The Innocents Abroad
By Malcolm Henderson
Published by Raider Publishing International at Smash Words
Copyright 2011 by Malcolm Henderson
SMASHWORDS EDITION
To Riane Eisler and Merlin Stone
(September 1931- February 2011), whose
research and writings have
awakened me to a new
understanding of the historic
relationship between the two sexes,
and have given me hope for the
survival of Mother Earth.
In Appreciation
I thank Larry Shane, Colleen Hill, Vonne Hamilton, Alison Gardner, Richard Paris, and Jaik Henderson for their thoughts, advice and patience. This book is controversial. The responsibility for the content is solely mine and they should be absolved from blame. I owe an additional thanks to Larry for spending hours on the first edit.
I consider myself most fortunate to have had Raider International Publishing as my partner in this venture. Their prompt response to my appeals for help have made my task easier.
My thanks to Lilia Gutierrez for her patience and understanding during my long hours at the computer.
Caution
This fiction contains controversial depictions of violence, sex, and religion. It is intended for adult readers with an open mind. If that’s not you, please don’t proceed beyond this point.
Contents
John’s Autobiography and Indiscretion
First Dinner on Satyr of the Seas
John, Friend Tony, and Confucius
The Global Center for Partnership
The President of Panama Meets Shu
Introduction
Since the start of this century the archipelago of Bocas del Toro, Panama, has become a final destination for expats of all ages, energies, talents, and imaginations. While the majority come from North America, there are many from Europe and some from South America, China, Australia, and other distant lands. Some keep their past secret, some exaggerate past achievements, and some feel the need to share their problems with the rest of us.
This account begins with John Burger and Silence Dogwood, a North American couple, both of whom, without the other knowing, chose me to be their confidant. A circumstance, which will later reveal itself, allows me to tell you how choosing to retire to Bocas del Toro dramatically changed their relationship and projected them to the frontline of the battle between good and evil.
I came close to turning down their requests for a listening ear. My days are full enough and given what I knew at that time, I should have excused myself from becoming involved. Most others in my position would have done so, but my weakness is an inability to say no when I believe that I can be of help. So I read Silence’s account of their journey from the Caribbean side of Panama to the Pacific, and John’s concerns over Silence’s spending.
Mundane stuff in itself, but after a while I found myself starting to enjoy the vignettes of expat life in what others believe must be paradise. I looked up Bocas del Toro on a Google search and on Google Earth. When I saw the layout of the town I realized that it was a possible location for a project that is of great interest to me.
I allowed our relationships to continue, and took a deeper interest in the background of this couple. Neither knew their natural parents; Silence’s formative years were passed in a wealthy Virginian family, and John’s with working class foster parents in rural Texas.
Their lifestyle in Bocas gave no hint of either having qualities that could be of value beyond the confines of their local community.
The correspondence between us continued for six months. What started with the airing of domestic issues, which I attributed to their differing backgrounds, became increasingly dramatic as Silence unwittingly entered a life of high stakes manipulation and intrigue.
When the mounting crisis facing the world made it imperative to reveal the experiences of Silence, I started extensive editing of her emails, discarding the domestic trivia in the interests of getting quickly to the heart of the drama. It was a mistake, because without knowledge of what had come to pass in her life prior to the events, it would be impossible to accept that she has the strength of character to face the challenge of standing against fundamentalism.
I have instead kept her emails and those of her partner, John, intact and this document has more the nature of a modern-day blog than of a traditional book. Much of what you will read is recorded dialog.
I have no hesitation in trusting the accuracy of Silence’s recall of conversations, having checked them with those she conversed with. She has exceptional retention ability, which I suspect has its genesis in her studies of classical Greek, which earned her the reputation of having a eidetic memory for spoken and written words.
In reading the blog, you will witness the emergence of the hidden talents of both Silence and John. My work in the field of psychology has taught me that each of us has a unique talent, something at which we excel, but only a few have the confidence to give that talent the boost necessary to rise above the surface of the millpond.
Silence and John’s talents remained dormant until circumstances forced the issue, and they emerged from their cocoons to spread their wings. The example of their emergence is worthy of note by all of us who have yet to challenge our boundaries.
We start this account with Silence relating the story of their journey by car from the Caribbean side of Panama to the Pacific.
For those unacquainted with the history of Bocas del Toro and its unique cultural and social mix, I have placed a short summary in Appendix A.
Journey of Satyr of the Seas from Los Angles to Catalina Island to Isla Guadalupe to Panama City, Panama
Satyr of the Seas off Isla Guadalupe, January 30, 2011
A reproduction of a watercolor with gouache by renowned English artist, Roy Cross, Member of The Royal Society of marin Artists, London, England. Copyright Roy Cross, 2011.
The Castle of Love
From: Silence Dogwood
To: Mr. H.
Sent: November 1, 2010
Dear Mr. H.,
Thank you for understanding my need to confide in you. With no known relatives, I have always kept my inner thoughts to myself. I don’t discuss them with my husband, who would be embarrassed if I started telling him anything from a female’s viewpoint. He is not a generous man, and I find some of his habits irritating; it will help me to be able to tell you of my frustrations.
I will start with our trip across the mountains to the city of David.
“There!” John had exclaimed, looking up from an evening’s worth of calculations. “We can save forty dollars and seventy-one cents by driving to David to collect our bathroom tiles, and what’s more, we’ll have fun.”
I didn’t answer, because I had stopped speaking three hours earlier, when he vetoed my suggestion that we eat out.
John tried again. “They say the view from the mountaintop is spectacular.”
