we are already bathed in summer heat.
Our craft heaves idly on the waters, waiting for a sign to land.
Some boats, with men asleep, are swaying to and fro, stirred only by the long and lazy swell of a Pacific tide.
Who cares to hoist a flag?
Who cares to move?
Senoras twist their cigarettes; tall, thin, serpentine brunettes, with eyes as dark as night, and cheeks as brown as walnut juice, their rich red colour blushing through the skin.
Lolling on deck, these giddy and coquettish damsels fan their cheeks, and puff their curls of smoke, and let their eyelids droop in languor.
Ah di me Alhama!
Light of heart and glib of tongue, the dons and caballeros match their female folk.
“ Let me propose to you a task,” lisps Juan, addressing two picturesque coquettes: “Pepita, you shall twist me a cigarette, and you, Josepha, smoke it for me!”
Leaning on the vessel's side, we watch a shoal of smelts at play.
A pelican settles on our mast.
The air is still; the silence broken only by the snapping of an unseen dog. A line of surf breaks white and