Belmopan Read online

  “Perhaps, I can take her name and make a few phone calls for you. Can you be reached in the area?”

  “Yes, that would be very kind of you. I am staying at the Royal Reef for now, and you can leave a message with the front desk and I will return the call, and perhaps the favor,” he returned with a grin.

  She blushed a, “thank you,” and re-entered the room and closed the door.

  The loud thudding of Brian’s sandals did not matter as he raced out the rear entrance into the humid, late-afternoon air, “Yes!”

  Once back at the hotel by the elevator doors, there was a line of people waiting to be seated in the dining room. The shapely woman he had seen by the pool earlier was now walking arm-in-arm with the fellow Brian had opened the door for and followed into the lobby. It was obvious then that she had been watching and following him, and Brian had just been in the way, ‘a mechanical door-opener’ as it were. The two took no notice as he approached the flights of stairs that lead to the walkway and his room. Brian glanced back to the elegant pool and the surrounding palm trees, and wondered whether he should take a dip or wait till later. With his hunger getting the better of him, Brian quickly changed into some fresh clothes and headed for the dining room.

  The room was half-full with a variety of ethnic patronage. The majority were Americans that had obviously come to alleviate the early, spring blaws. Two tables of colorful food along the left wall, with a chef attending the hot meats at the far end, gave the room a banqueting appearance. The view to the outdoors exposed an open-air veranda lined with tables, while patrons sallied in and out of accommodating sliding, glass-doors. Walking through the maze of tables, the Canadian chose to seat himself outside and wait for the server to attend him. Looking through the menu, there was nothing that caught his attention and decided to take what was available at the buffet.

  “Would you like something to drink?” came a feminine voice from behind him.

  “Yes, thank you. Beleken, please?”

  After several moments of day dreaming, the beer appeared before him as effortlessly as the ten dollars beside it, disappeared. Seagulls played and danced their determined watch in the azure, blue sky that slowly deepened into the horizon; it would only be a matter of an hour and the sun would begin to set behind the hotel in the west. The breeze had already started to shift from the land back out to the sea, and was delightful. The sheltered veranda was comfortable with the occasional puff of air that freshened the sun-bleached, deck area. The familiar couple had chosen to come out and sit not far distant, and drink their cocktails and smoke cigarettes. Within ten minutes, they had started to argue and Brian found himself heading back indoors to sit and enjoy the assorted delicacies of the buffet in the company of a group of German tourists; it was obvious they were there for a good time and within minutes he was welcomed. Introductions were long and languid, and, with comfort and familiarity pouring from the glasses, boldness incited stories of intrigue, embarrassments and embellishments. After a number of beers, an assortment of marine delicacies, cooked and raw, coffee and desert, it was time to move on. Thanking them all graciously, Brian balanced his way through the sliding glass-doors onto the balcony and the multicolored string of lights that adorned the walkway along the shoreline. Above the gentle crashing of the waves, he could faintly hear the booming, bass music of the bar off to the right along the dock. Thinking he might take a stroll down to take a look, Brian quickly glanced the area in the hopes that he was alone, and proceeded down the steps to the boardwalk by the waterfront. After a slow walk that helped to clear his head, he stood for a moment to look at the stars that appeared extra bright in the domed canopy that stretched from horizon to horizon. Trying to recall the last time he had taken the time to look up, Brian came to the conclusion that it had been at Ossette, the infamous night of native, herb tea, and dreams beyond comprehension. He had obviously not been himself that night but did remember the clarity of the stars, the humming in his ears, and the shooting star that was salutary to the passing of a great soul, that of Vincent daLima.

  The bar was quite wide-open with a central counter where the bartender and maids did their exchange. The speakers above, blared out reggae while bodies entwined, swayed to the beat below. Brian found himself a seat at a table not far from an additional, food bar, but close enough to the dance floor as not to be excluded. A shapely, black girl came over to greet him with a smile and yelled above the music, “What you havin?”

  “Ah, Beleken!”

