What type is that? I asked.
Bagmasters, he replied. The wheelers and the dealers — they love it here.
Yeah, I said. I got that feeling at the airport. I looked over at him. What keeps you here? It’s only forty-five dollars to New York.
He snorted. Hell, I make that much in an hour — just for punching a button.
You sound greedy, I said.
He grinned. I am. There’s nobody on the island greedier than me. Sometimes I feel like kicking myself in the balls.
Sweep arrived with our hamburgers. Sala grabbed his off the tray and opened them up on the table, throwing the lettuce and tomato slices into the ashtray. You brainless monster, he said wearily. How many times have I told you to keep this garbage off my meat?
The waiter stared down at the garbage.
A thousand times! Sala shouted. I tell you every stinking day!
Man, I said with a smile. You should leave — this place is getting to you.
He gobbled one of his hamburgers. You’ll see, he muttered. You and Yeamon — that guy’s a freak. He won’t last. None of us will last. He slammed his fist on the table. Sweep — more beer!
The waiter came out of the kitchen and looked at us. Two beers! Sala yelled. Hurry!
I smiled and leaned back in the chair. What’s wrong with Yeamon?
He looked at me as if it were incredible that I should have to ask. Didn’t you see him? he said. That wild-eyed sonofabitch! Lotterman’s scared shitless of him — couldn’t you see it?
I shook my head. He looked okay to me.
Okay? he shouted. You should have been here a few nights ago! He flipped this table for no reason at all — this very table. He slapped our table with his palm. No damn reason, he repeated. Knocked all our drinks in the dirt and flipped the table on some poor bastard who didn’t know what he was saying — then threatened to stomp him! Sala shook his head. I don’t know where Lotterman found that guy. He’s so scared of him that he lent him a hundred dollars and Yeamon went out and blew it on a motorscooter. He laughed bitterly. Now he’s brought some girl down here to live with him.
The waiter appeared with the beers and Sala snatched them off the tray. No girl with any brains would come here, he said. Just virgins — hysterical virgins. He shook his finger at me. You’ll turn queer in this place, Kemp — mark my words. This place will turn a man queer and crazy.
I don’t know, I said. A fine young thing came down on the plane with me. I smiled. I think I’ll look around for her tomorrow. She’s bound to be on the beach somewhere.
She’s probably a lesbian, he replied. This place is full of them. He shook his head. It’s the tropic rot — this constant sexless drinking! He slumped back in his chair. It’s driving me wild — I’m cracking up!
Sweep came hurrying out with two more beers and Sala grabbed them off the tray. Just then Yeamon appeared in the doorway; he saw us and came over to the table.
Sala groaned miserably. Oh god, here he is, he muttered. Don’t stomp me, Yeamon — I didn’t mean it.
Yeamon smiled and sat down. Are you still bitching about Moberg? He laughed and turned to me. Robert thinks I mistreated Moberg.
Sala grumbled something about nuts.
Yeamon laughed again. Sala’s the oldest man in San Juan. How old are you, Robert — about ninety?
Don’t give me your crazy shit! Sala shouted, springing up from his chair.
Yeamon nodded. Robert needs a woman, he said gently. His penis is pressing on his brain and he can’t think.
Sala groaned and shut his eyes.
Yeamon tapped on the table. Robert, the streets are full of whores. You should look around sometime. I saw so many on the way up here that I wanted to grab about six and fall down naked and let them crawl all over me like puppies. He laughed and signaled for the waiter.