Cave of Little Faces. Aída Besançon Spencer
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sautéed in cinnamon and honey.
“What a lovely little town,” enthused Star.
“It’s the best looking one we’ve seen yet,” agreed Basil. “Best” for Basil meant prosperous and, sitting as it did in the midst of great fields of waving green plantain orchards, lined with protecting coconut palms, and filled with mango trees, it was lush and luxurious, particularly after the stark wilderness from which they had just felt themselves delivered.
So, a very contented Basil and Star strolled from the reasonable little restaurant, paused before their truck, and got their bearings from the little guidebook. Now, with full stomachs, they envisioned from the map’s promise that the rest of the trip was, indeed, a fairly straight shot to the coast and to the major city (by peninsula standards) of Barahona. More lush greenery spread ahead as far as they could see. And, as they traveled along, their first impression seemed accurate enough. A number of fair little towns and beautiful hills suggested to both of them this was, indeed, a perfect place to set up shop and exploit their idea.
But, just as they were ready to hunker down in Barahona and start to put the scam together, they made another intriguing discovery.
6
The afternoon was growing late, but Basil and Star were meandering along slowly now, savoring the fields of sugarcane, corn, plantain, and the orchards of coconut palms, mangos, lemons, and a variety of other delights.
“This is so beautiful,” Star repeated over and over again. All the land seemed so spacious and enchanting. A little run of stands perched beside the road with folks who looked a little different than those they had seen previously, and all of them were elderly. No one appeared to be under eighty among them. Still, when Star waved, they would nod and some would flutter a hand back in her direction. Thick trees and bushes surrounded these stalls, which seemed to sit next to tiny footpaths that disappeared back into the overgrowth.
A feeling of contentment suffused them both, not least of which was because of the meal that glowed within.
And then, to their left, they came upon a site that would be of great importance to their lives. A lovely meadow gave way to a beautiful floodplain and both of their mouths dropped open. A different lake, spacious and elegant, bordered by forested mountains on its far side and complete access through wetlands on their side, lay glistening in the slanting afternoon sun.
“Wow!” said Star.
“Double wow!” said Basil. “This is more compact than the big lake.”
“And way more beautiful,” added Star.
“It is at that.”
“And, look, there doesn’t seem to be anybody living next to it and it’s far off the road. It doesn’t look like it’s taking over.”
“You’re right!”
“And, look, Bo, there’s some kind of sign.”
Basil slowed to a stop, took in the sign, and then, without a word, turned into an empty gravel parking area before a small two-story building, newly painted in a festive light green. “This is an observatory,” he said to Star, rather unnecessarily because her grasp of Spanish was better than his.
A woman emerged with a big smile, delighted to receive visitors. This, she announced proudly, was Laguna Cabral Rincon on her side and Laguna Cristobal Rincon on the far side, depending on which side one was on, and, therefore, which side laid claim to it. For short, it was called “Lake Rincon.”
To their delight, they learned:
1. It was a government tourist spot, yes, but the land was both publically and privately owned.
2. It allowed fishing and boating, including sightseeing excursions controlled by the local towns.
3. In the morning, flamingos flew up from the lake and flew back in the early evening.
4. It had no crocodiles!
It was stirring information!
To the guide’s gracious invitation, they mounted the stairs to the second floor, which turned out to be a barracks for the police who guarded the lake (none of whom were present, to Basil and Star’s relief, as they were both allergic to police of any stripe or duty). The barracks provided visitors as well as the guardians with a wide porch that served as an observatory. The guide unlocked the small barracks and retrieved a huge handheld set of binoculars that she offered to them. First Basil then Star focused on the lake—it was breathtaking.
“Who are those people walking?” Star asked, training in on a small knot of women bearing large white bundles on their heads as they picked their way through footpaths in the green wetlands down toward the lakeside.
“The lake is very clean,” said the observatory guide. “They are Haitians going to wash their family’s clothing in the lake.”
“Hot dog!” cried Basil. “It’s so clean you can wash clothes in it!”
“This little lake has everything,” said Star.
“It does indeed,” confirmed the guide.
Back on the tree-lined highway, the Heitzes were no longer marveling at the plantains and palms and mangos and whatall. The dense foliage had now become an annoyance to them.
“We got to get above this all and get a decent view of what we’re talking about here. Maybe we can do the scam at the big lake all right, but this one suggests some kind of legitimate tourist business we can horn in on. I don’t see anything on this side like an amusement park or a boardwalk or anything. This all just looks like a nature reserve. It’s begging to be exploited—I mean—developed.”
“Right,” said Star. “New jobs for the locals. Lots of tourists. Sort of like Niagara Falls without the falls.”
“It’s a public service we’re offering,” said Basil.
Nearby they found what they were seeking. “How about I take the truck up this little mountain a bit and we can look this little lake over before we turn back? This way we don’t have to drive all around it.”
“That’s the ticket,” said Star.
Basil turned the truck off the main road and started up the hill. The view promised to be perfect, initially showing a stretch of the shoreline that looked a lot more barren than what they had seen below. But no sooner had they begun to climb when the dense foliage closed everything off. Basil kept ascending up and up, but every time he thought the foliage would break for a better view, the trees and vegetation still obscured it. “Let me look at the map,” he grunted, guiding the car to a little level place in a dip in the hill, leaving his foot on the brake, though it hardly seemed necessary since he was in a hollow space with the road rising before and behind them. “Let’s see if we’ve got any other choices for an overview.”
“I wonder what’s up with the blue line,” mused Star, staring out the window at the road, which she noticed now was cut into the side of the mountain like an unwelcome scar.
“I don’t see any other choice, but these hills,” grumbled Basil. “Maybe we’re gonna have to drive around it to get a better look, but that would be a mistake today. It’s bright enough now, but once night comes on—oh boy! There are no street lights and we want to be pulling into Barahona by twilight. We still need to find a place to stay. We’ve got a long way to go. There must be an opening some place in these woods!”
Basil took his foot off the brake, craning around, trying to see if he could get any decent glimpses of the lake between the trees, when an astonishing thing happened. He had put the little truck into neutral to pause and look at the map, but, before he could put it into gear, it suddenly began moving swiftly backwards—speeding rapidly up the incline behind him. “What on earth?” he exclaimed.
“Why are you driving backwards?” demanded Starling.
“I’m not driving backwards!”