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We're
sitting in the cafe, the main one where everyone goes. We've got our big
glasses of coffee, and I'm eating a plate of eggs and tortillas, and some
xalapenos. The American's there, smoking a cigarette, and Gaz, and two
women the American knows. He's going on in English so they can't understand,
about how he likes their papayas, their melons, and everybody's laughing,
the girls too even though they can't understand. They're big, sure, big
round breasts that are just like fruit, and I'm looking at them. The girls
know, and they catch me looking at them, and I look sheepish, but we all
laugh. They don't mind. Then we're not saying much, the food's too good.
I take a suck on my cigarette and eat some more of the eggs. I take a
mouthful of coffee, the wonderful coffee they make, knowing that it grows
in the area, just outside of town. You can see it wild where it's escaped
from the plantations. Everything's quiet and peaceful, and we're thinking
It's Sunday, and how good it all is. Just then there's a lot of noise
up the street. People are running down the street because something's
happened. The American grins and snubs out his cigarette. He goes out
the door to take a look. We don't pay any attention. I'm finishing my
eggs, and Gaz is talking about something. The girls are giggling, and
I'm still looking at their fruit. Then the American comes back grinning
from ear to ear. They've just shot the priest. What? we all say at once.
No way, I say. Yeah, he says, Someone got up in the middle of the sermon
with a gun and shot the priest. Well, that's the funniest thing I've ever
heard, and I can't eat any more because I'm laughing so much. And the
girls are laughing too but they're more concerned, they're saying, Poor
little priest. How could they do that to the poor little priest. Is he
dead? I ask finally. No, the guy missed. Point blank range and he missed.
The American looks disgusted. Outside the cafe, a crowd of people are
walking down the street yelling and beating up this one guy, the guy who
tried to shoot the priest. He's in a suit but he's bloody, and his suit
is crumpled and torn. He's shouting something but it's unintelligible.
Someone says they're going to lynch him, but the police arrive and start
pushing the crowd around. They grab the guy and bundle him into a police
car. Why'd he do it? I ask. Why does anyone do anything? replied the American,
and Gaz just mumbles, Pity they don't do it more bloody often. Then everyone
starts to calm down. I start to eat my eggs again but they're cold by
now, so I go back to watching the girls' fruit and light another cigarette.
Then the American gets up and says he's got to go. The girls follow him
and they all go out of the cafe. I watch them as they leave, the heavy
ripe thighs of the girls, a little overweight but nice. Nice and ripe.
And I'm thinking, It's a pity they had to go so soon.
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