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And yet despite the fact that our Spanish had improved a bit over time, we weren't up
to the task of framing detailed horticultural questions. And alas, Francisco's English wasn't
nearly good enough to make up the difference.
In desperation we emailed him several drawings we'd made of our garden ideas (yes,
he had a computer too). He called me at work the next day.
“Your drawings I like.”
This sounded promising.
“Great!”
“But too many plants you want.”
“Excuse me?”
In the background I could hear loud, brassy music and assorted sounds of revelry.
“To make this much plants, I need more checks.”
Oh God.
“More money?”
“
Sí
.”
“How much?”
He named an amount almost exactly twice what we had originally agreed on.
“
Seriously
?”
“
Sí
. The plants on this island is no good. I bring truck to Fajardo and buy plants in
Puerto Rico.”
He'd already lost me with his request for “more checks” and now he was asking me to
believe he couldn't buy perfectly acceptable plants in Vieques.
“How about Arte Tropicale?” I asked.
“They is crap.”
“No, they is not,” I said in measured, if ungrammatical, tones.
I was definitely losing this battle. The music on his end seemed to swell just as our call
began to break up.
“Okay, but make it beautiful!” I screamed.
“Beautiful,
sí
,” he said, chuckling slightly.
Uh oh.
☼ ☼ ☼
Did I mention that every time we go back to Vieques, particularly after being away for
a couple of months, we experience excitement and nervousness in approximately equal
measures?
The “excitement” part is a no-brainer—it's a gorgeous place and we love our house. So
why the nerves?
Well, we never know what to expect.
Ever.
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