expression lightened before she turned away, as if on the verge of a smile.
“Where are you from in the States?” he asked.
“Denver.”
“Mind if I ask how you ended up down here?”
“How about you?” she countered. “I asked last night if you had family. You never answered me.”
“Divorced. A long time ago.” He saw by her one raised eyebrow that she doubted him.
“Children?” she asked.
He said nothing, but gazed down the highway ahead.
“Well,” she said after a moment. “That rang your bell.”
Still he said nothing.
“I went into the Peace Corps right after college,” she offered. “I was in Guatemala for a time.”
He wondered if she and Helmut were affiliated with the Company. The Peace Corps, working for Fowler—it was a logical assumption.
The countryside grew more rugged. More primitive. A smoky haze blanketed the mountains from the slash-and-burn farming.
“Look at that,” he said, gesturing at a mountain slope where a man struggled behind an ox-drawn plow. “How can anybody make a living farming those little patches? We waste more than that along the turn-row.”
She gave him a quizzical look. “Turn-row?”
“You’ve got to get in and out of the field, turn around, get from one side to the other with tractor and equipment. You go around the fence line, the turn-row.”
“How do you know about farming?”
“I worked a little land once.”
Ana studied him across the seat. “You don’t look like a farmer.”
“No? What, you expect some barefoot hayseed munching on a straw?”
“How long have you been selling boats?”
“Not long. Why?”
“Your hands. They don’t belong to a salesman.”
“I don’t look like a farmer. I don’t look like a salesman. Actually I’m a Krispy Kreme representative down here to undermine the tortilla industry.”
She lightened, a trace of a smile. “I think you’re a standup comedian.”
“Where are you two staying in Acapulco?”
“We haven’t any plans, not that I know of.”
“You live a hell of a life.”
She was about to reply, but Helmut stirred and began to stretch awake. Ana gazed down the road ahead, silently fingering the buttons on her shirt.
Robert glanced in the rearview mirror as Helmut took his glasses from his pocket and polished them on his handkerchief. Without glasses his eyes looked small and weak, unrelievedly sad. Robert wondered whether he might have been awake, faking sleep, listening all along.
IN LATE AFTERNOON they began to see coconut palms. The air freshened with the smell of the sea. They drove into Acapulco, sunlight slanting sharply through the palms.
“So, where can I drop you?” Robert asked.
Ana looked over the seat at Helmut.
Helmut shrugged at Robert. “Can you recommend a hotel?”
“I don’t know this town at all.”
“Really? Where are you staying then?”
Robert smiled inwardly. “Acapulco Princess. I bet you’d like it there. Right?”
Helmut shrugged again. “Sounds agreeable.”
“Sounds expensive,” Ana said.
“It is only one night,” Helmut said. “We will take the bus to Tapachula tomorrow.”
Ana looked at Robert, a small frown. “That okay with you?”
“Why not?” He nodded at the glovebox. “There’s promo material from the Acapulco Princess with directions. If you’ll be good enough to navigate.”
She took the folder out and they followed the highway around the bay. Flashes of the azure-blue Pacific glimmered between Miami-style hotels and Spanish Colonials. Coconut palms shot up around them like lazy explosions.
The Acapulco Princess stood silhouetted against the sea in the shape of an Aztec pyramid. Robert drove in and stopped on the tarmac under the entrance canopy. Half a dozen uniformed bellmen rushed forward, opening doors, snatching up their luggage. Robert removed his two carry-ons and the military document case with its projector from the garbage bags in the trunk. A valet took his keys and tore
“Where are you from in the States?” he asked.
“Denver.”
“Mind if I ask how you ended up down here?”
“How about you?” she countered. “I asked last night if you had family. You never answered me.”
“Divorced. A long time ago.” He saw by her one raised eyebrow that she doubted him.
“Children?” she asked.
He said nothing, but gazed down the highway ahead.
“Well,” she said after a moment. “That rang your bell.”
Still he said nothing.
“I went into the Peace Corps right after college,” she offered. “I was in Guatemala for a time.”
He wondered if she and Helmut were affiliated with the Company. The Peace Corps, working for Fowler—it was a logical assumption.
The countryside grew more rugged. More primitive. A smoky haze blanketed the mountains from the slash-and-burn farming.
“Look at that,” he said, gesturing at a mountain slope where a man struggled behind an ox-drawn plow. “How can anybody make a living farming those little patches? We waste more than that along the turn-row.”
She gave him a quizzical look. “Turn-row?”
“You’ve got to get in and out of the field, turn around, get from one side to the other with tractor and equipment. You go around the fence line, the turn-row.”
“How do you know about farming?”
“I worked a little land once.”
Ana studied him across the seat. “You don’t look like a farmer.”
“No? What, you expect some barefoot hayseed munching on a straw?”
“How long have you been selling boats?”
“Not long. Why?”
“Your hands. They don’t belong to a salesman.”
“I don’t look like a farmer. I don’t look like a salesman. Actually I’m a Krispy Kreme representative down here to undermine the tortilla industry.”
She lightened, a trace of a smile. “I think you’re a standup comedian.”
“Where are you two staying in Acapulco?”
“We haven’t any plans, not that I know of.”
“You live a hell of a life.”
She was about to reply, but Helmut stirred and began to stretch awake. Ana gazed down the road ahead, silently fingering the buttons on her shirt.
Robert glanced in the rearview mirror as Helmut took his glasses from his pocket and polished them on his handkerchief. Without glasses his eyes looked small and weak, unrelievedly sad. Robert wondered whether he might have been awake, faking sleep, listening all along.
IN LATE AFTERNOON they began to see coconut palms. The air freshened with the smell of the sea. They drove into Acapulco, sunlight slanting sharply through the palms.
“So, where can I drop you?” Robert asked.
Ana looked over the seat at Helmut.
Helmut shrugged at Robert. “Can you recommend a hotel?”
“I don’t know this town at all.”
“Really? Where are you staying then?”
Robert smiled inwardly. “Acapulco Princess. I bet you’d like it there. Right?”
Helmut shrugged again. “Sounds agreeable.”
“Sounds expensive,” Ana said.
“It is only one night,” Helmut said. “We will take the bus to Tapachula tomorrow.”
Ana looked at Robert, a small frown. “That okay with you?”
“Why not?” He nodded at the glovebox. “There’s promo material from the Acapulco Princess with directions. If you’ll be good enough to navigate.”
She took the folder out and they followed the highway around the bay. Flashes of the azure-blue Pacific glimmered between Miami-style hotels and Spanish Colonials. Coconut palms shot up around them like lazy explosions.
The Acapulco Princess stood silhouetted against the sea in the shape of an Aztec pyramid. Robert drove in and stopped on the tarmac under the entrance canopy. Half a dozen uniformed bellmen rushed forward, opening doors, snatching up their luggage. Robert removed his two carry-ons and the military document case with its projector from the garbage bags in the trunk. A valet took his keys and tore
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