The Long, Quiet Vacation Pt. 01

Upon their arrival in Honduras, the soldiers put their suitcases in a room on the main base, a tarpaulin was thrown over the suitcases to protect them from dust, and the room was locked. After that, the men used their duffel bags, issued in Basic Training, dragging them from one place in Honduras to another. But now, because it was time, the musty suitcases were removed from the room and replaced with the duffel bags. Now that the duffel bags were stowed, the men turned their full attention to their suitcases.

With one hand, Ross felt the weight of his single piece of luggage by lifting it up and down a few times and then brought it over to a bunk. He had forgotten all about the bag. As he unzipped his bag, he tried remembering packing it months ago.

In addition to the civilian clothes he was wearing, here was a suitcase packed with civvies. The contents he carefully removed. Neatly on the bed were all the new clothes he had bought for the trip, Hawaiian shirts, pastel collared shirts, a white polo shirt, a blue polo shirt, shorts, khaki slacks, a belt, white briefs, and socks. In a plastic bag was a pair of inexpensive brown dress shoes that contained a small bottle of cologne that had leaked. He had paid Ellis five bucks to fold his clothes because Ellis could fold clothes, and now he was glad he had spared no expense.

That afternoon, the afternoon of the free luggage, the platoon sergeant made a short speech, "Just remember you are ambassadors to the people of Honduras. How you dress and comport yourselves will influence their impression of the United States. After you check in to your rooms, you can wear shorts and flip flops. And when you are outside, you must have on collared shirts at all times unless you are near a body of water, such as a pool or ocean."

Soon after, the medic gave a speech. And then everybody exchanged US Dollars for Honduran Lempiras, in turn gaining colorful, thin bills. Their wallets were thick now, many bills, many different colors. Everything was set now—the platoon was to depart the base the next morning, via a Humvee and a mottled Honduran bus.

The caravan rolled out of the base and, once past the gate, turned right down a dusty, grey road and, not more than a mile later, picked up a paved road. The bus and the Humvee, still in single file, followed this paved road as it snaked through the countryside. The countryside was sunny but for the banana plantations, which were dense and dark. The walkers were here, near the plantations, and were close to the road.

As the road reached the mountains, a stream was taken on for its shoulder. The mountains was where the women were seen working and even bathing. Clothes were laid upon the rocks and strewn along the edges of the stream. Tiny huts were nearby, and there was much shade in these parts.

The bus and the Humvee stopped at a restaurant on the edge of a mountain pass. Inside, the small restaurant became overrun. Soldiers, dressed in formal civilian clothes, ordered seafood and French fries and cold concoctions masquerading in heavy old glass Coke bottles. All of this they could afford. Within a day and a night, they were all rich.

Hours later, they finally arrived at Tela, a small beach town on the Caribbean coast. The bus pulled in to the resort on the outskirts of the city limits and stopped. The men and the luggage methodically made their way off the bus and formed a line that led inside a one story glass building and stopped in the front desk lobby. Only a few men could fit in the lobby, but it had air conditioning. The men outside waited in line, with the sun rising and the humidity trapped in their clothes. The line moved and the men got rooms. Some weeks ahead, the stay was planned out with the resort, and there were plenty of available rooms this time of year. Some men got their own rooms all to themselves, but others shared rooms and so saved money. Everyone paid with Lempiras.

All of the men went straightaway to their rooms, all with the exception of Sergeant Gott. He headed directly for the resort's cantina—the cantina was situated on the side of the restaurant, not far from the pool. There, at the cantina bar, with his luggage by his feet, he ordered a lime margarita. He looked around the place a good deal before and after he got his first drink. He had a hard time staying on his wicker bar stool, and he talked to the waitress but she did not speak any English, to him. After she went in back, he peered around the bamboo stalks so as to get a glimpse of whoever was at the pool. No one was there yet.

Ross, though, was at the other end of the property. He found the door to his room, finally, and, slowly, went in. There was still plenty of wood flooring showing in the main room itself—even though the bed was large and all of the pieces of furniture were hefty—the bathroom, however, was cramped.

The main room had a narrow closet, a small air conditioner, an old fashioned radio, and furniture made of rosewood, a dark wood. The main room's window had Venetian blinds and heavy drapes. When the blinds were open and the drapes drawn, the sun could light up half the room. But when the blinds were closed and the drapes were drawn all the way or even half way, the room was a private seclusion.

Two adjacent rooms made a standalone unit called a hut. The huts were connected by paths, and all around were tall palm trees, enough so that good shade was inevitable.

