American Visa

American Visa by Juan de Recacoechea

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Authors: Juan de Recacoechea
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growing unbearable. Chilled to the bone, I returned to the hotel.
    * Since 1950, the Movimiento Nacionalista Revolucionario (Nationalist Revolutionary Movement) has occupied the Bolivian presidency more often than any other political party.
    * The principal right-leaning political party opposed to MNR rule during the 1950s and 1960s.

Chapter 5
    B efore dawn I woke to a gentle, tickling caress. It was Blanca reminding me of our date. I had been fast asleep and didn’t hear her come in.
    â€œWhat time is it?” I asked.
    â€œAbout 5 in the morning. I couldn’t come any sooner because it started to rain.”
    â€œRough day, huh?” I murmured under my breath. As she came closer a pungent alcoholic aroma blew into my face, shaking me wide awake.
    â€œIt’s like a pigpen,” she said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThe second patio.”
    She switched on the light on the night table and started to undress. When she snapped off her corset, her breasts popped out wildly. She stood there completely naked, her light cinnamon skin shuddering at the slightest touch. She wiped her genitalia with some lotion and a piece of cotton. Without her gaudy get-up, she was like a different person. Who would have guessed that in a couple of hours she had gone through maybe twenty guys?
    She slipped under the covers. Her body radiated heat like it was on fire, and when she covered my body with hers, from head to toe, it felt like I was inside an enormous banana peel. She wasn’t used to being touched affectionately or delicately. The guys at the whorehouse humped her without even looking at her. Resigned and disgusted at the same time, she put up with their crude jerking and shaking. She got used to five-minute copulation sessions where she didn’t experience the slightest physical pleasure. She had learned to detach herself from any kind of pleasant sensation, and over time evolved into a peerless screwing machine. But this night was different. I think she was discovering what it really felt like to be caressed and to hear sweet salacious nothings. Her movements stopped being automatic and she let my hands and my insinuations guide her. I witnessed a remarkable transformation. The word “spiritual” is too pompous to describe what I believe Blanca was beginning to feel. I can only say for sure that it was something she had sensed her whole life. It was always inside of her, but she had never before dared to experience it.
    By the time the sun rose, Blanca was spent and sleeping serenely. That left me all alone with my angst, my ridiculous speculations, and my absurd answers for the puzzle in which I found myself. I didn’t sleep. Instead, I stayed up listening to the thunderous pealing of the bells at Rosario’s church and the early-morning shouts of vendors hawking hot empanadas. When I switched on Blanca’s transistor radio, an announcer with a voice from beyond the grave remarked that the East Berliners wanted to put the Wall back up because even though they had lived poor, peacefully, and obediently before, now they didn’t know what to do with so much freedom. I stood up and took a swig of pisco and soon dozed off.
    Blanca gently shook me awake at 10 o’clock and made me a boiling cup of watered-down coffee.
    â€œYou don’t look so hot.”
    â€œI feel like my hands and feet are tied,” I said.
    â€œWell, I slept like a queen,” she proclaimed.
    â€œBefore I came back last night, I went for a walk on Lambaque Street. I had no idea so many half-breed chicks have flocked to the fornication business.”
    â€œThey come here from the countryside,” she said. “Because the economy’s so bad, they put their asses out there for a couple of months and then go back home to be with their families and rest up. Then they come back here again as soon as the money runs out.”
    â€œIt amazed me to see how well you know your business. I saw you make a

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