Dead Awake: The Last Crossing (5 page)

The women on this island are
so good looking. I wonder what one must do to meet one of them.
What would one do to show interest? I suppose one must first go to
the father and mother, or something of that nature, seeing as
they’re so close.

What a pretty little white
dress she is wearing. Like a flower, so plain yet beautiful. I
don’t know about the States. Too many accessories. All the things
women add to their dresses and their faces. It’s like putting too
many toppings on your ice cream sundae. Eventually you lose the
flavor of the vanilla. We have to start looking more towards the
plain and simple things, and getting away from thinking that more
is better. It just confuses things.

Look at her. She is
beautiful just plain. I don’t mean that she looks plain and
unsophisticated, her poise alone strikes me in its complexity, I
just mean wholesome, like plain apple pie. Oh, she is beautiful,
isn’t she? So what must I do to meet her, because now I think I
have to! I’ll just sit here by the side of the road and sip from my
coconut drink, acting casual, to see what happens next. And look!
She’s glancing back at me.

Stay cool Finch. I’m sure
that’s a little more than a curious glance. She’s not intimidated
at all, like the girls in the states. Oh if only her family wasn’t
there, I’d go up to her right now. Well I’ll just keep playing it
cool and look uninterested for a while longer. That should work
because I can feel her looking at me still. Yep, reassuring! I’m
pretty sure she’s at least a little infatuated, so I just have to
wait it out and look for my chance.

Stay very inconspicuous Mr.
Finch; don’t let on what your game is. Wait your turn to make the
move. And look, there’s my chance! Her mom and dad are going
inside. Just the kids are left.

What threat can they
possibly pose? I suppose I could just go over and introduce myself,
or make some remark about her dress; but that won’t make a good
enough first impression. I could be blunt and tell her she’s the
most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I’m sure that line hasn’t
filtered its way to this island yet.

While yet engaged in this
conversation with myself, one of her brothers noticed me mumbling
and planning to myself. Such a strange man looking at their sister.
He pointed me out to his other brother, probably no more than a
year older than he was, and they both began to tease and yell as
they pointed their fingers.

I took this as an
opportunity of luck. What a perfect opening line, I thought, while
I rushed over. To entertain them I feathered my hair up, so that it
would look like a chicken, then looked up at the kids and said:
“
Mira chicos, soy un campesino loco
.” (Which means, I am a
crazy country boy.) I played my “
campesino
game” some more,
before recognizing the boys to be the same two kids I’d met earlier
at the beach.

What a stroke of luck! I
often tell myself how convenient it is, the way fate works.
Somehow, I had managed to go to the same house that I would have
ended up at if I had chosen to follow the boys’ invitation. They
were already my friends, so it wouldn’t be too hard to meet their
sister.

I continued playing with the
boys, trying to impress their sister. First the role of a chicken,
then a turkey, and finally a mad man. “And now boys, a chicken!
Bock, bock, bock, bock, cock!” The kids were very amused, and so
was the girl. She laughed some.

It was all very silly
indeed, but nice. I could tell she was thinking that I was a
pleasant man and that she liked me, although she could hardly
understood any of the words I said. It was funny enough just
looking at me. Her smile was tender. I had made such a good
impression that I couldn’t help being proud of myself.

After my show was over, she
had to surgically remove the two boys from off my legs; which had
become fireman posts for them to play on. This big funny friend
wasn’t something the boys were going to let go of easily. I didn’t
mind any of it. They were beautiful kids and I really did like
them. It was a feeling I didn’t have to fake, and that was
something she found very attractive.

There was little verbal
communication between she and I, because she didn’t speak a word of
English, and very little Spanish. The moment was awkward and made
me feel foolish, but I had to laugh at myself. Gee, I must have
looked stupid. I guess it was all in good fun.

Now would have been the time
for that Spanish that I never learned while sleeping in class, to
kick in. But even if I had learned Spanish really well, it wouldn’t
have helped much more because she mostly spoke Guarani-mezclado;
which is a local tongue composed of Guarani mixed with Spanish. Her
whole family spoke it, but the boys could speak a lot more Spanish
than the rest of them. The whole island spoke this tongue, but only
half the population could speak Spanish; and even less of that
number could read or write. I supposed I could understand the boys
enough.

Her mother and father
returned as she was still pulling the unwilling grabbing monkeys
away from my legs. The mother looked puzzled and made a couple of
inquiries, to the girl, as to whom I was. The girl responded, with
a smile and a lot of explanation, although I didn’t have a clue
about what was being said. After the inquiries, the mother seemed
to be satisfied enough, and she waved her hand to the kids as one
might do to a cat or dog begging at the table. They resisted her
command, a bit, because they didn’t want to leave my legs, but soon
found their mother’s will was stronger, and went indoors without
any more resistance to her authority.

Fascinated with this new
visitor, both the father and mother pulled up a couple of chairs
and sat to study me. So what does one say to someone who doesn’t
understand a word you’re saying, but whom you want to make
understand because you want him or her to like you?

Their smiles were very
pleasant. It was the look of tender parents, very trusting and
giving. The mother made little gestures at me, attempting to
communicate. It made it easier for me to understand them, but I
still felt as a know-nothing that didn’t even know how to speak.
Still they were very kind, and soon I wasn’t uncomfortable. I sat
with them, in what was the beginning of a mute conversation between
two peoples of different worlds. I was on the one side, while they
on the other; and they were able to speak among themselves while
trying to communicate with me, “the curious stranger.”

