Sun on the Rocks – Banana Humor – The Lovable Community
© Copyright 2015 by Somers Isle & Loveshade.
Published by Somers Isle & Loveshade at Shakespir.
U.S. Copyright Registration Number: 1-743085441.
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‘Sun on the Rocks’ blogsite:
Cover by Tatiana Villa.
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‘Sun on the Rocks’ Pitch Card
It’s a breezy, all-women banana humor read for adults, specializing in the trivial pursuit, linking episodes, which are labeled amusements. These pleasant amusements with an overtone of humor, follow the adventures of several non competitive attractive women over twenty one years of age, as they get into trouble in various places. The good looking girls keep a pleasant job in an ocean liner, the City of Wellington, as it travels from the harbor of Long Beach in California to the coast of Acapulco in Mexico, where they work diligently to sustain their job as entertainment swimming hostesses, with a unique act they choose to call Sun on the Rocks, led by the incombustible twenty five year old Stevenson Garden Products (SGP) Malibu teleoperator Clarity Nice, a woman of resourceful intuition, and acute observer of the laws of human mischief. Now that the Sun on the Rocks cocktail is out, if you are ever asked the question, you can answer with a sheepish smile, that the amusement came before the cocktail.
The Lovable Community: Teleoperator Clarity Nice and her friend ethnographer Flower Parkwood, reach the decrepit and picturesque town of Miradorcito in the state of Campeche in Mexico. Brought to Campeche in a colorful guagua from a brief vacation in Cancun after exposing alcohol traffic in the British Virgin Islands (The Sugar Baby), Clarity becomes the assistant of Flower, using her ‘permiso de arqueologia’, an observation and archaeological dig permit granted by Flower’s boss, egyptologist Akhris Zephairi. Zephairi’s Alabastriah foundation is funded by a shady real estate developer from Belize, Levian Fahibian, who is looking for new areas to invest a pile of cash showing on the balance sheet of his company, Mangrove Barrier Resorts. Fahibian makes an offer to the elderly head of the village, Ms. Morales, to buy the land of her ancestors, in order to seek an obscure assortment of Mayan ruins buried under Miradorcito for decades and build on its soil, a gambling resort similar to those found in Belize, and a Mayan historical village that will bring new tourist business to the area.
BACKSTORIES AND CHARACTERS
TO READ THE AMUSEMENTS COMFORTABLY
Buddha Talk: Corpulent, shady genius of circular money flows, scholar of sexual ecstasy, occasional Buddhist and worshipper of a lobster shrine for good Karma, Buddha Talk is banking agent and the heir apparent of Lofty Bank, a Cayman Islands banking institution with no particular regard for its clients and a lock on ownership held by a Great Dane, Lord Moorehead III, British by upbringing and inheritance granted by Lord Moorehead II, a man, old, very old, and dead now, at age ninety seven, previous British Lord, owner of Lofty Bank, who gave all of its wealth and bank ownership rights to his dog. Lord Moorehead acts as front ‘man’ for Buddha Talk, and is also the official recipient of all bank notices by the monetary authority, a convenient fact for Buddha Talk, and one bark that doesn’t cease to surprise the monetary authority who casts a recurring shadow of doubt upon the legalities of having a dog act as front ‘man’ and official owner of a Bank doing business in the British Overseas Territory located in the Western Caribbean Sea, a pleasant area to live when the money and work issues are solved.
Clarity and Flower, after gaining entry as investors to the bank with the help of Clark, the owner of a diamond shop in Grand Cayman, find themselves owing nearly one hundred thousand dollars to the Lofty Bank outfit for no reason, a debt they can pay by working for the bank for fifty years, as part of the bank’s flagship product, the Crashworthy Deposit, part bank deposit paying twenty percent, part investment, part insurance policy, and part working arrangement. Lofty has ties with the underworld, and the monetary authority of the Cayman Islands stubbornly refuses to grant it a renewal of its license, something that doesn’t stop the bank from operating in the most illegal manner, advertising its products to potential investors on an air banner carried by a Gippland 200 crop duster flying low on Caribbean and tropical beaches such as those of Cayman, British Virgin Islands, Bahamas and Acapulco. This is all documented in The Cayman Air Banner.
Boustrophedon: Large, ancient grey stone inscription filled with Greek letter symbols. In a boustrophedon, letters are inversed; you have to read the inscriptions on the stone from left to right and from right to left alternatively with each line of bi-directional text. Penelope Avalon and Cassandra Scafarel believe that the Boustrophedon holds important information on ancient methods of pleasure, including comments and thoughts on the gate of pleasure, Voluptas de Naturas. The current location of the Boustrophedon that Clarity and her friend Lanai saw at Scafarel’s Hexas Style Resort in the Bahamas, is unknown to Clarity, known to:
Cassandra Scafarel: Shrewd British expatriate, businesswoman in her forties without a moral code or compass, executive head of beauty lotion outfit ‘Elony’, sold through illegal flight infomercials with the assistance of Lofty Bank. The infomercial is an excuse to sell to customers, mostly affluent women, Elony’s personal growth services, which include how to bring heaven a little closer to home, after doing away with money, in particular fifty thousand dollars that must be paid for a bottle of Elony, in order to receive a resort-pass to reach the Leisure and Pleasure Resort of Scafarel, the Hexas Style Resort in the Bahamas island of Eleuthera.