The men could change now, so nearly all of them took off their slacks and put on shorts. Some took showers. But when they left the room, they had to have short-sleeved collared shirts on. Their feet were theirs, though, and so they could wear tennis shoes or sandals or anything as long as it was in good condition.

Some of them showed up at the resort's restaurant, the only place for food since they were forbidden to leave the resort, but they were not hungry yet. They said hi to Sergeant Gott, who was trying to cool himself off with cold drinks. They milled around, hoping more men would show up, and they ordered wine coolers and beers. The Americans took the bar and held it, but they had yet to occupy the beach.

The uncombed beach was wild. Coconut trees stood in the sand, their debris scattered about as though a storm had recently hit. The sand was the same shade as oatmeal, and the water, as though from a dream, was the color of blue shampoo. Off in the distance were some islands, and the water to them was shallow.

Johnson was the first American to make it to the beach. The beach was already inhabited by some black boys and two young Honduran women, despite the sand fleas. The boys were selling coconut bread, and Johnson bought some and tasted of its richness. Soon others came from the the bar and bought the boys out, and afterward, the boys danced on the beach and went home.

"Johnson's popular," said one joe.

"We'll all be as soon as we get over there."

"Where are they going?"

"Hurry, someone take a picture of Johnson before they leave. He's grinning ear to ear, the fool."

"Oh I see."

"Go ask'em how much true stardom costs."

The people met. Somebody got bit by a sand flea. The beach was soon empty.

The door was wide open when Ross stumbled in, his nap still with him. He could hear voices but saw no one. The bathroom door in this room was closed and voices came from inside the bathroom. Ross had no idea whose room this was. He left and looked around. He was standing on a deck that ran past all of the second floor rooms on this side of the building. He almost wished he had a room in this part of the resort.

He went down a few doors and found another open room. A big drunk Hispanic soldier with a giant head and a thick mustache yelled out a question to Ross.

"Where ya' been? Party's already started!"

"I was asleep."

"Well, find a girl if there's any left. Join the party."

"Girls?" Ross asked.

"Yeah, there's several of 'em. Save one for me," the drunk man said happily.

Holmes appeared, with an ice cold beer in his cold hand.

"Go have one, Ross. They're in the sink," Holmes said, much of his tan showing.

Now there was a nice room, whereas before there was just several square feet of space in a ramshackle open bay hooch. Now there was cold beer, whereas before there was briny water from old faucets and bad pipes. Now there were women, whereas before there was just the occasional glimpse of one of the handful of female Air Force personnel at the main base.

"I think I'll have a beer," Ross said.

A woman put her hand on his shoulder, so delicately he almost ignored the touch, and gracefully stood by his side.

"Let yer woman have a beer if she wants one," Holmes said, speech slurred.

"I think I'll do that," Ross said. "Thanks."

She smiled as she contained herself, and he forgot what she did.

"Do you like the beer?" he asked as he handed her one. She was near him. He was leaning back on a desk, comfortable. She was almost there, too.

She held up the bottle of Salva Vida and nodded her head slightly and put on a bigger smile. Neither was in a hurry, but they changed rooms as they needed more something. They found some music and some joes and another girl and danced a little.

They sat down on a bed. She was next to him and in contact with him. He was relaxed. The bed was soft. They watched the other people, who were broken up into small groups.

"Where did you get the beer?" his friend Johnson asked in a loud voice.

"Holmes has 'em," he answered.

"Think he'll give me one?"

"He's so drunk he won't know who you are."

"Really?"

"Where's your girl, Johnson?"

"She's around. I'm gonna wait till later."

"You'd better hurry."

"Why?" Johnson asked.

"I'm taking off," Ross said. "See you later."

He was having so much fun, but the thought of having her go off before he had his chance was suddenly bothering him. Ross took the young woman by the hand, and she seemed to agree. They walked down the balcony, doors open, music echoing from two rooms, men and women strangely and suddenly absent.

She looked down while they walked, but every now and then, she would look up with a smile on her face and glance at him. He noticed this, even while he looked ahead, and the sidewalk looked only vaguely familiar, so he worried. But this was his hotel, and even if she had been here a hundred times, that possibility didn't dawn on him. This was his hotel. And he was the man.

As long as he headed for the back, he figured, he would be okay. He was heading in the direction opposite the beach and away from the town. He was going toward the tall palm trees and the thick vegetation that surrounded the outskirts of the resort.