Suddenly he doubled up and plunged straight down. Seconds later he came up with a huge green lobster, thrashing around on the end of his spear.
Soon he appeared with another one and we went in. Chenault was waiting for us on the patio.
A fine lunch, Yeamon said, tossing them into a bucket beside the door.
What now? I asked.
Just tear the legs off, and we’ll boil them up, replied Yeamon.
Damn, I said. I wish I could stay.
When do you have to be at work? he asked.
Pretty soon, I replied. They’re waiting for my report on the mayor of Miami.
Fuck the mayor, he said. Stay out here and we’ll get drunk and kill a few chickens.
Chickens? I said.
Yeah, my neighbors all have chickens. They run wild. I killed one last week when we didn’t have any meat. He laughed. It’s fine sport — chasing them down with the spear.
Jesus, I muttered. These people will chase you down with a spear if they catch you shooting their chickens.
When I got back to the office I found Sala in the darkroom and told him his car was back.
Good, he said. We have to go out to the University. Lotterman wants you to meet the power mongers.
We talked a few minutes and then he asked me how much longer I intended to stay at the hotel.
I have to move pretty soon, I said. Lotterman told me I could stay there until I found a place of my own, but he said something about a week being plenty of time.
He nodded. Yeah, he’ll have you out pretty soon — or else he’ll stop paying your bill. He looked up. You can stay in my place if you want, at least until you find something you like.
I thought for a moment. He lived in a big vault of a room down in the Old City, a ground-floor apartment with a high ceiling and shuttered windows and nothing but a hotplate to cook on.
I guess so, I said. What’s your rent?
Sixty.
Not bad, I said. You don’t think I’ll get on your nerves?
Hell, he replied. I’m never there — it’s too depressing.
I smiled. Okay, when should we do it?
He shrugged. Whenever you want. Hell, stay at the hotel as long as you can. When he mentions it, tell him you’re moving tomorrow.
He gathered his equipment and we went out the back door to avoid the mob in front. It was so hot that I began to sweat each time we stopped for a red light. Then, when we started moving again, the wind would cool me off. Sala weaved in and out of the traffic on Avenida Ponce de Leon, heading for the outskirts of town.
Somewhere in Santurce we stopped to let some schoolchildren cross the street and they all began laughing at us. La cucaracha! they yelled. Cucaracha! cucaracha!
Sala looked embarrassed.
What’s going on? I asked.
The little bastards are calling this car a cockroach, he muttered. I should run a few of them down.
I grinned and leaned back in the seat as we drove on. There was a strange and unreal air about the whole world I’d come into. It was amusing and vaguely depressing at the same time. Here I was, living in a luxury hotel, racing around a half-Latin city in a toy car that looked like a cockroach and sounded like a jet fighter, sneaking down alleys and humping on the beach, scavenging for food in shark-infested waters, hounded by mobs yelling in a foreign tongue — and the whole thing was taking place in quaint old Spanish Puerto Rico, where everybody spent American dollars and drove American cars and sat around roulette wheels pretending they were in Casablanca. One part of the city looked like Tampa and the other part looked like a medieval asylum. Everybody I met acted as if they had just come back from a crucial screen test. And I was being paid a ridiculous salary to wander around and take it all in, to find out what was going on.
I wanted to write all my friends and invite them down. I thought of Phil Rollins, breaking his ass in New York, chasing after stalled subways and gang-fights in Brooklyn; Duke Peterson, sitting in the White Horse and wondering what in hell to do next; Carl Browne in London, bitching about the climate and grubbing endlessly for assignments; Bill Minnish, drinking himself to death in Rome. I wanted to cable them all — Come quick stop plenty of room in the rum barrel stop no work stop big money stop drink all day stop hump all night stop hurry it may not last.