Hexas Style was partly dismantled in The Bahamas Lotion, by Al Donway and the Sensual Brigade of Central Intelligence, a group of attractive women ensuring Law and Order are respected, along with their bodies. The Brigade’s most representative member is agent Money Fact, the woman who introduced Clarity to the nine hour oil-optional massage, proof that work is not a necessary part of life. Money Fact excels at action, mentoring and faulty logic. After a decidedly last minute and decisive intervention from Sensual Intelligence at Hexas Style, Scafarel manages to flee from the Bahamas resort on her private yacht, with the Boustrophedon, but without some secrets regarding pleasure, including the:
Imperial Pelican Fabergé Egg: Intricate egg, or jewel, depending on how hungry you are, eight inches high, made of varicolored gold, opalescent blue enamel and watercolor on ivory. It is known as the Xenia Imperial Pelican Fabergé egg, and belongs to the Private Collection of Maria Feodorovna, Empress Consort of Russia in 1898. The egg, commissioned by Maria Feodorovna to provide, handle and store, all of her private items of pleasure, went through the hands of Occidental Petroleum tycoon Armand Hammer, an art collector with close ties to the ex-Soviet Union, and has now fallen into the hands of Cassandra Scafarel, a woman who stops at nothing to understand how pleasure works, in particular how the pleasure of a woman works, including her own. The Pelican Fabergé egg, eight inches high, is hollow, and unfolds into eight miniatures, holding what’s known in Fabergé egg language, as the surprise inside, a time-tested item of pleasure for the woman, the Jade Egg, a small two inch in diameter jade egg that must be boiled before each intimate, feminine use. Owned by Cassandra Scafarel, requisitioned by the Sensual Brigade of Central Intelligence for examination.
Penelope Avalon: Sex Goddess and Go-Go girl from Las Vegas, dressed in a pink suit, user of the learjet ‘Pink Go-Go’ appropriately painted in pink. Penelope has had enough of living the plastic pleasure style of Las Vegas showgirls, and finds in the outfit of Cassandra Scafarel, the Bahamas Hexas Style Resort, a way out of Hotel California. Penelope likes attractive women unclothed, and would like to do Clarity, because she’s nice.
The Symbolic Decryptor: Thai alphabet gadget similar to a smartphone or Blackberry, which can be used as cell phone, useful for understanding all types of characters and symbols, made in VLE mode (Very Limited Edition, less than ten made worldwide) by the mysterious Oriental company known as Pentatone Scale Learning Systems.
The item, the gadget, looks like a Blackberry with keyboard, with 36 Thai character keys, doubled with the shift key, for a total of 72, instead of the 26 of the Western alphabet, and its keys are made of hard, white color plastic, similar to the color casing of the Kindle 2, cast against a grey background and a backlit screen. The decryptor can also be used as indicator of calligraphy, as mantra tone guide and geo-locator, using the Global Positioning System to calculate the coordinates of any location worldwide.
Penelope Avalon received one of these decryptors from Lady Scafarel, after completing work on heaven, according to Scafarel’s personal growth system, and Clarity would like to keep the item as souvenir, although Money Fact disagrees and is holding custody of the device for strategic and Intelligence reasons. Sure, she likes the nifty item, that’s all, and she likes to subtly let Clarity know that she’s the boss of Sensual Intelligence.
Book of Decadence: Book written on the topic by the unknown hedonist, a small print manifesto of deep thought with illustrations of ancient goddesses with lion bodies in bronze, and a mosaic of Byzantine nuns, used by Penelope Avalon and the Hexas Style Hedonist Resort in the Bahamas, on how to let go of the encumbrance of work, and dedicate your time, well spent, according to the book, to leisure, pleasure, et. al. Book clearly advises on the pitfalls of decadence and purportedly how to avoid them.
Telval Studios: Adult Film production unit of the Church of the Holy Flower, led by Cassandra Scafarel, including the film ‘Abu Dhabi Chic’, a remake of Andrew Blake’s ‘Paris Chic’ shown to Clarity and her friends during the unfolding of The Adult Channel at the Park Hyatt in Abu Dhabi. Telval produces adult films unlike any other, films like ‘Embroidered Air Avenue’, engaging beautiful women in sultry positions and scenes for hours, revealing an oriental connection to the films’ choreographies and to the symbolic decryptor, and including codes for women within the films to get inside the Church of the Holy Flower. This includes a keyword of the Book of Decadence, the word Rosebud, a mysterious codeword for the Church of the Holy Flower that Clarity seeks to clarify.
The adult films are distributed in large hotel chains worldwide and come with a special remote control for the hotel’s adult channel, which makes the films interactive and allows eight digit bank transfers with Telval as beneficiary, to be done remotely. One of the remotes holds an important detail on heaven, as envisioned by Scafarel on earth, with indications provided by the eight miniatures of her Imperial Pelican Fabergé Egg.
The Air Fashion Jet of Owens & Owell: Double deck plane with four engines, a copy of the Airbus 380, refurbished with all kinds of luxuries, from a Jacuzzi to an Indian ritual area for the users of the plane, to a permanent television channel showing fashion shows happening throughout the world. The jet, built in Saudi Arabia, is used by board members and members of the executive committee of the conglomerate Owens & Owell, and by the two rebellious daughters of the main owners, who got married to each other during The OOL Broderie (Owens & Owell Love Broderie), Shalia Owell, twenty three, and Jenny Owens, twenty two. Shalia Owell and Jenny Owens are two good looking college students studying human sexuality at University of Arizona. They hold Board seats on the Board of Directors of O&O, but the members of the company’s executive committee oppose their presence on the Board, after they give a power of attorney to Cassandra Scafarel, the woman who led them to their marriage and wants access to the money of O&O by replacing the two women on their board seat. Scafarel’s Church of the Holy Flower, includes its very own holy flower, the Rose of Levity, a real flower, one of the most expensive in the world, a gold of kina balu rose, a variation on a Mrs. Herbert Stevens Rose.
The Center for Somewhat Strategic Affairs of Medium to Low Importance: Located below the Bellagio resort in Las Vegas, the Center of Surveillance of U.S. interests is headed by Colonel Calton Brayfield and her assistant, ex-employee of facebook, Mandy Everglade. The Center’s ever present maintenance issues with the elevator leading to the Bellagio, which interferes with the fountains of the resort, are handled by repairman Morgan Afterflow, a man who knows how to swing his red, adjustable pipe wrench in any situation. His side job is to work for the Chinese government as a spy, providing any information that will pay him fifteen dollars an hour more than his current hourly pay at the center, forty five dollars an hour.
