My Grandfather's Horses: A Tale of Pearls, Promises and Legendary Horses

By Victoria Auberon

As a young man, Mexican American Donato Perry comes to live with his great great-grandfather, Don Tomas, on his desert cattle ranch in Baja, Mexico. It is there that he learns to become a seasoned cowboy and seeks to capture a wild azulejo horse, the only horse, it is said, of its kind. But when Donato becomes heir to a precious treasure, he fin

• Language: English
• Publisher: GoldTouch Press, LLC
• Release date: Aug 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9781951461010

Victoria Auberon

When author and self-taught illustrator Daphne Oberon was four, her father, a British Explorer, took her to live in Baja California. Her first contact with peoples of Toltec heritage began with stories told to her by an Indian nursemaid. From age thirteen to fifteen, Daphne spent three years camping on the uninhabited island of Cerralvo in the Sea of Cortez. The tint from the brilliant red beans produced by the coral trees growing on the stark desert island provided inspiration for The Ghost Tree and its magic beans. Also by Daphne Oberon, AZULEJO, A Tale of Pearls, Promises and Legendary Horses, available through Outskirts Press, Amazon.com, BarnesandNoble.com, Ingram, Books in Print, and Baker &Taylor.

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My

Grandfather’s

Horses

A Tale of Pearls, Promises and Legendary Horses

Victoria Auberon

Copyright © 2019 by Victoria Auberon.

Library of Congress Control Number:      2019912893

Paperback:    978-1-951461-00-3

eBook:             978-1-951461-01-0

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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Author’s Note

I first became acquainted with the aristocratic Old-World cattle ranchers of Baja California as a child in the late 1950’s, 1960’s and early 1970’s. This book’s sometimes-archaic language reflects this culture. My British father, son of colonial missionaries in Uganda Africa, took me to Baja when I was four to start what became a cult-like school for mal-adjusted American teenagers. At an early age, I accompanied him on trips by horseback to treat local patients in isolated cattle ranches. All of the horses and mules and most of the people in My Grandfather’s Horses are based on animals and people I have known.

Acknowledgements

Many thanks are due to the following:

To a very conscientious researcher of the Cerralvo Island (Isla Jacques Cousteau) area, Thomas Spradley, for reading my book and reconnecting me with Cerralvo Island friends of the past. In addition, to Robert Allen Fisher and Jerry Becker for helping me with periodic earlier rewrites of the book along the way.

In memoriam, special tribute is due to my mother, Virginia Tower, for sharing her own experiences in Baja, and for helping me with some of the original drama and writing of My Grandfather’s Horses. Special thanks go to Gary Milton, editor, director, and Emmy Award winning cinematographer, for his help in modernizing some of the original language. Exclusive thanks go to John Forsblad for writing dramatic inserts pertinent to the times. Also, to Topaz Jan Abbott for her 2009 song titled, The Ballad of the Azulejo. This inspired composition is her own individual achievement and separate literary property.

Readers who offered helpful suggestions: Tom and Patrice Drew, Terry Hess, Joseph Paul, Iris Steinlein, Melody Vandewater, and Vincent Orsini.

About the Book

The voice I adopted in writing My Grandfather’s Horses was originally intended to echo the formal, Old World Spanish spoken by the upper class ranch owners of early Baja Sur. Schools were nonexistent in rural areas in those days, so these families doubtless continued the same conservative traditions that had been passed down by their forefathers from the time of the Conquistadores.

Both the homeliest and most beautiful horses I have ever seen were natives of Southern Baja California. The most spectacular was an Azulejo.

Horses from the coastal regions south of the city of La Paz were generally very small, poorly conformed specimens compared with those from herds owned by some of the larger inland ranchers. This may have been because the fishermen looked to the sea and their little canoas for long-distance transportation rather than becoming horsemen.

My father was an eccentric British explorer who originally intended to become a medical missionary. He first took me to Mexico when I was four. He forged some of the original dirt roads to isolated outlying regions. These include the road connecting El Camino Real with the property that later developed into the Punta Pescadero resort, the village of Cardonal, and the small coastal ranch settlement called, Boca de Alamo. My father also administered simple doctoring and extracted teeth among the poor people. It was during long horseback rides to visit remote ranches that I garnered some of the experiences that later became memories for this book.

