Treasure of Acapulco

by Witton, Dorothy

  He could remember when he and Chico used to spend whole days out around the edges of the bay, diving for fun and then lying in the sun on the polished rock shelves, Ustening to the low, insistent speaking of the water as it licked around them. That was toward the end of those golden years when Tony's father was still ahve—when no one worried much about monev or about anything except food. And food could be picked from the sea with one's bare hands.

  Chico had been di£Ferent then. But everyone and everything had been different then. There were tourists then, too, but they hadn't quite taken over the entire town. The days had been all-bright, unworried, sun-spangled dreams. How long ago it seemed! Another lifetime!

  Tony sighed. He felt as though he were sixty, instead of not quite sixteen.

  "You act as though you'd lost your last friend. Didn't you like the skin diving?"

  Peter's voice was faintly accusing and Tony, returning to the present, remembered that the blond boy had generously shared his birthday gift, the aqualung trip. He knew that it wasn't the money invested that made Peter reproachful; it was something else. The underwater excursion had been a revelation to Peter and he couldn't understand why anyone should be downcast after such an experience.

  Tony suddenly decided to tell his friend about the interview with Uncle Juan.

  "Forgive me, Pedro," he said quietly. "I liked the diving, all right. I always like it! But I have a problem. Wait

  till we drop this heavy stuff and then I'll tell you about it."

  They left the octopus in a small aquarium at the skin-diving shop, to be collected later, and went up on the hill near the Caleta Hotel in the shade. They sat for several minutes without speaking. That was another nice thing about Pedro, Tony thought. He didn't have to talk all the time, like some gringos. He had a kind of Mexican patience.

  "It's my uncle," Tony said finally, in a heavy voice. "He's moving the family back to Mexico City, the end of January. And he wants me to go with them."

  "To stay?"

  The horror in Peter's voice was oddly comforting to Tony. Here was someone who felt as he did about the sea and about Acapulco. Pedro—although he was a North American and had never seen this coast town until three months ago—understood better than anyone else that for Tony, leaving Acapulco was the end of the world.

  Tony nodded unhappily.

  "He wants me to work in a little hotel he has in the capital, learning the business. And go at night to a hotel school they have in the city. He wants me to be a hotel man." Tony's voice sounded strange, even to his own ears, and he coughed to dislodge whatever it was that was stuck in his throat.

  "I—I never heard of anything so crazy!" Peter sputtered, staring at Tony's strong, smooth-muscled brown shoulders, his earnest, unhappy black eyes. To the American boy, Tony seemed as much a part of this tropical paradise as the turquoise water, the resihent

  palms, and the drying fish nets. It was impossible to even imagine him in any other setting. "You—a hotel man in the city. It's insane! I—I'd run away, first."

  Tony put a hand gratefully on his friend's thin shoulder but he didn't look at him. He was looking across the bay to the open sea.

  "That's what I'd like to do," he admitted, after a moment. "But there's something you don't know about this, Pedro. My father died when I was nine and my sister Marta was eight. Uncle Juan came down from the city, then, with the idea of taking us back there to live. But he had some heart trouble—the doctor had aheady told him he ought to live at sea level instead of at that high altitude of the capital—so he and Aunt Raquel decided to lease their hotel in Mexico City and move here for a while. I thought of course that once they got used to Aca-pulco, they'd want to stay for good."

  Tony's voice trailed off thinly, but then he went on. "They took Marta and me in as if we were their own children and gave us a home and schoohng. They weren't rich, either, and they have two girls of their own, a little younger than Marta. For myself, I wouldn't have cared if they adopted us or not. But Marta—well, she is my sister and I am fond of her. She wants to be a teacher. I feel obhged to Uncle Juan for taking care of her—of us. And another thing, I am the only boy. I think Uncle Juan always wanted a son, to carry on his business."

  "I see," Peter said slowly. "That makes it a little different, I guess, but even so, I should think your uncle could see that the city is no place for you. Surely—"

  "He knows a different side of me than you do," Tony

  explained hopelessly. "You see, all this time while I studied in school and helped him in the store, I was thinking that if I worked hard enough I'd get what I wanted in the end." He sighed. "I fixed things for my-seK! I've convinced him that I'd make a good hotel man because I speak English to his American customers in the store and try to please them.

