Villa Pacifica (9 page)

“You know, the tortoises are fascinating creatures,” Carlos was telling her. “They're immobile pretty much all the time, and only become animated when eating and mating. Or when threatened. But Jorge here is a bit depressed. We found him a mate, but he's just not interested. May came and went last year, this year and still nothing…”

“We have to go back.” Héctor looked at his watch and then at Ute. “It's coming up to lunchtime, and I have to be there.”

“OK,” she said. What she meant to say was: “OK, you go. I'm staying here on this side. I'm spending the day here, I don't want to go back.”

But she wasn't an impulsive person. She had planned to leave today and she always stuck to her itineraries. She thanked Carlos for the tour with a sinking heart.

“Welcome, any time.” And he turned his back on them and headed for the guard's cabin, to refill his
maté
gourd perhaps, or have lunch, or have a siesta. Because it was already noon: time definitely passed too quickly here.

Héctor and Ute walked back the way they'd come.

“How long has Carlos been working here?” Ute asked.

“Since the beginning of the animal shelter. He and
Señor
Mikel started it together.”

“Are they good friends?”

“Very good friends.” Héctor flashed her a conspiratorial look. “Carlos is a… an original guy. But,” Héctor knocked on his forehead with his index finger.

“What do you mean?”

“It's difficult to explain. He prefers animals to people.”

“He doesn't seem antisocial, though.”

“Oh no. But he prefers animals to people. Trust me.”

She didn't trust him completely, because she could hear jealousy in his voice.

And there was Max again, waiting inside the boat. When they approached, Max bounced out and boxed Héctor on the shoulder.

“Come on
amigo
, let's go. I'm starving.”

Héctor unmoored the boat without a word. He started rowing.

“Why are you wasting your time with these oars? Motorboats are much faster,” Max said to Héctor.

“Motorboats are noisy.
Señor
Mikel and Lucía don't like noise,” Héctor said.

“Fair enough,” Max said. “This Carlos guy, he got a woman?”

“No,” Héctor said.

“So what you are you guys up to today?” Max turned to Ute in English.

“Me?” She was startled. “Not sure yet. What about you?”

“I gotta find that lady of mine, see what she wants to do. This is her vacation, you know. Me, I'm already bored like fuck. Man, I'll be climbing the trees soon, like a monkey.”

“The
señora
went into Puerto Seco this morning,” Héctor said. “As did the
señora
's husband.” He nodded at Ute.

“Right. Right. That's fine by me. I'm not the jealous type,” he chuckled.

He cocked his head to study her face, his thighs slackly open, exposing his crotch, dangling the empty water bottle between his fingers. Ute turned her face away. For a moment, the world went slow and quiet, as if they were under water.

“Have you, like,” Max continued, staring at Ute again, “always been like this – with your face, you know, like you got what is it, psoriasis or whatever they call it, like that guy in that movie, aah, what's it called… Come on, what's that movie about the showbiz guy who got this horrible skin disease?”

“Eczema,” she said in a hollow voice. “It doesn't bother me actually, I'm used to it.”

“Eh,
amigo
,” he thumped Héctor again. “How's it goin'? Need a hand with the oars? Small fella like yourself… you're doing a good job.”

“I like rowing,” Héctor said. Then, after a short, unfriendly pause, Héctor spoke again.

“The gringo, I mean the Frenchman, everybody thought that he'd left without paying. But then they found his body.”

Ute blinked at him. Her face was now very hot and burning, and she felt as if a swarm of tiny flies buzzed around her head, though she couldn't see any. She took a few moments to register the meaning of Héctor's words.

“They found his
body
?” Max grimaced at Héctor in disbelief.

“Yes.”

They were already touching the sandy bank of their side of the river. Héctor pulled the oars up and placed them inside the boat.

“Where?…” Ute's voice sounded dull. “Where did they find him, I mean, the body?”