It was raining heavily when we rounded a hairpin-bend a mile from the top of the pass, and stopped abruptly to avoid slamming into the back of an eighteen wheeler. John activated the emergency flashers as we became the tail-end of a line of stationary trucks, country buses and overloaded pickups stacked precariously high with pyramids of plantains, the type of banana the locals cook and consume in great quantities.
I tilted my seat back and went to sleep, or rather pretended to sleep, while John immersed himself in a book about Ghandi and the partition of India. We passed three silent hours before the road was cleared of a mud slide.
It was still raining torrents when we arrived at the place where we were to enjoy the spectacular view. The rain stopped as we reached the lowlands and joined the Inter Americana Highway, turning right for David.
“We could keep going on this road all the way to Alaska.” John had made an effort to humor me.
I responded to contribute to a happier mood, “Let’s go! I have our passports.”
We headed instead for the center of David and our hotel.
John is a cautious driver, being ever conscious of the deductible clause in our car insurance policy. The taxi drivers of David aren’t known for either their patience or sympathy towards outsiders who don’t know their way around town. We led a procession of taxis sounding their horns in frustration. Pedestrians waiting to cross the streets saw John’s hesitance and stepped boldly in front, causing us to stop at every crossing, creating further anger among those following behind. I noticed that David’s drivers seldom used turn signals, either because they didn’t know where the indicator was, or just to keep you in suspense.
My husband shouted, “Read the street signs for Christ’s sake, woman!”
The street signs were either Spanish names spelt out in full, or the letters of the alphabet. They meant nothing to me and I couldn’t find them on the map in time to be of help.
When we eventually found the hotel, it was full.
“You won’t get a room anywhere within twenty miles of David. Every room is taken by people attending the fair.”
The receptionist spoke to us in an abrupt manner, which I suspect she employed to emphasize our stupidity in not making a reservation.
At the tile shop we learnt that only half our order had arrived from Panama City. The balance was due the next morning. Determined to find a hotel and complete our mission, we drove out of town. It was dark when we came upon a flashing neon sign in pink and red saying, ‘Abierto 24 – Castilla de Amor’. Open 24-hours – Castle of Love.
High castellated walls in the style of a middle-ages European castle surrounded the property. We turned off the road, crossed over an imitation drawbridge, and entered through the one gateway.
“Well, this looks more like it,” said John. “I’m glad the other hotel was full. This is more our style.”
We had considerable difficulty at the reception desk. Our Spanish is limited. To John’s chagrin, we had to pay $50 in advance, based on a charge of $10 an hour, with a $20 discount for being there all night. John wanted to leave when told there would be no retired person’s discount, but I’d had enough of his driving in the dark and complaining about the lights of oncoming cars. There was no restaurant. We dined on tacos from a vending machine, washed down with Sprite, while sitting on a bed that sagged to its center. Wherever we looked, we saw ourselves in mirrors that ran from the ceiling to the floor.
The sagging bed was an impossible situation for both of us at one time. We took turns, one lying in the trough of the mattress while the other sat on the toilet. All night there was a continual coming and going in the passage outside. Sounds of constant activity came from the rooms on either side, along with sighs and moans, and at one time a female shriek, which prompted John to bang on the wall and earn what was clearly an abusive response.
The truck carrying the other half of our tiles broke down short of Santiago and, since it was Saturday, the shop closed at noon. Rather than face another two nights at the Castle of Love, we took the road back to Bocas.
It was a morning of clear skies and our spirits rose as we headed back up the mountain. Just short of the top, we stopped and stood in front of a stand of pine trees, breathing in their scent and gazing at the glorious panorama of the foothills stretching to the coastal plain and beyond to the Pacific Ocean. We crossed the top of the mountain chain and entered the rainforest. As we began our decent to the Caribbean, we stopped again, this time to look down upon the lagoons and islands of the archipelago, marvelling at the beauty and variety of our new country. I decided not to point out how much the journey cost, compared with having the tiles delivered to us in Bocas. The beauty of the day and the glory of scenery was reward enough. We could see the whole of the Chiriqui Lagoon with Punta Valiente standing sentinel at the eastern entrance, and Cayo de Agua and Isla Popa forming the northern and western boundaries. It was from vantage points such as this that the Indians’ sentinels kept watch to give early warning of the approach of the Spanish conquistadors, and later the English and French pirates, who came seeking their gold and raping their women.
John’s Heritage
From: Silence
To: H.
Sent: November 2, 2010
Hi, it’s me again! I decided to copy what I wrote to you and show it to John. I told him that it’s for a diary I will be keeping from now on. When he read what I had written, he wasn’t at all pleased.
“For Christ’s sake, why did you say that I am your husband?”
“Because in the eyes of Bocas, you are my husband.”
“Explain, please! Aren’t we missing a wedding?”
“Well, in Bocas you don’t have to have had a wedding to be considered man and wife. If you’ve lived together for several years, it counts as being married. If you split up, you divide the property equally.”
I could see that John was in a quandary. He is dependent on me, because nobody else would put up with him, and he is not secure enough to live on his own. I’m sixteen years younger than he, and at times he calls me ‘my young girl’, and it’s then that I know that he is quite fond of me, as I am of him. I watched him do a mental calculation as to how he would come out if we divorced Panamanian style.
John was christened Stail Burger, a name that for obvious reasons caused him embarrassment when he started school. His adopted father renamed him John Stailburger.
The name Stail comes from his Spanish mother’s name, Stalialana (pronounced Saleeyana). The Burger part comes from his father’s side. His father was the Burgomaster of Celle, a town near Hanover in Northern Germany.
