'I think they'd be better off in Florida,' said Captain Ruggles. 'For one thing, they'd have a better standard of medical care. God knows what kind of cattywampus you'd have to start here to get a doctor to look at you.'
Andy Ruggles - the 'captain' was honorific: he was an airline pilot -was from Florida himself; he kept asking out loud what in the name of God he was doing in San José. We were in the bar of the Royal Dutch Hotel and Andy was resolutely making himself drunk. He could not drink on duty, he said. He could not drink at all if he was scheduled to fly. A good vacation for him, he said, was a binge in the company of a really stunning prostitute. 'But we have beer like this in Florida, and the girls are much better looking. Paul,' he said, 'I think I made a real bad mistake coming here. But I got a discount on the air-fare.'
We talked about religion: Andy was a Baptist. We talked about politics: in Andy's view, Nixon had been framed. We talked about race. In this respect, Andy was enlightened. He said there were five races in the world. A more narrow-minded man would have said two. The Indians in Central America were of course Mongolians. 'They came down through the Bering Straits, when there was land there. Take our Indians - they're Mongolian to the core.'
Conversations about race make me uneasy; the general direction of such talk is towards Auschwitz. I was glad when he said, 'How do you pronounce the capital of Kentucky? Louieville or Lewisville?'
'Louieville,' I said.
'Wrong. It's Frankfort.' He guffawed. 'That's an old one!'
I asked him to give me the capital of Upper Volta. Andy did not know that Ouagadougou is the capital of Upper Volta. He countered with Nevada. I did not know that Carson City was its capital, and I missed Illinois too. Andy knew more capital cities than anyone I had ever met, and I prided myself on my knowledge of capitals. He missed New Hampshire (Concord) and Sri Lanka (Colombo), but that was all, apart from Upper Volta. He bought me three beers. I ended up buying six.
Andy was an even-tempered drunkard and he said that as he had in San José for three days he wanted to show me around. But a roan on his right had been listening to our conversation, and as Andy rose to leave, the man said in a strong Spanish accent, 'I think your airline is the worst one in the world. That's what I think. I'm on my way to Miami, but I'm not going to fly on your airline. It's the worst.'
Andy grinned at me. 'You always get one dissatisfied customer, don't you?'
The man said, 'It stinks. Really stinks.'
I thought Andy was going to hit him. But his smile returned to his reddened face and he said, 'Guess you had a bad flight. Little turbulence?' Andy fluttered his hand. 'Plane sort of going up and down, huh?'
'I have flown many times.'
'Correction,' said Andy. 'Two bad flights.'
'I would never fly with your airline again.'
'I'll mention that to the president next time I see him.'
'You can tell him something else for me- '
'Hold on a minute, sir,' said Andy very calmly. 'What I want to know is what's a Scotchman like you doing here?'
The Spaniard looked puzzled.
Andy turned his back on him and clawed his cuff from his wrist-watch. 'Time to eat.'
'I'm going to show you around town, boy. You're new in this here town. Gonna introduce you to the main features. If we meet any of my pals you just keep your mouth shut. I'm gonna say you're an Englishman, just in from London. Don't you say a word - they won't know the difference.'
We went to a bar called 'Our Club'. It was noisy and dark and in the shadows I could see furtive men canoodling with prostitutes.
'Set them up,' said Andy. 'This gentleman and I will have some beer. Any kind will do.' The girl behind the bar wore a low-cut dress. She wiped the bar with a rag. 'You look like an intelligent girl,' said Andy. 'Know who' - the girl walked away - 'aw, she ain't listening. Paul, know who's the greatest poet in the world? No, not Shakespeare. Can't guess? Rudyard Kipling.'
The girl brought us two bottles of beer.
Andy said, 'I've taken my fun where I've found it. Give the girl two dollars, Paul - you still owe me for Oregon. Salem, remember? And I've rogued and I've ranged in my time.'
He settled into his recitation of 'The Ladies'. He did not seem to see that four feet down the bar was a grossly fat man who, drinking alone and scooping peanuts from a bowl, had been watching us. The man rattled the peanuts in his hand, a crap-shooter's motion, before tossing them into his mouth; then his other hand went to his drink. He sipped and reached for more peanuts. He put his drink down, shook the peanuts and shot them into his mouth. His movements were ceaselessly gluttonous, but his eyes remained fixed on us.
Andy's voice was hoarse, almost gruff, but touched with melancholy.
Doll in a teacup she were-
But we lived on the square, like a true-married pair,
An' I learned about women from 'er.
'This used to be a great country,' said the fat man, munching peanuts.
I looked over at him. He was chuckling ruefully. His left hand found the peanut bowl. He had not looked down.
Andy was saying,
An' I took with a shiny she-devil,
The wife of a nigger at Mhow;
Taught me the gypsy folks' bolee
Kind of volcano she were ....
'Hookers everywhere,' said the fat man. I estimated that he weighed three hundred pounds. His hair was pushed back. He had huge lard-white arms. 'You could hardly move for the hookers.'
Andy said,
For she knifed me one night 'cause I wished she was white
And I learned about women from 'er.
'Americans come down. They buy little businesses - taxi-companies, soft drinks, gas stations. Then they sit on their asses and count their money. The government wanted them, so they cleaned the place up, sent the hookers to Panama. Because of these people who comedown. Practically all of them are from New York. Mostly sheenies.'
Andy had not stopped reciting, but he finished quickly, saying, 'The colonel's lady and Judy O'Grady are sisters under the skin. Did you say something, sir?'
'Sheenies,' said the fat man; his chewing was like a challenge.
'Hear that, Paul?' said Andy. He turned to the fat man. 'But you're here, ain't you?'
'I'm just passing through,' said the fat man. Drink, peanuts, drink, peanuts: he didn't stop.
'Sure,' said Andy, 'you bring your money down here. But someone else does it and you criticize.' So he had heard the fat man's complaint! He had been reciting 'The Ladies', but he had heard. Andy's tone was judicious. He said, 'Well, sir, you're entitled to your opinion. I am not going to dispute what you say. But I'm entitled to my opinion, too, and I say Robert W. Service is the second greatest.'
Andy began to recite The Cremation of Sam McGee'. He faltered, cursed, then recovered and recited in its entirety a Robert Service poem called 'My Madonna'.