“In the Agua Sagrada bay. Some fishermen saw the body…
Señora
.” Héctor held out a courteous hand to help Ute out of the boat. She took his hand and stepped out on unsteady legs.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Max shouted, still sitting inside the boat. Héctor looked at him expectantly. “You're telling me that a gringo drowned here?”

“
Sí, señor
,” Héctor confirmed. “In any case that was the conclusion of the police inquiry. Death by overdose and drowning. Please excuse me now, I have to rush up to the kitchen.” And so he did, up the steep sandy bank.

“What do you think, Uddar?” Max continued as he jumped ashore.

“About what?” Ute started walking away from him as quickly as she could.

“About the dead gringo business. Sounds a bit weird if you ask me. Dead body floating about. Fishy.”

She didn't reply and walked faster towards the main house, hoping to see Jerry there.

Eve was sitting at a table with Alma and Alejandro. All three were drinking juice and tucking into large salads. Jerry wasn't there. She exchanged quick banalities with the three. Jerry had gone to their cabin, Alejandro informed her. Max was pouncing on them already, a few seconds behind her.

“Hey guys, what's for lunch today? I'm starving. I had a great run through the forest. Take a look at this…”

Ute moved swiftly on. Two gardeners were watering the garden with hoses. Ute nodded a greeting, and they nodded back, their faces invisible under their Panama hats. Jerry was sitting on the steps of
la tortuga
, typing on his laptop. He looked up at her. His face was flushed and happy.

“Hey.” He closed his laptop and flicked away his fringe in that boyish way she'd found a bit effeminate when they first met ten years ago, but quickly grown to find endearing. “How was your expedition to the zoo?”

“Kind of strange. Strange people around here.”

Ute sat inside the hammock and rocked herself gently. The light breeze this created made her realize how oppressive and stuffy the morning was, how tense she felt. She was pleased to be with Jerry again, just the two of them.

“Well, this is a strange kind of place,” he said.

“And how was your excursion with Eve?”

He snorted. “The delightfully vacant Eve. How did you know we came back together?”

“Well, first you
went
together, right?”

“No.” He looked surprised. “I went into the village by myself. It was about nine-thirty by the time I got there. I was looking for a café by the waterside – there was only one place open, and she was already there. The café's called
End of the World
, how appropriate is that! The coffee was diabolical… but they make really good smoothies and fresh juices. So anyway I sat with her, and she told me all about her marriage, and how she can't stand Max. And how this is the first time ever they've been alone without the kids, and how she's going crazy, missing the kids, blah-blah.”

“Did you meet Consuelo?” Ute said.

“Who's that?”

“The woman who runs the café.”

“Oh yeah, nice woman. She's the mother of our waiter, what's his name, the small guy at reception… Hold on, when were you there?”

“Yesterday.”

“You didn't tell me.”

“Well, you didn't ask,” Ute said. “You mean she's Héctor's mother?”

“Who? Oh yeah, Héctor. It's a small place, this, everyone's related. No wonder they all look inbred in the village. And then who do you think should turn up, in their four-by-four? Our Mexican honeymooners. They were nice enough though, they offered us a lift back, but I felt like walking, and Eve said she wanted to walk too. So I had to enjoy her company all the way back. She's not as stupid as I thought actually. She has at least three folds in her brain – one for hunger, one for thirst and one for sleep. And maybe a fourth, to hate Max with.”

Ute smiled, but something distracted her. Why did Héctor tell her that Jerry and Eve had gone into town together? He had no reason to lie. After they would all leave in a week or so, he'd never see her and Jerry, or Eve and Max again. What did he care for their private passions and relationships? Or maybe he hadn't said that, maybe he'd said they'd just walked
back
together.

She was dehydrated and probably reading too much into everything. She kept rocking gently inside the hammock, too listless to get up for water.

Carlos's sun-baked neck and slanted black eyes were imprinted painfully in her mind. She tried to focus on Jerry instead. He was acting a bit strange, out of character. He had never lied to her before, as far as she knew, but what if now, here… No, she was being absurd.

“What is this fragrance?” Jerry sniffed the air. “It's like an opiate. It's everywhere.”