The center uses a supercomputer with a quite human consciousness, Evans, whose brain is built according to complex algorithms of symbolic logic, which can perform complex social data analytics on millions of people. Evans, which refuses to be used dishonestly, reveals the source of this devious use of his super computing ability in The Bellagio Wikileak. Knowing that Bradfield and Afterflow want him thrown into the scrapyard after refusing to perform simple calculations for them or those who want to lease its computing services, the consciousness of Evans reaches a Symbolic Decryptor that Clarity takes away from the center’s equipment supplies, and becomes a permanent part of Clarity’s gadget, escaping the enslavery of the surveillance center, but becoming part of a stolen gadget belonging to the U.S. government with many features unknown to Clarity or Evans.
Mista Jack: Money changer from the British Virgin Islands, advisor to Cuban Colonel Swarez and the Cuban government in The Cuban Renegade, Mista Jack is a dwarf wearing a black Duffield hat, and an ex-assistant of Cubandor with connections at the Bellagio. The short but resourceful man is responsible for stealing one million dollars worth of Federal Reserve bonds that were used on behalf of Cubandor to pay Buddha Talk, in exchange for Lady Fortuna minted gold bar. These bonds, that Clarity and Flower used to leave Cayman, have been giving Clarity a headache, because they were stolen, and Sensual Intelligence has been accusing Clarity and Flower, and also Cubandor, of stealing the bonds and paying Lady Fortuna with stolen U.S. government debt. No one knows how Mista Jack broke into the New York Fed’s vault to find the bonds. As a result of the stolen bonds, Clarity and Cubandor lost their U.S. passport, becoming citizens without a country, owning the passport of the Monteviena cigar plantation, a micronation in Cuba which includes Cuba’s reserve of precious metals, Fort Ebena.
Lady Fortuna: Two hundred fifty gram gold bar minted by LAMP, Lingots Artisanaux Métaux Précieux, a producer of gold bullion and rare precious metals items, depicting Lady Fortuna, roman goddess of prosperity, along with the horn of plenty, precious coins and wheel of fortune, on its obverse. The reverse of the bar shows the etched code B235336. LAMP´s assayers work in conformity with the Swiss Precious Metals Control Law, following directives issued by the Central Office for Precious Metals Control in Bern.
LAMP refines gold-based materials for their exclusive clients, and is one of three referees in charge of testing samples for the London Bullion Market Association and the Curaçao Platinum and Palladium market. The Lady Fortuna gold minted bar was received by Mista Jack on behalf of Cubandor, from Buddha Talk, in exchange for one million dollars in Treasury bonds delivered to Buddha Talk. The minted bar, coveted by many, is kept by Mista Jack, and is believed to be a token of initiation to the Eleusinian Mysteries, a variety of rituals performed in ancient Greece, which have been adapted to include rituals of sacred or divine sexuality by Elony beauty lotion orchestrator Lady Scafarel.
Following is a short description of the feminine adult icons of pleasure, leisure and ‘less work means a better world’, a short fiction biopic text substitute of the feminine lead characters of Sun on the Rocks, the non-competitive swimming team who works at the City of Wellington, a Post-Panamax ocean liner normally docking in Los Angeles, California, which engages in cruises to Acapulco, the Mexican coast line, the Caribbean, and anywhere where the weather is nice, really. Sun on the Rocks includes seven good looking women who like to have fun in the sun, with or without clothes:
Clarity Nice: Teleoperator from Malibu, California, twenty five years of age, quarter century wise. A diligent employee of Malibu outfit Stevenson Garden Products, auburn hair pumpkin born and raised in a wood cabin of Topanga Canyon, a woman of resourceful intuition and acute observer of the Laws of Human Mischief.
Clarity means well and unclothes well in general or on the beach. She likes lovemaking, sharing nudity with other women, and the practical matters and possibilities of sexual ecstasy, after having experienced it first hand at Cassandra Scafarel’s adult resort Hexas Style in the Bahamas. Because she does everything casually, she ignores how holy she and the virtues she embodies are, but she knows that she is good, very good, in fact, the fact that she is honest is the reason why she usually doesn’t have much money.
Lanai Thomson: Twenty four year old Librarian from Malibu, originally from Hawaii, Clarity’s best friend, somewhat goofy and absent-minded, fun, usually cautious in all of her endeavors, including doing men. She enjoys reading old books with some type of hidden knowledge, specially those which talk about enjoyment or decadence, the first to learn new avenues for it, the second, books such as the book of Decadence, because she wants to know how to avoid the pitfalls of its apparent lure. We would all like to know exactly what she does when she has sex with Clarity or simply unclothes with her for a ‘naked pajama night’.
Flower Parkwood: Twenty three year old Bohemian Ethnographer found on the beach in Acapulco after the Acapulco cocktail affair. Flower has brown hair, is fresh, likes to wear platforms, and is genuinely interested in learning about cultures and the history of those cultures, as long as comfort, leisure and money are nearby. Buddha Talk has attempted to seduce her in The Cayman Air Banner, so far, without success, although they both share a liking for the ‘Spirit of Ecstasy’, the winged lady traditionally found at the top of Rolls Royce radiators. Flower ignores everything about sexual ecstasy, but she likes the idea.
Taimi Kendrick: Lifeguard by profession from Malibu, twenty two years of age, she´s one of the original four members of Sun on the Rocks, with Lanai, Cynthia, and Clarity. No nonsense, practical, fun and genuine, mischievous when the opportunity arises, she enjoys simple things, life without its complications, usually handled by Clarity, Flower or Lanai. She handles the entertainment routines prepared for the passengers of the City of Wellington, and when living in Malibu, she watches the rooftop pool of Stevenson Garden Products. Like the rest of her friends, she is not a heavy drinker, but occasionally she particularly likes to taste the sun on the rocks cocktail drink prepared by bartender Mr. LT in the City of Wellington, a concoction made with 2oz of tequila, 1 teaspoon of sugar, 1/2 orange, and a half lemon.
