A perfect night
Chapter 14. Grandfather Jairo’s funeral
Mexico City, DF, Mexico
One night before leaving Nicaragua, while still waiting for the nightfall, the fishermen, and the few troops scattered on the beach, agreed it was the perfect night for transporting personnel: made-to-order and couldn’t-have-been-better; or so they said. Sure enough, the rain was a constant downpour, with a heavily overcast sky. The foreboding sky had closed into itself, and what’s more, three moonless nights were successively expected, starting that same night. It was a perfect night…
While we were waiting for the departure orders, I met the fisherman in charge of our boat. His name, as he proudly informed me, was José Israel Hernandez. He was a fisherman from the nearby Nicaraguan port of Corinto. He was a tall, slender fellow. His graceful movements were deliberate, paused and unhurried, conveying the impression of a self-assured and reliable man.
As it turned out during the conversation, he knew my grandfather Jairo well. José was a kid at the time (such a small world…). They both had occasionally fished together in the waters close-by to the port. When he found out that I was Jairo’s granddaughter, his face lit up with an affectionate smile.
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