The Night of the Iguana Page #4

so you could get your rake off.

All of the girls in this party

have dysentery.

That you cannot blame me for.

I passed out mimeographed instructions:

What to eat, what not to eat,

what to drink, what not to drink.

It's not what, but where

we ate that gave us dysentery.

It's not dysentery, not

even amoebic. It's nothing...

It's Montezuma's revenge.

That's what we call it down here:

Aztec two-step.

Do you? Well, I intend to have

my revenge, Dr. Shannon.

Honey, I don't think even old Fred

could have calmed her down.

You go lie down.

- Okay, Shannon.

- What you gonna do?

Did you ever have a shave

by a lady barber?

I can shave myself, Maxine.

With those shakes?

How long you had them, Shannon?

They've been incubating ever since the trip

started. It's been a nightmare all the way.

Culminating with the Witch of Endor

threatening to hound me to the grave.

That's when blind panic took over.

That's when the spook moved in.

Is that all your spook is, honey?

Just panic?

Maxine, don't say "just panic"

like you'd say "just leprosy."

Panic's serious.

Who'd Madame Lafarge

put that phone call to?

- Some judge in Corpus Christi.

- I knew it.

- Where you going?

- To tear that phone out...

In a pig's eye!

That phone cost me 1200 pesos

to get in here.

You just lie back, baby,

and when I get you all prettied up...

...l'll go and cancel that call.

I see you got your gold cross on.

Thinking about going back to the church?

I wrote my old bishop last night,

a letter of complete capitulation.

How come you don't quit

kidding yourself?

You ain't thinking about going back

to no church...

...or you wouldn't be so scared of losing

this cotton-picking job of yours.

You know, folks don't go to church

to hear atheistical sermons being preached.

Damn it to hell. I never preached an atheist

sermon in church in all my life.

All right, baby, all right.

What size shoe you wear, baby?

I do not get the point of that question.

Well, these shoes look shot to me.

If I remember correctly

you only travel with one pair.

Now, old Fred's estate includes

one good pair of shoes.

And your feet look about the same size.

I loved old Fred, Maxine,

but I do not want to fill his shoes.

You could do worse, baby.

You could do worse.

Which way is the sea?

It's right down there, but we can't see it

because of the trees.

I can feel it and smell it.

It's the cradle of life.

Are these two with your party?

They look like a couple of loonies.

Life began in the sea.

Oh! Oh, how do you do?

Hello.

Have you ever tried helping a gentleman...

...who can't walk,

uphill through a rain forest?

No. I wouldn't even try it downhill.

Anything I can do for you folks?

Well, now that we've made it,

I don't regret the effort.

What a view for a painter!

They told me in the town

this was the ideal place for a painter.

And they weren't exaggerating.

Anything I can do for you?

Yes, yes, I'm looking for

the manager of the hotel.

Oh, that's me. Speaking.

You're the manager. Oh, good.

I'm Hannah Jelkes. How do you do?

- Mrs...?

- Faulk. Maxine Faulk.

You're looking for rooms?

Yes, yes, we are, but we've come

without reservations.

Well, honey, we're closed in August,

except for a few special guests.

Well, look at them.

If they're not special, who the hell is?

Honey, that old man ought to be

in a hospital.

No. Oh, no, no, he just sprained

his ankle a little this morning.

Come on, Grandpa. Two steps,

one, two. There you are.

Hannah, tell the lady

that my frailty is temporary.

I will soon be able to crawl

and then to toddle.

And before long I'll be leaping

around here like an old mountain goat.

Yes, yes, Grandfather, I explained that.

Tell the lady that I know some hotels

don't want to take dogs, cats or monkeys.

And some don't even solicit the patronage

of infants in their late 90s.

But assure her...

...that if she'll forgive my

disgraceful longevity...

...and this temporary decrepitude...

...I will present her with the last signed

copy of my first volume of verse.

Published in... When, Hannah?

The day that President William McKinley

was assassinated, Nonno.

My grandfather is the poet

Jonathan Coffin.

He is 97 years young.

And he will be 98 years young...

...on the 5th of October.

- Old folks are remarkable.

Hey, the phone!

Did you cancel that call?

When the hell did I have time?

Did I talk too much?

Have I been talking too much again?

I'm afraid that he has.

I don't think she's going to take us.

Her eyes said "no"

in big blue capital letters.

Oh, I shouldn't worry about that.

She'll take you in, all right.

The Judge Truman Fellowes

on the telephone.

Must be old butch's brother.

Wouldn't have a husband.

Anyway, I said she'd checked out,

canceled the call.

Maxine, you're larger than life.

Shall we register now?

You can register

any time you want.

But I gotta collect 6 dollars

from you right now...

...if you want your name in the pot.

Six dollars.

Three dollars each.

You see, out of season like this...

...we operate on the modified

American plan.

Oh, I see. Yes, well...

...we usually operate on a

special basis ourselves.

What do you mean, operate?

Here is our card.

I think you may have heard of us.

We've had quite a few write-ups.

My grandfather is the oldest living

and practicing poet.

And he gives recitations.

I paint watercolors

and I'm a quick sketch artist.

We travel together

and we pay our way as we go...

...by my grandfather's recitations...

...and by the sale of quick character

sketches in charcoal and pastel.

I usually pass among the tables

during lunch and dinner, slowly.

I wear an artist's smock...

...picturesquely dabbed with paint.

I don't push myself on people.

I just display my work.

And I smile sweetly at them,

and if invited to do so...

...I sit down and make

a quick character sketch.

And Gramps?

I introduce him as the world's oldest

living and practicing poet.

If invited, he gives a recitation

of one of his poems.

Of course, they were all written

a very long time ago...

...but do you know

he has started a new poem?

For the first time in 20 years

he has started another poem.

Hasn't finished it yet.

He still has his inspiration but his power

of concentration has weakened a little.

Right now, Gramps

ain't concentrating at all.

He's just catching forty winks.

Gramps.

Gramps.

Time to hit the sack, Gramps.

- Now, you just wait a minute.

- Please.

We've tried every hotel

in Puerto Vallarta.

They wouldn't take us.

I'm afraid I have to place myself

at your mercy.

Okay. Looks like you're in

for one night, but just one.

- Thank you.

- Where's your luggage?

No luggage?

I hid it behind some palmettos at the foot

of the path with Grandfather's wheelchair.

Pepe.

They're chasing an iguana.

What will they do with it?

Tie him up, fatten him up

and eat him up.

Pepe.

Okay, honey. You and Gramps

can have bungalow nine.

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