sure one can call that the real McCoy, even though I enjoyed it.”
After establishing that I shall join him in the dining car at seven, Señor Castillo departs.
I beam with pleasure as I look out the window. I have barely crossed the border, and tonight I will be dining with a consul general of Mexico and enjoying authentic Mexican food. Maybe I can get him to invite me to his villa or whatever they call the homes of important Mexicans.
This could be the start of a very interesting trip.
11
“So who was that Mexican guy you were talking to in the parlor car?”
Being immediately interrogated by Mr. Watkins, who is still sitting comfortably in my compartment, reading a book, when I enter, does not do my disposition any good. A credit to him, he removes his stocking feet from my seat.
I do a double take at the book he is reading—dark tales from Edgar Allan Poe. He seems the type who would be more inclined to read the Farmer’s Almanac than a tale of mystery and suspense.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but Señor Castillo is a very high-ranking Mexican government official. That we are involved in discussions of an official matter is all I am at liberty to say.”
Let him chew on that one!
“I’m impressed. You have some discussions about the official nature of manure with that cowboy you were with?”
“You’ve been spying on me!”
“Excuse me, but I had to leave the train to eat, too, and saw you with him. Just curious. From the looks of how he carries his six-shooter, I wondered if you were going to hire him to evict me.”
“Oh, would I love that. I just keep hoping that you’ll be gone when I return, but you’re always here, like a bad dream that keeps repeating itself.”
He actually grins at my insult. “You were too busy talking to see me on the street or in the train. So, what does this high-ranking official do for the government?”
“As I said, I am not allowed to discuss it with anyone, especially someone I know nothing about.”
“But I’m your husband … or did you forget?”
“My husband would let me have the lower berth. Now if you’ll excuse me, I am going to freshen up.”
“Good. Then we can have dinner together.”
“Dinner? I’m sorry, but I have accepted a previous invitation. May I have my luggage?”
He bends down and pulls my carpetbag out from under the seat. “It’s rather underfoot, isn’t it?”
“It takes up much smaller space than yours.”
“True, which makes me curious—most women take trunks and or at least three big bags. How did you manage to get everything in this little thing?”
He holds it up like it’s a strange creature and I grab it out of his hands. Even the way he holds my bag annoys me.
“I don’t like lugging around baggage and—and that includes you.”
He gives me a sardonic grin. “Now why would you say that, especially since it is only because of me that you have this sleeper.”
I start a reply but clamp my mouth shut. His statement is, unfortunately, true.
“Good,” he says. “Now we are getting somewhere. Admitting the truth is cleansing to the soul, even if it was just the look on your face. So, dare I say we have a truce at hand?”
“Yes … if you give me the lower.”
“No. What about dinner?”
“No. I already have dinner plans, and to answer your next question, which again is none of your business, yes, it is with that gentleman.”
“I wasn’t going to ask.”
“Uh-huh.” In a pig’s eye. With carpetbag in hand, I open the door to our small washroom. It consists of a small metal sink with a hand pump for water and a mirror cabinet with enough room to store his shaving needs and an empty space for a jar of my skin lotion. The toilets are in the washrooms at the rear end of the car.
There is just enough room for me to squeeze in with my bag. I can’t close the door all the way because there is no light inside. I leave the door ajar, just enough to get some light in, but
After establishing that I shall join him in the dining car at seven, Señor Castillo departs.
I beam with pleasure as I look out the window. I have barely crossed the border, and tonight I will be dining with a consul general of Mexico and enjoying authentic Mexican food. Maybe I can get him to invite me to his villa or whatever they call the homes of important Mexicans.
This could be the start of a very interesting trip.
11
“So who was that Mexican guy you were talking to in the parlor car?”
Being immediately interrogated by Mr. Watkins, who is still sitting comfortably in my compartment, reading a book, when I enter, does not do my disposition any good. A credit to him, he removes his stocking feet from my seat.
I do a double take at the book he is reading—dark tales from Edgar Allan Poe. He seems the type who would be more inclined to read the Farmer’s Almanac than a tale of mystery and suspense.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but Señor Castillo is a very high-ranking Mexican government official. That we are involved in discussions of an official matter is all I am at liberty to say.”
Let him chew on that one!
“I’m impressed. You have some discussions about the official nature of manure with that cowboy you were with?”
“You’ve been spying on me!”
“Excuse me, but I had to leave the train to eat, too, and saw you with him. Just curious. From the looks of how he carries his six-shooter, I wondered if you were going to hire him to evict me.”
“Oh, would I love that. I just keep hoping that you’ll be gone when I return, but you’re always here, like a bad dream that keeps repeating itself.”
He actually grins at my insult. “You were too busy talking to see me on the street or in the train. So, what does this high-ranking official do for the government?”
“As I said, I am not allowed to discuss it with anyone, especially someone I know nothing about.”
“But I’m your husband … or did you forget?”
“My husband would let me have the lower berth. Now if you’ll excuse me, I am going to freshen up.”
“Good. Then we can have dinner together.”
“Dinner? I’m sorry, but I have accepted a previous invitation. May I have my luggage?”
He bends down and pulls my carpetbag out from under the seat. “It’s rather underfoot, isn’t it?”
“It takes up much smaller space than yours.”
“True, which makes me curious—most women take trunks and or at least three big bags. How did you manage to get everything in this little thing?”
He holds it up like it’s a strange creature and I grab it out of his hands. Even the way he holds my bag annoys me.
“I don’t like lugging around baggage and—and that includes you.”
He gives me a sardonic grin. “Now why would you say that, especially since it is only because of me that you have this sleeper.”
I start a reply but clamp my mouth shut. His statement is, unfortunately, true.
“Good,” he says. “Now we are getting somewhere. Admitting the truth is cleansing to the soul, even if it was just the look on your face. So, dare I say we have a truce at hand?”
“Yes … if you give me the lower.”
“No. What about dinner?”
“No. I already have dinner plans, and to answer your next question, which again is none of your business, yes, it is with that gentleman.”
“I wasn’t going to ask.”
“Uh-huh.” In a pig’s eye. With carpetbag in hand, I open the door to our small washroom. It consists of a small metal sink with a hand pump for water and a mirror cabinet with enough room to store his shaving needs and an empty space for a jar of my skin lotion. The toilets are in the washrooms at the rear end of the car.
There is just enough room for me to squeeze in with my bag. I can’t close the door all the way because there is no light inside. I leave the door ajar, just enough to get some light in, but
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