Lo siento. My apologies, readers. No matter how long I live or don't live, I'll always remember this story -- complete with local language usage. Of course, "diez y seis" is Spanish for 'Ten and Six'. "Lo siento" is also Spanish for 'I'm sorry'. One more term to remember is "que" (with a question mark) which translates to 'what' in English. These are important terms to know during this story. As in every story of nearly every language, "No" always means 'no'. Any high school Spanish language student will never forget these words from first year courses. It's very basic. Language lessons concluded. Using these terms adds a little flavor to the story. This leads me to the time and place of this story.
The time was yesteryear, and the place was an undisclosed Spanish speaking island, somewhere in the world with a naval base nearby. All names are changed to protect the innocent, as they usually say -- even though there are no innocents in this case. And all participants had to have been over the age of majority to have engaged in any of the activities described. Okay. Legaleze out of the way. Let's begin.
I smile big time as I recall the scene, but I'm getting ahead of myself. Y'see, in my mind I've already skipped to the end. Again, my apologies.
After two weeks of specialized training in the use of crypto-communications radio gear aboard a not-so-secret military base, the company looked forward to weekend liberty. Liberty is basically time off away from the base and without the benefit of higher-ranking men in charge and supervising over our every move - just what the word's definition entails. Scuttlebutt was we would only get the day of Saturday, since our flight back to home base would be sometime on Sunday. That was good enough for a few friends and me.
We volunteered to take the night shift duty -- which no one else wanted. That meant we had the daytime until 1800 hours to visit the Special Services shack to check out a rubber raft, face mask, and flippers and go to the beach during the day. We had already done our recon and knew the water there was crystal clear azure blue and the sand was like a fine white powder that sparkled under our feet in the sunlight. Oh yeah. This was going to be a good duty for a change.
Duty hours went as expected. With few officers and higher ranked enlisted, essentially, we were in charge of ourselves. We followed procedures, passed along messages, changed our crypto codes at the pre-determined times and without interference from a well-meaning or brown-nosing NCOs causing screw-ups just for something to report, we did very well. The communications log was our witness.
After morning chow, we took a nap until about 10:00 am. This was considered "prime rays" on the beach, so we could all go back to home base wearing a salty suntan. Then off to Special Services and the beach. Our rubber rafts had a window so we could float along the tiny waves and observe the sea life as we paddled around. It only took me three trips diving into the deep to realize that what appeared to be only ten feet deep, turned out to be nearly thirty feet deep. I wasn't ready for that and almost tried breathing underwater.
That would have been unfortunate for me. That's how drowning happens. I gave up trying to capture the Conch making his way along the sea floor. Every day was like that. We only spent a few hours out there, since we had to get more rest before our duty shift began. I got a hell-of-a sunburn that week -- totally worth it.
While the days flew by, the nights grew longer from lack of sleep. We were burning the candle at both ends, but this was a once-a-lifetime opportunity. What's sleep anyway? We could probably catch up on the plane ride home. That day was rapidly approaching.
More scuttlebutt was going around and eventually reached the night crew. Across the bay was a house of recreation for horny military men like us called the Cattleman -- the intention was geared toward steers or breeding bulls. Yeah, right. In civilian clothes, western wear was the fashion statement. We concluded it was a country-western bar of come kind. Scuttlebutt said differently. Little did we know then. We eventually devised a plan that if we were granted liberty, we'd eventually meet-up there and check it out. A cold beer is the same nearly everywhere.
After breakfast chow on Saturday morning, they called Assembly. We stood in a loose formation until someone called attention. Shortly thereafter, at ease. They announced Cinderella Liberty with a mandated return time by 0200. Normally, these ended at midnight, and we had to be back on base. These circumstances were amended because to be back, we had to catch the ferry from the mainland back to our island base. The last ferry ran at midnight. We thought this was rather generous.
Dismissed, we changed into civilian clothes and caught a transport truck down to the docks where the big, gray navy ferry boat to the mainland was waiting for us -- not just us, but anybody who was going over to the mainland. As part of their deal, the navy provided the ferry service free of charge for island residents. As we were excited to visit the mainland, the trip seemed longer than it was. I remember the salt air and the sea spray hitting my face. No wonder there is so much love for sea duty.
We arrived on the mainland in plenty of time that morning to see the village. The people were friendly and smiled as they took our money to visit the old Spanish fort overlooking the bay. We also took a self-guided walking tour using a tourist map to see the 17th-18th century ruins. Naturally, I took a lot of pictures and stopped to buy more film twice. We kept looking at our watches as if we were going to miss the Cattleman. It wasn't going anywhere, and it wasn't going to run out of beer before we got there. We found a so-called, Head Shop and wandered in to view all the t-shirts, incense, and drug paraphernalia that was totally illegal in the states to own, let alone sell openly. That was an education.
The sun was going down and the neon lights were turned on. The village took on a whole new persona. I can see the appeal of small-town living. It was quaint and inviting. Being also a near navy base town, it was also kept very clean. That's what the tourists see. That's what we wanted to see too.
"Hey! Who has the map? Where the fuck are we?"
Dave laid out the map flat on the edge of the fountain in the center of the town square.
"We're here and we want to go there."
We all fingered the map as if it would get us there any faster. The map had a big, black magic marker X marks the spot. We didn't have far to go while we were sober, and it was closer to the ferry dock even if we had to stumble there.
"Perfect. Are we ready, boys? I think that's a big affirmative. Let's go."
By now, we were all ready for that first glass of frosty cold beer. In short order -- it's a pretty small village town -- we stood in front of the Cattleman. It was an unassuming old storefront and converted to a bar. The windows had full black curtains, but neon lights that bid us Welcome and told us Cold Beer on Tap. Just our kind of place. We looked at each other and wondered if the other scuttlebutt we received was also true.
The three of us walked through the double door vestibule to a sight of neon lights, black lights, and a bar of glass blocks also lit for easy navigation. The bar was circular and, in the back, center of the room. There were only a few tables and chairs up front, but they were all vacant. The air was surprisingly clear of cigarette smoke and stale beer. What surprised us the most were the ladies. Ah yes, the ladies of This Night. So far, the rumors were true and there were plenty of them to go around. Each of their shortie nightgowns glowed under the black lights. Their fuzzy slippers matched their gowns. Blonds, brunettes, a couple of bottle red-heads, but in a shade that looked good on them against their olive skin tone.
"Did we just stumble into a Twilight Zone episode?"
Within seconds of clearing the door closing behind us, three lovely petite ladies approached us. They spoke very few words. "Fucky-sucky? Diez y seis." Surprised, I could only laugh. Hell, we were still ten feet away from the bar! I could only answer her in my broken high school Spanish. We should have taken Sgt. Cortez with us. His family was from El Salvador and emigrated here when he was very young. He could have been our translator.
"Lo siento. Not right now. We just got here and need a beer first. Okay? Maybe later?" I don't know if she understood everything I said, but her eyes held disappointment. The other guys did the same in their own ways. We zeroed in on the bar and ordered a beer. We got it in a short, 8oz. plastic throwaway cup. That's fine. We really just wanted to quench our thirst without alcohol induced beer goggles influencing our view of these fine ladies. I took a sip, and another lady stepped up -- a blond this time. She looked me over as I looked her over, but she spoke first. "Fucky-sucky, Yes? Diez y seis." Very matter of fact.
I had to ask her, "Que es, diez y seis.. en ingles, por favor."
I knew what it meant, but I wanted to hear her say it.
"It mean ten dollar for me, six dollar for room. Comprende?"