Look at the Sun by Don Carswell

Author:Don Carswell [Carswell, Don]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-02-08T15:44:02+00:00

Crossing into Honduras, the mountains become wilder, higher and much more jagged. Ridge after undulating ridge of corrugated earth is visible as I stare into the distance, each one taller, darker and mistier than its predecessor, until the most distant row of peaks becomes a hazy, purple, barely-discernable silhouette. A smattering of browns and tans of assorted hues joins the innumerable shades of green in the landscape’s palette, particularly in the places where erosion and rocky outcrops have overtaken the steepest slopes. Menacing shadows in the resulting crags add an air of mystery and depth to the rugged scenery.

The bus passes through swathes of brilliant sun-blasted green-and-brown countryside and magnificent valleys. An extremely violent American film, dubbed into Spanish, plays on the video screen. My quiet contemplation is heavily punctuated by on-screen explosions, gunshots, beatings and stabbings. There are only about a dozen passengers on this bus, so I have a double seat to myself. A few of the passengers talk quietly amongst themselves; others distractedly watch the video. A few seats in front of me, a woman is crunching loudly on chicharrones. It sounds like a bag of bolts being dropped into a garbage disposer. For a moment the sound of the munched chicharrones blends with that of the movie’s machine-gun fire and gives me the feeling of being in an actual war zone.

I’m glad to be out of Nicaragua, but what do I do now? To make matters worse, the bus pulls over without warning at a military checkpoint and we are directed to disembark; then we are all lined up against a wall with the blazing afternoon sun pouring down on us like molten steel. With the sun in our eyes the jackbooted soldiers request our passports. Just what I need. A rush of anxiety washes over me like a rogue wave. Are they looking at me? Will they notice that my heart is thumping like a discotheque? Do they already have my name, and will they arrest me on the spot? Will I pass out in this intense heat?

I continue standing in the sun for several minutes, struggling to shield my eyes from the light. I still have this nagging worry about my retinas, and it irritates me that I do, but it’s way too bright to look at the sun anyway. On top of all this, the insect bite on my neck, an unintended souvenir from my first night in Panama, has started bothering me again. It seemed never to really heal right, and now I could swear it is swelling up again. It doesn’t hurt so much as itch, but the itching is intense. When I go to scratch it the skin depresses, almost as if there is some kind of cavernous space under my skin. It strikes me that I never picked up the malaria preventative. What if I have malaria? I make a mental note to see a doctor, whenever and if ever I get the chance.

I survive the brief encounter with the military police, which is never explained, but which I take to be a routine part of life here.

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