Chapter Two

The next day at work passed in a blur. "Pay attention," chided Sandrine, her best friend and co-worker at the power plant. "El Presidente has imposed new anti-pollution regulations, and you have to watch those gauges or it's muerte for you!"

But Susan was in no mood for jokes. "Que pasa?" Sandrine asked. "You need to cheer up. Want to go to that new gourmet restaurant after work tonight tonight and make fun of las touristas' clothes? Or maybe join Rodrigo and me and our friends for our weekly poker game? I know how you especially enjoy eating out, gambling, and drinking, in that order."

"Skip the fancy entertainment. Where can I get a beer?"

"This is not like you, amiga. Care to tell me what is on your mind?"

Susan paused. "What is it like," she began, "being married to a..." She groped for a word.

"A common fisherman?" Sandrine laughed.

Susan blushed. "That's not what I was going to--"

"Of course you were, don't be embarrassed. I'm not angry." Susan lifted her eyes again, relieved. Sandrine continued. "It's not so nice when he comes home at night reeking of fish. But, as you English say, 'he cleans up well.' He spends all day working hard out in the sun, and it makes him brown as that sack. And his arms -- so strong! When we go to the nightclub to salsa, he picks me right up and whirls me around like I weighed nothing. He makes me feel like a little girl again, laughing and giggling.

"And when he wraps me up in those strong arms at night -- ahhhh," she sighed. "There is no warmer or safer place to be in the world. Not to mention that we eat like kings. He brought home a pompano last night -- we still have some of it, wrapped up. Stop by tonight and I will give you a few pounds."

"But -- don't you miss -- Paris?" Susan asked.

"You mean, don't I wish I'd married a Frenchman? Pompous goats' behinds, all of them. Rodrigo is un hombre verdad, genuine and true. I'm glad I came to Tropico, or I never would have met him." Sandrine's eyes narrowed. "There's something behind these questions, isn't there?"

"There is," Susan said. She fished the brown paper out of her purse, and handed it over. Sandrine read it quickly, and handed it back.

"I thought it might be something," she said. "But nothing like that."

"What do I do?" she asked. "This is so strange... I mean, a man follows me home from the market and leaves me a note? I have no idea who he might be or what his intentions are. The only man I saw at the market was a farmer, but I paid him no attention. Why wouldn't he approach me? Why all the mystery?"

"You are a college-educated engineer, and he is a common man. Probably a farmer, probably uneducated. Perhaps, he fears you will reject him," Sandrine speculated. "This way, he goes to the pub, and the worst that could happen is he has a few drinks and goes home alone. Much easier than being told you are below someone's notice."

"But... I'm not like that," Susan protested.

"If I was not married to Rodrigo, would you have ever said hello to him on the street?"

"Of course!" she protested.

"His fishing wharf is just down the street from here. Have you ever gone down there to pick out fresh fish? Or do you wait for a teamster to carry it to the nice clean marketplace twice as far from your home?"

Susan's mouth opened, then closed. She had no answer for the real question that underlied Sandrine's query.

Sandrine patted her on the arm. "If you go to that pub tonight, be sure you open your eyes wide enough to see things -- and people -- as they are, not as you are used to seeing them."

To Be Continued