Warriors in Paradise Read Online Free PDF Page B

for the first time in days. It looks like Manuel is taking a break. Come on; let’s make the most of it.”
    “Shut the fuck up, man,” said Charlie. “First of all, give me back my head, will you? Second, bring us a bucket of OJ.”
    “Come on, guys. We have an appointment with destiny. We are going water skiing at the Lagoon of Coyuca, which I’m sure you haven’t heard of.”
    “Santi, we don’t have our bathing suits. We need to go to the hotel for our stuff.”
    “Take a shower,” I said. “I am bringing you bathing suits and T-shirts, which I’m sure will fit you. After breakfast, we will go to your hotel to pick up your stuff, get you checked out, and then go to the lagoon. How does that sound?”
    Fifteen minutes later, Charlie and Caleb were down having breakfast. We started with mangoes with lime and chili piquín. I was surprised that both of them were adventurous eaters. Most Americans are conservative when it comes to eating.
    Caleb said, “I have to take this chili pepper back home. Man, this is great. I have never had fruit spiced in this manner.”
    We then had enfrijoladas filled with machaca, which is dried beef covered with grated manchego cheese, and three fried eggs on the side, accompanied by a blended orange, grapefruit, and marañón juice and fresh Veracruz coffee. I like Chiapas coffee better, but Veracruz coffee is a close second. It has a good aroma and a depth of flavor that makes you appreciate that you are alive.
    As soon as I put the green chili sauce over my enfrijoladas, Charlie and Caleb followed suit. Charlie put on so much sauce that he was sweating profusely. His nose and cheeks turned progressively redder until he looked like a ripe tomato. So I told them, “You taste chili twice—once when it goes in and the second time when it comes out. So, Caleb, I would keep my distance from Charlie tomorrow morning if I were you!”
    I drove them to their hotel in Condesa. It took us a while because of the Acabus roadworks. We placed their backpacks and hand luggage in the trunk, and we headed toward Pie de la Cuesta and the Lagoon of Coyuca. The traffic was a nightmare until we hit Mozimba, but it thinned out after that. Nevertheless, we had to drive slowly because of the potholes and the trash that had washed down from the hills by the constant rain.
    Skiing
    We drove past Pie de la Cuesta, where the waves rose to goliathan heights, crashing into the beach with the thunder of raw power. The white sprays caught in the morning light cascaded inland under the force of the Pacific.
    We continued driving to the Lagoon of Coyuca. We entered the parking lot of the restaurant resort El Garzón, a huge, white, open wooden construction built on thick stilts over the lagoon and covered by a thatched roof called a palapa .
    We could see the lagoon with its island in the center, the water channels, the palms, the mangroves, and the white herons. Sunlight illuminated the waters of the lagoon, and a rainbow arched through the sky while steam rose lazily from the steel-blue water surface into the midmorning sun. It was a beautiful postcard of a day.
    After parking, we walked into the resort and went to the water-skiing office, selected the best-fitting skis, and rented a speedboat with an instructor for one hour. Charlie and I had skied before, but not Caleb. Our instructor was a short, dark brick of a man, with curly, oily black hair down to his shoulders, a potbelly, and arched legs, and he was dressed in dirty white shorts and a white T-shirt with holes all over it. He went by the name of Pipiaca.
    “What a weird name,” said Caleb.
    “Is that an Indian name?” asked Charlie.
    I exploded with laughter. After I regained some composure, I said, holding my gut, clearing the tears from my eyes, and laughing in between words, “That is not a proper name. It is a nickname that means piss and shit . You know, pipí and caca put together.”
    We went out on the speedboat, and I asked Charlie,