  Not too sure why he ordered another one, perhaps the worst beer he had ever tasted, he was perplexed, but the thought of ordering a coke at this place would be like ordering a glass of milk. Seated close to an aisle where people would come and go out the back of the building to the dock area below, was perhaps the best place for him to exit unnoticed, if he so desired. It was well lit and really quite romantic for those who were so inclined. It did not take long before Brian noticed the woman from the pool, dancing on the floor with a guy, not her companion of the morning. Looking around the entire bar, he did not catch glimpse of the earlier companion at all. Trying to stay inconspicuous, Brian tried not to look at her and draw attention to himself, but when the song had finished, they both came his way to go out to the back, wharf area. Sitting back as far as he could, with the Beleken at his lips, Brian tried to stay unnoticed. He was not sure at the time why he felt that way, she was a good-looking woman, tall with long legs and dark complexion; she must have been a mix of black and Hispanic with fine features and straight hair, quite a sight, and good modeling material. As they both walked by, Brian noticed her take a look at him and give a smile. The bottle dropped from his lips as the exact opposite to what he had hoped would happen, did. As the music started up again, the dance floor came alive and he forgot about the woman till she came back in with her companion close behind, but instead of going back to the floor, she slid herself in beside Brian at the table. Her companion stood and watched.

  “Hi,” she sighed.

  It was not so much of a romantic gesture as it was a slurred greeting. Brian could tell by her eyes that she was not in the same frame of mind she had been when she had left those few minutes previous. The faint, pungent smell of ganja emanated from her hair and clothes, and knew she was quite stoned. She was wearing expensive jewelry and had a polluted air of dignity about her. Looking at the fellow she was with and considering the condition she was in, it was Brian’s conclusion that something unpleasant was more than likely going to happen. All of this was none of his business of course, and he had not asked her to sit at his table as the fellow that intently stood over the top of them would contest, but she was there and she did not appear to be leaving.

  The stoned fellow pulled up a chair directly in front of Brian and stared at him with red, bloodshot eyes. Putting his bottle to his lips again, Brian wondered at this predicament.

  “Would you like a beer?” Brian asked. He didn’t return an answer.

  Within moments, the woman beside started to doze, slouched on the bench beside Brian. The goon started to look around. With the changing music, and a reggae beat, he got to his feet and grabbed her arm to pull her back to the dance floor. Waking up slightly, she gave me a grin and pulled herself to her feet and headed back to the dance floor, her arms flailing loosely by her side as she followed him over to the center to dance.

  ‘Good,’ Brian thought to himself as he took another sip, relieved of the tense moment. After several more minutes of watching the flow of traffic pass by him, Brian turned his attention back to the dance floor and watched as the couples swayed and jerked to the music. Feeling more in the mood with his meal moving down from his diaphragm, Brian noticed a girl’s shiny, dark, naked thigh popping out between the couples as they danced. It did not take long to realize that it was his friend and her companion with his hand down the front of her panties exposing his rubbing motion and her response. They stayed locked in embrace till the end of the song and slowly swayed their way back toward Brian. />
  ‘God, please let them keep on going,’ but no, she plunked herself down on the bench and crossed her legs. She began to nod out again, ‘what am I going to do?’ Most guys would probably applaud the crass show of infidelity, but Brian had one girl on his mind.

  “Why don’t you go and get some beers,” Brian shouted at her companion and gave him twenty BZ dollars.

  He looked back at Brian with distrust and then looked to his date, “OK!”

  It took him several minutes and several glances back at the two of them sitting at the table till he disappeared behind the crowd of bar flies crowding the counter. Ceasing the occasion, Brian grabbed her under the arm and around the waist and lifted her from behind the table. Slipping out the back aisle, they were out of sight in seconds, half carrying, half dragging her along the boardwalk toward the hotel. Luckily, several employees were out on the patio doing prep work which allowed them to enter the normally closed dining room and through to the lobby. Once in the lobby, they approached the front desk only to find the attendant not there. Realizing, there would be no place to put her in this condition; Brian stood and waited with her draped over his arms till he could hold her no more. Seeing the waiting area beyond the tall, grass foliage, they staggered together to find a place for her to sit while Brian found someone with a key. Leaving her temporarily, to scout around, Brian finally found Jose just outside the front doors, talking to a cabbie.