Stalialana did the cleaning and washing for the Burgomaster and his household, in exchange for a room in the cellar of their house, and whatever food was left over after the butler and cook had eaten.
One mid-winter’s afternoon the Burgomaster came down the cellar stairs and had his way with Stalialana, amidst the piles of washing. When Stalialana discovered that she was pregnant, she didn’t tell the Burgomaster for fear of dismissal. Without a home or money, she would either starve or freeze to death. Instead she pretended to get pleasure from the old man´s lovemaking and cooperated with fulfilling his every desire.
When the burgomaster’s wife left for an overnight stay with relatives in Hanover, he gave the butler and cook a surprise day off, and brought Stalialana up from the basement to his study, and then later to the matrimonial bed. Stalialana waited until the old man was asleep before searching through the closets and drawers. Hidden in a pile of underwear, she came across a stack of money. Taking enough for a train home, she returned to her mother, telling her that she had married a German sailor named Hans Burger, who had fallen off his ship and drowned.
At the end of the summer she gave birth to her son. Choosing not to name him Hans, after the fictional father, she gave him a shortened version of her own name, Stail, and registered his birth as Stail Burger.
Mr. H., as I look back on what I have written, I wonder what made me feel that you might be interested in John’s origins. I am sorry if I have bored you. I have to say that I have often wished that John had more of his mother’s Latin genes than those of his Germanic father. I would happily trade his status as the son of a Burgomaster for more of the hot blood of a Castilian washerwoman, however humble her position is in the eyes of those that worry about such things. I have to wind John up to get any spark of romance, and his idea of fun always falls short of what I was hoping for. Sometimes I don’t know why I bother with him; he is so damn predictable.
“Girl, I feel like eating out tonight. How about you?”
“You know me. I am always willing to get out of the house.”
“I am in the mood for Don Chico’s chicken, beans and rice, and you can have your fried snapper.”
“We have been to Don Chico’s the last three times. I was thinking of La Casbah and Chef Christopher’s Greek Chicken with chicken breasts wrapped around goat’s cheese and prunes, or El Picado’s pork with that special Thai mustard source. I am in the mood for something exotic.”
“Well, maybe next time. You know that spicy foods aren’t good for you.”
Dinner at Don Chico’s is an excellent bargain. The menu is comida corriente, local dishes produced from local produce. We walked past a glass-covered food counter, making choices that usually include chicken which was fried, stewed or baked, fried fish, octopus, pork, beef, rice, chow mien, kidney beans, green beans, yucca and salad. Don Chico’s gives you a feeling of being a true Bocatorino, especially when you are sharing a table with an Indian family for whom dinner at Don Chico’s is a gala event, with the children decked out in their finest clothes, the white shirts of the boys pressed to perfection, and the colourful dresses of the girls adding to the festive feel.
Don’t get me wrong. Normally I am very happy to eat at Don Chico’s, but on the nights when the moon is full, I want to be overlooking the water at Bocas Paradise, enjoying a bowl of crab bisque followed by rare tuna steak, or at Lemon Grass eating Thai dishes. I want a modicum of romance. On such occasions, I say, “John, it is a full moon tonight and there is not a cloud in the sky. I want to watch the moon rise from behind Isla Solarte.”
“Another time old girl. There will be plenty more full moons. Tonight we need to be cost-conscious.”
John’s Financial Wisdom
From: John S. Burger
To: H.
Sent: November 3, 2010
Hello Mr. H.,
It is most kind of you to permit me to tell you of my worries. I’m a lone wolf with no friends outside of my history circle, in which we restrict ourselves to past facts. Letting off a bit of steam to you will help me cope better with Silence and her extravagant habits. If I were to let Silence have her way, we would be broke in no time. She would have us eating at Bocas´ most expensive restaurants every night. She has no sense of economy.
I know a great deal about food economy.
When I took over running the finances of the Lake Mirror Hospital in Houston, I slashed the public patients’ food budget on the basis that meatloaf is as sustaining as steak. The head of catering complained, but she didn’t get anywhere, because I had upped the food in the doctors’ dining room to the standards of a gourmet restaurant. I managed to do this and still save 28 percent.
The problem with Silence is that she only reads a menu by its prices. She associates price with quality and orders the most expensive item.
Silence will say in Lemon Grass, “Look at the Specials Board. They have a whole red snapper grande Thai. I could manage a large snapper.”
I read, “Snapper Large $12.00.”
Bella asks what we’ll have to drink.
“A small bottle of water for me.” I say this, hoping that Silence will take the hint.
No such luck.
“Shall I have a margarita or a piña colada?” Silence wonders out loud. “I think I’ll start with a margarita. Let’s have an appetiser while we wait for the main course.”
Silence says this while reaching to take my hand, which I quickly remove on the pretence that I’m about to sneeze. I don’t comment on the subject of appetisers.
While Silence raves over the Thai red snapper, I calculate how much the meal has cost so far and work on how to avoid having to agree to dessert.
“John, do you see how the moonlight makes a path across the water and comes just to us?”
I hadn’t noticed the moon, but now that she has mentioned it, I thought that perhaps I should explain to her that the moon was doing the same for all the others who sat by the water this night.
“John, what does this remind you of?”
I gave the question serious thought. “It reminds me of fishing in the gravel pits with my dog, Bud. Bud and I used to slip out the window once my foster ma and pa were in bed.”
“Oh, John, you disappoint me. I felt sure that you were going to say that it was the night you first kissed me behind the lifeboat on the deck of our cruise ship.”
I remembered then how Silence had suddenly pulled me into the shadows and kissed me full on the lips. I was the only single man on the cruise. Silence was one of several unattached ladies who appeared to be in competition for my attention.