  "So now," he finished bitterly, "I go to the capital and carry the expensive bags of rich people and bring them ice and say, 'Yes, sir' and 'No, sir' and 'Thank you, sir' and learn to bow and scrape and judge people by the amount they pay in tips."

  "You'd never judge people that way," Peter said positively.

  Tony went on as though he were talking to himself. "If my uncle was at all like my father was," he muttered, "but he couldn't be more different! Uncle Juan doesn't like the sea. I think he's afraid of it. He's never understood the coast people. Aunt Raquel—she's more like an Acapulquefia, comfortable and easygoing. Uncle Juan likes everything just so, very stiff and formal."

  "But none of that matters. You can't go," Peter repeated stubbornly. "You'd be as out of place in the city as your uncle is here."

  "Unless I can save two thousand pesos toward a boat by the end of January," Tony said grimly, "I have to go. That's what he said and he never changes his mind."

  Peter was silent. Two thousand pesos was only one hundred and sixty dollars in American money but to Peter, as to Tony, it seemed nothing less than a fortune.

  "That's a lot of money," he agreed gloomily, after a moment. "I wish I could help. I wish my father had the money to buy a boat and you and I could use it together and have a business. But you know how it is with us. We came here because Dad thought the outdoor life would be good for me and because we could live more cheaply in Mexico while he was writing his book. We've only got the little he saved when he was a newspaperman."

  Tony nodded. "I couldn't take anything from you, anyway. The whole point is that Uncle Juan wants me to earn it myself. And there's another angle to it: on account of what he said about my father, now I've got to prove to him that people who live from fishing and skin diving aren't necessarily bums! My father was a wonderful man, Pedro, even if he didn't make much money."

  "I've never heard you mention your mother," Peter ventured.

  "She died when my sister was born," Tony explained, "so my father had the whole care of us, you see. He loved Marta and me a lot and he made us happy. That's more important than money, I think. Maybe you have to really love money to be good at earning it. It just never seemed one of the important things to my father—and it doesn't to me, either."

  "It's necessary though, sometimes," Peter sighed, knowing from experience what it was like to be without it. "Well, maybe you can do it, Tony! What about that Chico and his plans?"

  Tony shook his head doubtfully. "I don't think Chico is up to any good, Pedrito. I'll talk to him. But he's

  changed. A lot of the boys I used to know have changed. It's the tourist business that's done it. Maybe that's why Uncle Juan talks about beach bums."

  "Tony!" The word exploded from Peter, and his blue eyes were suddenly blazing with excitement. "I just thought of something! While I was waiting for you on the beach this morning, one of the glass-bottomed boats came back, and they carried off a diver. I heard the boys say that he'd slipped and broken his ankle when he climbed up to dive from some high rocks—putting on an extra show for the tourists. Maybe you could get his job!"

  "Kowtowing to tourists," Tony said distastefully, but his face gradually brightened. "At least it would
be a beginning—and doing something I Hke-skin diving! They don't pay those boys much, but there are tips and commissions." He grinned suddenly. "You know that expression in Spanish: *Solo el que no monta, no cae?"

  " 'Only he who does not mount, does not fall,'" Peter translated thoughtfully. "I like the English one better: 'Nothing ventured, nothing gained!'"

  "Nothing ventured, nothing gained." Tony tried it on his tongue and nodded. "Yes, I like that better, too! Come on, Pedro, let's see if that job's taken! What was the name of the launch?"

  "Pelicano, I think. Yes, I'm sure that was it."

  "That's Captain Garcia's boat. I've heard he's pretty good to work for. Keep your fingers crossed, Pedrito!"

  Double Celebration

  "I JUST HIRED A BOY TEN MINUTES AGO," CaPTAIN

  Garcia said. "Sorry, son."

