The Traveling Companion

Early on the trip, Eleanor announced she was going to lose 20 kilos of her bulk, but then she ordered a huge bowl of meat stew with fries on the side. When Harry pointed out that this wasn’t going to help her lose weight, she poked at the food, then abandoned it altogether. She scowled on the way back to the holiday villa and gave Harry the silent treatment for the rest of the evening.

Next day, Eleanor talked about going into town for pizza, but didn’t do so. She had said she was an experienced solo traveller, in her sixties, fit and able to entertain herself. However, she constantly expected her travel companion to join in what she wanted to do which, inevitably, included “meandering” along a beach comprised of black clay and strewn garbage. The country wasn’t what it seemed to be on the internet.

She boasted about her Spanish, but when it came to saying something, the words seemed stuck in her throat. She looked with disapproval when Harry watched Spanish news or listened to local music (which grated on her nerves). She said: “I don’t want to know what’s going on, in the world.” Instead, she immersed herself in a thick book, shutting off all communication. They might have seemed like a long-married couple but had met just a few weeks ago on a travel-companion site for seniors.

She had her own bedroom. Getting up in the mornings, she would make coffee but left barely leave enough for Harry. However, she did manage a “Good morning” before disappearing into her book. This became routine.

One day, on a local bus, when an attendant came by to shut the windows due to an impending downpour, she insisted on keeping it open, for “fresh air,” as she said — irrespective of what other passengers might have wanted. When the rain started flying in, she shut it herself, miffed at having been proven wrong.

Eleanor said she loved walking in the rain, claiming “A little rain wont hurt.” But once it poured, she meekly accepted a plastic poncho; then she hunted around for an umbrella but wouldn’t buy one, insisting they were too expensive. Her default attitude was disapproval of her travel partner; it was in her tone of voice and in the look on her face.

On another day, she had gone on a river boat-trip while Harry stayed home. When she returned in the evening, she showed him images on her cell phone – barely discernible crocodiles and birds taken at a great distance in the bush.  “That’s a cockatoo or something like it. Maybe a mina bird or a papagayo … anyway, some kind of bird.” The river water was a dirty brown, and there had been a myriad of mosquitoes and leeches. Harry was glad he remained at home. He didn’t want to contract dengue.

Five million kilometres from planet Earth, a man-made satellite was descending to the surface of a meteor travelling at 135 thousand miles per hour, its mothership orbiting protectively in the dark infinity above. Its mission: to find clues to the origin of human life, to fill in the big picture as to who humankind is and what our purpose might be. As this historic event was in progress, back on the ground, humans scrambled for food and shelter, reproduced, murdered each other, or had sex to escape the emptiness of their lives, as ignorant and fearful as the day they were born.

The sun was just poking its head through the clouds hanging over nearby hills as a grounds keeper, going about his endless routine, spotted what he thought was an inflatable raft in the pool, the kind children like to play on while their parents are busy having gin and tonics on the patio. But it wasn’t a raft. It was an expansive woman floating face down, seemingly studying the bottom of the pool, arms out at her sides, perfectly still, except for a bit of wavy motion from a little bit of skirt on her pink bathing costume. When she did not respond to his calls, the man prodded her back with a long pole used to skim leaves off the water.

“Muerta?” he inquired, squinting against the sun’s reflection. He sighed as he took out his cell phone to call the resort manager. It was going be a long, difficult day. The police would come, and who knows how long they would take. He had work to do before it got unbearably hot, but it would not get done today.

Harry was asleep as Eleanor’s body bobbed gently in the pool. It was past nine in the morning when he rubbed his eyes, yawned, and wondered what to do with the day. He and Eleanor had jointly rented a casita in a so-called “luxury” compound. The price was reasonable, but there was dengue in the area, and this had cleared out a few of the villas. Some guests had gone home after lengthy hospital stays. Now there was a body floating in the pool.

“Don’t touch the body,” the man was saying as the manager of the compound arrived, holding a hand before her mouth. “Santa Maria….” Harry was summoned. He came to the pool wearing a pair of shorts and clutching a cup of coffee. “Jesus. Is that Eleanor?” is all he managed to say.

Harry took a bus to the capital. He stayed in a small hotel, mostly used by backpackers, but offering private rooms at a reasonable price. The staff was friendly and spoke English. He spent his days wandering the grand shopping Avenida Central, with its small shops and eateries. He noted how people were well-dressed, although many of the women had fat bottoms packaged in tightly fitting jeans or micro-mini skirts bordering on the vulgar. Maybe the ladies are desperate to attract mates, he thought. But there was rice and beans, beer, white bread, and fried food, so what could you expect? KFC was making its entrance into the country, undermining an otherwise healthy life.

He sat at the picture window of the KFC, staring at the traffic. The afternoon rain had just started. People were scurrying for cover. For a second, he thought of the satellite descending onto the meteor, and he recalled Eleanor without an umbrella at the city’s market. Silly cow, he thought. Then it poured and poured.