In the Beginning Was the Sea

7

THE MATTRESSES arrived a week after the bed was completed. J. had sent a message to Julito with one of Gilberto’s relatives who was heading for Turbo asking him to buy the mattresses and transport them to the finca. And so one day, in the blazing noonday sun, Julito’s boat puttered into the cove with the boatman sitting swigging rum on top of a huge package encased in plastic while his assistant manned the tiller. This time they came ashore on the beach in front of the house.

When sober, Julito seemed strong and healthy; drunk, he looked feeble and decrepit. He dropped limply from the mountain of mattresses into the sea. Clutching a bottle of aguardiente, he waded towards the shore, staring at the water which came up to his waist. It took him an age to reach them. Having reached the beach and hugged J., he offered him the bottle. “Mucho gusto, seño,” he said to Elena, but she did not respond. This time, both Julito and his compadre were wearing trainers, clearly planning to unload their cargo on the rocky stretch of coast.

In the sweltering heat, Gilberto and the assistant carried the mattresses onto the beach. There was no wind. A few birds glided lazily out over the open sea. Julito and J. sat on a tree trunk under one of the palms and while the boatman, in his reedy voice, droned on about his life, J. watched as the mattresses were unloaded, swigging rum from time to time.

By the time they headed back, Julito was fast asleep in the bottom of the boat. As it disappeared over the horizon J., a little dizzy now, climbed the steps to the veranda.

“Did you see that?” said Elena.

“See what, mamita?”

“This time those idiots landed right in front of the house?”

J. did not want to get into an argument.

“Why don’t we go and try out our new bed?” he said.

“You go try it out by yourself! I’m not going to bed in this heat.”