  Tony's heart sank to his bare toes. Probably there were other jobs to be had in Acapulco but it seemed hke a bad omen, not getting this first one. He stared at the captain helplessly, wanting to ask if the other boy was as good a skin diver as he, Tony, was, and if he could speak as much English. But of course he couldn't say it just hke that.

  "He's older than you are," the captain remarked, as though answering the silent questions. "And he's had a httle more experience."

  "I'm old for my age," Tony muttered, feeling at the moment that it was certainly the truth.

  "You might keep in touch with me," Captain Garcia said, pulling out a desk drawer in a signal of dismissal. "There might be something else, later."

  Tony couldn't think of any reason for staying. "Well, thanks, anyway," he murmured disconsolately, moving toward the door. "Adios."

  He was so wrapped up in his disappointment that he didn't see the tall American tourist outside until he had run right into him.

  "Dispenseme" he said automatically. Then, realizing to whom he spoke, he repeated it in English, "Excuse me, sir."

  "That's all right." The man smiled. "Maybe you can tell me where to find a Captain Garcia? And do you know if he speaks English?"

  "His oflBce is here," Tony answered. Glancing at the door, which he had left ajar, an idea struck him and he went on, raising his voice slightly, "But he doesn't speak much English. Can I help you? I'll translate if you want to talk to him."

  "That would be nice of you," the tourist said, looking at him more closely. "I want to ask about chartering one of his boats to take out a private party of people."

  "Just a minute." Tony knocked on the captain's door again and stuck his head in. "Excuse me, Captain, but there is a North American here, wanting to make an arrangement with you."

  Captain Garcia looked a little harassed, "Caramba, my partner, who speaks English, is at dinner. Ask him to come back later, boy."

  "He would probably go to another boat owner," Tony said. "I have told him I would translate, if you like."

  The captain glanced at Tony with shrewd eyes and a faint smile touched the corners of his mouth.

  "All right." He shrugged his shoulders. "Ask him to come in."

  Tony ushered the tourist into the office, pulled out a

  chair for him and then stood between them, translating the exchange in a businessKke way.

  The American was a member of a lawyers' convention which was ending up a Mexican trip with a few days' vacation in Acapulco. They wanted to take a boat for an entire day, sight-seeing along the coast.

  When the financial arrangements were settled to the satisfaction of both parties, the tourist said to Tony, "Will you be one of the crew? Tell the captain we would like to have you. You've been very obliging and courteous and you speak better English than most of the boat boys we've had occasion to deal with."

  Tony translated this word for word, his face expressionless, his gaze fixed out of the window.

  There was a brief silence and finally Tony glanced at the captain to find the man looking at him suspiciously.

  "This is a rather strange coincidence, isn't it? You're certain it was not prearranged?"

  "Captain!" Tony's voice was pained. "I never saw this man in my life xmtil I bumped into him outside your door just now. I can prove it."

  He was going to go on and admit that it had seemed an opportunity to show how much English he knew, but the captain interrupted him: "All right." His voice was dry. "I'll take your word for it. You may tell the seiior that you are not on the crew of the larger boat but if he wishes the pleasure of your company, he can take a glass-bottomed boat trip on the Pelicano."

  Tony looked at him with shining eyes. "You mean—"

  "Yes, you're hired," Captain Garcia said shortly. "I'll give that other boy something else to do. He does not

  have quite as much English as you do—nor your way with people, I think."

  "What does he say?" asked the tourist, curiously.

  Tony explained briefly that he was a skin diver and regretted that he could not accompany the chartered boat. The business was concluded and five minutes later, he rejoined Peter on the beach.

  "I got it!" he yelled triumphantly. "Fifteen pesos a day to start—and if I'm good, he says he'll raise it later. But I got it by the purest accident!"

  He went on to tell about the coincidence of the tourist and how he had convinced the captain of his proficiency in English. Peter listened with a Httle smile on his face, and suddenly Tony broke off.

  "What are you grinning about?" he demanded.

  "Nothing." Peter's face was innocent.

  "You sent that tourist up there!" Tony could see by Peter's expression that he had guessed right. "The captain said he thought it was a put-up job and I told him it wasn't!"

