“Well, how do you feel?”
“Very nice, gracias.”
“The heat hasn’t got you?”
“No, no. Nicer than Mexico.”
“Well, I tell you what. It’s too early to eat yet. I think I’ll have my suit pressed, then take a walk around and kind of get the lay of the land. Then after sundown, when it’s cooler, we’ll find a nice place and eat. Yes?”
“Very nice. I look at house.”
“All right, but I got ideas on the location.”
“Oh, the politico already have house.”
“I see. I didn’t know that. All right, then, you see the politico, have a look at the house, and then we’ll eat.”
“Yes.”
I found a sastrería, and sat there while they pressed my suit, but I didn’t waste any time on the lay of the land after that. You think I was going to bookkeep for a whorehouse now? A fat chance. Those high notes down the arroyo made everything different. There was a freighter laying out there in the harbor, and I meant to dig out of there, if there was any way in God’s world I could promote passage on her.
It was nearly dark before I found the captain. He was having dinner at the Hotel de Mexico, out under the canopy. He was a black Irishman, named Conners, about fifty, with brows that met over his nose, a face the color of a meerschaum pipe, and blistered sunburned hands that were thin and long like a blackjack dealer’s. He gave me a fine welcome when I sat down at his table. “My friend, I don’t know your uncle in New York, your brother in Sydney, or your sister-in-law back in Dublin, God bless her, nevertheless. I’m not a member of the Ancient, Free, and Accepted Order of Masons, and I don’t care if you ever get the twenty pesos to take you to Mexico City. I’ll not buy you a drink. Here’s a peso to be off, and if you don’t mind I’ll be having my dinner.”
I let the peso lay and didn’t move. When he had to look at me again I recited it back to him just like he had handed it to me. “I have no uncle in New York, no brother in Sydney, no sister-in-law in Dublin, thanks for the benediction, nevertheless. I’m not a member of the Ancient, Free, and Accepted Order of Masons, and I’m not on my way to Mexico City. I don’t want your drink, and I don’t want your peso.”
“By your looks, you want something. What is it?”
“I want passage north, if that’s where you’re headed.”
“I’m headed for San Pedro, and the passage will be two hundred and fifteen pesos, cash of the Republic, payable in advance, and entitling you to a fine deck stateroom, three meals a day, and the courtesies of the ship.”
“I offer five.”
“Declined.”
I picked up his peso. “Six.”
“Declined.”
“I offer sweat. I’ll do any reasonable thing to work this passage out, from swabbing decks to cleaning brass. I’m a pretty fair cook.”
“Declined.”
“I offer a recipe for Iguana John Howard Sharp that I have just perfected, a dish that would be an experience for you, and probably improve your disposition.”
“ ’Tis the first sensible thing you have said, but there would be a difficulty getting the iguana. At this season they move up to the hills. Declined.”
“I offer six pesos and a promissory note for two hundred and nine. The note I guarantee to redeem.”
“Declined.”
I watched him eating his fish, and by that time I was beginning to be annoyed. “Listen, maybe you don’t get this straight. I intend to haul out of here, and I intend to haul out on your boat. Write up your contracts any way you want. The thing to get through your head is: I’m going.”
“You’re not. You’ve taken my peso, so be off.”
I lit a cigarette and still sat there. “All right, I’ll level it out, and quit the feinting and jabbing. I was a singer, and my voice cracked up. Now it’s coming back, see? That means if I ever get out of this hellhole of a country, and get back where the money is, I can cash in. I’m all right. I’m as good as I ever was, maybe better. To hell with the promissory note. I guess that was a little tiresome. I ask you as a favor to haul me up to San Pedro, so I can get on my feet again.”
When he looked up, his eyes were smoky with hate. “So you’re a singer, then. An American singer. My answer is: It wouldn’t be safe for me to take you aboard. Before I was out of the harbor with you I’d drop you into the water to rid the world of you. No! And don’t take up any more of my time with it.”
“What’s the matter with an American singer?”
“I even hate the Pacific Ocean. On the Atlantic side, I can get London, Berlin, and Rome on my wireless. But here what is it? Los Angeles, San Francisco, the blue network, the red network, a castrated eunuch urging me to buy soap — and Victor Herbert!”
“He was an Irishman.”
“He was a German.”
“You’re wrong. He was an Irishman.”
“I met him in London when I was a young man, and I talked German with him myself.”
“He talked German, through choice, especially when he was with other Irishmen. You see, he wasn’t proud of it. He didn’t want them to know it. All right, look him up.”
“Then he was an Irishman, though I hate to say it. — And George Gershwin! There was an Irishman for you.”
“He wrote some music.”
“He didn’t write one bar of music. Victor Herbert, and George Gershwin, and Jerome Kern, and buy the soap for me schoolboy complexion, and Lawrence Tibbett, singing mush. At Tampico, I got Mozart’s Jupiter Symphony, that I suppose you never heard of, coming from Rome. Off Panama, I picked up the Beethoven Seventh, with Beecham conducting it, in London—”
“Listen, never mind Beethoven—”
“Oh, it’s never mind Beethoven, is it? You would say that, you soap-agent. He was the greatest composer that ever lived!”
“The hell he was.”
“And who was? Walter Donaldson, I suppose.”
“Well, we’ll see.”
There were two or three mariachis around, but the place wasn’t full yet, so there was a lull in the screeching. I called a man over, and took his guitar. It was tuned right, for a change. My fingers still had calluses on them, from the job in Mexico City, so I could slide up to the high positions without cutting them. I went into the introduction to the serenade from Don Giovanni, and then I sang it. I didn’t do any number, didn’t try to get any hand, and the rest of them in there hardly noticed me. I just sang it, half-voice, rattled off the finish on the guitar, and put my hand over the strings.
He was to his tamales by now, and he kept putting them down. Then he called the guitar player over, had a long powwow in Spanish, and laid down some paper money. The guitar player touched his hat and went off. The waiter took his plate and he stared hard at the table.“... It’s a delicate point. I’ve been a Beethoven enthusiast ever since I was a young man, but I’ve often wondered to myself if Mozart wasn’t the greatest musical genius that ever lived. You might be right, you might be right. I bought his guitar, and I’ll take it aboard with me. I’m in with a cargo of blasting powder, and I can’t clear till I’ve signed a million of their damned papers. Be at the dock at midnight sharp. I’ll lift my hook shortly after.”
I left him, my heels lifting like they had grown wings. Everything said lay low until midnight, and never go back to the hotel. But I hadn’t eaten yet, and I couldn’t make myself go in a café and sit down alone. Along about nine o’clock I walked on up there.
I no sooner turned in the patio before I could see there was something going on. Two or three oil lamps were stuck around, on stools, and some candles. Our car was still where I had left it, but a big limousine was parked across from it, and the place was full of people. By the limousine was a stocky guy, dark taffy-colored, in an officer’s uniform with a star on his shoulder and an automatic on his hip, smoking a cigarette. She was sitting on the running board of our car. In between, maybe a couple of dozen Mexicans were lined up. Some of them seemed to be guests of the hotel, some of them the hired help, and the last one was the hostelero. Two soldiers with rifles were searching them. When they got through with the hostelero they saw me, came over, they grabbed me, stood me up beside him, and searched me too. I never did like a bum’s rush, especially by a couple of gorillas that didn’t even have shoes.