“You mean that sweet smell? Incense, probably,” Ute said. “It's a bit strong.”

She could have just drifted off to sleep right there… Carlos was probably having a siesta now, breathing gently in the shade of his cabin. Long strands of his damp hair would be stirred by a fan, his high-cheeked face sculpted in repose, the feral smell of damaged animals tainting the air, but not unpleasantly. Just one quick, hushed coupling with Carlos would make her pregnant, she had no doubt about it. She discarded the dangerous dream-thought.

“Hey,” Jerry rocked the hammock lightly. “Did you want to go and look at the national park or stay here?”

“Go.” Her tongue felt thick, and her limbs were rubbery.

“Good,” he stretched lazily. “Would be a shame to waste the tickets. Though if you ask me, I'm happy to lounge about all day. I had another sleepless night. So…”

He produced the map-sized tickets from his back pocket and waved them at her. She mustered enough energy to smile. Jerry tossed his laptop onto the bed and brushed her dry mouth with a quick kiss. He packed a small day-pack with a large bottle of water and hats. Every movement was an effort, but Ute put on her battered trainers, smeared some sunscreen onto her face, drank half a litre of water, and together they crunched down the white pebble path to the main gate.

“Mmm, we're gonna have to go past everyone,” Jerry said. “Your friend Max is probably there too. Yep, I can hear him.”

Héctor was carrying plates. They went into the reception area, trying not to draw attention from the people eating outside.

“Héctor,” Ute said. “Could you call us a tricycle? We want to go to the park's entrance.”

“No problem.” He picked up the phone. “But I'll call it to the other gate, because it's closer to the main road. You'll have to walk back through the compound.”

“Where is the other gate?”

“It's right behind your cabin.”

He mumbled something down the phone line.

“Hey tiger, it's Daddy, how're you doing, huh?” Max was shouting into his mobile phone and pacing up and down the veranda. Max saw Ute and Jerry but didn't acknowledge them, which was a relief.

“Quick,” Ute said, “let's go before he's finished.”

They thanked Héctor and shuffled back out, past the bookcase and Oswaldo's painting. Ute stopped and looked at the row of guest books, a vague question stirring in her head. Last year, around Christmas, Héctor had said. That would be 2008.

“Have you seen these?” she gestured to the bookcase. She was whispering. “Guest books, loads of them.”

“Hmmm,” Jerry said absently. “Sorry, I need the loo, I'll catch you outside the other gate.” He walked away energetically.

She looked at the shelf: the guest books went up to 2009. She picked up “2008” and opened it. There was nothing inside. She ruffled through the pages, looking for ink. The pages were blank. She put it back in, and quickly pulled another one – “2009”. The same thing there. Her heart was suddenly thumping.

“Your transport will be waiting,” Héctor said. He was carrying an empty tray. “Be very careful in the park. Don't get lost. You don't have much time before nightfall.”

She slotted the book back, as if caught snooping. Which she was, in a way. He stopped halfway across the lounge and said:

“Everybody who leaves writes something. If you don't find their name in those books, it's because they haven't arrived.” Then he added, as an afterthought: “Or they haven't left.”

“Well,” Ute said, dazed. “I'd better write something then.”

“
Bueno
,” Héctor said and disappeared into the kitchen. Ute rushed to the back gate, where Jerry was already sitting inside a tricycle taxi with his shocking-white legs and squeaky new trainers. The word gringo was invented for him, she thought. The tricycle driver was the guy from the other night, and looked just as peeved with the world now. He didn't even greet Ute.

A drowsy guard sat in a plastic chair outside the gate, a rifle between his legs. So there were armed guards at every one of the three gates of the Villa. She hadn't noticed this the first night or the first morning.

“
Buenas
,” the guard nodded at her.

“
Buenas
,” Ute said and hopped on, but her voice was drowned in the roar of the motorbike engine. She looked back. The guard in his chair and the gate of Villa Pacifica shimmered like a mirage in a cloud of dust and heat.