Banished

There is a dreamlike quality to all of this. Outside the hotel, where we stayed for ten days, potted ferns spill over the steps. On the veranda, geckos. I remember Elvis, the chef, concierge, and secretary, who taught me a few words of Spanish while I munched his gallo pinto, rice and beans.

                                

But one can only live a dream for so long, rifling through a bloated hockey bag for socks in the morning, pushing the furniture back so Contortionist Kate can lead me through a power yoga class. We tried following Youtube workouts but the internet connection was so spotty the workouts would progress in irritating spurts.

We were fig-leaf innocent during the apartment hunt; behind a graffiti-smeared wall a gate opened to paradise: a garden of blooming flowers with a hammock strung amongst them. A dream apartment with a water purifier and a toilet with a sure, strong flush. Fresh barbed wire on top of the walls, and not weighed down by vegetation. A washing machine from this decade. A second bedroom and no cockroaches in either one. And through the perfectly-adequate kitchen a verdant sunscape: the backyard, another garden, just as florid as the first. We lay in the grass planning an elaborate scheme of hammocks and guessed the shapes of clouds. 

The housemaid was rugged, too. She moved the fridge by herself to show the lack of grime beneath, scoffing at my offer of help. She pulled weeds from the garden like wringing a chicken’s neck. Carefree Kate was grinning and running her hands over the dining room table. It was hand-carved from a single tree trunk by chorotega artisans, or so we imagined. Somehow the beauty of the garden spilled out onto the streets, too. The people were milder, la fruta fresher, the stray dogs had been carefully combed and primped.

That evening back in the hotel we ordered in, and let our realtor/translator know we were interested in the Edenic apartment. He informed us the landlady had just called, saying the apartment was no longer available.

“Was it us?” wondered Crestfallen Kate. We still wonder. At least Adam and Eve had a chance—they knew the rules and consciously broke them. But those gates are barred to us now; the walls are high and the gate unrusted, its hinges oiled well. The graffiti-wall is guarded by a seraph wielding a sword of fire. The barbed wire is fresh and clear of vegetation.