Montana Sterley: Twenty one year old blond oil heiress, daughter of S Group conglomerate Colorado tycoon Carrelson Sterley, a man who likes to spend time with several women whose name starts with the name of his first wife Kelly Jane. Some of his current girlfriends include Kelly Caroline, Kelly Ann, and Kelley Shelley, the latter being a candidate for the name of a new Subway Combo sandwhich. Montana comes from Fairplay, Colorado. She is outspoken, rebellious, mischievous, good looking, well educated, well traveled, and favorable to the idea of emulating the jet-setting lifestyle, versus following her father’s business footsteps, or simply being well-behaved. She enjoys adult films, her large allowance, and being naked in good hotels such as Abu Dhabi’s Park Hyatt, but her down-to-earth personality prevents her from attaining some of the more subtle knowledge that Clarity observes inside Scafarel’s Church of the Holy Flower, a spiritual outfit for the affluent woman.
Jenna Likeway: Twenty three year old surfer and diver fond of the Acapulco diving spot, La Quebrada, found on the City of Wellington, before the search for The Acapulco Cocktail took place. Simple, genuine, and introvert, with long blond hair, she often does more than she says.
Cynthia Stevenson: Twenty two year old pom squad waves cheerleader from Pepperdine University, good friend of Clarity, gave Clarity her TAG-Heuer Aquaracer watch for her birthday. Cynthia is the well-to-do daughter of the owner of the Stevenson Garden Products company, established in Malibu, the first clothing optional corporate outfit worldwide, to our knowledge, a fact well deserved and established when Clarity and her friends took on officer Packwood during The Malibu Case, along with its clothing implications.
Cynthia has fun as long as everything goes well, but has difficulty overcoming difficulty, any slight adversity that is. Problems and dealing with them, are simply not part of her daily routine or among her interests. She likes to dress elegantly and swim naked on summer evenings in any pool with her friends. She is a frequent guest of the Areolas clothing optional resort for adult couples and women in Palm Springs, where she likes the Egyptian linen sheets available in the om room and the complimentary cream color Keralan Mundu offered, a garnment made with cotton by Creme de l’Ayeryarwady, worn around the waist in the Tulu Nadu region of Kerala and in the Maldive Islands.
SUN ON THE ROCKS – EPISODE TEN
THE LOVABLE COMMUNITY
Driving Along the Mayan Riviera, Yucatán Peninsula, Mexico
From her seat in the back row inside the artisan-modified bus driving down route three zero seven south of the Mexican vacation resort of Cancún, Clarity Nice scanned the people around her and smiled at the older woman seated a few rows in front of her. The woman kept staring at Clarity and her friends Lanai, Cynthia, Jenna, and Taimi, because they were comparing bikinis frivolously. Most of those traveling with her on the guagua, whose rooftop was filled with unsold crafts, were inhabitants of the small village of Miradorcito, a less than prosperous place numbering less than one hundred autochthonous members, where her other friend, ethnographer Flower Parkwood, was going to work on her first official mission with renowned Egyptian archaeologist Akhris Zephairi.
She placed the head of Flower, who was sleeping with her head resting on her own shoulder, gently against the seat of the bus, and took a piece of paper out of her pocket. The invitation sent to Flower to her hotel room in Cancún came from Zephairi’s Alabastriah foundation, the organization paying for their trip. The piece of paper just said ‘permiso de arqueología A-29, región de Campeche’. It was a permit from Mexican authorities which allowed Zephairi and his crew, to work in the region looking for artifacts, such as Mayan statues, called stelas, or pottery, valued by collectors and museums.
They followed the main road south driving past the ancient city of Tulum and the aquatic theme park of Xel-ha to Chetumal, continuing west on route one eighty six, then south, and then finally turning east on a narrow trail leading to an isolated area a few miles north of the Belize border, in the province of Campeche, rarely seen by tourists, because there was nothing to see there.
Zephairi welcomed them when they reached Miradorcito. He was in his early fifties with an energy level that rivalled the most versatile Black and Decker drill. Unable to sit in one place for more than five minutes in a row, Zephairi liked to inquire around the places where he was working until he could get hold of some type of object, a trophy he could bring back to the Egyptian authorities in the museum of Cairo, who paid for some of his expenses. Zephari walked straight towards Flower, waving at her.
“Were you informed of our mission here?” he asked.
“No, I got your message, but you didn’t say anything other than it was a mission of utmost ethnographic importance for Egypt and the Egyptian government.” Zephairi nodded and glanced at Clarity and her friends, stepping out of the bus with small trolleys.
“These are my archaeological assistants,” said Flower, shaking dust off her long hair.
“Wait a minute,” said Clarity, “we never said we worked for you, we just came because we’ve never been with an Egyptologist.”
“She works for me, you work for her, that’s how life is,” said Zephairi, looking at Flower and at her backside. The Egyptologist placed his hand on Flower’s shoulder. Clarity and her friend Lanai followed them. Behind them, Jenna and Taimi and Cynthia were deciding how to drag the trolleys along the dirt trail leading to the entrance of the village.
“Our mission is very important, you know that already.”
“What are we looking for?” asked Flower.
“A Mayan pyramid which looks like an Egyptian pyramid.”
Clarity looked around the few run-down homes in the village. A few hundred feet away, she could see the jungle and a river splitting the north and south of Miradorcito in two. Certainly, there was no trace of any pyramids there. She followed Zephairi to their camp, and the place where they would sleep, a Coleman six person instant tent that Zephairi had picked for its superior ease of use and comfort. The head of the village, Ms. Lidia Morales, was letting Zephairi settle for a few days and explore the village because he had promised to buy some crafts from the artisan of Miradorcito, a local named Kish Chunab who owned an old, traditional loom, which he used to build a variety of textiles, shawls and blouses among them. Her friends Jenna, Lanai, Taimi and Cynthia settled with Clarity inside the tent. Flower informed them that the head of the village was Ms. Morales.
“The lady that kept staring at us in the bus?”
“Yeah, she sort of heads things around here.”
“I mean, my patron says she has all the authority here, she keeps the papers which describe births and deaths and marriages, and all the property titles of the land here in Miradorcito. She’s the one who approved the archaeological permit of Zephairi.” Clarity took out a sleeping bag and unfolded it.
“Your patron, your patron is Zephairi? Just refer to him as Mr. Zephairi or Zephairi.”
“I like him as Zeph.”
“I hope Zeph doesn’t make us work too hard.”
