Read Online The Stories of Paul Bowles by Paul Bowles - Free Book Online Page B

were twice as many as there had been a few moments before. The salon was completely full, its floor space occupied by groups of travelers with small children and elderly women, who were already stretched out on blankets and newspapers.
    “It looks like Salvation Army headquarters the night after a major disaster,” he said as he came back into the stateroom. “I can’t find anybody. Anyway, we’d better stay in here. The other cubicles are beginning to fill up.”
    “I’m not so sure I wouldn’t rather be on deck,” she announced. “There are hundreds of cockroaches.”
    “And probably worse,” he added, looking at the bunks.
    “The thing to do is take those filthy sheets off and just lie on the mattresses.” She peered out into the corridor. Sweat was trickling down her neck. “Do you think it’s safe?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “All those people. This old tub.”
    He shrugged his shoulders.
    “It’s just one night. Tomorrow we’ll be at Cienaga. And it’s almost night now.”
    She shut the door and leaned against it, smiling faintly.
    “I think it’s going to be fun,” she said.
    “The boat’s moving!” he cried. “Let’s go on deck. If we can get out there.”
    Slowly the old boat pushed across the bay toward the dark east shore. People were singing and playing guitars. On the bottom deck a cow lowed continuously. And louder than all the sounds was the rush of water made by the huge paddles.
    They sat on the deck in the middle of a vociferous crowd, leaning against the bars of the railing, and watched the moon rise above the mangrove swamps ahead. As they approached the opposite side of the bay, it looked as if the boat might plow straight into the shore, but a narrowwaterway presently appeared, and the boat slipped cautiously in. The people immediately moved back from the railing, crowding against the opposite wall. Branches from the trees on the bank began to rub against the boat, scraping along the side walls of the cabins, and then whipping violently across the deck.
    They pushed their way through the throng and walked across the salon to the deck on the other side of the boat; the same thing was happening there.
    “It’s crazy,” she declared. “It’s like a nightmare. Whoever heard of going through a channel no wider than the boat! It makes me nervous. I’m going in and read.”
    Her husband let go of her arm. “You can never enter into the spirit of a thing, can you?”
    “You tell me what the spirit is, and I’ll see about entering into it,” she said, turning away.
    He followed her. “Don’t you want to go down onto the lower deck? They seem to be going strong down there. Listen.” He held up his hand. Repeated screams of laughter came up from below.
    “I certainly don’t!” she called, without looking around.
    He went below. Groups of men were seated on bulging burlap sacks and wooden crates, matching coins. The women stood behind them, puffing on black cigarettes and shrieking with excitement. He watched them closely, reflecting that with fewer teeth missing they would be a handsome people. “Mineral deficiency in the soil,” he commented to himself.
    Standing on the other side of a circle of gamblers, facing him, was a muscular young native whose visored cap and faint air of aloofness suggested official position of some sort aboard the boat. With difficulty the traveler made his way over to him, and spoke to him in Spanish.
    “Are you an employee here?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “I am in cabin number eight. Can I pay the supplementary fare to you?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Good.”
    He reached into his pocket for his wallet, at the same time remembering with annoyance that he had left it upstairs locked in a suitcase. The man looked expectant. His hand was out.
    “My money is in my stateroom.” Then he added, “My wife has it. But if you come up in half an hour I can pay you the fare.”
    “Yes, sir.” The man lowered his hand and merely looked at him. Even