Montezuma’s Revenge

The bartender was however well prepared for this eventuality and raised the long-barreled revolver he already held and ordered him out. Pablo tossed the bottle aside in disgust, there was no loss of maleness in not fighting a man with a gun, and left. His friends went with him calling back graded insults that described the unusual sex life of the bartender’s female relatives in great detail. Tony stumbled on the rough footing outside and held to the rocklike form of Pablo for support, as did the Bantu since they were all brothers now, and they progressed in this manner, arms about one another, looking for another place to drink. They entered Sal Parado si Puedes singing “Guadalajara” to show they were of a revolutionary bent of mind, and the owner here was either more lenient, or shared their political sympathies, because they were invited to a table while a fresh bottle of mezcal was brought. This was not the effete Joseph Crow the Redheaded Woman from Tequila that they had been drinking, but the authentic hornitos with the little maguey worm coiled in the bottom to prove its authenticity. It was very good to drink and the worm undoubtedly added something to the flavor, and someone commented that was it not interesting that there was a big worm in the big bottles while small worms rested in the smaller ones. The others had never noticed this amazing fact and bottles of different sizes were sent for and, sure enough, in the very small bottle, containing but a single drink, the worm was no bigger than a small fingernail. Since the bottles were already there, Tony insisted on paying again and two new friends joined them, they must be finished of course. It was about this time that Tony became dimly aware that reality was skipping like a broken and mended movie film. Highly amusing. He attempted to explain it to the Bantu but time skipped again suddenly so that the man who was sitting by his side was now a moment later sleeping peacefully with his head on the table.

An indefinable measure of time passed and they were in a different bar although Tony had no memory of going there. It was during this mysterious transition that Pablo vanished, as well as the Bantu who was undoubtedly still asleep at the last table. However, there were new friends to share a new bottle and when Tony had trouble pouring from it they were only too ready to oblige. About this time he also discovered that sleeping on the table was a very good idea and he did this, occasionally waking to listen to the friendly hum of conversation, then drifting off again.

When he awoke next it was to brush at the flies that were walking on his face, stirred into activity by the low rays of the rising sun that were burning through the open door. He blinked at this then screwed his eyes shut again instantly since the light pierced through them and directly into his brain like a heated needle. Sleep battled with discomfort and discomfort won. His arm was asleep where he had been lying on it, while a sore ache spread through his midriff. With a great deal of effort he managed to roll over and pull out the morral that was digging into his side. But the flies and sun were inescapable and eventually, groaning weakly, he opened his eyes and tried to understand where he was. On the floor. In a bar. Alone. The owner, who was sipping a cup of coffee behind the bar, wished him a good morning when he saw that he was awake. Tony could only produce a groan in reply.

It was terrible. Sleep has its own physiological rules, the engines of the body idle while the internal chemistry operates at a reduced level. Now, awake, the messages of distress were starting to come in. The needle of pain that had shot through his eye into his brain stayed there and even grew in intensity while at the same time, he had never had a dual headache before, a sort of clamp of anguish encircled his skull whenever he attempted to move it. In addition to this torment there were internal agonies that came and went with some regularity. Not to mention the nausea, the all-embracing, world-trembling nausea such as he had never experienced before. Another groan, rich with feeling, was dragged protesting from his lips, cracking its way through his dry throat. “Water ...” he said in a hoarse whisper and the bar owner nodded with understanding.

“Here, a large glass, drink it all down.”