From late fall of 1966 when I was thirteen and a half, to winter of 1969, I spent long periods camping on the eighteen-mile long uninhabited island of Cerralvo (Isla Jacques Cousteau), located in the Sea of Cortez, just south of La Paz. For the first nine months my only companion was my very temperamental, ailing mother who spent most of her time writing or meditating. Later, after wasps and the rigorous conditions drove her off the island, for around two years my nearly constant companion became a young student who my father sent to join me when the boy was nine. Visiting staff and students who attended my parent’s International Pioneering School joined us for short periods. During my stay on the island, I handled the horses, burros and imported Nubian goats my family brought over from the Baja Peninsula. The burro, Pancho Villa, is based on a vicious wild jack that I trained at great risk to life and limb when I was fifteen. He liked to eat cardboard boxes as well as his lead rope, so as described in my book, I did tie him up with an anchor chain.

From 1969 to 1972, my parents relocated their undertaking to Rancho San Juan de La Costa. In those days, this isolated stretch of property was described as a dry mainland delta situated south of the ill-famed point named, Punta el Mechudo. No mining operations had begun, and five pristine oases graced the inland regions. It was here that my burro, Pancho Villa, acquired fame among the local ranchers.

Horsemen and muleteers sometimes dropped by my corrals to visit with me on their way to La Paz. Many of them had already traveled miles of arduous trails all the way from their ranches, yet they usually finished the fatiguing trip in a day.

One of my visitors was an old gentleman who routinely traveled from Ensenada to La Paz with his band of pinto burros, selling cartons of cigarettes to the inhabitants of the ranches and fishing settlements he visited along the way.

Unlike some of the city folk, many of the rural horsemen and muleteers lived by a chivalrous old-world ethic and treated both people and their fine animals with the utmost respect. I based the account of Don Tomas on the true-life story of the son of a French immigrant. Alazán, the burro Pancho Villa, the giant mule Machismo, and the Azulejo type of horse all existed as I described them in these pages. The Azulejo sported a silvery-white mane and tail and a sleek metallic coat. As with most good-looking colts in Baja, the animal I knew was eventually gelded and made into a saddle horse.

Similar to the blue-black roan Azulejos with white manes and tails in my story, there is a reference to black horses with white manes and tails in the 1969 publication of the Time Life book, The Kingdom of the Horse, by H.—H. Isenbart & E. M.Bührer. However, this coloring is so rare that I have talked to only one other person who claimed to have seen it. That was John Derek, the actor and director, who described an Azulejo he had seen in mainland Mexico. Also, like the blue-eyed black-bay standardbreds that showed up among the On to Glory bloodline, strange genetic exceptions do apparently sometimes occur.

Tales I heard from fishermen inspired my accounts of pearls and buried treasure. The descriptions of various mysterious light sightings described in this story, combine elements of my own unexplained reports with experiences shared with me by locals originating from isolated parts of Mexico and Guatemala.

Illustrations

1. Ghost Mare

2. Dedication

3. Espiritu

4. Map of Punta Prieta and Surrounding Regioni

5. Old Men

6. Don Tomas’ Knife and Pearls

7. Aliseo Bartolo and his Dragon Mule

8. Free at Last

9. Ghost Mare on El Rey

10. Photographs of Victoria’s Horses

image_01.jpg

Animal Character Names

Azulejo 1 Azulina – The ghost mare of legend

Azulejo 2 Carbonera – Descendent of Azulina, and mother to Espíritu and La Perla

Azulejo 3 Espíritu – Wild Azulejo stallion

Azulejo 4 La Perla – Espíritu’s twin

Azulejo 5 Azulita – Azulejo foal

Alazán – Donato’s chestnut stallion

Carbona – Rancho La Primavera pacing mare

Cenizas – Don Tomas’ white mare

Chispa – Local racehorse, brother to Alazán

Cometa – Rancho La Primavera burra

Machismo – Señor Bartolo’s fenómeno mount

Mala Cara – Rancho La Primavera mule

Pancho Villa – Rancho La Primavera Somali-Wild-Ass type of burro

Pavo – Rancho La Primavera white burro

Pico Blanco – Don Tomas’ exceptional breeding stallion

Pronto – Local racehorse from Rancho La Primavera

Rosillo – Strawberry roan gelding belonging to Ramón

Volador – Don Paco, magistrate of San Antonio’s imported part quarter horse racehorse

image_02.jpg

Human Character Names by Association

MEXICO CITY

Uncle Mario – Donato’s uncle from Mexico City

Aunt Consuela – Donato’s aunt

Donato Perry – Mario’s orphaned Caucasian-Latino nephew

Luisa – Mexico City matron

Marta – Mexico City matron

RANCHO LA PRIMAVERA

Don Tomas Rienza – Owner of Rancho La Primavera, and Donato’s great-great-grandfather

