Part 9
The woman's thoughts followed, one after another, along a Mexican highway to Tamiahua, Veracruz, a small village on the coast near Tampico. In a dreamy mood, she murmured, "Tamiahua . . ."
The man followed her memory in synchronization, "We were great beach bums."
. . .
(Tamiahua) The couple paused in Poza Rica for a few days to relax before continuing northward toward home. Betty brought the subject out for discussion, "I can't shake Marianne Wilson and her friends and can't do a darn thing because of them."
"What's the problem, baby?" He sensed that her displeasure went deeper than hanging out with fellow tourists. Personally, Bill disliked Ralph Wilson and his activities enough to return some of the colonial treasures, which he and Betty had "collected", to a museum somewhere in Mexico. He was currently composing a letter and a falsified story to do just that.
The bomb dropped, "She wants to wife swap. Why do some people get that idea?" Betty was frequently sorry for asking such rhetorical questions, because her husband would launch one of his long-winded explanations.
Bill didn't, because the phenomenon wasn't interesting to him, and sociology was not his strong suit. But he wasn't surprised, "That explains Ralph bragging what a good piece Marianne is, ‘They don't call her Pepi for nothing.' He referred to you as a hot tamale and wanted to know how sensuous you are in bed."
"What did you tell him?"
Bill grinned in a way to show he was joking, "Told him you were multi-orgasmic."
She read his thought, (Bless his heart. I won't joke back.) "Are you ready to head for home? I'm not."
"What we need, is to settle somewhere for a month where the beach is closer."
She dreamed, "A little kitchen too, so we wouldn't have to go out so much . . . and less people, Americans in particular."
"We're not likely to find that anywhere on the east coast. Beats me why people come way down here to hang out with each other and drink too much."
"And flirt with other women's husbands. Let's travel slow toward Tampico and keep an eye open for a good place."
The Wilsons and a woman named Jamie crowded around the Franklin's supper table. Jamie explained to Bill that she was recently divorced and just beginning to "find" herself. She was new at the cross-seduction game; she should have been talking to the cooperative spouse, Betty.
Betty was trying to get across the idea that Bill and she were short-timers and would be leaving early in the morning. (What is that woman doing?) Betty watched as Jamie leaned toward Bill with her entire arm concealed under the table. She figured the move out when Mr. Franklin choked on his avocado and pineapple salad. (That woman just laid a hand on his stuff.)
Bill dabbed his mouth with a napkin and smiled at the slim middle-aged blonde. He studied an imaginary wristwatch and said, "I have to make a long-distance call home. Betty will entertain you until I get back." He left.
(That liar. I'll follow him in a little bit. That's what he expects.)
Ralph casually asked, "What's your plans for tonight, Betts? Dancing and drinks on the veranda?" He brushed her skirt up and pressed fingers into her thigh.
She jumped a little, just as Bill had done from Jamie's touch. She tried to push him away but he captured her hand and sat awkwardly with his hand, over hers, over his. Betty looked at Pepi for support but spoke to Ralph, "Come on, Ralph, too early for that. Please, let me eat."
Pepi's knee had been rubbing Betty's all along. She gave a familiar squeeze to Betty's leg, "Leave her alone, Ralphy. There's plenty of time."
Betty scooted away from the table and grabbed her fajita, "I'd better find Bill. We'll be back before you know it." she grinned disarmingly to each table occupant. (I'll go to hell for lying, same as stealing.)
She found her man, hiding in their room, eating bean burritos from a street vendor. He offered one to her.
The next day, the tourists stopped in Tihuatlan, a tiny village inland from Tuxpan. They were looking for a rental that allowed cooking. Both were becoming proficient with survival-level Spanish; they were not fully conversant but could get by in the market place.
The shopkeeper was discouraging, "Everyone cooks in his room, Señor, but a refrigerator? Who can afford one?"
Bill nodded to an old gentleman loitering in a chair, "Good day, sir. How goes it?"
The old fellow replied, "Good day to you, sir. I am very well, thank you. I hope you are happy."
"I am very well, thank you, but would like a place to stay for a month on the beach."
"Alas, sir, there is no ocean in Tihuatlan. I know a man in Tamiahua who will rent such a place, but sadly, we are not there."
"Very interesting. We could travel there? How far is it?"
"Very far, much too far to walk. How far is Tamiahua to ride in a car, Remi?" he asked the tendero. ". . . Very close for a car. I will introduce you if you wish."
The couple's passenger had sat with the spit-and-whittle club in Tihuatlan for days, waiting for such an opportune ride. He directed the tourists to a cousin who had a house to rent. The prospective tenants examined the large hut, no more than an oversized palapa. It stood at the edge of the jungle in command of a nice beach and the inlet of Tamiahua Lagoon.
