Bitter Drink Read Online Free

poorly, mixing it with hard English, like a border whore, and smoked long English cigarettes.His eyes were as blue as a gynecologist’s robe. His skin was cured like old leather—a tone only gringos can acquire after years in the sun.
    “Sorry to disappoint you. I only did military service. I don’t like wars. They say they’re bad for your health.”
    “Not necessary to be in a war to fight,
soldado
,” he said.
    “My father is a sailor in San Diego,” I offered. “I don’t know if that counts.”
    “
Fantástico!
It’s in your blood.” He ordered another drink.
    The bartender handed him a tall glass filled with ice, pouring a healthy amount of clear liquid straight from a bottle he’d removed from the cabinet, then topping it off with Jamaica flower water. My liver twisted spasmodically.
    “Russian vodka, the best. Sold by Patricio. From Cuba,
sabes
,” the old man explained.
    Patricio smiled, showing me the bottle with a trademark juggler’s flourish. It was Stolichnaya: the secret of Cuban-Mexican relations revealed in a Mazatlán cantina, and reason enough for the Mexican Secretariat of the Exterior to exist.
    “He just wrecked it with that Jamaica water. But to each his own poison,” I replied.
    The old man let loose a loud guffaw. With his big white beard, he reminded me of a dime-store Santa mocking some poor kid who’d asked for something expensive for Christmas. Goddamned Santa,
pinche
Santa.
    “
Soldado
, you’re
gracioso
, but no more so than old Billy Joe.”
    “That’s easy to see, señor.”
    Two dog tags peeked out of the cleft in his shirt. Like the ones the US Army uses for postage stamps on bodies they ship back home.
    “So you really are a soldier. Did you mistake Mazatlán for Saigon? They’re easy to tell apart; the whores are better here.”
    “Nah, I’m retired now. No more crazy shit,” Billy Joe said softly.
    “Yeah,” I said with a grin, “nobody needs that shit. Better to spend your retirement bucks on Mexican beer, no?” Steering the conversation back to safer ground.
    “Umm. But you’re no tourist. Right,
soldado
?”
    “Nah, I’m a babysitter to the stars. I keep them from peeing their pants and getting a bad rap for it.”
    “Mazatlán
muy lejos
from Hollywood.”
    “Yeah, but I’m down here to work on a film. It’s gonna be more fun than a carnival. I even bought myself some cotton candy,” I replied wearily.
    “Have a good trip to Vallarta,
soldado
,” the old man said, climbing off his barstool and then added, “Bad day for flying.”
    He lifted the box of vodka Patricio the juggler had prepared for him and disappeared out the door.
    I finished my margarita. The conversation had left me uneasy. It was like leaving for a trip and trying to remember if you left the gas on.

2 OUNCES LIGHT RUM
    COLA (USUALLY COKE)
    2–3 DROPS LIME JUICE
    1 LIME SLICE
    S erve one to two parts rum in a highball glass with plenty of ice. Fill the rest of the glass with cola. Add the drops of lime juice and stir. You can garnish with a slice of lime. One of Compay Segundo’s songs wouldn’t hurt, either.
    This drink was born during the Cuban War of Independence in 1895, when the American soldiers who fought against the Spanish army created it to toast their triumph, crying out “CUBA LIBRE! Long live free Cuba!”
    The Cuba libre combines the emblematic beverages of the two nations: Cuban rum and American cola. After Cuba was engulfed by the Communist revolution and then suffered a decades-long US embargo, it became more difficult to assemble the drink. One of the new Cuban government’s priorities was to create somethingsimilar, a drink that did not require Coca-Cola, a symbol of capitalist oppression, as one of its main ingredients. Today this drink is enjoyed in its original form in both the United States and Cuba, proving that alcohol can bridge all political differences.
    __________________
    I arrived in Puerto Vallarta after passing through the historic town