We come upon a fishing contest in progress. Vendors, surrounded by
large inflatable beer cans, are selling food and drinks.
Pescadores stand in a line on the pier,
dead fish at their feet, waiting to have their catch weighed. First
prize is a
Ford F-150 pickup.
Behind a food booth, two women are drinking cans of Modelo and
hacking off the head of a barracuda that looks to be about six feet
long. They smile and wipe the sweat from their foreheads.
"Try some of this ice cream," says Carlos, pointing to a woman
behind a cart. "It's homemade." It's some of the best I've ever
had. We watch the contest for a bit and then head off to find
Mundaca's tombstone.
A pockmarked stone wall rings the municipal cemetery at the north
end of Isla Town. Sidestepping a young couple from
Chicago who are
squinting at their maps, I enter through a creaky metal gate.
It feels like the 1700s, except for the
electricity cables snaking
in between the crypts. Carlos motions me down a narrow pathway to
one tomb that looks older than the rest. Two out of four pillars
are broken off. Symbols of trees and a cross are chiseled into the
top.
Mundaca carved this tombstone for himself, with his own hands. He
added the date 1877, which would have been three years before he
left for Mérida. On one side, he etched the pirate
skull-and-crossbones symbol, hoping to be remembered as something
other than a slave trader. He also inscribed a special message for
La Trigueña.
"On this side," Carlos points, "It says 'As you are, I was.' On the
other, 'As I am, you will be.'?"
We don't talk. The graveyard is totally silent, and I think,
My God, he really was crazy about her.