The Naming of Silence Dogwood
From: Silence
To: H.
Sent: November 5, 2010
Mr. H., I keep reminding myself how fortunate I am that John doesn’t have an eye for other women, even at the cost of him not having much of an eye for me. What matters most to me is that my man is absolutely loyal and never thinks of cheating on me.
“John has a very quiet personality.”
This remark was made by Stella, who tells me that she is now my best friend, though I’ve yet to decide if this will be acceptable. I need more time before granting someone that status. Stella is single and on the wild side. I have to admit that I enjoy her accounts of the escapades she gets into, but at the same time I feel a little guilty, because I shouldn’t be encouraging her to take such risks, jumping into relations with men she doesn’t really know.
“That’s what I love about him,” I confided. “He’s a man of no surprises. I know I’ll never have trouble with him being interested in other women.”
Stella had earlier asked me about the origin of my name, Silence Dogwood. Stella is the sort of person you suddenly find yourself telling things to before you have really considered whether or not you should. I think it is because she tells things about herself that surprise you, making you feel like a special confidant of hers. So, I told her all about how I was found, newly born, beneath a dogwood tree in a small park in Falls Church, Virginia.
I was taken to a nearby orphanage, where I became known as the Dogwood Baby. I cried a great deal and the staff was always telling me, “Silence Dogwood!”
The name turned out to be most fortunate.
Mr. Kenneth Franklin, a banker and descendant of Benjamin Franklin, was a patron of the Orphanage, and he took a special interest in me, because Silence Dogwood was the pseudonym used by Benjamin Franklin for his writings back in 1722, when he was still a teenager. Suffice to say that I was soon out of the orphanage and into Mr. Franklin’s house, which is where I developed my appreciation for fine and exotic foods. It is also where I became pregnant the day before my sixteenth birthday. When I know you better, I will tell you how that happened.
This time Stella went a step too far with her questions.
“Tell me, how is John in bed?”
I was shocked. I had never been asked such a thing before.
“Stella, I can’t believe you’re asking such a question.”
“Oh Silence, stop being such a prude. I told you about Keith and me doing it in the sea at Old Point, and then finding our clothes had been stolen, and the night Ben and I spent in the library, after the librarian had locked up, unaware that we were behind the shelves.”
“Stella, that’s you! I am a different sort of person, and things like that are private to me and John.”
I nearly told her about the evening I dressed as a Turkish belly dancer and surprised John by performing in front of his chair. I had had several margaritas that night. I remember wondering how I knew to move the way I did. I was enjoying myself shamelessly, until I realized that John had fallen asleep.
Oops, I must go! It is time for John to have his siesta and, while he is resting, Stella is taking me to a yoga class. It will be another Stella first for me. Stella assures me that this yoga is the genuine thing, and is different from the Kundalini Awakening class she goes to on Fridays, which, from what she tells me, is all about sex. I’m still a shade nervous. I’ll tell about it next time. Bye for now!
Feet Shoulder Width Apart
From: Silence
To: H.
Sent: December 27, 2010
When I last wrote to you, I was off to yoga class with Stella. I can’t give you all the details, because I am leaving for L.A. in the morning. Fresnah, the daughter I will tell you about, is going to have a baby. The doctor says it looks likely to come early. I wanted John to come with me, but he won’t spend the money. I have arranged for the sister of the girl who cleans for a friend of Stella’s to come twice a week to clean for John. I expect to be back in a month.
Oh the yoga! I’ll tell you quickly. It was a nightmare of an afternoon. I was late getting to the studio, because John was late taking his siesta. What made matters worse, the yoga instructor was sick, and instead of yoga an aerobics class was about to begin. I entered the studio to find everyone, including Stella, doing stretches; six women, and to my horror, three men of different colours and shapes. Everyone was dressed in those body-hugging leotards, which show every contour and bulge. Mirrors covered every wall, and in every mirror, I saw my knee-length baggy shorts and floppy blouse.
I stood at the back of the room and tried not to look at the bodies, particularly the men’s bodies, but the mirrors reflected every body part. I kept my eyes raised and prayed to be released from this embarrassment, but instead it got worse. The instructor bounded into the room and leapt onto a raised floor. He was black with the body of Michelangelo’s David.
“On your feet! Feet – shoulder width apart! Hands on hips!”
I complied.
He rushed over to me and, without even asking, bent down and moved my feet further apart. I was so embarrassed.
Back on his pedestal, he gave the next command. “Pelvic thrusts!”
Everyone in the room, including the instructor, began thrusting.
I promise you, I nearly died.
Sorry I must get on and see that John has all that he needs and then pack for L.A. The next message will come from my daughter’s house in Malibu. She lives with Alex, who used to own a successful second mortgage business, but now acts as an agent for a Russian entrepreneur. I am not sure about Alex, but he is very different from John. He’s never mean over money and gives Fresnah wonderful things for the house and expensive clothes. Wish me luck! Hasta pronto. (I am starting my Spanish.)
John’s Autobiography and Indiscretion
From: John S. Burger
To: H.
Sent: January 10, 2011
When Silence left, she told me to write my autobiography in her absence. I said I would do so if, in turn, she exercised discretion over expenditures in L.A. I pointed out that Alex has plenty of money, and if Silence wasn’t going to be there to help her daughter, he would have to pay for an extra servant.
Here it goes with the writing. Forgive my mistakes, please. If it was a page of numbers for me to add, I would amaze you with my speed, but writing this autobiography will take me much longer.
