The sea

Miguel and Maria had welcomed Homer back in the shop, although he didn’t get the hero’s welcome he expected. Lucky to be alive, he had to forget all about Kam, and his adventure in the jungle.

She had disappeared, leaving her clothes on the floor, after they had escaped through the forest in the middle of the night.

That last aguardiente he had by the fire, must have brought his night terrors of hammocks and sex in the twilight. Homer put the rugs he had found in his safe, as a reminder of his adventure in the jungle where he had found Kam. He had to forget the heads, although Uncle Hugh had sold a few of them in New York.

Foreign businessman defies the jungle, Homer read in the papers the next day. They didn’t know anything about his escape in the land of trees, where he had nearly died. Thinking of other ways of earning his money, Homer looked for the phone he kept by the safe.

“This is the library,” someone said.

“I want to talk about the sea,” he said.

“What about the sea?” she asked at the end of the line.

“It’s to help the local economy.”

“I can’t understand,” she said.

“I’m Mr. Homer.”

He heard her voice again, after a pause, when he thought she had hung up.

“I’ll call you when we arrange something, Mr. Homer.”

Homer realised how easy it was for him to talk about money. It had to be his fame as a rich foreigner or his adventure with the Indians in the jungle.

He sipped some hot chocolate Miguel had brought him, while thinking of his talk in the library, where he had to convince the public to part with their money.

The sun shone in the sky, as he moved through the streets full of people in his way to the library. Mother had warned him of people who liked reading books. They had to be crazy. After summoning enough courage, he pushed the library doors, leading him to the reception, where a young woman stamped a pile of books on her desk.

“I want to borrow some books,” he said.

“You must fill the library card first.”

She waited for him to write his details in a piece of paper, but Homer could only read. His parents had taught him the basics of life at home, where he had learned about life and death.

“I didn’t bring my glasses,” Homer said. “Could you do it for me?”

She wrote his name and address after asking him some questions irrelevant to the sea or whatever else he wanted to know.

“You have the name of a Greek hero,” she said.

“Really?”

“He fell in love with Helen during the Trojan War.”

Homer had never heard of his name sake doing all of those exciting things in the name of love. That wasn’t quite like him. He had to conquer the world without any women by his side, but then she gestured to the back of the library.

“The books about him are by the window.”

Following her pointing finger, Homer crashed with a child reading some comics, as everyone looked at him.

“Quiet,” someone said.

Homer had arrived at the middle of the library, where a few mothers looked at books with their children. On taking one of the books he saw on a table, the picture of a man with crazy eyes and a big nose looked back at him from the cover. The Iliad, he read in big red letters.

As he sat at a table, he disturbed some of the chairs, getting angry looks from the people around him. On opening the book, he saw a long poem, stretching through the pages with a few illustrations to break the monotony. The other Homer had been a busy man.

It was something about the Gods of Olympus helping Homer to win a war against someone he couldn’t pronounce. The other Homer must have started that war in the mist of time for his girlfriend’s love.

As Homer tried to understand all about Zeus, Hector, and King Hermes doing their dealings with the Trojans, he saw a book with big boats on its cover, the passengers looking like ants in the upper deck.

It had to be a message from the Gods, wishing to improve his life. Holding the books, he moved along the isle, where mothers and their children sat at the tables.

“I want to take these books home,” he said to the girl behind the desk.

Nodding, she stamped their first page, before looking at the picture of the other Homer in the cover.

“It’s weird,” she said.

“What is it?” Homer asked.

She shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

“Can you meet me tonight?” he asked.

“I have a boyfriend,” she said.

Homer left the library as an orchestra played in the park, and the tramps danced with each other. He had to get his dreams in spite all the obstacles coming his way.

“I’m Homer the Greek,” he muttered to himself.

As the band played the national hymn, Homer barked. The Trojan War made him strong enough to fight for his life, even if the Gods didn’t support him sometimes.

“Hurrah to the president,” a woman said.

“To the president,” some other people said.

Homer remembered a sad looking man who kept on talking about the economy but never did anything about it. The country needed someone else to lead them into the next century. As he moved amongst the crowd, Father Ricardo appeared by his side full of the joys of life.

Plump and without much hair, the priest looked healthy and fat. It had to be all those women keeping him happy with their charms and the love of God in the refectory.

“You should have left the Indians alone,” the priest said.

“They don’t exist.”

“We’ll discuss that another day,” father Ricardo said. “Will you come to mass tonight?”

“I’m busy, father.”

Shaking his head, Father Ricardo moved down the street, where the butcher cut his meat and the grocer put apples in his counter. Everybody worked to feed their families, even if some of them didn’t go to mass or believe in heaven.

Homer found Miguel tidying the boxes of coca in his shop, as thunder echoed around them, bringing turmoil to his soul.




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