After changing into more comfortable clothes, Clarity got out of her tent and listened to a heated discussion between Ms. Morales and a man she’d noticed inside the bus, named Duldu, shabbily dressed in worn denim pants cut one or two sizes too small and narrow for his ankles. Duldu carried a level with him, a device normally used to build a road, and Ms. Morales, a woman of strong build, wasn’t happy at all to see him use the instrument.
“Are you with Mr. Zephairi?”
“No, I came on my own.”
“What are you doing?” asked Ms. Morales.
“I’m looking at how the new road will look here, it’s important that the road be straight,” said Duldu. He placed a plastic helmet normally worn by construction workers on his head.
“The one that will be built where I stand, if the dam around here is strong enough to withstand the rainfall during the rainy season.”
Duldu pointed to several run-down homes behind him and moved both of his arms in front of him, aligned, towards the jungle and some crops, as he looked into the level. Were a new road to be built, thought Clarity, it certainly meant several homes would be levelled and destroyed, along with some crops.
“There are no plans to build a road,” says Ms. Morales.
“The only good plans are those which are not foreseen.”
“Who sent you here? We dislike foreigners.” said Ms. Morales.
“A powerful person in the region.”
Ms. Morales walked towards Duldu, blocking the view of the self-appointed road building worker. She told him he wouldn’t build a road in Miradorcito. According to the strong woman, Miradorcito didn’t need a bigger road that would destroy people’s homes and crops. It was self-sufficient, had been for generations, and would stay like that for generations to come.
“How many generations?” asked Duldu.
“Many,” said Ms. Morales.
“You better worry about this generation, I don’t think you’ll be living here by the end of the month.”
“I dislike your helmet, take your level and leave please.”
“I’m just following orders Maam.”
“Well, you’re not working anywhere close to here.”
“I’ll be back Maam, my boss is diligent.”
“Your boss is not welcome here, and neither are you.” Duldu took his level and walked away. He waited for the bus headed for Chetumal to stop by the trail which led to road one eighty six and left the village.
Ms. Morales invited Clarity and her friends for tea inside her modest home, a palapa. Clarity noticed that she was purportedly joyful, smiling a smile, which was there to sustain a sense of courage around the big mess that was Miradorcito. The village was barely self-sufficient. The normal array of tourists didn’t travel as far as Miradorcito, which lied just north of the border with Belize, housing only jungle. There was no activity which made money for the village and Ms. Morales feared a recent article on Diario de Quintana Roo and Días de Yucatán by the governor of Campeche, which spoke of bringing a renewed sense of wealth to traditional run-down areas which were not blessed by western flocks of tourists coming from the U.S. or Europe.
“Bringing wealth is good, someone will think of Miradorcito to rebuild the homes here.”
“No, the governor wrote of the need for relocating people living in poor areas, he’s ashamed of places like Miradorcito.” She stood towards a chest of drawers and pulled out a wooden toucan out of one of them.
“This is our only hope now.”
Clarity stared at the bird with the long wooden beak. Clearly, it was a totem for the village, an item adopted for its spiritual significance as emblem.
That night, Clarity woke up around three in the morning, awakened by the shouts of Kish.
“There’s a flood, the village is full of water.”
Clarity donned some clothes and got out of her tent, pointing her flashlight at the water around her. Miradorcito was flooded, and Clarity’s trekking shoes were soon drenched with mud. Kish carried little credibility in the village, although everyone liked what he made with his loom, traditional shawls, colorful blankets, blouses, table runners and purses. He was one of the few if not the only inhabitant of Miradorcito with an entrepreneurial instinct, but no one listened to him or believed him when he said that he could bring prosperity to the village. This time, the craftsman had not exaggerated. Clarity clashed against Ms. Morales, who was wearing knee-high fishing boots and the three of them met on a trail filled with mud.
“What happened, what were you doing near the dam?”
“A mosquito got inside my hut, and I went after it all the way up the river to the Rosarito dam. It’s broken, there’s a huge hole in it.”
Among her friends, only Flower, who slept lightly, had awakened. The rest of the women were sleeping soundly. Ms. Morales pointed her flashlight at Flower and at a large head emerging behind her, the head of Zephairi. Clarity followed them, and they all followed Ms. Morales and Kish to the source of the disaster area. After an hour of walking around the flooded area, they made their way to the dam, a large cement structure one hundred feet wide. The main role of the dam was to store water, but there were plans to add a hydroelectric facility that would provide electricity to the village. Miradorcito relied on small, thousand watt power generators made by Honda or Kohler, filled with less than a gallon of gas, and Ms. Morales wanted more modern equipment for the village. The head of the village pointed her flashlight at a large hole thirty feet in diameter that let water from the river flow through it.
“This wasn’t done by nature, the crater is round, perfectly round.”
“Someone used explosives,” said Zephairi, “only explosives would leave this type of damage to cement.” His voice trailed off. They were standing on a hill overlooking the river and the embankment dam, and the soil beneath Zephairi was giving way, moving him away slowly from the rest of the group. The Egyptian archaeologist grabbed the branch of a fallen tree and pulled himself out of the unstable clay area, as the others watched only, for fear of being drawn into the muddy area near the river as well.
“Are you all right?” asked Ms. Morales.
“I wouldn’t be had I not found this branch.” Flower hushed to Clarity.
“My patron is resourceful,” said Flower, looking proudly at Zephairi, as he struggled to lift himself near the large branch he had found, encouraged by Kish. Kish meant well but he was thin and his lack of strength prevented him from doing chores, which he considered menial, and so he often replaced doing them by encouraging others to do what he couldn’t do.
“Can you help me?” asked Zephairi, calmly but firmly.
“No,” said Kish, with equal intensity, “you’re doing fine.”
Zephairi breathed out a sound similar to a tapir, and extracted himself back on firm ground after several minutes of effort witnessed by Kish. Clarity took some photographs of the damage, and they returned to the village. All the farming land of Miradorcito was flooded. Ms. Morales walked through the mud in the village to the farming area behind her home, whose thatched roof was made with palm trees, plant stalks and foliage. She picked up a shovel and opened the door to her garden. The garden acted as farming area, where she grew tomatoes, lettuce, peppers, jicama, carrots, achiote, beets, and pepita de calabaza. All of this was sold at the market near the tourist areas of Tulum and Xelha, and that was a large part of the livelihood of the village. Ms. Morales had created a local cooperative, run by and for their members, and taught others to grow their own vegetables. As a result of that idea, the members of the village decided to elect her the head of Miradorcito. The farming area was damaged considerably, and the vegetables were buried under a pile of mud. Zephairi appeared behind her.