I was born in Seville, a town in the South of Spain, at my grandmother Elisa’s house. I never knew my real father. I was in my thirties before I learnt the truth of my origins. My foster father, Bob, clammed up whenever I asked about my real mother and father. It was only when he was terminally ill and close to death that he opened up, telling me how he had met my mother.
After a couple of months my mother, Stalialana, left me with my grandma and went to work in La Vida Dolce bar outside the dock gates in Barcelona.
Bob was a passenger on a cruise ship that was visiting Barcelona. He became separated from his fellow passengers at the Picasso museum, and the bus returned to the ship without him. He took a taxi, but, being unable to tell the taxi driver which dock to go to, the driver started at the most distant dock.
By the time they had reached the right one, the ship was already underway.
Outside the dock gates, Bob entered La Vida Dolce looking for a cheap hotel. It was there that my mother came to his help. Bob put the story this way:
I thought your mom was an angel, and I gave thanks to God when I met her.
“Que pasa, guapo?” (What’s up, handsome?) My mom had asked.
Having been married to Juanita for thirty-five years, my Spanish was fine in the basics. I explained how I had missed the boat, because the taxi driver took me by a circuitous route, pretending not to know the whereabouts of the dock entrance. I told her that I was short of cash after paying the taxi, and that I needed a cheap hotel room for the night and directions to a bank in the morning.
“No problema, carino,” your mother said. She sat me at a table and ordered me sangria. She came back to my table between dances with the other customers and asked me about my wife.
“Sadly Juanita died five years ago. She was my soul mate for twenty-five years.”
“Lo siento. I’m sorry.”
She introduced herself as Liana.
“I live in Texas on my own and each year I take a cruise to the places Juanita and I were going to visit, but always put off until the next year.”
Your mom explained that cheap hotels were unsafe, particularly around the docks, and when the bar closed she took me to her place. She was very kind to me and let me stay on when the wire transfer took time to come through. I fell in love and by the time the money arrived, I had persuaded your mother to fly with me to Houston.
Things went wrong because she thought I lived in the city of Houston, not out in Hendersonville, a dry town with just eight thousand inhabitants and nothing exciting going on except high school games, going to church and the occasional tornado. I was in the process of having your name changed to mine, when your mom ran off with our preacher. After I got over that, I married Betty, and we became your ma and pa. We never did get to change your name, except to add John as your first name, because we couldn’t find Liana to have her sign the document.
Bob and Betty taught me to be thrifty and sent me to the community college to study accounting, which came naturally to me. After community college, I got a scholarship to Texas A & M, and graduated with a BA in business administration. Bob died four years later, and I took care of Betty for six years until she passed on. The last thing Betty said to me was, “John, you never spend a cent on your own enjoyment. It is time for you to have fun. I have booked you on a cruise next Christmas. You’ll find your ticket in my dressing table drawer.”
I didn’t want to go on the cruise, but I had to go, given that it was Betty’s last wish.
The Empress of the Seas was a small cruise ship catering to middle-class, middle-aged folk like me. It so happened that I was the only unattached man on that particular cruise, other than members of the crew, who were forbidden from fraternising with the passengers.
The captain insisted I join his table each night, to help entertain whichever four unattached ladies the purser had invited that evening, for the honor of sitting at the captain’s table. The purser, who is the senior officer responsible for accounting on a cruise ship, and the chief engineer also sat at the table, so that we were balanced; four males and four females.
The only problem was that I was the only ‘available’ man. I never thought of myself as an expert on anything other than cost control, gravel pit fishing, and military history, but the ladies seemed to believe that I was knowledgeable and wise on all matters. The captain and his officers did nothing to disillusion them.
There were many single ladies, and somehow they thought that I was an official escort and was duty-bound to dance with them. I had never been much of a ladies’ man, nor had ladies shown much interest in me. It made me realize the effect of supply and demand. These ladies were demanding exclusive male attention, and I was the only male to be had. You would have thought that I was Robert Di Niro, the way they crowded around competing for me, of all people. It didn’t matter that I had no idea how to dance the proper steps. One lady even offered me private lessons in her cabin, if I would dance only with her in the future. It became my habit to hide after dinner.
Going to the cabin and locking the door wasn’t the solution, because ladies would call me on the phone, asking if they could come to my cabin and tell me something in confidence that couldn’t be told in the public lounges.
On the fifth night, Silence sat on one side of me at the captain’s table, and the next day I found her again beside me on the launch taking us ashore at Portobello on the Caribbean coast of Panama. I tried to shake her off, by slinking away from the guided tour of the fortifications, and climbing the path to the watchtower high above.
“John, John, wait for me!”
I made the mistake of stopping and looking back.
“John, thank you.” Silence fought to catch her breath. “I am so glad you didn’t stay on the tour. It is much more fun to be on our own and drink in the romance of this beautiful historic place. Can you imagine Spanish lovers standing where we are now, four hundred years ago, holding hands and looking down on the beauty of the harbor?”
Silence took my hand while uttering this last sentence.
“I’m imaging another scene.” I withdrew my hand. “The scene I see is far from romantic. Rapacious would be a better word.”
“Oh! Surely not! Why do you think that?”
“I don’t think. I know. For fourteen days Captain Morgan and his men plundered the town of its wealth, raping, torturing and killing with utter disregard for human suffering. His cruelty and that of his band of 450 privateers were insatiable. That’s what I see when I look down on this little town. It must have been a prolonged hell for those who weren’t killed in the first onslaught, particularly for the women.”
“Oh how terrible! How come you know all this?”
“It may be because as an accountant I am trained to look beneath the covers. What appears to be all sugar and spice, you can bet won’t turn out so nice, is my mantra.”
