Read Online Fierce Invalids Home From Hot Climates by Tom Robbins - Free Book Online
Authors: Tom Robbins
Tags: Satire
Ads: Link
stranger
will buy it and take it away—perhaps to the U.S. again.”
Well, that would never do. And Juan
Carlos went on to warn of cholera germs that were currently careening through Iquitos like a soccer mob. “Your inoculation, I fear, will
offer only minimal—”
“Okay. I get the picture. Iquitos is gonna wrinkle my rompers, gonna squeak my cheese.
So, what’s the alternative? I have the distinct feeling that there’s an option
up your sleeve.”
“For your own safety, señor, and for
the peace of mind of your grandmama.”
“I understand, Juan Carlos. You’re a
good man.”
“I have taken the liberty to cancel Iquitos and arrange for you the noon flight to Pucallpa .”
“ Pucallpa ?!”
“Sí. Yes. It is the much more small
city, and, guess what, do you know?—it is the more shorter flight from Lima .”
“That may be true, but from what I’ve
heard, Pucallpa ’s not exactly Judy Garlandville. And it hasn’t been
kind to the forest, either.”
A couple of Policía de Turismo had
stirred from their doze and were giving them the old law-enforcement stink-eye.
Switters was hardly intimidated, but Juan Carlos nodded toward a space by the
elevator, and the two men strolled over there to continue their talk more
privately.
“ Pucallpa is more rough but is also more gentle. Is that sounding
crazy?”
“Not at all. Only the obtuse are
unappreciative of paradox.”
“Yes, but you will not wish to remain
in Pucallpa , for, you see, it is a city also and is also having a
parrot market.”
Switters’s intention was to fly into
a jungle town— Iquitos had been his original choice, but Pucallpa would do—and hire a vehicle to take Sailor and him to
the edge of the forest for the release ceremony. He thought of it as a ceremony
because Maestra had stuffed her camcorder into his crocodile-skin valise and insisted
upon his videotaping the event. Now, Juan Carlos was telling him that the
parrot wouldn’t be safe within miles of either city and, furthermore, that the
outskirts of those jungle towns would not provide a scenic backdrop for
Maestra’s viewing pleasure, being littered with oil drums, lengths of abandoned
pipe, and the rusting remains of dead machinery.
“This is the ideal,” confided Juan
Carlos. “You hire the boat in Pucallpa . Boat with the good motor. A boy named Inti has the
good boat and a little English. This boat takes you up the Rio Ucayali. South
is upriver. Before you reach Masisea, a tributary will branch off to the east.
Is named Abujao, I think. These rivers in the Amazon basin are changing like
the traffic lights, like the moon, like the currency. Inti will find it. If you
come to Masisea you have come too far.”
“What am I looking for?”
“For the village named Boquichicos.
On the Rio Abujao near the Brazil frontier. Boquichicos was one of the new towns founded
by our government for the oil business, but they founded it with the strict
environmental considerations. The oil business did not prosper, but the town,
she is still there. Very small, very nice. Remote.”
“Yeah, I got the feeling you were
talking serious boondocks. How remote? How long’s the dream cruise from Pucallpa ?”
“Oh, is merely three days.”
“Three days?!”
“It is now at the end of the dry
season. The rivers run low. So, maybe four days.”
“ Four days? Each way? Forget
it, pal. I don’t have that kind of time, and if I did I wouldn’t spend it up
some damn creepy river.” Switters was about to lift his T-shirt to display the
number of insect wounds he’d managed to suffer right there in metropolitan
Lima, but a glance at the tourist cops made him think the better of it.
“Not for the happiness of a poor old
woman who has so long sacrifice for you, who may soon be call to the side of
Jesus . . .”
“Heh!”
“. . . not for to protect and reward
the old loyal pet?” Juan Carlos went on to explain that what made Boquichicos
special was its proximity—an hour’s
will buy it and take it away—perhaps to the U.S. again.”
Well, that would never do. And Juan
Carlos went on to warn of cholera germs that were currently careening through Iquitos like a soccer mob. “Your inoculation, I fear, will
offer only minimal—”
“Okay. I get the picture. Iquitos is gonna wrinkle my rompers, gonna squeak my cheese.
So, what’s the alternative? I have the distinct feeling that there’s an option
up your sleeve.”
“For your own safety, señor, and for
the peace of mind of your grandmama.”
“I understand, Juan Carlos. You’re a
good man.”
“I have taken the liberty to cancel Iquitos and arrange for you the noon flight to Pucallpa .”
“ Pucallpa ?!”
“Sí. Yes. It is the much more small
city, and, guess what, do you know?—it is the more shorter flight from Lima .”
“That may be true, but from what I’ve
heard, Pucallpa ’s not exactly Judy Garlandville. And it hasn’t been
kind to the forest, either.”
A couple of Policía de Turismo had
stirred from their doze and were giving them the old law-enforcement stink-eye.
Switters was hardly intimidated, but Juan Carlos nodded toward a space by the
elevator, and the two men strolled over there to continue their talk more
privately.
“ Pucallpa is more rough but is also more gentle. Is that sounding
crazy?”
“Not at all. Only the obtuse are
unappreciative of paradox.”
“Yes, but you will not wish to remain
in Pucallpa , for, you see, it is a city also and is also having a
parrot market.”
Switters’s intention was to fly into
a jungle town— Iquitos had been his original choice, but Pucallpa would do—and hire a vehicle to take Sailor and him to
the edge of the forest for the release ceremony. He thought of it as a ceremony
because Maestra had stuffed her camcorder into his crocodile-skin valise and insisted
upon his videotaping the event. Now, Juan Carlos was telling him that the
parrot wouldn’t be safe within miles of either city and, furthermore, that the
outskirts of those jungle towns would not provide a scenic backdrop for
Maestra’s viewing pleasure, being littered with oil drums, lengths of abandoned
pipe, and the rusting remains of dead machinery.
“This is the ideal,” confided Juan
Carlos. “You hire the boat in Pucallpa . Boat with the good motor. A boy named Inti has the
good boat and a little English. This boat takes you up the Rio Ucayali. South
is upriver. Before you reach Masisea, a tributary will branch off to the east.
Is named Abujao, I think. These rivers in the Amazon basin are changing like
the traffic lights, like the moon, like the currency. Inti will find it. If you
come to Masisea you have come too far.”
“What am I looking for?”
“For the village named Boquichicos.
On the Rio Abujao near the Brazil frontier. Boquichicos was one of the new towns founded
by our government for the oil business, but they founded it with the strict
environmental considerations. The oil business did not prosper, but the town,
she is still there. Very small, very nice. Remote.”
“Yeah, I got the feeling you were
talking serious boondocks. How remote? How long’s the dream cruise from Pucallpa ?”
“Oh, is merely three days.”
“Three days?!”
“It is now at the end of the dry
season. The rivers run low. So, maybe four days.”
“ Four days? Each way? Forget
it, pal. I don’t have that kind of time, and if I did I wouldn’t spend it up
some damn creepy river.” Switters was about to lift his T-shirt to display the
number of insect wounds he’d managed to suffer right there in metropolitan
Lima, but a glance at the tourist cops made him think the better of it.
“Not for the happiness of a poor old
woman who has so long sacrifice for you, who may soon be call to the side of
Jesus . . .”
“Heh!”
“. . . not for to protect and reward
the old loyal pet?” Juan Carlos went on to explain that what made Boquichicos
special was its proximity—an hour’s
Similar Books