Doña Blanca – Don Tomas’ third wife

Maria Elena – Doña Blanca’s daughter, Don Tomas’ stepdaughter

Pedro Valenzuela – Doña Blanca’s nephew

Doña Josephina – Don Tomas’ senior housekeeper

Doña Lupe – Don Tomas’ housekeeper

Julio – Don Tomas’ gardener from San Antonio

Ramón – Julio’s son and later Donato’s ranch foreman

Bruno – Don Tomas’ ranch foreman

Chevalo – Rancho La Primavera ranch hand

Luis – Rancho La Primavera ranch hand

RANCHO LOS SANTOS

Señor Aliseo Bartolo – Owner of Rancho Los Santos

Don Aliseo – Señor Bartolo’s title after he became sheriff of El Santo

Señora Margarita Bartolo – Señor Bartolo’s wife

Doña Margarita Bartolo – Señora Bartolo

Carmen – Señor Bartolo’s stepdaughter

Telmo – Señor and Margarita Bartolo’s son from La Paz

Prieto Bartolo – Señor Bartolo’s great-great-grandfather

Seino Bartolo – Señor Bartolo’s father

Chico Martinez – Midget in Señor Bartolo’s employ

Raul – Muleteer in Señor Bartolo’s employ

RANCHO SALVATIERRA

Señor Manuel Lucero – Owner of Rancho Salvatierra

Señora Lucero – Señor Lucero’s wife

Pepe Lucero – Señor Lucero’s son

OTHERS

Don Diego Montenegro – Azulina’s ghost rider

Señor Alejandro Gomez – Businessman from La Paz

Señor Fidel Martinez – Mining engineer from La Paz

Celestino – Opal mine worker

Don Paco – Friendly magistrate of San Antonio

Zenen – Señor Bartolo’s, and later Don Paco’s, horse boy

Elyse Sutton – Student from Dallas, Texas

Señor Cuevas – One-eyed muleteer

Señor and Señora Hernandez – Punta Gorda storekeepers

Don Chepe – Old sheriff of El Santo

Uncle Stanley – Donato’s uncle in Texas

Table of Contents

Author’s Note

Acknowledgements

About the Book

Illustrations

Animal Character Names

Human Character Names by Association

Chapter 1:     Natural Miracles: A Safe Place to Foal

Chapter 2:     A New Land: Time of Change

Chapter 3:     Azulejo: The Legend

Chapter 4:     Don Tomas: A Way of Life

Chapter 5:     The Pearls: A Trust

Chapter 6:     Alazán: Voices in the Wind

Chapter 7:     An Unwelcome Visitor: Señor Aliseo Bartolo

Chapter 8:     Vacadilla Oasis: Señor Bartolo Takes the Pearls

Chapter 9:     The Omen: Don Tomas’ Shadow

Chapter 10:   Pico Blanco: A Tryst

Chapter 11:   Pancho Villa: The Drought

Chapter 12:   Whispers on the Breeze: Espíritu’s Return

Chapter 13:   The Ghost Light: The Robbers

Chapter 14:   The Birthday: Elyse

Chapter 15:   End of an Era: The Valley is Silent

Chapter 16:   The Azulejos: Lost on the Delta

Chapter 17:   The Freighter: A Rude Awakening

Chapter 18:   A Jewel of a Mare: La Perla

Chapter 19:   Rancho Salvatierra: Donato Loses His Hat

Chapter 20:   The Storm: Señor Cuevas

Chapter 21:   The Vision: The Phantom on the Trail

Chapter 22:   The Curse Reaches Out: The Earthquake

Chapter 23:   The Pink Pearl: The Town Jail

Chapter 24:   Don Paco: A Dependable Ally

Chapter 25:   The Twins: A Dream Come True

Chapter 26:   The Race: Another Storm

Chapter 27:   The Wind Shear: Free at Last!