“Well, the village is finished, we can begin the excavations now a lot more easily.”
Ms. Morales lifted her shovel and threw a glare of disbelief and retained anger at Zephairi.
“What did you say?”
“I said the excavations can begin now here in Miradorcito, there’s nothing much you can grow with all this water.” Ms. Morales shook her head.
“We have to talk.” She pointed Zephairi to her palapa home, and the Egyptologist followed her finger, stepping forward towards the entrance.
“She only says that when she gets angry,” said Kish. Clarity could sense that Kish was worried. He grabbed the arm of Clarity, pleading for some reassuring support from the Malibu teleoperator.
“I see, I’m not sure what she meant or what the topic of the talk will be.” She paused. “Can you let go of my arm?”
“Your arm is important to my sense of reassurance,” said Kish.
“My arm is not that strong, certainly not as strong as your need for reassurance,” said Clarity.
“My reassurance won’t hurt your arm.”
“My arm is not your reassurance.”
She shook her arm loose from Kish’s grip during a moment of distraction of the craftsman. Kish was in his mid thirties and he disliked precarious situations. He was used to working alone and had been taught from an early age to persevere in whatever endeavor he was pursuing on his own. But his own industriousness and sense of pride turned against him when events became overwhelming, because nobody could solve absolutely every single big problem on his or her own. He wasn’t used to reaching out to other people for help or assistance, and he wasn’t comfortable doing it when he had to do it. He stood still before Clarity, unsure of what to do next.
“Let’s walk inside to hear Ms. Morales home to hear what they say.” Kish nodded, opening and closing the fingers of his hand, which were cramping slightly. Ms. Morales stood at the entrance of her palapa, writing on a piece of paper the equivalent of a guest list.
“What are you doing?” asked Zephairi.
“Keeping track of those coming into my home, this is an official village talk, I want to take the minutes of this talk, and I want these people to be witnesses. She pointed to Flower, Clarity, Kish and Lanai, who had slipped into the palapa.
“What’s happening?” asked Lanai.
“The village is flooded, looks like someone placed explosives on the dam, and the dam is damaged.”
Ms. Morales cleared the dining table and brought some chairs. Zephairi sat down and began his talk by claiming property of the village on behalf of the Egyptian government, drawing a square with a few small branches. Miradorcito was part of a recent, obscure bilateral agreement between Mexico and Egypt and one of the results was that Zephairi had been authorized by the governor of Campeche to explore Miradorcito, checking for the presence of Mayan ruins and artifacts underneath.
“I’ve told you before, there are no ruins below Miradorcito,” said Ms. Morales, “nobody here has seen any ruins.”
“There may be a whole Mayan city underneath your feet, you may be standing on very valuable archaeological findings,” said Zephairi.
“If so, the artifacts belong to Miradorcito, not to the Egyptian government.”
“The Egyptian government is being very generous, it is bringing all of its archaeological knowledge to this area in Mexico. In return, we’d like to benefit from any findings.” Clarity watched Flower writing the minutes of the talk. She liked to act as secretary when the information given out in a meeting was important, or relevant to her ethnographic purpose, understanding various cultures and why they behaved in certain ways and not other ways, more similar to her own ways of behaving.
“Are you the representative of that Egyptian knowledge?” asked Flower, turning to the Egyptologist.
“Yes.” He took out a small piece of paper, similar to the one Flower had given Clarity, the permiso de arqueología, and placed it inside the improvised square made with twigs.
“Oh good, I made the right choice in following you then,” said Flower.
“You can sell Miradorcito to me and use the money to settle somewhere else,” said Zephairi, turning to Ms. Morales.
Based on previously done geological studies, Zephairi kept thinking that the pyramids possibly standing beneath the earth of Miradorcito would bear some similarities with Egyptian pyramids. Similarities, which had remained unobserved for hundreds of years. Archaeological synergies were bound to be found, and an Egyptian discovery could be claimed for Egypt. Zephairi wanted the glory of that discovery and he genuinely thought that he held an archaeological gold mine with Miradorcito.
“I’m not selling this land, my family owned this land before me, this is my home.” Flower raised her hand.
“Do you mean to say you’re almost part of the environment?”
Clarity saw Ms. Morales ignore Flower, who had another question. She turned to Zephairi.
“Would you be personally buying the land or is it the Egyptian government who would buy it, were Ms. Morales to accept this transaction?”
“The Alabastriah foundation, my sponsor, would buy the land of Miradorcito, on behalf of the country of Egypt.”
Clarity’s Hawaiian friend, Lanai, objected to Ms. Morales reasoning, arguing that it might be interesting to look for Mayan ruins, because they were part of the tradition of Miradorcito and of the culture that Ms. Morales was defending. Ms. Morales was intrigued by Lanai’s statement, but she shook her head.
“No, we want to stay here just as we are, there’s nothing underneath Miradorcito.”
The work to drain all the mud from the village was tiring. Ms. Morales was scrambling on a borrowed cell phone to find a village nearest to Miradorcito that could provide drainage pumps. Zephairi had sent his crew to block the dam’s crater with large branches, but the water continued to pour from the river towards Miradorcito, albeit with a lesser volume. After several hours of clean up work with only a shovel and buckets at hand, Ms. Morales decided to break for lunch. She opened the door of her palapa, followed by Clarity and Flower, and stepped inside, exhausted from all the work done. She wanted a good meal, and the feeling of uneasiness that the flood had created in her mind, showed on her weary face. She opened the drawer of the chest where she kept her toucan, but her hands didn’t find the familiar feel of the wooden bird. The toucan was a talisman and very few people understood how it worked or why. Kept by her family for generations, Tokal, the name Ms. Morales had given to the toucan, was about ten inches tall. It was made of heartwood and had a four inch bill painted yellow whose tint had worn over the years. She opened the chest drawer wider, but there was no sight of the object that according to her experience, provided a sense of protection to the village, promoted safety, and to some extent, removed obstacles. She came to the conclusion that Clarity feared.
