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Show Acting Alone Page 75 returned smile brought a surge of brown warmth up from the little reservoir of pan dulce in Sam's middle, and he was conscious of having perfect, full fun when simply concentrating on these lovely little brown people all around. Down by the seashores they were almost like Negroes, and very sexy. In the jungles they were more like pure Indians, all red, and they had bewildered smiles. Up in the cool mountains they wore those standard television serapes and sombreros, and some of them were almost blond European types, and it took these mountain people a little more effort to smile back at you, apparently. This seeming honeymoon had taken the car all over the nation: both coasts; across the interior in three places; through every clime and culture these lovely little brown people had to offer. And it was okay to stay in the car mostly during the day if you paid close attention to what was happening out the window and didn't waste this opportunity to see educational stuff - as Sam had wasted that opportunity in Europe with his mom and her Minolta so long ago. Well, soon his butt got car-sore and Sam got bored. So he decided that he must be suffering from some kind of mildly incapacitating culture shock, a boy from the cold salt desert down here in the jungles and seashores, riveted to his seat. And, of course, once you have determined the nature of what's holding you back, you've halfway licked it. So they say. Sam started to emerge from the car when the sun was still-up. To prove he wasn't a total ethnic coward he would go under the nearest palapa and squirt lime on the top of an aluminum-flavored Dos Equis beer like the Mexicans did. And he'd hammer back some local foul wormy tequila in an unlabeled bottle, and his self-concept and genetic makeup would immediately distort |