The Accidental Native Read Online Free Page A

rang. I dried my eyes, blew my nose and ran to open the door. A woman in her mid-thirties tilted her head and grinned. Had dyed reddish, she wore sharp-looking shoes from where glossy red polished toe nails appeared. Her tight dress revealed dazzling wavy shapes. She leaned over and stuck out her hand for me to shake while placing her other hand on her thigh.
    â€œMy name is Marisol Santerreguí. Welcome to La Universidad de Baná.” We exchanged nods and smiles. “I’m here to pick you up and accompany you to Dr. Roque’s office.”
    I looked around the furnished room for an excuse, but realized this was scheduled, so I’d better go. I thought we were going to walk, but in Puerto Rico people drive their cars everywhere. We drove less than a tenth of a mile in her car, which was so immaculate I asked her if it was new. “No,” she replied, laughing. “If it was new, I’d still have the seats covered in factory plastic.”
    â€œPuerto Ricans take care of their wheels,” she asserted. Then, after a beat: “They love to toss garbage out the window as they speed down the highways in spotless cars.” She shrugged, and I nodded.
    Marisol drove the long way to show me the campus, small compared to American counterparts. It held three academic buildings, just as many administrative structures. No dormitories. Most students lived in housing provided by town residents, who supplemented their living by gouging rents for no frills, crowded quarters.
    On the roof of the student center stood a huge statue of Cano the Coquí, the college mascot, overlooking the well-kept lawns andflowerbeds. The coquí was a tiny tree frog unique to Puerto Rico. Cano stood on two legs and waved an arm in welcome—the other arm held the school flag. The mascot wore a silly cap with the school initials, which I’m sure nobody in Puerto Rico had ever worn.
    In the middle of the rotary leading to the college proper stood a replica of Evgeniy Vuchetich’s famous United Nations statue, the one with the muscular nude man beating a sword into a plowshare with a hammer. This version had been sculpted to look “native,” which meant it wore clothes. Marisol explained the college had once been an American army base. When it closed in the early sixties, the citizens of Baná had petitioned for its transformation into a college campus. With few exceptions, these were the original facilities used by the U.S. Army, including the swimming pool, now closed for repairs.
    We drove around the rotary, past an open structure with cement tables and benches. Two stray dogs slept in the shadows of a large ceiba. Along the way, we passed several new BMWs, Mercedes, Volvos, a couple of Lexuses. For a minute, I thought the salaries for professors might compensate for any ill feelings about teaching here.
    â€œStudent vehicles,” Marisol said, with raised eyebrows. “What their parents were spending on private school tuition they can now spend on new toys.”
    She parked in the professors’ area, with the Hyundais and Toyotas, I knew a teaching gig in Puerto Rico was definitely not the same as in Saudi Arabia or Dubai.
    Dr. Roque’s office was in The New Academic Building, so named because after six years the college community couldn’t agree on someone to name it after. We walked down the English wing, with offices shared by professors. An open area begged for furniture. The architect had that in mind, but the administration didn’t want to furnish sofas and armchairs because it promoted student loitering. It remained a big, unused space. As perspiration ran down my face and spotted my clothing, I noticed the building had no air conditioning.
    Dr. Pedro Roque’s office had the austerity befitting a monk. His working space was sparse and ascetic. Nothing on the walls. A fauxwooden bookcase held mostly folders and binders. On top he had three miniature knickknacks,