Ironically, it wasn’t the
type of awkwardness I anticipated. Instead, I actually remember
having a good time. I’m sure we didn’t do anything too interesting,
to provide much entertainment, besides me falling off my chair
once, creating a good bit of laughter for quite a time. We began a
friendship that didn’t need any words. It was one that was created
with no deception, because a clean form of communication forged it.
Nothing could be said that would be a lie.

Thinking about it, I believe
never to have had equally as gratifying an experience at sharing
myself with any other group of people. It was almost better not to
have used words. I was sharing what was essentially me without the
need for any form of persuasion to prove my good nature. I didn’t
have to persuade them by telling them about my career or diplomas.
My political views were also something I could keep in my pocket,
being of no importance here. How often had I been misunderstood
because of one of my political opinions, oftentimes being the
result of someone labeling me, in the back of their minds, as a
blind-minded conservative? Oftentimes, I had been the one that had
done the labeling.

They could not be deceived,
because they saw me for what I was, not what I could pretend to be,
and that was the most reassuring part, when they ended up liking
me. After a while, one of the kids stuck his head out of a window.
I’m sure he was pleading for a chance to meet with the stranger
some more. The verdict from mother was in the affirmative, as she
nodded in allowance. So permission for one was permission for
all!

It seemed I was a hit with
the entire family. First at the beach, with the boys, then here in
their home. I learned all their names; of course I already knew the
boys’ names, who were Julio and Hector. The mother was Higinia
(pronounced Ihinia), the father, Jose Luis Gonzales and the girl...
I hesitated to ask her for her name. I was too shy. She blushed,
and with a burst of courage and a smile, offered me her
name.

I will never forget the way
the sound from her lips made me tingle, almost as if little bells
were ringing all over my body. “Noelia.” She said it simple, as if
it had no real significance in this world; but to me it was the
most important thing. I will never forget her, no, not even in my
grave. She was like a little girl, so calm and perfect. I watched
her eyes; they were the eyes of an innocent child. They reflected
peace and serenity, something I had never found before in my own
life. What a lovely girl. A woman!

I tried to continue my
involvement with the family, although from that time on I found it
hard to concentrate on anything other than Noelia. It was as if the
sun had risen for the very first time, and all along I had never
really felt the rays of heat that come to us from this distant orb.
What could life now be? I found myself embarrassed, trying not to
let them notice my obvious enamor. I tried to compose myself,
although it was useless to find strength to pull the arrow that had
struck me.

They all had a real
interesting time trying to pronounce my name, and made lots of fun
of it. Even Higinia laughed at it. None of them could pronounce
Finch right, clobbering it phonetically, so I had them call me by
my first name, David.

I’m not sure how I got so
lucky to go on that little walk with Noelia, but at that moment I
could not believe my fortune. I think Higinia suggested it. She
probably noticed the way I was attracted to her daughter and
thought it her task to see that the two of us had a moment. She had
noticed a lot more than I thought during our silent conversation.
Whatever it was, she trusted me with her daughter.

We walked through the
village, and a little while later climbed up a slope that led to a
brook and ended in a small waterfall. There were lots of trees with
many different shades of green. Flowers sprung up everywhere, with
colors from every spectrum imaginable. Soft grasses carpeted the
entire landscape, as the birds sang the songs of home. It was their
permanent year-round habitation and it made me envious of
them.

I pulled out my camera, and
am very happy to have done so, for if I hadn’t I never would have
had such marvelous tokens of her. She was fascinated with the
camera. I was glad because that meant I would be able to take many
pictures of her, as was my intention. Cameras, on the island, were
not very common, although they were inexpensive. Everyone was
instantly drawn, when one was about to take a picture, the same way
a child would be, and she was no exception. Like a little girl, she
was curious and marvelous, shy in her beauty, and embarrassed when
told of her fairness.

That made it so I had to
coax a little before I could actually get her to be in the first
picture. She took my camera and played with it, snapped a picture
at the air and then one at me, which cut my body right in half.
Then she laughed and teased while I ran to catch her.

As we walked, a little man
and his wife passed us and I asked them if they would take our
picture. He gladly accepted so we stood together and waited for the
flash. I wanted her to feel comfortable, and have a shot of us to
keep. Perhaps for some future year when she could look back on this
day and smile for the day we met.

What would that future day
be like? I wondered. Would she be looking at that photograph as
four of our grand children sat around, and she told stories of
their grandfather? Would I be there, watching over her shoulder, as
the kids laughed at the funny stories about grandpa and his silly
ways? Or would she be looking at them alone? I wondered if she
would stay with me, or if I had only seen her, the girl of my
dreams, for a short season, and would ever miss her
afterwards.

These thoughts ended as we
walked a little further, stopping occasionally where inspiration
hit, to take another shot of her in some different pose. Now her
confidence with the camera was trustingly established. I played the
part of a professional photographer, from some famous magazine,
photographing the world’s most elite model. It was so wonderful
that I almost felt French, giving her directions as to what to do
with her hair and pose. It was pretty silly, but I believe that was
when we really began to have fun with each other.

There might have been others
there, watching us, and they might have mistaken me for some real
photographer from the States that was out on assignment. Maybe a
few might have seen and been interested for a moment, as curiosity
caught them; for I was the actor, pretending as they watched,
feeding myself with their star-struck enthrall.

It was a strenuous
profession, this life of a photo-famous-camera man. Trying to get
my work done, before anyone recognized this famous goddess model,
would almost be impossible. “Run through the field of those pretty
yellow flowers,” I’d yell, “Run and pose for me, I can still see
you.”