First we heard a rumor from an Ecuadorian fishing schooner. It was corroborated by a Norwegian skiff, which was touring the islands looking for possible fishery grounds. Governor Puente stopped by the islands (we hadn’t seen him in a year—governorships were simultaneously a reward and a punishment, and the occupants of the office did not pain themselves trying to fulfill the duties of office) to tell us that members of the Ecuadorian military would be scouting for a place to construct a possible landing strip and a military enclave. That sent our little island into a tizzy. An entire army base? I spent many nights awake worrying that it would come to pass. Ainslie pooh-poohed my worrying in advance. It was Ecuador, remember, where plans were worth less than sucres on the black market. Puente would change his mind a thousand times and then abscond with the money. And that was pretty much what came to pass. Elke and I avoided the subject of Europe, though she did say she was worried about her children at boarding school in Switzerland if—or when—war broke out.