  “Jose, how you doin? Do you think I could see you for a minute?”

  “Chure, what’s up?”

  “Could you give me a hand; I need to get one of the guests up to her room.”

  “Why, what has happened?”

  Without saying a word, they quickly walked back in and over to the sitting area. Jose and Brian stood, momentarily shocked, to find her sitting on the floor naked trying to get her underpants unraveled from her one shoe that remained on her foot.

  “What have you done amigo? You can’t do that here,” he screamed looking at me.

  “I didn’t do anything. I am trying to get her to her room, but I don’t know where that is.”

  “Here, you get her dressed,” Jose yelled, throwing Brian her dress. “I’ll find the key.

  “Who is she anyway?” Brian yelled after him.

  “Her name is Amalia. She is the fiancée of an American who does business down here. Only you don’t want to know him.”

  “Have no intention of it.”

  “Here, I have the key. Let’s go!”

  With Jose on one side and Brian on the other, they more or less carried her to the third floor and on to her suite. Slipping the key into the lock without knocking, Jose entered the room.

  “You didn’t knock!”

  “Why?” Jose countered. “There is no-one here.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know,” he whispered, “he has a girlfriend.”

  “This guy has another girlfriend as well as,” Brian tilted his head in Amalia's direction.

  “Si.”

  With an astonished look on his face, they walked her into the bedroom and eased her down on to the bed. Jose put her one loose shoe down by the bed along with a tiny, black purse she had managed to retain throughout the evening. She grabbed Brian’s hand as he tried to cover her up with a sheet. Her satin, dark skin and black, sparkling pools for eyes were seducing him to stay, but he knew that discretion was the best part to play.

  “Amigo, stay if you want. I will say nothing,” he gestured with a smile. “There have been others.”

  “Jose!” and grabbed him by the arm to exit with him.

  Brian turned to see Amalia with her eyes closed, dozing off to sleep.

  Jose locked the door behind the two of them and continued down to the next floor and Brian’s room. “Thanks, Jose.”

  “No, thank you,” he replied in his Spanish accent. “You may have saved me my job. If anyone had seen her, whoa! It could have been serious.”

  “See you tomorrow, Jose’.”

  “Chure,” he replied.

  As Brian closed the door, he could not help but feel the frustration that the night had conjured. How desperately he needed to be with a woman, but not that way. There was truly only one woman he desired to be with now, and she was right here in Belize, only a few short miles away; the only question being, where?

  THREE

  Dia uno (day 1) The sound of keys jingling outside the door forewarned Brian to the housekeeping girl’s intent of coming in. Unable to move to cover himself, and with the notice of ‘Do-Not Disturb’ on the inside of the door, a curt shout, “later!” stopped them short. He could hear the shuffle of their feet and mumblings in their native tongue as they moved away from the door. As Brian rolled over to bury his face in the pillows, the sharp light entering through the curtains drew his attention to the strip of a perfectly cloudless, blue sky. In contrast, a streak of brown glass exposed a beer bottle sitting on the night table bringing back memories of the night before. The smell of the lone cigarette butt in the ashtray contributed to the stale taste in Brian’s mouth; he could bear to lay no more.

  Dressed in nothing more than shorts, housecoat and a pair of sunglasses, Brian followed the outside stairway down to the dining lounge. After a cup of black coffee and some fresh strawberries, the uneasiness in his stomach subsided and his head began to clear. There had been two telephone messages left for him at the front desk, his cell-phone had not worked; one, that Steve would be arriving that evening and would go directly to the restaurant; the second was from Maria, at the museum; Brian was to call her sometime before noon, he was already late.