Chapter 28:   El Rey: A Natural Wonder

Glossary

Chapter 1

Natural Miracles: A Safe Place to Foal

THE beautiful black mare, Carbonera, stood on the rim of La Mesa Alta, the southeast wind ruffling her flowing mane and tail. She surveyed the stark Punta Prieta coastline facing the blue waters of the Sea of Cortez, scenting the wind for news of a refuge where she might safely foal her twins. Instinct told her she must reach this place before she became too heavy with foal to scale the slopes of the rugged Southern Baja Mountains.

Three hours later, the mare stood snatching at the clumps of dried grasses dotting El Rey, a mountaintop which towered over the low volcanic coastal range of Punta Prieta like an immense white anthill. Here, the same southeast winds that howled and whined around the summit like a flock of furies also ushered in the tropical storm clouds overhead.

One misstep might have sent Carbonera toppling to her death had not the inner conviction that supported her, urged her ever upward. When she reached the crater valley at the mountain’s summit, the clouds released their rain, and she quenched her thirst from the pools of rainwater left in the natural granite basins lining the crater’s perimeter. As evidenced by the tall, dried, amaranth stalks left from the previous rainy season, the fertile soil had retained enough moisture to support a green ecosystem for several months into the Baja dry season.

Carbonera gave birth on a full moon night after a fresh crop of amaranth had grown up in El Rey’s sunken crater valley. Moreover, as though to usher in the miracle, the celebrated ghost mare of Punta Prieta, Azulina, appeared among the greenery. Within the mutable depths of her enigmatic blue eyes, a timeless quintessence resided. Like a fantastic nocturnal mirage, her flowing white mane and tail streamed away like vapor in the moonlight. Carbonera’s twin foals were throwbacks to the old grand dam of legend, whose phantom spirit she was.

Providentially, during the youngsters’ first year of life, unusually heavy storms showered the coastal mountains with enough rain to plump out even the shriveled cacti and tubers that dotted the inner banks of their mountain refuge. These succulents swelled with so much moisture Carbonera and her foals quenched their thirst on them well into the dry season. Once they had eaten up all of the succulent cacti, Carbonera lead her foals down El Rey’s dangerously precipitous slopes in search of water in the desert foothills below. Portions of the mountain’s steep sides were comprised of compacted coral gravel pushed up from beneath the ancient ocean floor. When a heavy animal’s weight dislodged it, quantities ran off in landslides.

Tragically, Carbonera allowed her twins to suckle until she became too feeble to maintain her balance on El Rey’s treacherous slopes. She scrabbled to keep her footing, but doing so only made her skid further down the mountain until she reached the edge of a precipice, teetered on its brink, and then fell to her death in one of the many canyons traversing the low-lying hills below.

Had it not been for the airless whinny of the ghost mare encouraging the youngsters down the mountainside, they would surely have returned to their familiar crater valley to perish of thirst. Instead, sinking their slender legs knee-deep into the chafing coral gravel, the twins followed their guardian spirit in a spiraling path around the mountain and beyond to a three-palm-tree oasis hidden in the belly of a ravine. There, the youngsters instinctively dug the sand up with their hooves and sipped the brackish water seeping into the excavation.

In the years that followed, as a result of the ghost mare’s unearthly fostering, the twin colt and filly kept to themselves—never visiting the same water hole twice in succession. This was because any good-looking, unbranded, wild horse or burro the native Mexican muleros spotted in the foothills was in danger of being captured for use as a riding or pack animal.

So long as no enemies appeared, the horse twins ran together. However, when these shy but canny animals sensed human beings nearby, they carried out a cunning stratagem. The colt ran out into the open to divert potential pursuers while the filly quietly slipped away deeper into the campo. Since observers never sighted the nearly identical azulejos side by side, the animals further confounded pursuers by leaving similar hoofprints behind. As a result, the twins continually fooled animal trackers into believing they hunted a single, phenomenal quarry. Some even testified the creature was gifted with invisible wings and the miraculous powers to appear in two places at once! Thus, because of his mysterious ways and ghostly coloring, they called him el caballo espíritu, The Spirit Horse.

In 1961, the year the colt grew into a four-year-old stallion, Espíritu occasionally ran with the mares and geldings of nearby Rancho La Primavera. This was the same year a sixteen-year-old boy newly arrived at the ranch began his quest to win the wild horse’s trust.

image_03.jpg

BALLAD OF THE AZULEJO

Long time ago on Mexico’s wildest shore

There lived a horse that had never been seen before.

