Don't Kill The Cow Too Quick

Excerpt from Chapter 1

Back at the airport, we found a table in a shaded outdoor café. Nearby sat a young
girl in a neat blue uniform.
"There is a lot to be said for school uniforms," Pat remarked.
It appeared the three of us were the only passengers for the flight to Bocas. Pat and I
were the first into the little plane. We took the two front seats and were adjusting our
belts when the girl passed by and entered the cockpit, taking the seat next to the pilot.
"Probably the pilot's girlfriend," I remarked.
"More like his daughter," was Pat's comment.
Through the open door we could see the girl in the co pilot's seat. She was playing
with the instruments.
"Can you imagine that being allowed back home?" I asked.
"Quaint," said Pat.
"She’s starting the engine," I said as the single prop struggled into life.
"Hey, remember you got us into this," said Pat with a trace of nervousness.
We started down the runway gaining momentum. The girl pulled back on the joystick
and we rose rapidly above the fertile coastal plain looking down on fields of rice and
sugar cane.
Moments later we were over the foothills of the Continental Divide and below us were
fenced farms with cattle and horses. Continuing our climb toward clouds that
shrouded the mountaintops, the scene below changed yet again and we were above
steep hillsides of neatly regimented coffee trees. This side of the divide the rainfall is
moderate and, depending on the altitude, a variety of crops flourish. I had read that
the province of Chiriqui is the breadbasket of Panama.
The girl took us into a steep climb, lifting into thick cloud. The ride became a
nightmare, with the little plane bouncing about like a cork in the eddy of a waterfall. I
felt Pat's hand tighten its grasp on mine. A curtain of gray covered the windows. In a
fleeting gap we caught a glimpse of the summit of Volcan Baru, Panama’s highest
mountain, above us and to the left but then it was gone.
"How does she know how high to go?” asked Pat.
"Instruments," I answered through clenched teeth.
We both closed our eyes.
"Please God, get us out of this one," I begged.
God heard me and took pity. We began to descend and dropped down into crystal
clear weather and our first sight of the archipelago with its five major islands and
myriad of surrounding islets. We were in awe of its beauty. Bathed in the soft tones of
evening light and encased in the pinks of a spectacular sunset, the scene immediately
won a place in our hall of favorite memories.
The girl achieved a feather bed landing and we relaxed our grip on each other's hand.
"Wonderful flight!” I called through the open door of the cockpit. “Wouldn’t have
missed it for anything.”
The girl smiled. I don't know if she understood me.
"Gracias," she said and continued with a rapid stream of Spanish that I think was an
apology for the bumpy ride.


Excerpt from Chapter 2

In the morning we ventured to cross the water to visit Andino's store. Pat stood in the
bow with bowline in hand, ready to jump ashore and make fast the boat. I had spent
the first part of the morning practicing nautical maneuvers under the tutelage of
Ramon, Indian caretaker, a man of amazing tact and patience.
As we approached the market, I saw several men standing on the dock with
apparently nothing to do but watch our arrival. Their presence distracted my
concentration and I forgot Ramon's caution to reduce speed early and come in slowly.
I was barraged by instructions shouted from the watching group.
"Cut it, Mister.”
"Take it slow, Capt'n," and, "Put in reverse for Christ's sake, Mon."

I followed the last suggestion and thrust the gear lever straight into reverse, completely
forgetting to pause in neutral. There was an unhappy sound of grinding gears and then
silence. The engine had stalled and I was left without stopping power. While I looked
back at the engine in disgust, we continued forward till the bow hit the concrete dock
head on with an ominous sound of splitting fiberglass.
Pat was thrown forward into the arms of a black Hercules.
"Nice catch, Mon. Now put the lady down,” advised one of the spectators.
Pat thanked her savior and then turned to glare at me.
"Do that again, and I’m going home," she said with justification.
Andino’s supermarket was our first surprise. It measured only some sixty feet by
twenty. With two center displays, the aisles were barely shoulder width apart, making
it often impossible to pass other people without bodily contact. The alternative was to
move at the leisurely pace of the person in front or to go into reverse and approach
from another aisle. The range of foods and necessities was utilitarian and geared to
local tastes and needs.
In spite of Virginia's efforts to keep us safe from harm, it was not long before my first
visit to the emergency room at the Bocas hospital.
On the fourth day, I came back from town carrying a carton piled high with groceries
over which I could not see. I was walking to the house, keeping to the center of the
dock by looking down at my feet.

