Jean Luc Picard appears and says: "Oh, the clouds? That's nothing -- il n'y a pas de quois -- don't you know I have also painted two moons and a planet?"
Finally woke to Hermosillo rattling in the sunlight. Two pesos for a clean bathroom. Cigarette outside. Onto the bus again. Watched the scenery leaving town, the dam, the floodgate, the hills, until, slowly, steadily, I fall asleep again, and shall miss the glory of Guaymas.
Wake mid-day at our stop for tipo de alimientos, 30 minutos. Two tacos, burrito, coffee: 30 pesos.
Stand outside, watching a freight train go by. Settle back onto the bus. The guy across the aisle smiles, "Varrigo lleno, corazon contento," -- stomach full, heart content.
And then we went on, down the long strip of coastal plain, hour after hour, south, south, Ciudad Obregon, Navajoa. We crossed a river where trees grow thick and canals have stolen its water -- but I didn't catch its name. Later I will realize it was the Yaqui. Inside the town of Navajoa, an ancient building, shutters locked, made me feel I was finally in old Mexico.
The sun slowly swings across the sky. I feel glad it be winter. Somewhere in that long stretch, the aisle guy began to talk with the women in front of me. They share Bible reading, prayers, talk....
We cross the border into Sinaloa. Stop. Pay toll. Waddle across the highway under construction.
Trundle back onto the right side, and accelerate again. Fields of brush and cactus pass by. Then
irrigated cropland. In the distance,
mountains come and go, and... ah, there
it is... we have just crossed the Rio Fuerte. Yes, now, I will think, now we are truly in
Sinaloa. One day I will go upstream to the town of Fuerte, and from there... by train into
the Copper Canyon mountains....
But now, only more fields flashing by the highway. Canals, farms....
We did not turn off at Los Mochis, today. Perhaps no one was waiting for us, there.... I imagine radio calls to the bus, and wonder if....
Then I started to read my little New Testament. Jose saw it. "Ah, Usted, tambien, es cristiano?" And so we exchange names. Now I occasionally add a word to their conversation. Something has troubled one of the two women, but I cannot understand the subtlety of it. Jose prays.
"You know, Daniel," she turns, speaking in Spanish, "every trouble can become a blessing?"
"Yes."
She nods, content at this agreement.
In the warm light of afternoon we shall enter Culiacan. How splendid that city seems under the golden glow, its palm trees and pastel cement buildings passing by outside my window. At the station, I ate tacos and tamale with Jose and the women. Come to ask the price and discover this meal was only fifteen pesos! Now, that's more like it!
Many of the passengers, including the bratty kid I was trying to ignore ever since Tijuana, get off here. As we eat our little supper, I listen, and look. All around us the bus station bustles with breezy energy, sparkling under the golden sun. Here I am, Mexico, I whisper, silently, in your heart.
But the sun must set, and we have rolled on, south toward Mazatlan, laughing and talking about so many, many things. Life, love, God, the world. Where are you from? Should I learn English? What are your plans? Do you have family in the States, Senora? Jose, I learned now, is a protestant minister from Oaxaca, and related to the great man, Benito Juarez. He is returning south from Los Angeles and Tijuana. The two ladies have been visiting family in California, and are now going home. And I... off to climb the Maya pyramids in Yucatan....
"Ai, Daniel, tengas que tener un botecito en el pyramide" -- you have to have a celebration (literally "little bottle") on the pyramid!
By now, most of the seats are empty. Maybe only six of us onboard. We stop to pick up a guy on the side of the highway. One of the ladies greets him, "Welcome to your house!" He nods, moves back into the empty rows.
We will stop for gas outside Mazatlan. The attendants are almost all women. I ask the driver about smoking, that I have fear of lighting up in the Pemex station. He invites me to ride with him in the cab, in front. So I did, into town, and then onward, south into the night, perched on the little fold-down seat before the huge windshield. His name is Jose Cruz, and he, too, is a protestant Christian. His brother -- his partner in driving, now asleep under the bus -- is also saved. How strange, I will think, a bus of Christians....
Watch the road unfold before us. Smoke a cigarette. He smokes a cigarette. When there is no traffic, Jose will guide the huge bus straight down the middle of the road, straddling the yellow line. At first I was a little disturbed, but... then begin to understand. The middle of the road is the safest place... provided, of course, that there be no opposing traffic....
Later, he stops for a quick coffee in some small town along the way. I will crawl back into the main cabin to sleep.
Awakened at Tepic at one a.m. Stagger out to use the bathroom. When I come back, the two women have gone. *Sigh* Perhaps I will never see them again. But I shall never forget the hours we spent today, laughing and talking and eating. Una botecito para ellas!
But now, already, it is again, tomorrow....
