The Old Patagonian Express: By Train Through the Americas

'That's a mistake,' said Nicky. 'He's not my husband. He's just a beautiful human being.'

She let this sink in. The band was playing a waltz.

She said, 'I met him a year ago when I was in Mazatlan. I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown — my husband had left me. I didn't know which way to turn. I started walking along the beach. José saw me and got out of his boat. He put his hand out and touched me. He was smiling…' Her voice trailed off. She began again, 'He was very kind. It was what I needed. I was in a breakdown situation. He saved me.'

'What kind of boat?'

'A little boat — he's a poor fisherman,' she said. She squinted. 'He just put out his hand and touched me. Then I got to know him better. We went out to eat — to a restaurant. He had never had anything — he wasn't married — he didn't have a cent to his name. He had never had any good clothes, never eaten in a good restaurant, didn't know what to do. It was all new to him. He couldn't understand why I was giving so much to him. "You saved me," I said. He just smiled. I gave him money and for the next few weeks we had a wonderful time. Then he told me he had TB.'

'But he didn't speak English, right?'

'He could say a few words.'

'You believed him when he said he had TB?'

'He wasn't lying, if that's what you think. I saw his doctor. The doctor told me he needed treatment. So I swore I would help him, and that's why I went to Mazatlan a month ago. To help him. He was much thinner- he couldn't go fishing. I was really worried. I asked him what he wanted. He said he wanted to see his mother. I gave him money and things and put him on the plane, and when I didn't hear from him I came here myself.'

'It seems very generous of you. You could be out having a good e. Instead, you're searching Veracruz for this lost soul.'

'It's what God wants me to do,' she whispered.

'Yes?'

'And I'll find him, if God wants me to.'

'You're going to stick at it, eh?'

'We Sagittarians are awful determined — real adventurous types! What sign are you?'

'Aries.'

'Ambitious.'

'That's me.'

She said, 'Actually, I think God's testing me.'

'In what way?'

'This José business is nothing. I've just been through a very heavy divorce. And there's some other things.'

'About José. If he's illiterate, then his mother's probably illiterate. In that case, she won't see your ad in the paper. So why not have a poster made — a picture, some details — and you can put it up near the bus station and where his mother's house is supposed to be.'

'I think I'll try that.'

I gave her more suggestions: hire a private detective, broadcast messages on the radio. Then it occurred to me that José might have gone back to Mazatlan. If he had been sick or worried he would have done that, and if he had been trying to swindle her — as I suspected he had — he would certainly have done that eventually, when he ran out of money.

She agreed that he might have gone back, but not for the reasons I said. 'I'm staying here until I find him. But even if 1 find him tomorrow I'll stay a month. I like it here. This is a real nice town. Were you here for the carnival? No? It was a trip, I can tell you that. Everyone was down here in the plaza — '

Now the band was playing Rossini, the overture to The Barber of Seville.

' — drinking, dancing. Everyone was so friendly. I met so many people. I was partying every night. That's why I don't mind staying here and looking for José. And, um, I met a man.'

'Local feller?'

'Mexican. He gave me good vibrations, like you're giving me. You're positive — get posters made, radio broadcasts — that's what I need.'

'This new man you met — he might complicate things.'

She shook her head. 'He's good for me.'

'What if he finds out that you're looking for José? He might get annoyed.'

'He knows all about it. We discussed it. Besides,' she added after a moment, 'José is dying.'

The concert had ended. It was so late I had become ravenously hungry. I said that I was going to a restaurant, and Nicky said, 'Mind if I join you?' We had red snapper and she told me about her divorces. Her first husband had been violent, her second had been a bum. It was her word.

'A real bum?'

'A real one,' she said. 'He was so lazy — why, he worked for me, you know? While we were married. But he was so lazy I had to fire him.'

'When you divorced him?'

'No, long before that. I fired him, but I stayed married to him. That was about five years ago. After that, he just hung around the house. When I couldn't take any more of it I divorced him. Then, guess what? He goes to his lawyer and tries to get me to pay him maintenance money. I'm supposed to pay him!'

'What sort of business are you in?'

'I own slums,' she said. 'Fifty-seven of them — I mean, fifty-seven units. I used to own a hundred and twenty-eight units. But these fifty-seven are in eighteen different locations. God, it's a problem — people always want paint, things fixed, a new roof.'

I ceased to see her as a troubled libido languishing in Mexico. She owned property; she was here living on her slum rents. She said she didn't pay any taxes because of her 'depreciations' and that on paper she looked 'real good'. She said, 'God's been good to me.'

'Are you going to sell these slums of yours?'

'Probably. I'd like to live here. I'm a real Mexico freak.'

'And you'll make a profit when you sell them.'

'That's what it's all about.'

'Then why don't you let these people live rent-free? They're doing you a favour by keeping them in repair. God would love you for that. And you'll still make a profit.'

She said, 'That's silly.'

The bill came.

'I'll pay for myself,' she said.

'Save your money,' I said. 'José might turn up.'

She smiled at me. 'You're kind of an interesting guy.'

I had not said a single word about myself; she did not even know my name. Perhaps this reticence was interesting? But it wasn't reticence: she hadn't asked.

I said, 'Maybe I'll see you tomorrow.'

'I'm at the Diligencia.'

I was at the Diligencia, too. I decided not to tell her this. I said, 'I hope you find what you're looking for.'

The next day I rose early and hurried to the station to buy my ticket for Tapachula. It was a simple operation, and there was still time to return to the hotel for breakfast. As I was eating I saw Nicky pass through the lobby. She bought a newspaper. She looked around. I hid behind a pillar. When the coast was clear I made my way to the station. The sun was above the plaza. It was going to be a very hot day.

5 THE PASSENGER TRAIN TO TAPACHULA

I had been on the train for twelve hours. There was something wrong with this train; a whole day of travelling and we had gone only a hundred miles or so, mostly through swamps. The heat had made me nauseous, and the noise of the banging doors, the anvil clang of the coupling, had given me a headache. Now it was night, still noisy, but very cold. The coach was open — most of the eighty seats were occupied, nearly all the windows were broken, or jammed open. The bulbs on the ceiling were too dim to read by, too bright to allow me to sleep. The rest of the passengers slept, and one across the aisle was snoring loudly. The man behind me who, all day, had sighed and cursed and kicked the back of my seat in exasperation, had made a pillow of his fist and gone to sleep. The spiders and ants I had noticed during the day crawling in and out of the horsehair of the burst cushions had begun biting me. Or was it mosquitoes? My ankles itched and stung. It was just after nine o'clock. I held a copy of Pudd'nhead Wilson. I had given up trying to read it.