Tales of a Public Well and Environs: Part 3 of 3 (The CoastWatcher: Caribbean West)
News from the Honduras Bay Islands and North Coast
15 April 2001
By Pierre Renaldo, The Coastwatcher©

El Mujeres a la Noche

The final scene opens in Sandy Bay west;

A rip snortin' Saturday night, at about ten P.M., everybody within hearing of the disco's country twangin' music was getting edgy, especially since the same sorry song was being sung for the third time by the same sorry singer. It was just too much and my nerves were raw with outrage. The sound down at the beach bar was turned up louder than ever.

I sauntered over to my good neighbor Fred's front porch, where he and his wife Danielle were trying to converse, but they were even closer to the noise than we were, and conversation was impossible. I motioned for him to follow me back to my house, where I advanced my idea for getting even with the disco. Fred was ecstatic!

My stereo speakers were big, and I mean really big. We wrestled them out onto my front porch, re-strung the wiring, directed the speakers at the offending establishment and set everything up so that our plan would begin at exactly the same moment as when the action at the disco joint resumed. I cranked my output to the max and then our golden opportunity arrived!

The people at the disco were not sure whether there was something wrong with their sound system or the exact nature of the phenomena, but with a smashing crescendo, the "William Tell Overture" began at the same instant as the same old noise from the band. I could tell at once that my watts were overriding anything they could output, and my music was so powerful that the dance hall girls began trying to keep time with none other than the "Lone Ranger, and his great white horse, Silver."

The band quit playing in the middle of the first tune of the set. The girls were romping around to the new beat, (I learned later) and the patrons were joining the action. Nobody knew what was really happening, but an onlooker later reported the following account:

"Four dance hall girls were making some new dance steps that were never danced before. They were chanting a wild call, 'HI JO SILBER, AWAYYYYY!'. He said they laughing and screaming with delight.

If I had been announcing a horserace this is what it may have sounded like:
'And here they come around the first turn! The Lone Ranger in the lead, on his great white horse Silver, followed by his faithful Indian companion, Tonto, who is yelling 'Gitum up, Scout!'

The observer continued his commentary. "The dance hall girls were making believe they were on horses as they galloped around the disco. Everybody was thinking they were riding horses too and the mood was wild and crazy. There was never dancing like this anywhere on the island. 'Carumba! What good times we are having', many exclaimed."

"One of the dance hall girls named Ethel, later proclaimed that 'this was the most times of fun I have ever had in one night.' Alice, the dance hall girl with the pronounced derriere agreed.

"William Tell" went around for the second time and the pace of the dancers was frantic," the observer continued. "Then another wild number. "The Flight of the Bumble Bee", and the fun was just beginning. There was then a long interlude of fast moving opera, then a long session of "Bolero" for the finale. The girls fell down in a heap from exhaustion. Many spectators and dancers joined the heap laughing and cheering."

Fred was delighted at the mere idea that my stereo had overpowered the stupid disco music. We did not know until much later exactly what had transpired down on at the beach bar, but while we were dismantling the speakers, we heard a ruckus with much loud talking and giggling down by the well. We could see the dancers with some of the bar patrons, dumping buckets of water over each other, freshing up. It took a lot of freshing up after such strenuous dancing.

Then a bottle was passed around and the group staggered away, toward Anthony's Key, singing and calling out loudly, "HI JO SILBER. AWAYYYYY!"

"Who was that masked man anyway?" a bystander asked.

_______________________________________

Señora Trueno

Monday morning brought sobering news. Actually it was not news, but some one new. Nobody ever remembered seeing her before, but once you did, you were not likely to forget. Especially if you happened to get in her way or if you were the object of her wrath. She had plenty enough wrath to go around Sandy Bay east and west, at least twice.

'Mrs. Thunder', upon whom the nickname seemed to fit like a glove, was the only one-arm washerwoman I have ever seen. She was short and stocky, with a thick neck like a wrestler, which was probably a result of carrying big loads of wash on her head. She was the first one down at the well that fateful morning, even a little before daylight actually; with the exception of the regular morning parade of water gathering persons from the community, nobody, but nobody was getting near that well until the 'Thunderous One' had departed for the day.

Carmencita, had come to the well for her morning 'fresh up'. She was the smallest and cutest of the dance hall girls and was about to experience first hand, the vehemence which a one-arm washerwoman could inflict on another human being who by some accident of fate got the her way of 'The Big Trueno' while she thought she was busy. "Go back under the garbage from where you came, puta! Can you not see I am busy and that this well is occupied by a person who has to work for a living, not just fiesta all the time?"

I could hear that scolding, actual feel the heat from the scorching all the way up onto my porch. Poor Carmencita walked into a buzz saw while still in a daze from the previous night of partying. She did not hesitate to leave the vicinity immediately and so the one-arm washerwoman, the ogre, the nasty one, the mean old ugly Mrs. Thunder, had begun her tenure as the boss of the public well, at Sandy Bay west.

Like the old saying goes, "Bad news travels fast" and the ladies of the community, who usually did their wash at the well on Monday mornings, had to content themselves by waiting in the shade of the big almond tree where they usually congregated to gossip while waiting their respective turns at the well. The word was all over Sandy Bay east and west that it was wise to steer clear of the fearsome, belligerent, new arrival, who had intruded upon the tranquillity the public well and environs of Sandy Bay west.

Later that same morning, no less than eleven people, by my count, stopped over to tell me how much they had enjoyed my music; what a marvelous idea it had been to play my stereo louder that the disco's and could I do it again the next time the disco played their music too loud? (I was waiting patiently for that twelfth person to pop in but to no avail). I wanted to brag that a dozen people in the neighborhood complimented my brilliant idea to counteract the noise at the disco, that racket that some people think is music.

(Don't you think it sounds more authoritative when you say a dozen people agreed with you, instead of just eleven?)

I did not keep tabs on the one-arm washerwoman after that, because it was just then that Felix came into our lives, and keeping track of him became an almost full time job. Not that Felix was a problem. He was just unusual for a small kitten, and his presence in our lives began a series of events that would fill a book.

And so it did.

You can preview this amusing and intriguing true story of our life with an exceptional household pet, and our survival through Hurricane Mitch, along with Felix and the others. See: "Felix Prince of Cats and Mitch, the Great Storm of the Century" on my book site at: http://www.eroatan.com/cgi-bin/pierre.cgi?books - It is a story for animal lovers of all ages.

I did hear years later, that the one-arm washerwoman kind of disappeared just as mysteriously as when she first showed up and took charge of the well. I never did discover the exact circumstances of her departure, but she is definitely gone. The public well is back to 'normal'. The disco has been closed down by the municipality. Now that's progress!

Oh yes! My ex-landlord is still telling whoppers. Old habits are hard to break.

I'm always happy to answer your questions with honest and timely answers. Just drop me a line at: elouis@globalnet.hn.

Ciao, Pierre

By Pierre Renaldo, Mountain Coastal S.A,. General Contractors, Construction Management and Construction Consultants.