The Noble American

Isaak Parker slid out of a club where he happened to appear nightly, in the front, in the attitude of one who yearned to find something. Most days it was full, early in the week less so; it mattered little to him, whether a group of local businessmen clung to the stage, while exquisite young ladies gave an uncomfortable performance for the spirited fold, or whether only he was swayed by emotion, wearing at his usual table a stylish polo shirt, and flashing a Rolex watch and gallant face. Yet the spectacle left him unresponsive, that on the stage could not hold his attention until the third or fourth act of the dull show of advancing quality, a familiar figure rendered luminous by expressiveness, and by a twist and a turn, gave life to the shadowy existence he led.
He felt that his life was connected to hers; her eyes filled him with wonder; the richness of her skin, so luxuriant, aroused in him passion and love. His ardent affection blessed her with every perfection until she carried him away—pale as sculpted ivory in the blaze of spotlights, sweet as cinnamon when their glare was lowered and rays from the ornate candles above revealed her, lighting up the gloom with radiance of her beauty, like those scintillating iridescent hills, which stand out against the dark background of the sacred gold towers.
For almost two months Isaak had not sought to know what she might be, in the world outside, fearing to cast a different light which gave him a feeling of hope. Some idle talk, it was true, between the women, rather than the patrons, had reached his ears, but he regarded it more than any bona fide anxiety since coming up from Peru, for he was no longer on guard. A case officer of his whose manner of life during the period preceding the close of his notorious career, had given him disposition to use them well, but had warned him that Latins were not genuine, since Spain had taken away their true spirits.
This rum of a man referred, no doubt, to the cleanliness of blood, a strange concept initially, but he related so many stories of his illusions and disappointments, and displayed so many photographs, magically coy snapshots taken around towns where he executed his trade craft that he afterwards used to fill his Cuban cigar boxes, and so many scented letters and faded keepsakes, each with its peculiar and sometimes funny story, that Isaak had come to think ill of them as a people, without considering the course of human life.
It was a strange period now, such as that often following a Golden Age, the twilight period of expanding wealth and influence of a great Western nation. The patriotic valor of the two World Wars, the drive for empire caused by the Cold War, the certainty and mad orgies of Wall Street, were no more. It was a time of mingled activity, indecision and high unemployment, vainglorious dreams of world dominion, tendencies of fear and distrust, changing values, timid instincts of resurgence, weariness of past failures, insurmountable debt—an age somewhat like the heights of Rome and Spain.
The United States yearned for the medicine which would make her feel young again, from the hands of Hippocrates. The Greek physician's oath came by word of mouth, by Apollo, by Asclepiades, by Health, by Panacea, by all the gods and goddesses, making them witnesses; and yet, a great civilization was not cured until it had destroyed itself from within, while decline lay in the minds, the morals, the class struggle, the failing trade, the bureaucratic regulations, the stifling taxes, the consuming wars, anymore than by ruthless barbarians coming from beyond the borders. The only recourse was the path of Western Civilization whither great powers climbed higher and higher to escape mortality. Upon the circumstances to which the founding fathers provided, people lived in pursuit of honor and position, shrugged off the very nature of death, and were drunk with prosperity and happiness.
Immortality, alas. Of heavenly forms, of eternal springs and bouquets of roses, of newfound redemption. Seen nearer, the real woman on stage repelled innocent youth which required her to appear as a goddess or an aristocrat, and above all, inapproachable.
Some of Isaak's contemporaries considered these prideful paradoxes part of the game, and quite athwart went the land of heart's desire that at times gave way to both eternities, where everybody remained young and cheerful, or where everybody remained young and innocent.
Thus he quit the club with the sense of bitter sadness left by a vanquished dream, and turned with pleasure to a bar where a party of his fellow knight-errants liked to drink, and where all sadness yielded to the inexhaustible vivacity of a few brilliant exchanges, which by stormy bravado oftentimes rose to aggression. Associations of masculinity and sexuality with violence always produced such natures, and the discussions often became so animated that older ones in the club would glance from the window to see if the rebels, drug cartels, or militias were coming to put an end to these disputations of disturbed and comical foreigners. “Loves, arms, and knights and la-dies!” was the code of the secret society. One of them commented: “Isaak, I understand you've become intimately familiar with the Gold Club. For which one do you go?”
“Which! Why, it's impossible to go there for another!” However, Isaak would not divulge her name.
“Well,” said his colleague kindly, “good luck to you in any case. Say, here comes my man.”
With slight emotion Isaak turned to the person designated, and perceived a full-fledged knight who had a fair complexion, blue eyes, jet-black hair, calm aspect, and a presence full of unwavering vigor.
“I say to you, Sir James, it's our honor. The days are already hot, the Cortizos are on Easter holiday, and if we go out looking for trouble, we shall have no luck.”
“Manny, you are like one of those urban cowboys that, when he enters a bar, drops his revolver on the counter and brags, 'I'm on a mission from God!' and by the second large tumbler gets into a fight with the man standing next to him, when there is no need at all.”
“You can't be referring to me,” the young man begged with a sly smile.
“I'm afraid so, you are as hot as a pistol as any in Mexico; and in my opinion a bit overeager, and too quick to be effective for this line of....”
“What, wasn't it you who scrubbed a man in Grasshopper Hill Park? My God, you fight with a man that wakes up on the wrong side of the bed. You slay a man for drinking another kind of beer. Is it the cactus or the maguey you prefer, I can't recall. You tell me many things and now reprimand me for being overzealous. We should all be like Isaak here, who has scored a local girl.”
“What is it to me?” Isaak said, “a lover or a prostitute?” There must be something, and Dido seemed worthy of his choice.
“Good work, as I have said, best way to gain access is through family.”
“Jim, I chase my shadow, that is all.”
“Yes, men were made to look, so let us gaze!”
“I will not go there,” added the youngest. “Such pleasures will make me go soft.”
On his way out, Isaak stopped at a kiosk and glanced carelessly at a local newspaper, to learn, he believed, the state of the economy. In a bold gambit for an early retirement, he had chanced a large part of his savings into a condominium in Las Vegas, and it was reported that, although long forgotten, it was about to be worth half of what he had paid for it—and, indeed, this just happened in consequence of the financial crisis and the devaluation of the dollar. A Euro-pacific mutual fund was quoted high though, so he was rich again.