Lee and Allerton took a plane the next day for Manta.
The Hotel Continental in Manta was made of split bamboo and rough boards. Lee found some knotholes in the wall of their room, and plugged the holes up with paper. "We don't want to get deported under a cloud," he said to Allerton. "I'm a little junk sick, you know, and that makes me sooo sexy. The neighbors could witness some innaresting sights."
"I wish to register a complaint concerning breach of contract," said Allerton. "You said twice a week."
"So I did. Well, of course the contract is more or less elastic you might say. But you are right.
Twice a week it is, sire. Of course, if you get hot pants between times, don't hesitate to let me know."
"I'll give you a buzz."
The water was just right for Lee, who could not stand cold water. There was no shock when he plunged in. They swam for an hour or so, then sat on the beach looking at the sea. Allerton could sit for hours doing absolutely nothing. He said, "That boat out there has been warming up for the past hour."
"I am going into town to dig the local bodegas and buy a bottle of cognac," Lee told him.
The town looked old, with limestone streets and dirty saloons crowded with sailors and dockworkers. A shoeshine boy asked Lee if he wanted a "nice girl." Lee looked at the boy and said in English, "No, and I don't want you either."
He bought a bottle of cognac from a Turkish trader. The store had everything: ship stores, hardware, guns, food, liquor. Lee priced the guns: three hundred dollars for a 30-30 lever-action Winchester carbine that sold for seventy-two dollars in the States. The Turk said duty was high on guns. That was the reason for this price.
Lee walked back along the beach. The houses were all split bamboo on wood frame, the four posts set directly in the ground. The simplest type of house construction: you set four heavy posts deep in the ground and nail the house to the posts. The houses were built about six feet off the ground. The streets were mud. Thousands of vultures roosted on the houses and walked around the streets, pecking at offal. Lee kicked at a vulture, and the bird flapped away with an indignant squawk.
Lee passed a bar, a large building built directly on the ground, and decided to go in for a drink.
The split-bamboo walls shook with noise. Two middle-aged wiry little men were doing an obscene mambo routine opposite each other, their leathery faces creased in toothless smiles. The waiter came up and smiled at Lee. He didn't have any front teeth either. Lee sat down on a short wood bench and ordered a cognac. A boy of sixteen or so came over and sat down with Lee and smiled an open, friendly smile. Lee smiled back and ordered a refresco for the boy. He dropped a hand on Lee's thigh and squeezed it in thanks for the drink. The boy had uneven teeth, crowded one over the other, but he was a young boy. Lee looked at him speculatively; he couldn't figure the score. Was the boy giving him a come-on, or wars he just friendly? He knew that people in the Latin American countries were not self-conscious about physical contact. Boys walked around with their arms around each other's necks. Lee decided to play it cool. He finished his drink, shook hands with the boy, and walked back to the hotel.
Allerton was still sitting on the porch in his swimming trunks and a short-sleeved yellow shirt, which flapped around his thin body in the evening wind. Lee went inside to the kitchen and ordered ice and water and glasses. He told Allerton about the Turk, the town and the boy. "Let's go dig that bar after dinner," he said.
"And get felt up by those young boys?" said Allerton. "I should say not."
Lee laughed. He was feeling surprisingly well. The antihistamine cut his junk sickness to a vague malaise, something he would not have noticed if he did not know what it was. He looked out over the bay, red in the setting sun. Boats of all sizes were anchored in the bay. Lee wanted to buy a boat and sail up and down the coast. Allerton liked the idea.
"While we are in Ecuador we must score for Yage," Lee said. "Think of it: thought control. Take anyone apart and rebuild to your taste. Anything about somebody bugs you, you say, 'Yage! I want that routine took clear out of his mind.' I could think of a few changes I might make in you, doll." He looked at Allerton and licked his lips. "You'd be so much nicer after a few alterations.
You're nice now, of course, but you do have those irritating little peculiarities. I mean, you won't do exactly what I want you to do all the time."
"Do you think there is anything in it, really?" Allerton asked.
"The Russians seem to think so. I understand Yage is the most efficient confession drug. They have also used peyote. Ever try it?"
"No."
"Horrible stuff. Made me sick like I wanted to die. I got to puke and I can't. Just excruciating spasms of the asparagras, or whatever you call that gadget. Finally the peyote conies up solid like a ball of hair, solid all the way up, clogging my throat. As nasty a sensation as I ever stood still for. The high is interesting, but hardly worth the sick stage. Your face swells around the eyes, and the lips swell, and you look and feel like an Indian, or what you figure an Indian feels like.
Primitive, you understand. Colors are more intense, but somehow flat and two-dimensional.
Everything looks like a peyote plant. There is a nightmare undercurrent.
"I had nightmares after using it, one after the other, every time I went back to sleep. In one dream I had rabies and looked in the mirror and my face changed and I began howling. Another dream I had a chlorophyll habit. Me and five other chlorophyll addicts are waiting to score. We turn green and we can't kick the chlorophyll habit. One shot and you are hung for life. We are turning into plants. You know anything about psychiatry? Schizophrenia?"
"Not much."
"In some cases of schizophrenia a phenomenon occurs known as automatic obedience. I say,
'Stick out your tongue,' and you can't keep yourself from obeying. Whatever I say, whatever anyone says, you must do. Get the picture? A pretty picture, isn't it, so long as you are the one giving the orders that are automatically obeyed. Automatic obedience, synthetic schizophrenia, mass-produced to order. That is the Russian dream, and America is not far behind. The bureaucrats of both countries want the same thing: Control. The superego, the controlling agency, gone cancerous and berserk. Incidentally, there is a connection between schizophrenia and telepathy. Schizos are very telepathically sensitive, but are strictly receivers. Dig the tie-in?"
"But you wouldn't know Yage if you saw it?"
Lee thought a minute. "Much as I dislike the idea, I will have to go back to Quito and talk to a botanist at the Botanical Institute there."
"I'm not going back to Quito for anything," said Allerton.
"I'm not going right away. I need some rest and I want to kick the Chinaman all the way out. No need for you to go. You stay on the beach. Papa will go and get the info."
Chapter 8
From Manta they flew on to Guayaquil. The road was flooded, so the only way to get there was by plane or boat.
Guayaquil is built along a river, a city with many parks and squares and statues. The parks are full of tropical trees and shrubs and vines. A tree that fans out like an umbrella, as wide as it is tall, shades the stone benches. The people do a great deal of sitting.