Page 111 - Exile-ebook

110 AN EXILE OF THE MIND A BOXCAR TO PALENQUE 111

A boxcar to Palenque

Marched off at gunpoint. Breaking morality laws in the park.
Our national monument apartment. In the grip of a President.
Down and out in Mexico.

quinting uneasily down the barrel of a gun, David showed his
SBritish passport instead of his Canadian one. A ragged band
of brigands with revolvers in their belts and brandishing carbines
became increasingly agitated at the sight of the document, with
twitchy fingers on the triggers ready to pull at the slightest move.
Dragged off the truck we had earlier hitched, we were
marched off at gunpoint towards the forest. My cries of “Yo
no soy Americano,” went unheeded. Our driver, quick to flag
down a passing army vehicle, pointed a finger in our direction.
Soldiers surrounded the gunmen as we sneaked back to the
safety of the truck. The scraggy group were army reservists. A
little touchy because enemy guerrillas from the nearby hills used
them for target practice. David had forgotten all about the Anglo-
Guatemala dispute when he produced his passport. He was
becoming a liability in this part of the world.
Two days earlier we had crossed a choppy Amatique Bay from
Punta Gorda on the east coast of British Honduras in a motor-
propelled dory. I sat to starboard of this unseaworthy boat copping
a face full of spray as it dipped into the waves and watched my
precious scout hat whipped away in the wind to disappear beneath
the waves. David had chatted up a female passenger and took
her to a movie that evening in Puerto Barrios. She made a quick
getaway afterwards and vanished into the darkened streets.

El Arco de Santo Catarina, Antigua, Guatemala.