168 On the trail of vanishing birds 



and smiling, with many wrinkles around his eyes. When we en- 

 tered his office he quickly shoved something that looked like a 

 glass into a desk drawer. He was dressed in a neatly starched 

 khaki uniform with large stiff epaulets that signified his rank. A 

 sailor in whites, with shore-duty leggings, was thumping at a type- 

 writer. As soon as the captain saw Arturo he pulled the drawer 

 out again, lifted a bottle and some glasses from it and placed them, 

 with an apologetic little flourish, on top of the desk. Introductions 

 were accomplished and then nothing would do but that we must 

 join him in a drink. The local rum, not very good (he shrugged and 

 smiled, turning this way and that so as to look each of us dis- 

 armingly in the face), but then it was better than some he had 

 tasted. We joined him. His English was barely sufficient for the 

 simplest conversation, but it was better than my Spanish, so we 

 continued in a mixture of basic English and, for more enlightened 

 discussion, rapid Spanish, Arturo translating for me in frequent 

 asides. 



After a little, we got around to the subject of the navy craft that 

 was to take us up the river. A most unfortunate accident had oc- 

 curred. The ingeniero, that is, the sailor who served as engineer, 

 or mecdnico, had broken his arm. Very painful (el capitdn 

 grimaced, screwing up his face until he looked like a mummy with 

 its eyes open). But worse still, no one else in the detachment 

 could crank the engine that propelled the boat, much less keep 

 in running (more shrugs). It was unspeakable. In fact, let us not 

 speak of it again. There are other boats, many other boats. In 

 good time we will find another boat, perhaps a fishing boat, and 

 possibly a fisherman who knows the river well. (I began to think 

 that perhaps the captain didn't know it too well himself.) There 

 will be no trouble about it. El capitdn will gladly accompany us, 

 you can be sure of that. Gladly! But before we talk of these things 

 further, we must join him in another small drink of the local rum. 

 He will not accept a refusal. It is not so bad, this ron, quite good, 

 in fact. 



Growing a little doubtful of the ability of our navy friend, I had 

 no choice but to sip a second go-'round of the local product and 

 assume a philosophical point of view. I knew there was no hur- 



