In this the last installment in my Mexico story I pick up the narrative the morning after my night in a Mexican jail.
Mexico: A Night In The Hoosegow
In the morning it was a sore head and a trip back to the detachment for me. I was ushered out of the Bug into a waiting room of the detachment off of which were several rooms. After about twenty minutes of sitting in the waiting room I was ushered into one of the rooms. The room was bare except for a long table around which were a number of wooden chairs. A lone light bulb hung from the ceiling. Seated in one chair at the far side and in the middle of the table was a lone middle aged Mexican policeman with a mustache and an open file folder lying on the table in front of him. He stared absently at a pencil that he played with in his hands upon the table and made no notice of my entrance as I was directed to take a seat opposite him. Neither of us spoke. The fellow that brought me in the room left silently and closed the door. A long silence ensued as the policeman continued staring impassively at the pencil. My head was throbbing and all I could think of was “What now?”
After a few uncomfortable minutes the policeman looked up slowly from his preoccupation with the pencil and said evenly, “2000 pesos you no go back to jail”
Being a solitary traveler in a foreign land, the police could effectively do anything they wanted to me and who was to know? However, the precarious and vulnerable nature of my position and the threat of being sent back to jail were lost on me. In my hung over state all that mattered to me was the money. My reaction was immediate.
“2000 pesos!” I barked incredulously,” I haven’t got 2000 pesos! You guys have all my money! You know I don’t have 2000 pesos to spare! All that I have is what stands between me and starving and that isn’t much! I haven’t got it!”
Seemingly unaffected, the policeman looked down again at the pencil in his hands. There was another long silence except for the beating of my heart that throbbed in my ears. Also, the police had failed to feed me. I hadn’t eaten in over 24 hours. I felt nauseous.
He brought his gaze up slowly once again, looked me in the face, and said without an ounce of emotion,” 1500 pesos you no go back to jail.”
“You’re not hearing me! This isn’t a negotiation friend,” I shouted, the sound of my own voice a source of pain. “I am telling you, I don’t have 1500 pesos to give you! Look. You need an education on Canadians. There are two types of Canadians: rich ones and poor ones. Just your luck, you got a poor one! I haven’t got it I tell you!”
Again with the damn pencil. And then he proceeded undeterred, “1000 pesos you no go back to jail.”
And that’s where I lost it. I rose to my feet and placed my hands on the edge of the table before me. “Look friend. You’re not getting a word of what I am telling you! I want an interpreter! Right now! Do you hear me?! I want an interpreter!” I bellowed and pounded my fist on the table for emphasis.
And, lo and behold, to my surprise, silent and emotionless, he got slowly up and went and got an interpreter!
When he came back he seated himself in his chair without a word and went right back to his pencil. The interpreter was a one legged, youngish Mexican man on crutches with a red and white bandana on his head. An eye patch and a parrot on his shoulder and I would have taken him for a pirate. What he lacked in mobility he made up for in his command of the English language. I quickly explained my position to the fellow who then turned and talked with the policeman who was trying to extort me. They exchanged words that of course I did not understand. The conversation resulted in the interpreter turning to me and saying, “Follow me.” I gave the policemen one last questioning glance that went unanswered, turned, and followed the interpreter from the room.
He led me through the waiting room, out the front door of the detachment into the glaring sunlight which pained my eyes, and around to the back of the building to what I took to be the parade grounds. Assembled on the grounds in rows were about 100 Mexican policemen in uniform. Three of what I assumed to be their superiors stood in front of this group speaking to them. One of these three walked up and down the front row of officers inspecting them. Having no idea why I was being shown this, all I could do was watch and wait. After about 5 minutes the interpreter turns to me and says, as if the meaning should be evident, ”You see. We all have to do our part.” Not knowing what else to say, and seeing no advantage in being disagreeable, I agreed. He nodded at me in approval and, judging by his facial expression, that appeared to settle the matter for him, whatever the matter might have been. As for me, I missed the point of the lesson entirely.
The message given and the matter thus entirely settled to everyone’s apparent satisfaction, the interpreter led me to another building on the grounds where my possessions were returned to me, including every single peso and dollar that they had taken from me the night before, not a cent was missing, and was unceremoniously shown the door. I was once again at liberty.