As I neared the shore, I caught sight of a movement to my right. Looking up, I saw a
young white boy walking the beach. I was taken aback. I did not know there was
anyone other than Joan and Ron on this part of the island. Still looking at the stranger,
I veered to the right and fell off the dock into the sea. My left foot caught the edge of
the dock and was wrenched backwards.
Groping to catch floating oranges and to salvage bags of coffee and sugar, I was
aware of acute pain in my ankle.
During a sleepless night of throbbing agony, my ankle grew to the size of my thigh. I
called Virginia early in the morning and she organized my rescue from the island and
delivered me by taxi to the hospital.
X rays, pain pills, and a plaster cast cost me eleven dollars. I was almost sorry to hear
I had not broken my ankle. It seemed unjust to have to suffer intense pain for just a
sprain.
"The doctor said it is an extremely bad sprain," I told fellow members of the Gringo
(foreign) community, but Gringos are not sympathetic to one who walks off his own
dock. I hobbled around town, miserable about the snorkeling I imagined I would have
been doing.
Soon after my accident, I appointed Virginia to be our agent. I started paying her a
monthly retainer to do her best to keep us out of trouble. She took her duties
seriously, even to the extent of trying to keep me clean and smart looking.
"Senor Malcolm, you look all raca taca. Your shirt has spots on it. You have not shaved
properly and your socks don't match."
"I am sorry!" I said. "It is all because of this leg of mine."
"You should be ashamed of yourself," she reprimanded me, ignoring my plea of
mitigation.

"Have you done your homework?" She would often ask. Spanish classes had
become part of our daily routine.
In the mornings, Pat painted at the dining room table and drew the plans for the
building of a more practical easel, additional furniture and the studio Peter would build
after our return to the States. Occasionally, she took time off to play cards with Joan.
My office was one-half of the downstairs bedroom. At first, I found the jungle's close
proximity a distraction. I would start e mails to folks battling winter storms up north
with an account of the view from my window and the mention that when work was over
I would be windsurfing. I found working from a distance to be productive. I got more
done in less time without the distraction of visitors or verbose phone calls. Often, I
would fire off an e-mail to our staff at the start of their workday, just to let them know I
was still on the team.
Virginia was teaching at the high school and in the afternoons when school was over,
she came to teach Spanish to Pat and me. I am unable to roll my “r’s” and that put me
at a disadvantage, but I loved the language. I made good progress, even though my
pronunciation would never amount to much.
In my own school days, I was hopeless at languages, along with every other subject
except geography, where my painstakingly drawn maps won praise. Now, I found
myself enjoying learning for the first time.

Excerpt from Chapter 6

At the Buena Vista those who have property for sale were the most courteous to the
new white faces, often treating them to a couple of rounds of drinks and inviting them
to sit at their table.
The conversation might have gone like this:
"Down here for vacation?" the property man asked, addressing what appeared to be
a husband and wife team.
"Sort of," they responded in unison.
"Oh, what else are you doing?"
This question appeared to be no more than casual interest but in reality was the first,
all important, opening play.
"Well, we thought we would look at property. Hal's due to retire in two years," said the
wife.
You did not have to hear the conversation to know what was happening. When the
property man moved closer to the new face, you knew the scent was strong. He was
looking for the opening that would allow him to claim this lamb for his own.
"How did you come to choose Bocas?" asked the property man.
"The Internet," said the husband.
"Oh, did you see my listing of properties on the net?"
"We only saw The Blue Lagoon Properties,” said the wife, causing the property man
to wince.
"Are there other properties?" asked the husband, bringing the smile back to the
property man’s face.
"Well, yes, my partner and I have several properties to sell. Our web site is Bocas
Bargains. I am Bunty Bunker and my partner is Luigi Lachioni. But forget that, I would
not want to step on the toes of Porky Francis and The Blue Lagoon."
"Well, maybe we could see your properties if we don't find what we are looking for with
Mr. Francis,” said the wife tentatively.
"Porky Francis has several properties to show you on some of the smaller islands,"
the property man paused to signal Cheto to refill the visitors’ glasses.
"Salud!" The property man raised his glass to the visitors.
"Salud!" responded the visitors, clinking glasses with the property man and thinking
how fortunate they were to get into conversation with this person.
"To continue," said the property man looking thoughtful, "Old Porky has some sweet
little islands and, if it is peace and quiet you want, he is the right man for you."
"Good," said the visitors, feeling fortunate.
"Being on one of those islands, you will have all the seclusion you want. Why, you
could be dead for a week and no one but your lady wife would know."
"Well, we don't have to be quite so far out, and we will have a cell phone,” said the
man, placing his hand reassuringly on his wife's knee.
"Cell phones d property man. Then, feeling that it was time to bring in reinforcements
and swing these folks in the direction of Bocas Bargains, said, "You going to eat?
The best food in town is right here. My wife Suzie has a table over there. Let's join
her."
"Thank you, but we don't want to barge in on you," again the couple spoke in harmony.
"Nonsense," said the property man, placing his hand on the lady's shoulder. "We are
all family in Bocas. We are here to help each other."
"Not for me, one of those small islands," said Suzie
"Why?” asked the visitors.
"I like to have electricity and fresh water, and I hate sand flies. They breed like lice in
the mangroves," Suzie confided.
"The properties looked so attractive in the photos," said the wife.
"Yes, they are attractive, but did you notice the mangroves?" asked the property man.
"They are the dark green bushes all along the shore. They surround the islands, and
you are not allowed to touch them. They are the breeding ground for barracudas and
other fish."
"Do you have a card?" asked the man. "Your advice is most interesting. We’ll
definitely consult you before making any decision."