Dark was his coat like the feather of crow,

Throughout the land everyone came to know,

Azulejo - hear his song!

I am the Azulejo watch me fly,

On whispering hooves across the desert plain.

My eyes are blue, bluer than the sky,

Listen, you will hear the wind calling my name,

I am the spirit horse of this desert land.

Old men tell of me keeping their voices low,

Ghostly tales told by the firelight glow.

Young men speak of me in boastful pride,

Dreaming of the day that they might ride,

The Azulejo, hear my song!

I am the Azulejo watch me fly,

On whispering hooves across the desert plain.

My eyes are blue, bluer than the sky,

Rays of light shine in my mane,

I am the spirit horse of this desert land.

An eerie silence settles all around,

A cloud of dust rises from the ground.

Swift as an eagle in flight,

Vanishing from sight!

Some say I am not beast of flesh and bone,

Hoofbeats echoing across the ancient stone.

A shadow in the moonlight, a ghostly mystery,

You can ride me only if your heart is free,

Azulejo, hear my song!

I am the Azulejo watch me fly,

On whispering hooves across the desert plane.

My eyes are blue, bluer than the sky,

And nothing can quench my heart of flame.

I am the spirit horse of this desert land.

Copyright © 2009 Topaz Jan Abbott

Chapter 2

A New Land: Time of Change

ONE…two…three…proclaimed the sonorous bells of the Catedral Metropolitana. Even on the noisiest, busiest days citizens lifted their heads and paused to listen when they rang the hour. The venerable building seemed to cast its blessing over all the wayfarers throughout Central Mexico City and the adjacent Plaza Zocalo like a Holy Father casting a benediction.

It was autumn of 1961. Two women passing in front of the cathedral stopped to point out a sixteen-year-old boy feeding the pigeons in the plaza.

What an attractive young man! See his liquid brown eyes peeking out from under his curly, brown bangs? the plump one, Marta, remarked.

"Ay, her companion replied. His name is Donato; he inherited his good looks from his parents, the beautiful Señora Maria Esperanza and handsome Señor Roger Perry, the blond gringo archeologist who worked for the Museo National de Antropología. A terrible auto accident took Señor Perry’s life and the lives of his wife and two daughters. By the grace of the Lord, the boy remained home with the gripa and was spared."

You don’t say!

The news breaker adjusted her shawl with an air of importance. I am surprised you didn’t hear of this, Marta. It was in all the newspapers and on the television last November!

Marta sighed with deep satisfaction as the spectacle of the tragic drama filled her fantasies. "Ah, well, I am lazy and read nothing but novelas. But, tell me more, Luisa."

Luisa warmed to the gossip. The Perry family was on their way to the theater when a petrol truck lost its brakes at the corner of the plaza and ran into their car, killing all the passengers. The traffic is a horror these days and everyone is in a hurry. Such a waste!

"Qué lástima! What a sad story!" Marta exclaimed. She shifted her basket of fresh cheese and bread from the crook of her right arm to her left and crossed herself.

"They say Donato’s gringo father was a peculiar man and seldom socialized. It is said he never even visited his wife’s family or attended Mass. The Señora did, though, poor thing. She went for both of them. I used to see her in the chapel during the week. Who knows what troubles she may have had? Now the boy is all alone. Pobrecito!"

You are right, Marta. He looks sad.

"I hear good Father Alfredo has advised his uncle, Señor Moreno, to send Donato to the country to recover his spirits. It is a wise plan, for he is a simple boy. They say he has a great love for animals and wants to become a veterinarian. See how the birds hover about him! Ay! This wretched city is no place for such as he. Nothing but silly pigeons to comfort him." The two women walked off down the sidewalk, joining the medley of sights and sounds of the city streets.

*    *    *

Donato had named the friendly gray pigeon strutting about his feet, Mario, after his uncle. The perky little bird seemed oblivious to the problems of the world around it. No plumage was out of place. A shimmering purple iridescence on its chest and neck rippled as its head bobbed. And its gray and white pinion and tail feathers looked crisp and neatly arranged as though it were wearing a starched white shirt and gray business suit.

Thinking of how his uncle might react if told he resembled a pigeon, the beginning of a chuckle escaped Donato. The sound startled him, for he had nearly forgotten how to laugh. He tossed Mario the last of the crumbs from his lunch box.

