Memory #4 GALAPAGOS (Dos)

Como un arbusto

Roberto is not from the capital. He is from the coast. Because he makes certain to point this out, I figure the significance must be enormous but most of it escapes me at that moment. Later I realize what this means. It means that he came from the ground, the earth, and the mud and now he lives and works in the city, the capital city of bricks and steel.

He reminds me of a shrub, in frame, in color, and in a way that if you attempted to ride a bicycle through and over him he would snap back to attention with only minimal scrapes.

He works the front desk for a hostel in the backpacker section of the city. A local travel agency awarded the hostel a trip to the Galapagos for reciprocal business. The owner had gone a year or two before and this year had given the trip to Roberto.

The boat holds twenty passengers and five crew. Eighteen of the passengers are Israeli. The other two are Roberto and I.

Roberto is enamored with a girl whose name neither he nor I can pronounce. She stayed at his hostel before the Galapagos which gave him ample time to add twigs and sticks to the fire of his crush. He has good reason. His reason is immediately echoed by both the other passengers and the members of the crew.

She is beautiful and has an aloofness that makes her appear as though she speaks a language that no one else does. She is unmoved when one of the naturalist guide plays the guitar. She sits looking at the horizon smoking her cigarettes that she keeps in a leather pouch. She is indifferent when one of the crew pours her a drink.

Remember that sailors fell in love with manatees.

I learn the Hebrew word for shark, which if I remember correctly sounds something like "gadish".

I swim with sea lions.

Como un sueño

"The last Zodiac will return to the boat at 11pm. Anyone who wants to stay later will have to hire a water-taxi."

It was our last night, the only time we would spend on an island inhabited by people not animals.

We are in a bar. The girl has rejected everyone who has asked her to dance. She has decided to share her secret language with her roomate from the boat, not to be heard through the music.

I request a song for Roberto. I insist that for this song he must ask the girl to dance. My Spanish is faltering with the late hour and the emotion of trying to pressure him but also it's bolstered by my drunkeness. He relents, he agrees due to the late hour, the emotion, and his drunkeness.

A few days earlier, as we stood near the edge of cliff watching a brownish-yellow iguana chew relentlessly on a piece of cactus, spikes and all, Roberto laughed. He took out his disposable camera, knelt to take a photo, and said, "Es como un sueño." (It is like a dream.)

The song I request is entitled "Un Monton de Estrellas". I requested it because the chorus sings "Porque yo en el amor soy un idiota." (Because I, in love, am an idiot.)

It was apt for many reasons.

The DJ plays half a dozen songs, and not my request. I press him, this time I take a cigarette out for myself and offer him one, which he takes. Two songs later, it comes on.

I push Roberto off his stool. He crosses the floor as the guitar plays the opening measures of the song. When the congas come in, he is in front of her. The dance floor is small about the size of a living room. It is empty except for the colored lights projecting on the floor. She acts as if she is embarrassed and declines.

He returns to the stool next to mine. He is disappointed but somewhat surprisingly, not broken. I guess trying unsuccessfully to get her attention for the past two weeks has eased this crash landing.

"Roberto, vamos a bailar con las gringas alla."

We dance. I teach people dances that I am no good at. Roberto dances with a girl who is at least 6 inches taller than he is and she is the shorter of the two we asked to dance.

We leave victoriously and somehow we are able to guide our water-taxi driver to our boat in the dark, in a bay full of boats.

We climb the ladder to the main deck of the boat. We walk upright and no longer teeter with the side to side motion of the boat. The alcohol has perfected our balance, it has stopped the ocean and gave us solid, unmoving platform to walk on.

We sit on chairs, fighting sleep.

As we separate and walk towards our rooms I hear Roberto say, "Es como un sueño."