Chapter 12    The Farm Begins

I named the farm Finca Tranquilla, Tranquil Farm. The name speaks of how I wished
life at the farm to one day become, but first there was a great deal of work to do.
"Jefe, the finca needs plenty work." Felipe was envisioning an army of men under his
command. "I need plenty time to clear the jungle."
We were sitting in his wooden house on the other side of the lagoon. He had given
me the seat of honor, an armchair of Victorian era, probably discarded from the home
of a banana company executive. I suspected its springs had given out before it came
into Felipe's possession.
I would have rather been sitting on the wooden crate occupied by Felipe. The crate
had height advantage. I leaned back to establish the relaxed, in control posture of a
boss. The back creaked ominously, and I quickly sat upright and shifted my weight to
the front edge of the chair.
"When did you let the jungle take over the farm?" I needed to put Felipe on the
defensive.
"Not long, Jefe. It not my fault I no keep the farm clean. I have plenty problem with
them." Felipe gestured with his head to Dilma, his wife; Berta, his daughter; and
Ricardo, Berta’s husband.
Dilma was at the charcoal fire that smoldered in an extension to the one room house.
She had a gentle face with a sloping forehead and a friendly smile. She was
considerably overweight from a diet predominantly consisting of plantains, yucca and
dachin.   Ricardo, Berta and a child stood in the shadows looking on. Dilma and
Berta did not speak English. Ricardo did, but Felipe appeared not to mind him
hearing where the blame was being placed.
"He drinks plenty and no work. He goes to Changuinola and he no come back for
days, and when he does he's drunk," Felipe told me in a confidential manner,
establishing a separation between the two of us and his son-in-law.
"How will we get the farm cleaned up?" I asked.
"I will need six men for a week," Felipe told me.
"That makes seven of you. Not counting Sunday, that means forty-two man days.   It's
too much. I will have to talk with Senior Dave."
At the mention of Dave Cerutti’s name, a troubled look clouded Felipe’s face. Dave
Cerutti and his wife Linda live at the far end of the next door lagoon. They were then
the only Gringos living permanently in either of the lagoons. Tobe, a West Indian,
assists Dave in the management of his finca. Tobe has a reputation for being a
shrewd manager.
"Jefe, how about three men then," Felipe offered.
"Two and you."
Felipe smiled, "Jefe, you are a hard man. How you expect me to supervise the men
and work?"
"Easy. You work alongside them."
"Who do the other things that need be done?"
"What other things?"
"Fishing. How I feed my family if I no fish? You no want we go hungry?"
"Felipe, I am paying you to work eight hours a day. You fish in the evening or send
Ricardo or Berta to fish."
We settled on two extra men for a week.
"Jefe, I need three machetes and a box of files to sharpen the machetes."
"Fine!” I said. "I will buy them at the Cooprativa and bring them in the morning."
"Jefe, I need money for gas."
"Why?"
Again the patient smile that was intended to make me realize how little I know about
farming.
"Jefe, I have to go look for the two men."
I parted with ten dollars for gas, telling Felipe to be sure to get me a receipt.
"Jefe, I need boots. You bring me boots tomorrow?"
Felipe explained to me that it is customary for Jefes to provide boots for their full time
workers. While I am considering this, he signaled to Dilma and she came forward
with a smoked fish.
"Jefe, you eat. Dilma, she make very good smoke fish especially for you."
I picked the fish up with my fingers. It was hot to hold. I carefully bit into its side.
Felipe was right, it was delicious. I signaled my appreciation to Dilma. Her fat face
assumed a modest smile.
"What size boots?"
"Seven," said Felipe with a look of triumph.
"Jefe, you please bring us rice and tins of tuna when you come tomorrow. We short of
food till you pay me. I then repay you."
"Why tuna? There are plenty of fish in the lagoon."
"Berta prefer tuna," Felipe said and then asked, "You like Dilma's fish?"
"Yes, it is excellent."
"I give you two fish to take. One for you and one for your lady."
"Thank you," I said.
"Jefe, you lend me ten dollars now and I repay you?"
I handed over ten dollars and decided it was high time to leave. As I headed the boat
out of the lagoon, I looked back to Felipe's house. The four of them were standing on
their little dock watching me. I waved and they waved backed.
"What are they saying?" I wondered.
I had an uneasy feeling they were celebrating the dawn of a new era, one in which they
will be well looked after. I thought, provided Felipe does a good job of taking care of
the farm, it will be worth it. Then, I realized I forgot to ask for a receipt for the ten
dollars cash advance.