the wheelhouse. Mingolla picked up the cassette player, held it up to show Ruy, who looked away, attending to the business of steering. Then he walked back to the stern, turning up the volume of a ballad.
‘What’s that?’ said Debora, frowning at the player as Mingolla sat beside her.
‘Prowler… like it?’
‘It’s all right.’
‘It’s old,’ he said. ‘From four or five years ago. And not typical. They do mostly uptempo stuff. I’ll find something else.’
‘No, I’m starting to like it.’ She leaned into him.