That night, I hid behind one of the lifeboats, and that’s where Silence found me, kissed me, and told me that she had fallen in love. I was in a complete state of shock and broke out in a fever. Silence saw my predicament and insisted on escorting me to my cabin and putting me to bed. I don’t know what then happened, but in the morning when I awoke, Silence was in bed beside me. Now don’t let your imagination run wild. Remember, I am not one to rush things.
Speaking of imagination, have you noticed how imaginative some of the Bocas gringos can be? Yesterday I made the stupid mistake of taking Gloria to lunch at the Buena Vista. (Gloria is the young lady from Old Bank, who comes two mornings a week to clean the house while Silence is away.) At the time it seemed the right thing to do. She had worked hard all morning and later in the day had an appointment of some sort here in town.
What a mistake it was! My male acquaintances, those who were without wives, came to our table with remarks like, “John! Introduce me please to this pretty young lady.”
They then engaged Gloria in conversation without listening to my explanation as to why she was with me. Those with wives beside them stole discreet glances at Gloria, until their wives said something, after which their eyes never left the table.
What made matters worse, this morning I walked into the glass door at National Bank’s ATM and severely bruised my nose. As I exited the booth, Geoff, who considers himself the mayor of the gringos, was the first in line.
“John, old man, what’s happened to you? You look terrible! Have you and Gloria fallen out?”
“Gloria who?”
“Isn’t Gloria the name of the pretty young black girl who is taking care of you?”
“I take care of myself, thank you.”
I realized that no amount of damage control was going to stop the gossip.
Before all this came up I was telling you about the night that Silence put me to bed. Well, the next morning, she showed me a brochure about a residential development on Isla Solarte in Bocas del Toro, and wanted me to leave the ship in Colon and investigate. Her tactics reminded me of the German blitzkrieg of Poland in 1938. I retreated, but there was no escaping her ruthless pursuit. I survived the cruise, but back in Houston I couldn’t get her out of my mind. She had been the youngest and prettiest of the single ladies, and she had private means. I asked myself why she would want to be with a man sixteen years her senior. I gave her a call, and a week later she arrived in Houston.
We have never married. It didn’t make good economic sense, given that she had a trust fund with a string of protections attached. I manage our joint finances, and with the trust money and my investments we can afford a modest lifestyle.
When I retired as chief administrator of the hospital, Silence gave me a surprise trip to Bocas that turned out to be an investment-sell for a project called ‘Paradise Found’. I am a man of great caution, as well as an experienced accountant and administrator. The project didn’t pass my smell test. I tried to warn the other couples, but by the end of the three-day visit several of them had put down hefty deposits in return for a refund of all their travel costs.
The visit cost us $2,337.03 and earned us the extreme displeasure of the slickers running the Ponzi scheme. At the time Silence was very upset with me, in part because she didn’t believe me when I gave her my reasons for not buying, and in part because the new friends she had made on the trip were no longer allowed to speak to her. She felt I had brought disgrace on both of us.
After five years of living with Silence, I found that I was not only accustomed to her company, but also dependent on her for taking charge of our domestic needs, other than keeping the books and preventing wastage, which had always been my department.
We were sitting in the Bocas International Airport waiting for our flight to Panama City and on to Houston, when Silence, who hadn’t spoken to me all morning, got into conversation with a local man who had a property for sale on Isla Tortuga. I weakened, and for the first time in my life tossed caution to the wind. We cancelled our flight, saw the property, and put down a committal payment before leaving the island two days later.
My computer tells me that I have an e-mail. It’s probably Silence saying that she misses me.
When she is with me, I sometimes think that she wishes that she were somewhere else. But as soon as we are apart, I get messages that she misses me.
Excuse me while I pull up the message. I will return to my autobiography mas tarde. (Silence and I are studying Spanish, and I like to slip in the odd word when I think it is appropriate.)
Emails to/from Silence/John:
Silence:
“John, I am shocked. Stella has called me to say you’re the talk of the Gringo community. What’s going on between you and Gloria?
I have always trusted you. I wait for an explanation as to why you took Gloria to Buena Vista yesterday and why your face is looking a mess.
What on earth is going on in your mind, you stupid old man? You are making a fool of me.”
John:
“You shocked me! What about me?
What is going on in YOUR mind, may I ask?”
An Error of Judgement
When there was no immediate reply to this last message, I sent another message.
“Silence, I take exception to your e-mail.Calm down and reflect on who I am and how ridiculous it is that anyone, particularly you, should think that there is anything going on between me and Gloria. I bruised my nose when I walked into the glass door at the ATM kiosk.”
“I am told that you kissed Gloria in the street outside the BV. Explanation, please!”
“I was saying goodbye to her and she put her cheek forward in the way that Panamanian ladies do, and I had to make a quick decision whether to give her cheek a formal peck or appear to be rude and stuffy. You are always telling me that I am too stuffy and need to loosen up. Now it appears that I was wrong.”
“I don’t know what to think. Maybe you are more stupid than I thought. Not even in Panama does the boss kiss the employee. I am going to talk to Stella about finding you an older cleaning person. I will see if she can find a man to do the work.”
Mr. H., while I admit that I made the wrong judgment when Gloria presented her cheek, I will have to consider whether that justifies firing Gloria, particularly when I’m just getting used to her. I will get back to you later.
The Russian Oligarch
From: Silence
To: H.
