The Blue Gecko

Change can happen in unexpected ways.

The flight would be landing in less than an hour. It had been a long flight. Mark Beauman stretched, thankful that he was flying first class. On his previous trip, he had been cramped and crowded. Things were quite different for him now. He could afford small luxuries. This trip had been a long time coming.

As she lay on the bed waiting, she tried to strike a seductive pose but she was too hungry, too tired and frightened. Her young son Carlos had been successful in bringing men to her but increasingly fewer of them had stayed. She was too old for her profession. She would soon be thirty and younger women were readily available. Her daughter Rosa, was eleven almost twelve. She would soon have to become the primary breadwinner of the family.

Ten years ago she had a happy life. Pablo, her husband, like most of the men on the island was a fisherman. There was not a lot of money but they never went hungry. Life was good.

But that has all changed. Most of the men had adjusted or left the island but Pablo was not one of them. The only things left from her former life were an ugly gecko and few dozen figurines that Pablo had fashioned out of clay before the boredom and inability to support his wife and family had caused him to take his own life.

When he got off the plane, Mark could not believe his eyes. This was not what he was expecting. The last time he had been here the only accommodation had been a four-room guest house. Now there were three modern hotels towering over the beach. There were no fishing boats. Instead, there was a new dock with sailboats and luxury yachts. Where was the local market with fresh fish, exotic fruits, chickens, goats, handcrafted baskets, and especially the clay pots and primitive figurines made from the blue clay that was peculiar to the island?

How could this have happened? Where did all these stands selling sunglasses and cheap plastic trinkets come from?

He felt a tug at his sleeve, an unwashed street urchin pulling at him.

“Come! Very pretty! Very pretty!”

Frustration and anger boiled up and he turned poised to lash out. He wanted to swat the kid, storm back to the airport and take the next flight home.

Carlos did not know that this was the tipping point. A stinging blow followed by humiliation and failure; his family on the brink of starvation; Rosa selling her young body before she had a chance to grow up or a miracle leading to prosperity and redemption.

Mark did not hit the child. He let himself be led away from a stall selling rosaries and plastic crucifixes, down the dusty streets of ramshackle houses.

He found himself in a bedroom. He barely registered the presence of a skinny woman, lying languidly on the bed. For there on the nightstand was a gecko, a blue clay gecko, and around the room were dozens of wonderful figurines.

“How much?” he said.

“How much for the gecko?”

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