Swarms of pelicans are circling the shore. Young fishermen are throwing their last lines of the day.1 The pink sun dips into the water without a sound. Get some rest. A hazy ring of low-lying, tropical mountains outlines the bay in various shades of green. Not ready to turn the lights out, the pink sun still speaks from its watery cradle, as brother and sister do before bed, sharing day to day thoughts and memories in a last-ditch rebellion against sleep. The pink sun is now a pink ribbon dimming with each moment. The Malecón shimmers like a cheap bracelet. The ribbon still dims. Pale yellow parchment is the color and texture of the sky, who is forgetting its thoughts as they are expressed.2 Today's catch was meager and dark clouds approach from the east. This is unlike anything I have ever seen, and tomorrow will be exactly the same.3
1. A pelican, snared by a fisher's hook lies motionless in the sand. A fish jumps and flops not far off on the other end of the line. Decisions are to be made. The pelican lunges ahead with harrowing recoil, snapping with panicked impotence at the fisher's helper who has just arrived. The helper unhooks and places the fish in the net with the rest of the catch. Next, grabbing the pelican's beak at the base, he uses his other hand to steady its body towards the tail. Another helper arrives with two young girls.
2. After the brief giggling of children, the pelican flies back into the swarm. All is well. The fishers pack up their modest haul. The pink ribbon has disappeared for some time now and the tide approaches. A few more lines are cast for fun. A little girl with the patience of a saint, holding a fishhook, stands in the wake of the rising tide. She runs away and digs in the sand. She digs into the sand. She continues digging into the sand until the water takes us all away.
3. That next day I had witnessed the death of a swimmer on the very same beach as the events of this story. The undertow had pulled her down into the water and she was unable to come up for air. It took eight men to drag her onto the shore. A crowd of onlookers gathered as the lifeguard attempted to revive her. Beach-side bar patrons drank ice cold beers as filth exited her nostrils. A young girl was eating a ham sandwich as the bruise around the large drowning woman's sternum grew larger and darker. There was one brief, hopeful moment in the nearly twenty minutes of pushing and blowing, in which sea water billowed out of her throat onto the beach. I left shortly after the EMT's arrived and brought out the bag. She was not accompanied by anyone.