CC: Stella
Sent: January 27, 2011
Hi from Rodeo Drive. I am sorry that I have been out of touch. By the time I got to L.A., Fresnah had lost her baby, but I’m staying on to help her pull through the shock. Like her mom, she is a tough chicken, and is almost back to normal. I’m using her new Apple iPhone to email you. We are at Spago’s for lunch, before shopping, to celebrate a big deal Alex has pulled off this morning. Alex says that I am included in the bonus sharing. I am a bit embarrassed to accept, but Fresny says that he loves to do this for close friends. I guess that as his sort of mother-in-law, I have no option but to go along with the plan. I say sort of mother-in-law, because, like John and me, Alex and Fresny aren’t married. Alex is about my age, fifteen plus years older than Fresny.
Oops! Hold it! Hold it! Is that Hugh Grant?
It can’t be. Yes!! Yes, it is!
Fresny is sure it is him! If only Stella were here! She has every one of his movies on her computer, and says he’s her biggest turn-on. I personally don’t find him that special, but Stella has something about Englishmen. For twelve years she was a stewardess for American Airlines and spent many nights in London. She says, “Give me an Englishman over an Italian every time.”
Oops I shouldn’t be telling on her like this. The champagne is getting to me. Wait, I am going to sneak a photo of Hugh for Stella. I would love to ask him to sign my blouse, but I know that’s not done.
Oh, by the way, with all this excitement of being in Hollywood and driving around in Alex’s Rolls Royce Silver Cloud with the hood down, I momentarily forgot how angry and hurt I am about John kissing Gloria in front of everyone. I am sure that you know about it. I gather all of Bocas knows. It’s not that I suspect that there is anything to the lunch and the kiss, but it makes both of us look like fools. I am going to be so embarrassed when I get home and go to Monica’s for the weekly girls’ Mahjong. I’m copying this message to Stella. Stella, please be an angel and find a man to do John’s housework, and if not a man, then one of those large Bocas mamas.
Excuse me. We just had a visitor. Well, the visitor was a good-looking Russian gentleman named Oleg. He joined our table and after examining the bottle of champagne sitting in the wine cooler, called for the waiter to bring us two bottles of Dom Perignon 2002 vintage.
He invited us to dinner tonight on his yacht. Fresny saw my uncertainty, and, when I excused myself to go to the bathroom, she followed me.
“Mom, please, we have to go. His yacht is what they call a mega yacht, and the third biggest in the world. It has a crew of twenty-eight, a gourmet chef, a dozen security guards, and Oleg’s personal doctor.”
“That is fine for you, Fresny. You have a beautiful wardrobe. I have nothing suitable for a fancy dinner party on a yacht. I’m not going looking like a tramp.”
“Mom, you are forgetting that Alex is taking us shopping when lunch is over. Relax! We’ll have you looking like Julia Roberts by dinnertime.”
“This is beyond belief. Pinch me please and let me return to reality.”
“Mom, this is reality. Enjoy every minute of it!”
I’m not used to drinking more than one glass of champagne at lunchtime. I must sober up; though I tell you that the champagne does encourage one.
“Fresny, I am tempted to ask Hugh to sign something for my friend, Stella.”
“Don’t you dare! That’s a no-no. It would be a huge embarrassment for Oleg.”
Oh dear! Fresny wants her iPhone. Hasta manana mi amigo.
Stella Tells on John
From: Stella
To: H.
Sent: January 27, 2011
Hello there Mr. Friend of Silence. I don’t know your name, but Silence has told me that she confides in you and that you are very trustworthy and won’t pass on anything that she tells you. My name is Stella, and I am Silence’s best friend. I haven’t told her that I am contacting you, and if you don’t mind, I would prefer that you don’t tell her. I just want to make you aware of a problem I have.
I believe you know about the fuss Silence made about John taking his maid out to lunch.
Silence has told me to get rid of the maid and replace her with a man. I was about to do this when I met John on Main Street. He seemed different. Something was missing, but I couldn’t tell what.
“Good morning John,” I said. “How are you?”
“Muy bien, gracias a Dios.”
“John, what is going on? You look different.”
“No, Stella! It is the same old John.”
“John, please, stand still and let me look at you.”
John stood at attention while I inspected him from top to toe. I didn’t see what was missing the first time, but on the second examination I found it. The bushes of hair that had always grown out of his ears were gone, and the hairs that would hang from his nose were no longer there.
There was something more; his shirt had been ironed. To my absolute amazement, I found myself thinking that he was quite attractive.
Now the only person who could have trimmed the hairs from his ears and nose and pressed his shirt is Gloria, the maid.
This surprised me, because John isn’t the sort of person who would let a woman get close to him. I needed to know more.
“Have you time for a quick bite of lunch?”
John hesitated. Since his concern over expenditures was still intact and I wanted a quiet place to quiz him without being overheard, I suggested we eat lunch in my apartment in the Ocean View building. First, I needed to go to the Super Gourmet to buy salami. John accompanied me, and for a moment at the cash register, I thought that he was going to offer to pay. He was just reaching for the free copy of the new edition of the Bocas Breeze.
While John sat at my kitchen table reading about the latest competition to spear the dreaded lionfish, I poured us each a glass of Clos Vino Blanco and made salami sandwiches.
“John, tell me, is Gloria still working for you?”
“Is this why you asked me to have lunch with you? Did Silence tell you to check up on me?”
“No! Silence hasn’t asked me to spy on you or quiz you, although she has asked me to find a man to replace Gloria.”
“As far as I am concerned Gloria will continue to look after me until Silence returns, unless Gloria decides to leave. I’m the one who’s paying her.”
“I know Silence has spoken to you about how upset she is over your taking Gloria to lunch at the Buena Vista.”
“Not spoken. Sent e-mails.”
“And what are you going to do about it?”