The owner apologized for the distant location. It was within sight of the village and tourist beach but out of hearing range. This was an appealing aspect to the Americans. The few stray Europeans in town were not likely to come down here.
The dwelling had a wood-fired oven, made of sheet iron and stone, and minimal furniture. There was a small table, two chairs, and a bed frame with springs. A flat-bottom rowboat rested on the dirt floor next to the bed.
"How much is your price, sir, for one day?", "I like 50 pesos.", "Sixteen dollars? But sir, a fine hotel . . .", "You have a boat to use. I need 45 pesos. For a week, I can bear 250.", "We have to bring water from town and, if we stay a week, can not afford it.", "How does 150 per week sound? You have furniture.", "It is a fine house and we can afford it. Thank you. What if we stay longer? How much for a month?", "I think 600 pesos.", "For longer, shouldn't it be cheaper?", "I must have 450 pesos for a month — no less.", "Much thanks, we will take it for a month. I am Guillermo Franklin, Bil, and I present my spouse, Bety."
Betty was already making plans, "I saw brand new mattresses in Tuxpan for 50 pesos. We'll have as nice a bed as we've seen in Mexico and can leave it here when we leave."
"Tomorrow is errand day, today is for laying on the beach." He danced around her happily, "I love you, mamma bear."
Betty fussed with the oven and a small collection of kindling, "We'll have hot meals once we make a grocery run. Hey, old man, we need to put in a lot of wood."
"Yeah, looks like rain. Do you trust a roof made out of palm leaves?" Bill left to pursue his chore. Returning to the hut, he saw that the bed was laid out with a sheet of plastic and sarapes. He bounced on the springs, "This is great. Come here and tell me what's for supper."
"You know what supper is, fried corn meal and leftover salad stuff." Betty reclined beside him and wiggled close.
"What's for desert?"
"Us."
Returning from town, the Dodge was parked by the door to unload a supply of groceries and a mattress. Bill worried, "If it rains more, the car will be stuck here and we'll be walking for supplies. But that's okay."
Betty proposed, "Let's try the boat. You see that point of land over there? I think it's the inlet of Tamiahua Lagoon. It's probably littered with pirate treasure."
The weather was calm and bright as they dragged the boat to the water's edge. Bill handed the single ore to Betty and posed at the bow, pretending to be, "Admiral Horatio Fartworth orders his surly crew onward. Row, you blubbers."
"This oar is too heavy and there aren't any locks." the mutinous crew complained. She snugged the top of her favorite swimming suit up and slipped the shoulder straps where they should have been all along.
"Ar. . .rr, malcontent is it? There'll be no grog tonight, you wretched wench, and no favors in bed."
"You dad-blamed poop, I'll scuttle your . . . hat !" she grabbed his hillbilly hat and threatened to sail it to sea.
"Yo, ho, ho. The treacherous bilge cow threatens her own dear captain's hat. No shore leave for you, me pretty Polly."
Trying to stand, she nearly toppled the boat. Leaning on him for support she repented, "Come on, Bill, I can't use that oar." He kissed her and accidentally explored her starboard breast.
The seaworthy craft and competent crew reached Tamiahua Point. A number of natives were exploiting resources there. Most were fishing and some gathered seashells for the tourist trade. A tiny spot of sand could be seen on the water's surface beyond the point. "Our map shows some islands out there. One is big enough to have a name, Isla de Lobos. Must be overrun with wolves."
"Let's go out there. We'll be okay so long as we keep land in sight."
The first island was big enough to stand on, but there was a larger one farther out. The couple admired the fish and sea bottom from their floating tub and finally stood on Wolf Island.
A breeze came up, stirring the surf and nearly inundating the patch of sand. Just as a larger gust and sustained wind insisted that it was time to leave, a tidal wave swelled and washed over the island. Bill lunged to catch their boat.
Betty yelled, "Bill, out there." she pointed to the hulk of a ship, raised momentarily from the shallow depths. Its masts had been lost, but the hull was intact with railings and superstructure. It had the look of an ancient sailing vessel.
"Gun ports !" Bill gaped as the apparition again disappeared below the waves. "Did you see those holes below the gunwale? The sucker is a cannon-bearing sailing vessel. Not a merchantman, but maybe a galleon or frigate. How could it still be in one piece?"
"Let's get out of here if there is still time." The ride was rough, but the prevailing gale helped them to shore.
Rain fell steadily as Bill struggled to get the boat inside. Wind ruffled the fronds that formed their roof. "We'll soon see what kind of weather protection we have." In fact it wasn't bad, although a lake formed in one corner, and rain splattered through the open entryway.
"A drainage ditch and a plastic sheet will stop those. At least, it isn't cold." Betty peeled supper while Bill built a fire.