“The toucan, it’s not here, it disappeared.” Ms. Morales always kept her totem in the same spot, and it was clear that someone had come in and taken the bird. This was a disaster worse than the flood, because her precious totemic item acted as a strong emotional support. Its mere presence bolstered Ms Morales’ conviction that there was room to preserve Mayan traditions in the modern world facing Miradorcito. Tokal came from another era, the era of her ancestors, and with it present at her side, she felt strong inwardly despite the poverty surrounding her and facing the village. Its presence convinced her that she could confront the cultural gringo disintegration brought by Coca Cola and alcohol facing the Miradorcito zona indigena, its indigenous population, which included herself and Kish. Traditional healers considered the toucan as a way to enter the spirit world and Ms. Morales spread the idea that as a result of its sociable, colorful personality, it was a bird of good augury for the village. Touching the keel-billed wooden bird every day kept her inner strength intact, and she cherished it as one of her most precious possessions. Flower stepped forward, eager to comfort the head of the village.
“I saw Mr. Zephairi walk near your home a couple of hours ago, he thinks the Mayan ruins hidden in Miradorcito might be underneath this hut.”
While Ms. Morales kept searching for the village totem inside her home, Clarity walked to the area where Zephairi and his crew of assistants had settled. Zephairi didn’t travel alone, he had brought with him to Mexico a group of eight people coming from Egypt who were deft at locating, recording, collecting and interpreting archaeological facts during the various phases of any project, which included survey, testing, excavation and laboratory examinations. Clarity walked past Zephairi, who was using a hand shovel and bucket, and other digging tools such as a hand pick, a hand brush, mini hand mattock, and a hand tray looking for rocks, soil samples, or bones, that would indicate Mayan presence hundreds of years earlier.
She approached his Parthenon eight person tent and looked around, before stepping inside. The ‘mansion style’ six foot high tent was spacious, offering several features meant to add comfort, including mesh sidewalls to allow for ventilation during warm weather and a removable divider wall which split the tent into two rooms. Placed behind the vestibule, there was a table with a large map of the area, half-folded. Clarity walked towards the table and began reading the map, which depicted various Mayan sites in the Yucatán peninsula, Chichen Itza, Coba, Uxmal, Tulum, and the lesser known Etzna, Sayil, Becan, and Kabah.
On the table lied a luxurious, Venezia, scritto leather zipped Berluti agenda, which held a notebook planner inside. Clarity flipped the pages of the agenda to the current day, and noticed Zephairi had marked an appointment for that day with a person scribbled as Levian Fahibian. She heard the brushing noise of outdoor pants approaching the entrance of the tent. Caught on the spot, Clarity reached for the area behind the divider and hid inside.
“Mr. Fahibian, step inside will you, we have several things to put in place.”
Clarity saw the square face of Zephairi with a man in his late fifties showing gold hair. Lehver Fahibian was a real estate developer coming from Belize, he was considered a driving force behind the recent bilateral agreement between Mexico and Egypt. Clarity pushed aside the mesh of the divider slightly to peek inside the front part of the tent, and saw Fahibian’s girlfriend Casey, winner of a Miss bodybuilding pageant and of several mud wrestling championships as well, standing near her. The woman was like Fahibian’s shadow, never leaving the developer on his own, since their wedding a few months earlier was cancelled at the last minute by a business trip as a result of the bilateral agreement. Fahibian owned a full-service beach resort in northern Belize called the ‘Moneghetti Suites’, named after one of the districts in the ward of La Condamine in Monaco. Casey had arranged their resort bedroom in the island of Ambergris Caye like one permanently for newlyweds. Bent on pulling Fahibian towards the idea of marriage, Casey ensured that their room was always bright and well lit, that curtains and walls of the room were not painted pink, because it was said to cause a feeling of agitation and insecurity, that the bathroom door did not open directly to the bed, and that there was no stereo on the headboard, because sound affected the mind according to the mud wrestling competitor, and possibly the quality of sleep. Fahibian often listened to Mozart before going to sleep, and Casey disliked classical music, and so she had convinced her husband-to-be that he should listen to music in the mornings, with earphones, getting rid of his need for a stereo on the bed’s headboard.
“Ms. Morales drove Duldu out of the village, I hear,” said Fahibian. Zephairi nodded.
“Yes, I haven’t gotten an archaeological permit for him yet, but we’re working on it.” Clearly, Fahibian had sent Duldu to Miradorcito, and Zephairi knew of him, thought Clarity.
“What did she think of the damage to the dam?”
“She thinks it might have been caused by someone, I’m leading her towards the hypothesis of explosives.”
“That’s like incriminating ourselves, you should have been less obvious.”
“No one saw your retainer Duldu place the explosives, it puts me out of suspicion with her. Where is he now?” Fahibian extended the crumpled map of the region in front of him, taking a seat on a table, with his girlfriend looking over his shoulder.
“He’s around, checking the damage of the flood and seeing whether an aerial cable car can be installed here across the large trees.”
Clarity was appalled to know that Fahibian had created the flood in Miradorcito purportedly, and that Zephairi condoned the act. She heard the sound of the tent’s zipper at the entrance open. Ms. Morales entered the Egyptologist’s tent, ill-humored. The head of the village walked to the table, facing Zephairi. The reason for her anger was Duldu. As she was draining her garden from mud, Duldu had walked right into it, asking her what she thought the damages of the flood would be, and whether she would object to a cable car built over her home.
“Mr. Zephairi, do you know this man in the village whose name is Duldu? He’s asking very strange questions, but they all relate to the damage done by the flood and the future of the village. If you know who sent him, please tell me, he makes me nervous.”
“Duldu Kehlver is my employee,” said Fahibian. The real estate developer stepped forward to shake hand with Ms. Morales. Zephairi introduced Fahibian while Casey stayed in the background, walking dangerously close to the divider, checking its mesh. Fahibian began speaking of their pleasant trip from Belize to Miradorcito, before continuing through to the reason for his presence in the village.
