Well, it troubled my day and vexed my night, that question of mine. So I asked Mr. Fernández at the dinner table.
“Where are the readers? I wrote a post today and left myself stranded on the side of the road, waiting for a público that might never come. And then I sat down with my cell phone in hand, expecting the calls of concern to come flooding in. And guess what! Not one! Nobody, but nobody, called.”
Mr. Fernández was patient, he frequently is. He explained that readers—more intelligent than I—would assume that if I were posting blogs (or blogging posts, don’t know which), I must have found my way to safety, or at least Wi-Fi.
Oh.
Well, the Remeron may not fully have kicked in. Or maybe it was just remembered dread. Let me explain. Getting off the island of Culebra was a breeze. For 2.75$ I got a ferry ticket, and sat in wonderful comfort and watched the ocean drift by. Culebra does that to you—puts you in such an alpha state that whitecaps become compellingly interesting.
Landing in Fajardo smashed all that!
Here’s the deal. The públicos are supposed to be just that—public. They’re not taxis, which are private. However, there are no taxis—just públicos. So guess what! There were all these públicos and about six of us who were not parked 500 hundred feet away. Right—six of us, five of whom saw the logic of paying ten dollars for a now-non-public público for a private ride to wherever they were going.
Guess who didn’t see that logic! And who, in the blazing heat of Fajardo Playa, forgot the words he had written: “arguing with a chofer is like arguing with a cat.”
Well, I was rescued, as I always am, by an old man who took pity on a ridiculous man and told me he would take me wherever…
…free!
The universe provides—though on its own timeframe.
So I was sitting in comfort and listening to two other gringos practicing their Spanish and then I turned and saw it—a público marked Farjado to Río Piedras! Just what I wanted, I told my driver / friend / rescuer.
No, that was Indio, and he’s going home for the day.
But then he saw another público. And that was the one for me.
But it was just going to Río Grande.
And that, Intelligent Readers, is how I came to be stuck in Big River.
Waiting on Highway 3—well, beside Highway 3—for a público that might never come.
Fortunately, I had company. The guy had lived in New Jersey for nine years and loved it. It was clean! It was orderly! You had a broken light on your car? Well, get ready, ‘cause the first cop you meet is gonna pull you over, take your license, and you’ll be at the station, next day, with your car repaired and your license back in your wallet! But here! Look at that car!
OK, it was more duct tape than car, but the guy driving it?
Wow!
And what about the status issue! Do you think this referendum is going to settle that? What do you think!
Puerto Rican readers will know, and will have tensed. Others won’t. Here it is: a group of Puerto Ricans favor statehood, a group favors independence, a group favors something called the Free Associated State, our current status.
This had puzzled me, those twenty years ago when I came unSpanished (I see you, you little red squiggly line, but I like it, it stays!) to the island. But even I could figure out Estado Libre Asociado.
But what did it mean?
“IT’S A LIE, A VICIOUS LIE!” screamed Mr. Fernández over the dinner table. I became alarmed—I had never seen him violent before. I removed trajectables (sorry, computer!) from reach.
Then I figured it out. The status issue had to be somewhere close-by.
“You’re a cultural genocidalist,” said Harry’s father to me, years ago. “It’s nothing personal. But your country has practiced genocide on my country. You therefore are responsible. And though I have nothing against you, I have to tell you that you are personally and individually responsible for the great wrong that has been done to my country.”
He was quite calm, but it seemed best to agree.
And he taught me a great lesson, which I—added value, as we used to say in Wal-Mart—will now teach you.
You are paying attention, right?
Never talk status.
The trick is to inquire what your interlocutor thinks, and then nod your head, appear thoughtful, and agree.
Were I in a classroom, I would have you practicing—it’s conversation / conversación 101.
Right, wow, good point / claro, estoy de acuerdo; muy buen punto.
“The whole thing is ridiculous,” my buddy of the bus stop was saying. Look around you—Walgreens, Sears, Wal-Mart! Statehood is already here!”
And then, we spotted the público. Instantly, we dropped the question and stood jumping by the road and flailing our arms—they were still sore the next day.
But relax, gentle reader. It slowed, we opened the door, we plunged our bodies through to our seats.