  "Well, it wasn't," Peter said, smiling broadly now. "If a man on the beach asks me where he can charter a boat and I send him to the only captain I know about, that's hardly a put-up job, is it? But wasn't it lucky he came along just then, Tony!"

  They looked at each other and burst out laughing. Tony clapped the blond boy on the back.

  "You are a real friend, Pedro! Getting that job meant a lot to me. At least it will prove to Uncle Juan that I mean business!"

  And it may lead to something else more profitable, he added to himself. Anyway, it was a lot better to be doing something—going somewhere—than just standing still and worrying. Sometimes, if you just kept on going, the way opened up. . . .

  "I'm starved!" he said abruptly as they walked back down the beach. "Come on, we'll have lunch at Caletilla. My treat, this time! I have a friend who manages one of the restaurants and I can get credit."

  "You shouldn't begin to spend your money already," Peter said seriously. "You're going to save it for a boat, remember?"

  "You soimd hke Uncle Juan." Tony grinned, "Just this once, we celebrate. It won't cost much. And I owe you something for the skin diving trip and for the job."

  "You don't owe me anything!"

  But Peter was hungry, too, and he allowed himself to be led to one of the outdoor tables under the trees on Caletilla, twin beach to Caleta.

  "Hoh, Julio!" Tony called.

  A pleasantly homely boy came out to the table from the restaurant inside.

  "Tony! What a surprise! I never see you any more!"

  Tony clapped him on the shoulder. "I've been around, brother. Mostly working in that store of my uncle's. JuHo, this is Pedro—Peter Carson, in English. He is also my brother—my blond brother! He is nine-tenths Aca-pulqueiio now. You should see the way he took to skin diving this morning!"

  Julio and Peter shook hands, grinning.

  "Julio finished school two years ago—lucky man," Tony told Peter. "He's worked up fast to managing this restaurant. He'll probably own it soon."

  "That's doubtful," Julio laughed.

  Peter thought of something. "What are you going to do about school now, Tony? You'll have to work in the mornings."

  "I won't go." Tony shrugged. "I can make it up later. With only three months to earn this money, I can't use any of the time on school. Uncle Juan will understand that."


  Julio lifted an inquiring eyebrow.

  "You'll see me around a lot more, from now on," Tony told him. "Pedro, here, got me a job on a glass-bottomed boat!"

  "He got it himself." Peter smiled at Julio.

  "Well, that'll be fine—having you around the beach all the time," Julio said. "You can come over here and eat oysters between trips."

  "A lot of money I'd save that way!" Tony laughed. "If I eat oysters, I'll dive for them myself. I have to make money—lots of money—in the next three months, JuUo. I'll tell you about it later. At the moment, we are dying of hunger. What do you suggest that will fill the hole in our middles—cheap?"

  "You wait. I'll fix you up!"

  Julio hurried away, and Tony and Peter smiled at each other.

  "He's a fine boy—Jufio," Tony said. "He's only eighteen but he's steady, and he has a lot of sense. If you ever need help on the beach, come to him."

  They leaned back, feeling like millionaires. The sun, slanting into afternoon, dappled the outdoor tables with patterns of light and shadows. Bathers with water dripping from their wet suits sat around leisurely drinking refrescos and eating sea food. Everyone seemed comfortable and contented with the sparkling day, the cool breeze and the shimmering blue bay. A woman put twenty centavos in the juke machine and the silky air pulsed with the strains of "Acapulquefia Linda," a half-sad, half-gay song about the beauty of Acapulco and of an Acapulco girl.

  "What a beautiful song!" Peter said. "You know, Tony, this really is the most wonderful place in the world." His voice was almost hushed. "And you know something else? I suppose this will sound crazy to you—but I feel as though I had been born here. As though I'd never lived anywhere else. I feel as though it's mine, some way."

  Tony nodded. "It doesn't sound crazy to me. I think people often get born in the wrong places. Where were you born, Pedro?"

  "Indianapolis, Indiana."

  "What a mouthful!" Tony laughed.