There is a half sunken ship about a kilometer out, and it looks ancient, all rust colored and beaten by the waves and the sun and its plight. It must have run into the sand out there, and was abandoned. The waves lap against it on the other side, and the white spray splashes far up into the air. It must be a haven for various types of fish and other sea creatures. As the sun goes down, behind the onlooker, it shines kindly on the ship, and the old thing is somehow beautiful in its death, and one thinks how the sun doesn’t play favorites, and shines on everything alike. The ships lookout apparatus still reaches far into the sky, and though perhaps not structurally sound, is not broken in half, and reaches, not understanding its defeat, still, to the gods above, and will perhaps forever eschew Poseidon and what has been done.

 

The place is covered in palm trees, and two older men sit and talk. They have both had a few beer and one says to the other,

 

-          Unfortunately, it seems that there are only a few countries that want to go and fight the wars that need to be fought. Everybody else wants to sit on there hands, and just enjoy the party.

 

-          Yep.

 

-          You know, its too bad things are the way they are. We are just trying to show these countries the way to do things, and they don’t want the help.

 

-          I am from the UK . I was twenty-one years in the service, in the air force. They cut it down and cut it down and there is hardly anything left compared to what it was.

 

The two men touch on many topics in a short time span. The first continues on, and says,

 

-          Before, if you think back, everything foreign was made in Japan , not China . Now China is making everything. You know, in North America , the governments want environmental regulations, so that the factories don’t pollute. They don’t care about that in China , so that is why many factories have closed down. China doesn’t care about things like that. They will mass-produce anything.

 

The man from the UK is nice, and is listening more than talking, because the two are in agreement on most everything. The other man continues to talk, and just shakes his head a bit, as if to say that it’s too bad the world won’t accept the way things should be. He continues once more with

 

-          For instance, we have troops in Haiti , and they were there to help teach how to police things a bit, to lend a hand, but what happens…just the other week, some of them got killed, because the people don’t want help. You go there to help someone, but they do that. It’s just gotten crazy. What do you think about Iraq ?

 

-          We should get out of there. The sooner the better.

 

The more talkative man nods, not necessarily in agreement with the retired air force man, but because he understands his frustration, and with his quick and definite answer it seems he has thought things through.

 

The sun is bright, and farther up the beach, about three or four kilometers, is a marketplace, which consists of a row of about fifteen shacks set back from the beach. It’s an aggressive place, and the fact that the natives who sell things are not behind counters back a bit but sitting there right in front of their wares contributes to this. There is no real bargain to be had, even for the good haggler. They set prices high, and even when the prices go down, they make a big profit. They sell cigars and cigarettes and necklaces and rings. There are towels and all manner clothes and even paintings. One thousand nick knacks one could never imagine. They make for beautiful colors, and its pleasant to look at for a moment, but there is no peace, because the locals hound anyone who comes near, and try and close a deal that one never even really started. Some of them sit in groups of three, four and even five, and for some reason they all wear the same colored tee shirts.

 

-          How much is that guitar? In American dollars...

 

-          That guitar is forty-five dollars. Good price. I give it to you for forty though.

 

And the guitar is a small wooden affair, with strings yes, but its not a real instrument, not actually, just a keepsake, something made to sit in a room on a shelf somewhere. But the prices are astronomical, and the locals perhaps see the tourists with secret and sometimes not so secret disdain.

 

On the way back from the beach market, civilization continues to mix with the natural world of paradise, sometimes living and meshing well, at other times in an uneasy agreement. Its difficult to tell which, and when, and what it all means, if anything, much depending on the viewer. A man is there, with no legs, resting on his stumps, and he looks as if he has not bathed in centuries, with skin so tanned from years in the sun, that it would be difficult to discern his original color. He wears pants, sowed or pinned somehow underneath his stumps, and a t-shirt gray-blackish and torn. He has on a cap, and a sign is beside him that reads:

 

-          I AM DISABLED. I AM DIABETES ALSO. THERE IS NO INSURANCE FOR MEDICAL SUPPORT. PLEASE TO HELP ME.

 

And he is offered by the passerby all that he has left, which are two 10 Peso notes. Diez peso Oro, which is nothing, but which is better than the actual nothing of giving nothing at all. And the man with no legs says

 

-          Gracias.

 

The passerby turns to his group and says, with a nervous and uneasy chuckle,

 

-          Now, everyone around here seems to run a racket. Every angle is covered and then some. But I’ll tell you this, no matter who that guy is, or what he is or isn’t up to, one thing is for sure, and that is that he does not have any legs.

 

And his cohorts smile a bit at that, and they all walk on, and glancing back, it can be seen that the man has folded the notes and put them in a pocket.

 

Back the other way, there are the palm trees continuing along still, and they are bent this way and that way, but the tallest ones are bent mostly towards the inland from wind wear. Men carry coconuts around in wheelbarrows and stop and chop the outside of one or two, and then sometimes split them apart, for eating, or leave an opening in the top to drink. All this with a big machete. Someone says, upon seeing the big half sunken ship again,

 

-          It looks as if it has moved. Is that possible? Could it have moved?

 

Someone else says,

 

-          Of course it hasn’t moved. You are just disoriented, and the tide rushing out under your feet, and the sun, and all the beer, and the time change, and everything else, it can make you feel a bit funny...

 

And the one who asked if the wreck could have moved says,

 

-          Oh.

 

Oh. Oh, all this. All that. The world. Fine sands through the hourglass.

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Email Brian Michael Barbeito: Brian1750@Hotmail.com

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