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〃You never heard of Rear Admiral Luis Amandez？〃 Zip asked； mock surprise spreading over his uneven features。
〃I was a steward's mate；〃 Luis answered with dignity。 〃And you shut up； you little snotnose。〃
〃Wha'd he say your name was？ Louise？〃
〃Yeah； that's right；〃 Zip answered； chuckling。 〃This here is Aunt Louise。〃
〃Louise？ Yeah？〃
〃No； Luis。 Luis。〃
〃No； Louise；〃 Zip insisted。
〃Are you a Mexican； Louise？〃 the sailor asked。
〃No。〃 Luis shook his head。 〃Puerto Rican。〃
〃Well； that's the same thing； ain't it？〃
〃Well…〃 Luis thought for a moment； and then shrugged resignedly。 〃Si； the same thing。〃
〃What part of Mehico you from？〃 the sailor asked obliviously。
〃The part down in the Caribbean；〃 Luis said dryly。
〃The annex；〃 Zip put in。 〃South。 You know？〃
〃And whereabouts in Puerto Rico？〃
〃A town called Cabo Rojo； do you know it？〃
〃I only know Tia Juana；〃 the sailor said； 〃and I ain't even been there。 Closest I ever got was San Diego。〃
〃Here；〃 Luis said； pouring a cup of coffee。 〃Drink this。〃
〃Where's mine？〃 Zip asked。
〃I have only two hands。〃 He finished pouring the sailor's coffee； and then poured a cup for Zip。
〃What brung you all the way here from Puerto Rico？〃 the sailor asked。
〃Work；〃 Luis said。 〃A man has to work； you know。〃
〃Where you from； sailor？〃 Zip asked。
〃Fletcher；〃 the sailor said。 〃That's in Colorado。〃
〃I never heard of it。〃
〃It's there； all right。〃
The three fell silent。
Zip and the sailor sipped at their coffee。 Luis got to work behind the counter。 There seemed to be nothing more to say to each other。 The three； after all； had very little in mon。 One had inquired about the whereabouts of a bar…quasi…whorehouse。 The other had told him where it was。 The third had served them both coffee。 One was in his early fifties； the other was perhaps twenty…two； and the third was seventeen。 One was born in Puerto Rico； the other in Fletcher； Colorado； and the third was a native of the city。 Thus divided by time and space and natural inclination； there was nothing each could say to the other at the moment； and so they fell silent。
And yet； within the silence； their thoughts ran in strangely similar patterns so that； if the thoughts had been voiced； each would have instantly understood … or thought he'd understood … the other。
Luis had begun thinking about why he'd e to the mainland； about why he'd left the place of his birth。 He had told the sailor he had e here to work； and yet he knew it was something more than that。 It was not to work； it was to begin。 He had lived on the island with a wife and three children； and the island … despite his love for it … had meant primarily one thing； and that thing was hunger。 Constant hunger。 Hunger that lingered through the cane…cutting season because you could not spend all of your earnings while the season was in swing； you had to save some for the empty days ahead。 There was not much to hold and not much to save。 You fished in the off season； and sometimes your haul was good … but most of the time you were hungry。 And being hungry； even knowing that everyone else around you was hungry； being hungry somehow reduced you to being nothing。 There were things he would always love about the island； the innate pride and decency and hospitality of the people； the respect humans automatically showed to other humans； a respect bred of sunshine and lush tropical foliage where cruelty seemed blatantly out of place。 The island seemed to draw people closer together； strengthening their bonds as humans。 And yet； contradicting this was the dire economic need； so that on the one hand Luis had felt like a very important person with many friends and much love； and on the other he had felt like a hungry animal。
And so he'd left the island。 He'd left the island in search of a beginning。 He had worked hard for the luncheonette。 It was still owned mostly by the bank； but he knew now that he would never go hungry again。 And if he had lost something else； something quite dear to him； he had another sort of satisfaction； and this satisfaction was in his stomach and his bowels where perhaps a man feels it most。
The sailor sipped at his coffee and thought of Fletcher； Colorado。
He did not often think of Fletcher because he found he got sad whenever he did。 He had been born in Fletcher； and he learned early the meaning of the words 〃small town〃。 When a place is called a small town； it has nothing whatever to do with the size of the town。 A giant metropolis can be a small town； and some very large cities are small towns in every sense of the word。 Fletcher； Colorado； was just like every other small town in the United States of America。 There was a schoolhouse； and a church； and a row of stores。 There were DRIVE … CHILDREN … SLOW signs； and SPEED LIMIT STRICTLY ENFORCED signs； and there were the teenage kids hanging out in the corner drugstore； and the Boy Scout cookouts； and the Little League； and the choir practice； and the Saturday Evening Post route； and in the spring the forsythias lined the highway with bright yellow and there was the bursting pink of cherry blossoms； and in the fall he would go hunting for deer with his father and his older brother； and the woods would shriek with color。 In the winter； there was deep snow and skiing。 The mountains surrounded the town。 You could always see the mountains。 Everybody in town knew everybody else in town。 He met Corrine at a church picnic when he was six years old。 By the time they were eleven； everybody in town had decided that one day they would get married。 When he got a swimming medal in his freshman year at high school； he gave it to Corrine。 He went everywhere with Corrine and did everything with Corrine； and it became plain to him after a while that Corrine was perfectly happy to have been born and raised in a town like Fletcher； and that she would be happy to get married there； and breed kids there； and eventually to die there。 And suddenly； he wondered if this was what he himself wanted。
Oh； he loved Corrine； it wasn't that。 He supposed he loved her。 She had very straight red hair that she wore loose around her shoulders； and she had very bright blue eyes and a nose that tilted slightly at the tip； she looked exactly like those pictures of small…town American girls he had seen on the covers of the Saturday Evening Post when he used to deliver the magazine。 And he liked to neck with her。 He liked to touch her； too； whenever she let him； which wasn't often； and he never could figure out when she wanted him to and when she didn't want him to； he supposed he loved her because he respected her wishes in the matter。
And then； one day； all of a sudden； he decided he was going to join the Navy。 When his parents asked him why； when Gorrine asked him why； when his friends asked him why； he told them he would be drafted soon anyway； and he might just as well go into the Navy where a fellow didn't have to go on hikes or sleep in the mud。 That was what he told all these people。 But he knew why he was really joining the Navy。 He was joining the Navy to get out of Fletcher。 He was joining the Navy because Fletcher was slowly and surely suffocating him； and he could feel those mountain