  As Brian emerged from the glass doors of the dining hall, the blue sky reflecting in the rippling water of the swimming pool looked clear, refreshing and inviting. Flicking the lid to his cell, he waited for the roaming signal-search to locate, but with no luck; the thought of heading to the telephones in the lobby took second place to the towels stacked neatly on a table by the pool. The water was, as he expected, crisp and cool, and after returning from a brisk swim to the floating bar, Brian laid back on the deck chair to soak in the warm sun. A busboy across the pool by the bar caught his attention and he made the notion with his hand for a telephone. The busboy acknowledged and disappeared into a side building, moments later he reappeared with a full tray.

  “No thanks,” pointing to the menu and taking the cordless-phone along with the bottled water.

  Smiling, the busboy returned to the open doorway and disappeared.

  Placing the call, Brian had learned Maria was temporarily absent from the office and left a message for her to call ‘poolside’ when she returned. Leaning back and replacing his glasses, he closed his eyes and became immersed in the sounds and fragrance that surrounded him, quite pleasant.

  Within minutes, the sun had lifted the coolness from his skin and the familiarity of the occasion took him back to when Steve and he had spent their holiday, just north, on the island of Cozumel. It had been a little earlier in the season and with the countless students down for spring break, they had decided to cut their diving visit short and head to Cancun and drive further inland to visit the ruins. It was meant to be a great opportunity to expand his portfolio of photographs and familiarize the two with the local customs and brew; there was always the off chance of procuring some antique collectables to take home.

  Precursor - Six years earlier: Guatemala and Belize, were the Mayan cultural centers of the area that housed ruins of the Classic Period (AD 300-600), apart from the ruins at Cerros that go pre BC. At the peak of the Maya civilization, the area had a large widespread population of relatively peaceful peoples with languages, and culture, essentially the same. The surrounding tropical rainforest, which covers most of the mid-peninsula, consists largely of giant Ceibas (wild, cotton trees), Spanish cedars, varieties of palm trees and mahogany. Rubber trees, once in abundance, still add, in a small way, to the economy of the north peninsula. The numerous ruins, which dot the area, are mostly covered with brush, gr
ass and small trees. Unawares visitors climb the mounds and structures sometimes without a hint of what is lying beneath. Colorful orchids grace the jungle’s damp boughs, along with liana vines that hang suspended from the trees. It is an area difficult to navigate, difficult to work and difficult to cultivate, but for some, ascetically pleasing all the same. Just north, at the tip of the peninsula, the soil is thin but nutrient rich, and in the rainy season comes alive with plants and insects. It is low, rolling country with heavy forests cut through by the occasional rivers, grassy savannas and swamps. It is still now almost uninhabited with no obvious governing body apart from the occasional game warden or local priest, whom on occasion, we needed desperately.

  Where Steve and I ventured was the northern Maya region of the Yucatan, and the states of Campeche and Quintana Roo. This area becomes dryer the closer to the tip of the peninsula and not as visually pleasing as the rest. It is flat and has very little ground vegetation apart from the scrub and an abundance of rubber trees. The soil is very thin over a limestone base and supports very little in this almost rainless territory of the Yucatan. This area is renowned for its’ great potholes (cenotes), some being as large as one hundred and fifty feet across. These are filled with collected rainwater that often flows freely between the holes through the porous, limestone aquifer and a network of underground rivers. It was the desire to dive these mini pools that got us into a regretful circumstance with the local ‘Policia’ and near deportation. The rental of a vehicle to haul our scuba gear, and the chance meeting of a local, amateur archaeologist, whom we gave a lift, started us off through this arid land on our first Mayan adventure.

  The tale of unrelenting embellishments: Where on earth Steve got the jeep that was to take us on our travels, I will never know. He said it was a rental, but I expected he had purchased it from a local resident looking to make a fast buck. The necessary four wheels and windscreen were in place, and there was a wiper blade on the drivers’ side just in case it should happen to rain; apart from that there was little else that could be said to be familiar.