through the earth’s crust rather than been built upon it. Cut from a great block of metal, a ten-story fisherman sat upon the back of a giant shrimp, the legs and antenna of the crustacean wrapping about the man’s limbs like tentacles. The detail of the figures was such that they appeared ready to resume life, the monster shrimp returning to the waves to be hunted by the Poseidon-like Mexican fisherman. But it was more than that. Their combative embrace held a sort of serene camaraderie, as if each depended upon the other to survive; more partners than adversaries.
Thomas and June stopped before the statue, looking up and up until they spied the man's Don Quixote head framed by a Milky Way halo in the wide night sky. Several fishermen had gathered nearby. Some prayed silently. Others left fruit at the base of the statue. Still others drank quietly with an eye towards the shrimp. An ancient woman wrapped in layers of a red and orange shawl stood lonely vigil, her weathered face upturned, as if the man would come alive and speak with her if she only waited long enough.
Traveling up the coast from the Chiapas States, he’d been in Puerto Peñasco for a little more than a day before he’d met June. One unifying theme in all the places he'd visited seemed to be the Cult of Catholicism. He'd grown up around churches in America, but Mexicans took it to another level, one that would put even Southern Baptists to shame. They worshiped Mary as if she were a goddess herself. Jesus reigned on every corner. Whitewashed walls, mud-daubed hovels and Spanish mission-style buildings were adorned with evidence of Catholic worship, as if each architectural creation rising above the earth was its own monolithic prayer to Jesus, Mary and Jehovah.
Most of the places along the coast were little more than replicas of themselves, but this town had a different feel. The same Catholic cultism was everywhere, but added to that was an older feel, as if it had been rooted in the earth since creation. He hadn't been able to put his finger on it until just now, but looking at the statue made him realize that the people in this town were older, much older. The old woman in the shawl marked her age with a deeply creviced face and eyes like sunken marbles. He'd read that the town had been a fishing village even before the Spanish came to the land. Somehow that age translated to reality. The age of the place, the way the sun fell into the sea every night, and this monolithic statue, separated this town from all the rest.
"I wonder how long that's been there," he said.
June squeezed his hand. "You'll be moving on soon. When's the last time you saw your mother? She sounds like a wonderful woman."
"Hold on. No need to rush me out of here. I thought I'd stay awhile."
"There's a hard line between living here and visiting. If you're visiting, then there's a time to leave. Maybe now is that time."
"What's the hurry?” He grinned, hoping it would be contagious. “Besides, I kind of like it here."
"You're staying because of me, aren't you?"
He hesitated but a moment. "Of course I am. You're the best thing to happen to me in months. Years,” he hurriedly added. “I thought I'd hang out, but if you don't want me, hell."
She stared at him, her eyes wide pools of fear, but then something happened and she looked away. The soft liquid pools hardened to stone. Her lips made a thin line. "Then leave. I don't want you here."
He'd only been testing her, but her response cut him. It cut him deep. His face began to burn. "I can leave tomorrow," he said.
***
The tepid temperature of the water surprised him. South towards the entrance of the Bay of California where the Sea of Cortez and the Pacific Ocean meet, the water was cool and refreshing. He'd surfed there six weeks ago and would go back in a heartbeat. Yet here, only a few hundred miles north, the water here was almost bathtub warm, and not at all comfortable.
But then the water was the least of his worries. The rope attached from his ankle to the statue far beneath the waves was what had spooked him the most. He hadn’t seen the statue, but when one of the others had asked what they were to be tethered to, the quick Spanish answer of the