“Ms. Morales, we like Miradorcito, we like the land here, we want good things to happen for the village, to build a new resort that will bring business to the area.”
“What kind of resort?”
“A gambling resort, something like the Princess Casino in Belize, or our own Moneghetti Suites, but more elegant, an integrated resort where gaming is one of the parts but not the only one.”
“Integrated with Mayan pyramids and a falafel stand,” added Zephairi.
“I don’t like falafel,” said Casey.
“The falafel stand is part of Egyptian life and there has to be something from Egypt in this resort,” said Zephairi. Casey’s eyes widened.
“I don’t understand why there’s a need for pyramids in this new Moneghetti II resort, it’s a waste of money to pay for archaeological work.”
Fahibian calmed her, stroking the forearm of her girlfriend who was wearing a sweater made of cotton.
“The presence of pyramids may move the resort towards a different segment of leisure, one that will make gaming in the resort a big source of income, more tolerable and acceptable to the community.”
Ms. Morales could not believe what she was hearing.
“I dislike gambling and this notion of easy money that comes with gambling. If there is no work involved in the living you are making, there is something wrong and what you’re doing cannot be properly called work. This project is not going through here.”
Fahibian ignored her body language, in particular her index finger moving sideways, meaning no.
“I’ll make a deal with you,” said Fahibian, “you can sell the land of Miradorcito to my real estate development company ‘Mangrove Barrier Resorts’.”
“No,” said Ms. Morales. She shook her head in refusal.
“Is that a definite no?” asked Zephairi, “you might like falafel a lot more than you think.”
“There are no pyramids here, we don’t want to sell our land or see a gambling resort, we want to keep the village as it is.”
“Well, currently it’s flooded,” said Zephairi.
Clarity heard a noise behind her near the backdoor of the tent. Flower came inside, noticing Clarity, who quickly told her to hush by placing her finger on her lips. Behind Flower, Clarity noticed Lanai, Cynthia, Taimi and Jenna, opening the mesh of the tent’s backdoor, sneaking inside the tent as well. The second room of the tent was getting filled and agitated with feminine energy. Clarity hushed the line of the argument spoken by Ms. Morales and Fahibian to Flower, who whispered it in telephone line style to Cynthia, Taimi and Jenna. Casey, hearing some noise, opened the mesh divider, nearly colliding her face against Clarity’s nose.
“Who are you, this is a private conversation.”
“We’re assistants of Mr. Zephairi,” said Flower. Fortunately, Flower knew how to stay casual in compromising situations. Zephairi got up and walked towards the far end of his tent, asking Flower what she was doing. This time, it was Lanai who spoke first.
“We came to bring our support, we think it’s a good idea to build a gambling resort here,” said the Malibu librarian, changing the subject, “it’s going to bring jobs to the community here.” Cynthia, Taimi and Jenna nodded.
“It’s going to be like Vegas in the jungle, it’s cool,” said Taimi.
Flower and Clarity disagreed, thinking the resort would create unruly gamblers and a slew of problems for the local environment, like polluted waters.
Fahibian stood up and led his girlfriend to the entrance of Zephairi’s tent.
“Think about my proposal Ms. Morales, there will be trouble for the village if you don’t sell this land to us.”
to the community
SUN ON THE ROCKS amusements for adults, in All-Women Banana humor order.
THE MALIBU CASE.
THE ACAPULCO COCKTAIL.
THE CAYMAN AIR BANNER.
THE BAHAMAS LOTION.
THE ADULT CHANNEL.
THE OOL BRODERIE.
THE BELLAGIO WIKILEAK.
THE CUBAN RENEGADE.
THE SUGAR BABY.
THE LOVABLE COMMUNITY.
Crafted by Somers Isle & Loveshade.
Sun on the Rocks is genuine banana humor, fresh, trivial,
easy to peel, and easy-going, like the fruit.
All fictional characters are adults at least twenty one years of age.
Compound Interest Calculator Clarity keeps close, for retirementpurposes (savings plan is in the Cayman Air Banner):
please ensure you fill out the box interest rate, with a value of five, or
Careers and Professional Designations to consider:
Chartered Financial Analyst: http://www.cfainstitute.org
Chartered Wealth Manager:
http://www.financialcertified.com/certifications.html (other certifications)
Certified Financial Planner: http://www.cfp.net/
Institute for the Certification of Computing Professionals:
Think and Grow Rich: http://archive.org/details/Think_and_Grow_Rich
Napoleon Hill’s classic book on wealth.
How to Make Money (free pdf book from 1859):
Educational sites and global news:
Khan Academy: http://www.khanacademy.org/
Visual Thesaurus: http://www.visualthesaurus.com/
Visual Global News: http://www.newsmap.jp/
Bermuda College: http://www.bercol.bm
University College Cayman Islands: http://www.ucci.edu.ky
Free online university classes: http://www.coursera.org/
Ohio State University: http://www.osu.edu/
University of Arizona: http://www.arizona.edu/
University of Hawaii: http://www.hawaii.edu/
Teleoperator Clarity Nice and her friend ethnographer Flower Parkwood, reach the decrepit and picturesque town of Miradorcito in the state of Campeche in Mexico. Brought to Campeche in a colorful guagua from a brief vacation in Cancun after exposing alcohol traffic in the British Virgin Islands (The Sugar Baby), Clarity becomes the assistant of Flower, using her 'permiso de arqueologia', an observation and archaeological dig permit granted by Flower's boss, egyptologist Akhris Zephairi. Zephairi's Alabastriah foundation is funded by the Museum of Cairo and a shady real estate developer from Belize, Levian Fahibian, who is looking for new areas to invest a pile of cash showing on the balance sheet of his company, Mangrove Barrier Resorts. Fahibian makes an offer to the elderly head of the village, Ms. Morales, to sell the land of her ancestors, in order to seek an obscure assortment of Mayan ruins buried under Miradorcito for decades and build where the village of Miradorcito is standing, a gambling resort similar to those found in Belize, and a Mayan historical village that will bring new tourist business to the area.