Bus Fare to Somewhere Else (working manuscript)

30 Oct

“Cabrón! Cabrón! Levantate! Hijo de gran puta, maing!”
The knocks came hard and fast. I snapped out of bed disoriented. At first I thought I had been shot. My heart rate pumped up so fast, I started sweating.
“Vámonos, you lazy fack. Let’s go.”
I looked at my wristwatch. Seven. I had been asleep three hours.
“Who is it?”
“Eh, who is it is. Is no time to be they facking comedian. You want to come see this. And now!”
Manolito was my contact at Radio Venceremos, part-time translator, and full-time social director the entire time I’d been in El Salvador. He was a scrawny, feisty ferret of a man who chain smoked Kent cigarettes and ate salted crackers with sardines.
“Hold up, let me get my shit on,” I yelled at the door. He kept pounding. I jumped into my pants, put on a white shirt, and knocked over the opened bottle of tequila that had been stinking, and collecting gnats in the sweltering night.
“What do I need to bring?”
“Only your eyes, Cabrón. Let’s go!”
I opened the door and the morning light exploded into the room. I squinted like a helpless mole. Manolito gripped my elbow hard, and we began running down the small, dusty streets of San Salvador. I was trying to tuck in my shirt with one hand.
“The hell’s going on, Manolo? Where we going?”
“They Sheraton Hotel.”
“The Sheraton?”
“Yea, yea, maing. Vámos, Cabrón. Muevete. Run with me.”
I was hung over and my entire body ached like it had been pummeled mercilessly by some heavyweight with a serious agenda.
“What the fuck is at the Sheraton, for Chrissakes. . .”
“The FMLN, maing. They goh-vernment and FMLN is shooting up floor by floor, putito.”
“At the Sheraton Hotel?”
“Yes, maing. They are shooting and fighting on every floor. And they goh-vernment has some officers and colonels in the courtyard, from the Farabundo, and they going to execute them.”
“Holy shit.”
“Is right.”
We ran the streets now at a crazed, disconnected, flailing pace, trying to get to the besieged hotel. Manolito swung his free arm around and adjusted the falling strap to an open, leather messenger bag draping off his shoulder. I noticed he was carrying a Nagra recorder tucked inside. In all the commotion, I had forgotten to bring anything to jot down what I was about to see.

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4 Responses to “Bus Fare to Somewhere Else (working manuscript)”

  1. Orikinla Osinachi. 30/10/2007 at 6:19 PM #

    Your narrative is engaging and your characters are gripping.

    This is apparently, a successful novel in progress with good description and characterization for a screenplay.

    Were you in El Salvador in reality?

    Cheers and God bless.

  2. (S)wine, Inc. 31/10/2007 at 1:30 PM #

    ok computer.

  3. slyboots2 31/10/2007 at 2:30 PM #

    So this is what we call cooking with gas. Very effective, and potentially dangerous.

    And we love playing with matches, no?

    Well done. I am a happy girl this morning.

  4. dr zombieswan 31/10/2007 at 5:53 PM #

    A bear at the door story. :) Good! :)

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