ambiva-ambulance

i was facing the sea, sitting on the little balcony at the hotel, the
casa maga, next door to a hundred little balconies just like mine. i
was reading 'anticipate every goodbye' and anticipating the taxi ride
to the airport in an hour. the wind whipped up the surf to a
whitewash that day. so unlike the two previous days, which had been
relatively calm. the late afternoon sun gone down behind the hotel at
my back, casting shadow on the white sand below my balcony. the
daytime sunbathers had fled to wash the sand and sun lotion off
before supper, leaving the beach empty save for the daily volleyball
match between the hotel employees just off-duty.

i was reading. my very pregnant wife was sleeping in the chair next
to mine. i was ruminating on poverty in these third world vacation
hotspots, middle-class american gringos like me jacking the local
economy with our midwinter hassle-free vacations (yeah, but it's a
finite universe, and that hassle has to go somewhere else if i'm not
dealing with it at the moment...what poor soul got the hassle i
normally contend with...). my sunburn was giving me at least a little
hassle, anyway.

and sulivan, like a balm. he never eases my conscience. he just
reminds me that i have one, that i can trust it, and that my hungry
spirit is just as poor as everyone else's around here.