“Continue to be looked after by Gloria. She is teaching me Spanish and is threatening to teach me to dance salsa.” John gave me one of his rare smiles. Again, I caught myself finding him quite attractive.
“Let me tell you, Stella, I don’t want you finding a man for me and I don’t want you upsetting Gloria. Is that clear? And what’s more, I would rather you didn’t tell Silence about our conversation. It’ll do no good and will only spoil her time with that daughter of hers.”
I was surprised again. This wasn’t the meek man I had known since the day I became Silence’s best friend. I have decided not to tell Silence, because it is clear that doing so isn’t going to get rid of Gloria and, as John pointed out, it is only going to ruin her fun time with Fresny, Alex and this Russian guy. Instead, I will keep a close eye on John and see that this Gloria doesn’t get any deeper into John’s pocket. It is obvious she is only after his money. Silence should be back soon and then everything will return to normal.
Oleg Reinvents Silence
From: Silence
To: H.
Cc: Stella
Sent: January 27, 2011
Mr. H. I hope you don’t mind my sending a copy of this message to Stella.
This whole adventure is beyond belief, and I expect to be woken up at any moment by John greeting me with, “Morning gal. Here’s your cup of tea.”
I am writing this on my own iPhone, a gift from Oleg, who joined Alex, Fresny, and me on our shopping bonanza.
Oleg said when I protested, “No, no my dear lady, I insist. You have let Alex buy your clothes. Are you going to deny me the pleasure of buying you this little toy? You can write to me on it and even keep a photo of you and me on my yacht Satyr of The Seas, for memory’s sake.”
How about that Stella? And that was after only knowing me for three hours. I wish you could hear him talking with that Russian accent of his; it’s quite sexy. He’s sort of blonde, well sandy blonde, hair cut almost to a crew cut. He has a stubbly beard that gives him a casual look. By the way, the Satyr of the Seas is Oleg’s yacht, and that’s where I am now. And guess what, we will soon be on our way to Santa Catalina for a two-day visit. Alex was a dear this afternoon.
“Fresny, my love,” he said. “Help Mom choose the best from the bottom up. I want her to feel special this evening, because Oleg has a surprise for the two of you.”
It turned out that ‘from the bottom up’ was meant literally. We started with panties and bras and ended with a full-length evening dress.
Just when I thought we were finished, Alex whisked us to Madison’s On Melrose and we started again; a six-hundred-and-fifty dollar pair of True Religion jeans, an incredibly sexy black leather jacket, a crocodile skin bag for the day and a silver evening bag, two pairs of shoes, a pair of ankle booties and then on top of all that, a Nancy Ganz body sculpting swim suit, one-piece of course, but quite revealing in a decent sort of way. I gave up trying to see the price tags. I was feeling so guilty that I just didn’t want to know.
I have no idea how much these two men spent on me; thousands for sure, and all because I’m Fresny’s mom. I never knew Fresny had such an adoring ‘husband’. I have to keep reminding myself not to be carried away and that in the end I’ll be returning to John and eating at Don Chico’s; but to hell with it.
It didn’t end with the shopping. Oleg insisted that I have my hair done.
“I am going to take you to Roppingi’s, a favorite of the stars. I have booked you an appointment with Fernando, who is considered the best stylist in Beverly Hills.”
“No, no, please! You have been too kind to me already. I can’t accept anything more.”
“Please don’t deny me the pleasure, Silence. You can’t deny me the chance to complete the picture. Clothes are only part of it. Hair styling and makeup are just as important. Besides, the salon had to cancel two clients in order to fit you in.”
“Mom! Eat pie while you can!” Fresny had whispered as Oleg opened the door of a black and red sports car.
“Fresny, you are coming with us, aren’t you?” I had asked in a panic.
“Mom, Oleg’s Bugatti only has two seats, but know that you will be riding in one of the most expensive cars in the world. Relax and enjoy it.”
“Don’t be afraid, Silence,” Oleg said this as he leant across me to connect my seatbelt. “This car is capable of a shade more than 250 miles per hour, but I won’t even exceed the speed limit. I don’t have pull with the L.A. cops. Now in Moscow it is different; the cops there all know my cars.”
When we arrived at Roppongis, Oleg handed the car keys to a valet and we entered the salon where we were welcomed by an elegant Japanese man.
“Mr. Petrov!” He bowed his head. “It is my pleasure to see you again. I have cancelled Fernando’s remaining appointments. It will be ten minutes or so before he has finished with his current client.”
“Silence, this is Mr. Takahashi. Takahashi, this is Ms. Dogwood. Can I leave her in your hands?”
“Of course! It will be my pleasure. We will have Ms. Dogwood ready for you at eight.”
While waiting for Fernando, I was given a glass of champagne and six sushi rolls. There was a constant stream of glamorous ladies coming and going, who all seemed to know and love each other. I felt ashamed that I wasn’t as smart as any of them, and I didn’t have anything dramatic to say. I realized that if you are a star, you must always be dramatic and project your voice, because you never know who might be watching you, and you can never have more than enough films lined up.
Fernando sat me in his chair and studied my face, making frames with his hands and viewing me from every side and angle.
“Fascinating! I see the touch of the orient. My dear, may I know where the genes come from?
I panicked. Since I was a teenager I have tried to minimize the slight, but undeniable, evidence of a partial oriental heritage. By rounding the appearance of my eyes and putting waves into my hair, and later using blue contacts, I avoided being called China by all but those who envied my linguistic ability in the Greek department at the University of Virginia.
Had my nose been a beak instead of a little straight stick, I would have played Cleopatra and won the hearts of Caesar and Marc Anthony.