On a tip from Pat, in Colorado, at seven thirty this evening, Alan and I pile into a pulmonia and tell the driver – “Dolphina’s por favor …”
We are taken, for fifty pesos, to the communication towers to the south of us. During the daytime the towers are unlit and stick up like red toothpicks waiting for a green olive. During the night they are flashing red lights and serve notice to drunk ship captains that land and rough rocks are waiting if they don’t leave women alone at the helm.
We don’t know where the dolphins are but you have to trust your driver. Ours is a short man with glasses and a military haircut. We round the south side of the rock fist and towers and see dolphins illuminated on the Malecon.
“When you go back?,” our taxi driver asks.
“I pick you up.”
The dolphins are spectacular with lights and jets of colored water sprayed the length of the pool. Mexican families are posing for pictures and street vendors are cooking by the roadside. A kid dressed in a clown outfit entertains a loud attentive crowd by the fountain. His shoes are ten sizes too big and he wears a little green bowler hat that goes with the bold colors of his outfit. The audience laughs at his chatter and that is his claim to fame. If you can’t hold your audience you have to get another line of work.
Seeing another crowd, we walk towards a tall rock by the ocean’s edge and watch a young man walking on top of a fence railing around the rock’s top. He holds a lit torch in one extended arm and gestures towards the moon. Waves crash below him in a narrow dark deep channel between the rock he stands on and another close by. His white T shirt stands out against a black night sky.
An English speaking promoter jumps on a wall in front of us and introduces his friends – cliff divers traveling to Acapulco.
While he promotes, another tiny diver ascends stairs to the top of the rock, takes the torch from the man already there and lights another for his left hand. He walks on the fence railing using both torches as sparklers. Then, he creeps to the edge of the railing, balances himself, and jumps out into space, holding his two arms out with a burning torch in each hand.
He disappears into the dark waters.
The next time we see him he is wrapped in a towel on the street asking for donations from a busload of gringos.
True to his word, our taxi driver is waiting for us.
Divers and dolphins, on the same night, is two for the price of one.
It is just as Pat described it.