172 On the trail of vanishing birds 



exhibit number two. There was always a little joke about Ameri- 

 cans not speaking anything but American, but everyone was very 

 jolly and polite. Regardless of the hour, drinks were served, not a 

 local rum on these occasions, but an imported cognac, in thick 

 little glasses from the manager's desk glasses that were probably 

 never washed, from the looks of them. After which we trooped 

 out again, waited in the shade while Aurencio concluded his 

 business at the company store and in a shop or two in the town, 

 and then we were once more on the open road. 



Late in the afternoon, after a series of social calls on a series 

 of sugar-mill potentates, we came bumping and bouncing into the 

 muddy little coastal town of Niquero. The first thing was to stop 

 at the Hotel Sixto, which seemed to be the social, governmental, 

 and business center of the community, arrange for rooms, and 

 shake hands solemnly with the manager of the local sugar mill 

 (who was holding court from a high stool in the bar), the mayor, 

 the justice, the chief of police, the entire navy personnel (one 

 man), and other dignitaries. By the time this was accomplished 

 it was getting dark, and el capitdn, who had fallen in with a lot of 

 old cronies, was telling everyone about the contrabanders, warning 

 them in a loud and dramatic whisper that it was a great secret and 

 that they mustn't breathe a word of it to anyone. 



In the midst of this opera bouffe, in came Arturo's father-in-law, 

 who is a planter with a couple of thousand acres of sugar cane 

 up in the hills. He immediately invited our entire party to his 

 place for supper and we were soon in the car again, following the 

 senor's truck up a narrow and rapidly climbing trail that would 

 have been difficult for a jackass to navigate. After bogging down 

 in a mudhole and getting splattered from head to foot moving the 

 Ford out of it, we arrived at the hacienda, where we were served 

 a splendid supper. 



As it was growing late and we were some distance from our 

 rooms at the Sixto, Arturo proposed we go back to Niquero and 

 take our rest. I was more than ready, by this time, but el capitdn, 

 who was enjoying himself hugely, saw no reason for undue haste. 

 "Tomorrow," he said profoundly, smiling broadly and holding out 

 his empty glass, "is tomorrow." 