Donato knelt down and held out his finger. "Come here, pajarito, perch on my hand!" However, motivated by some unknown impulse, instead of responding, the pigeon flew away to perch on the arch above the cathedral’s main entrance. Donato admired the intricate artwork adorning the facade. He knew the building cloistered wise men, but though the padres invited him to come inside for counsel, he preferred to stay outdoors. There he could gaze at the sky on a clear, windy day with the clouds scampering for the horizon.

Remembering his circumstances, Donato’s wandering thoughts soon fell to Earth. Seen in a more serious light, the image of his uncle Mario was no longer comical. He guessed it must be an inconvenience to Mario to have his sister’s child foisted upon him unexpectedly. His firstborn was still in diapers, and his wife, Consuela, was again pregnant.

Donato had heard that his mother and Uncle Mario drifted apart after she married an American. He remembered his mother only inviting Mario and Aunt Consuela over to their house during the holidays. Of course, his father never participated. He was always working or studying books of some kind, so Donato’s mother had to make excuses for him.

Now that he was living at his uncle’s house, Donato always tried his best to stay out of the man’s way. He overheard him say to his aunt Consuela that Donato was like his father, un hombre solitario, a solitary man. Donato did not know exactly what was wrong with keeping to oneself, but he supposed his uncle thought it wasn’t good or he would not have mentioned it.

Mario seemed to expect him to act bright and cheerful, and to have a good time in school. He acted as though Donato ought to ignore the grief that lay in his gut, large and fibered like the seed of a mango. How could one digest such a thing?

To Donato, Uncle Mario expressed no interest in livestock except in the final form on his dinner plate. When Donato told him he wanted to become a veterinarian, his uncle was disapproving. Veterinarians earn low wages and have no social standing! Who would be so foolish as to want to attend sick pigs, cows, and horses, working among the flies in the hot sun under the dictates of some peevish ranch owner? The legal profession is much cleaner and much more profitable!

Mario pointed out that if Donato were to enter the business world, he could one day own his own ranch and hire his own veterinarian; then he would see.

In the end, however, Mario grumbled his grudging consent to the plan proposed by Padre Alfredo, and agreed to escort Donato to Baja California to live on his great-great-grandfather’s ranch.

Alright, go live on a ranch and get the country out of your system, then. Spending a year or two in the isolation of remote Baja California might teach you to appreciate the advantages of civilization.

May I ask you just one question? Donato asked timidly.

Mario motioned impatiently with his hand. Speak up!

Donato cleared his throat. How is Don Tomas my great-great-grandfather?

Mario raised his eyebrows. It’s complicated, son. Your mother’s and my grandmother, Sonya Balboa, who you never met because she died before you were born, is the child of old Don Tomas Rienza and his first wife Consuela Mendoza—your great-great-grandmother. Sonya’s first child, Mercedes Esperanza, who you knew before she passed away, is therefore your direct grandmother. Don Tomas has even outlived his own grandchildren!

How old is he?

"I don’t know. But no matter how old the anciano, I recently heard that he still rides horses and manages his ranch. Ask around when you get there, maybe you can learn his age!"

I will, Donato replied, nodding his enthusiasm.

Donato tried to imagine the primitive land of Baja. Even his classmates teased him that nothing survived on the peninsula except rattlesnakes and thorn bushes. Probably, they said, a sun-bleached cow’s skull stuck on a cactus will mark the spot where a toothless old man lives in an adobe hut. Most likely, he needs a goat herder to tend a few scrawny nanny goats. Even more probably, you will find the old man has passed away in the time it takes to complete such a long and dangerous journey!

*    *    *

January 20th, 1962 found Donato sleeping late into the morning on a handmade cowhide cot laced with rawhide. Clean muslin sheets covered the cotton mattress. Nothing had ever felt so comfortable.

At first, flashing images of his difficult passage over the Gulf from the mainland filled his dreams. The water roiled around this small fishing boat converted to carry passengers in cramped quarters. He tumbled about in a dirty bunk with one sheet, while Mario retched into an enamel pitcher, his face a green shade of algae.

Next, in the city of La Paz, the sons of fishermen stared at Donato as he walked the malecón, a pleasant walkway overlooking the bay lined with palm trees. A showy display of fine yachts dominated the collage of small working boats with their multicolored layers of peeling paint and decks strewn with debris.

Later, Donato was bumping along on his way to the village of El Santo in a rickety bus with worn tires and a coughing engine that had to be doctored frequently. He felt small