'The Drive-In Puerto Rico'
Sep. 27th, 2004 08:23 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
coalescentHeading into the final five stories in Trujillo we reach South America, Honduras, although there's still a little further to go before we come to the titular town itself. Trujillo here is in the background, part of the scenery; meanwhile 'The Drive-In Puerto Rico' is the story of a hero, of sorts. Colonel Mauricio Galpa shot down three enemy jets in a war nearly twenty years ago, and has been The National Hero ever since, travelling the country, promoting pride in his nation, and living off the hospitality of his hosts. At first, he enjoyed the gravy train; over the years, however, the thrill has faded, and he's become tired. All he wants now are the 'ordinary consolations of an ordinary life' (p.350), but the government denies him rest--there's an uncertain election around the corner, and they need the political capital that they think Galpa can provide.
So it is that in August 2000 Galpa arrives in Puerto Marada, on the Caribbean coast; a holiday destination for bureaucrats, who are followed by whores, who are followed in turn by journalists in search of a story. It's also home to Galpa's favourite place, a bar-restaurant called The Drive-In Puerto Rico despite the fact that it's not a drive-in and it has little to do with Puerto Rico. The owner, Tomas, just liked the name. Out one night Galpa encounters Colonel Felix Carbonell, one of the most brutal figures in the established regime. He also bumps into two American journalists, a friend by the name of Jerry Gammage, and his colleague Margery Emmons. When the journalists dig up some dirt on Carbonell, they need a way out of the country, fast, and they turn to Galpa for help.
This far into Trujillo, certain patterns to Lucius Shepard's writing are becoming clearer. In 'The Drive-In Puerto Rico', for instance, the supernatural is present in the small things; it's in the moments when 'sometimes out of all the mess and clutter and sadness, [the world] says something' (p379). This is a sentiment similar to that evoked in 'Hands Up! Who Wants To Die?'--and, appropriately, the magic in the story, like that in 'Crocodile Rock', is like the voice of the land. When Colonel Carbonell meets Colonel Galpa, the scene is described as being like a 'confluence of past and future' (p.359). The two are opposites, standing for the country-that-was and the country-that-is, such that when the inevitable mystical confrontation arrives the battle is for the character of a nation, not just for the life or death of individuals.
What elevates 'The Drive-In Puerto Rico' above the two stories mentioned above is that the moral choice here--whether Galpa will help the journalists--is more fully developed. At the start of the story, the colonel is young but tired, worn down by so many years on the road. He questions his actions constantly. Gammage is a friend, he thinks, but not a great friend, so is it really worth the risk to help him? Can you force the world to change? By the end of the story the colonel is old, but he has found his place, and come to an understanding with it. He has reached a peace born of experience; a peace born of the realisation that the small acts, the ones that the outside world may not even notice, can sometimes be the most worthwhile.
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So it is that in August 2000 Galpa arrives in Puerto Marada, on the Caribbean coast; a holiday destination for bureaucrats, who are followed by whores, who are followed in turn by journalists in search of a story. It's also home to Galpa's favourite place, a bar-restaurant called The Drive-In Puerto Rico despite the fact that it's not a drive-in and it has little to do with Puerto Rico. The owner, Tomas, just liked the name. Out one night Galpa encounters Colonel Felix Carbonell, one of the most brutal figures in the established regime. He also bumps into two American journalists, a friend by the name of Jerry Gammage, and his colleague Margery Emmons. When the journalists dig up some dirt on Carbonell, they need a way out of the country, fast, and they turn to Galpa for help.
This far into Trujillo, certain patterns to Lucius Shepard's writing are becoming clearer. In 'The Drive-In Puerto Rico', for instance, the supernatural is present in the small things; it's in the moments when 'sometimes out of all the mess and clutter and sadness, [the world] says something' (p379). This is a sentiment similar to that evoked in 'Hands Up! Who Wants To Die?'--and, appropriately, the magic in the story, like that in 'Crocodile Rock', is like the voice of the land. When Colonel Carbonell meets Colonel Galpa, the scene is described as being like a 'confluence of past and future' (p.359). The two are opposites, standing for the country-that-was and the country-that-is, such that when the inevitable mystical confrontation arrives the battle is for the character of a nation, not just for the life or death of individuals.
What elevates 'The Drive-In Puerto Rico' above the two stories mentioned above is that the moral choice here--whether Galpa will help the journalists--is more fully developed. At the start of the story, the colonel is young but tired, worn down by so many years on the road. He questions his actions constantly. Gammage is a friend, he thinks, but not a great friend, so is it really worth the risk to help him? Can you force the world to change? By the end of the story the colonel is old, but he has found his place, and come to an understanding with it. He has reached a peace born of experience; a peace born of the realisation that the small acts, the ones that the outside world may not even notice, can sometimes be the most worthwhile.
[Back to Trujillo index]
