Lockdown

Lockdown in P.V., but not locked enough. Today, someone's alarm system went off. The thieves were up before the roosters. I was up when the siren woke me with its annoying and repetitive screech. Except for that sound, there was only silence, and no movements on the street below, which I knew would come eventually. I left the patio and went to warm a cup of yesterday's coffee. A brief five minutes later, I returned to my fourth-floor patio and saw two men, one older man wearing dark clothes and a back-pack and a larger, younger man wearing a baseball cap, shorts, and a reddish-orange t-shirt. He also had a back-pack. The men walked six feet apart from one another, quickly and purposefully, the older one in front kept checking back to make sure his counterpart followed. I assumed they were the thieves. I deduce this because after living here, I have come to know the rhythms of this back road. This early in the morning, people don't generally walk down the hill. To get to their work in the various condominiums, they travel up the road to get to their work as maids, cooks, painters, gardeners, or construction workers, and never this early. Another clear indication to me was that these two men were quiet and did not talk to each other, which is very unusual for Mexicans, whether it's six o'clock in the morning or two o'clock in the afternoon. I went in to grab my camera, but it was already too late to get a good picture, and what good would it do? Perhaps the owners of the condo are gone. Who would care if another building gets hit by a couple of desperate thieves? It's Covid-19. The cops are all out patrolling the beach and the Malecon. It's Easter Saturday, and the message here in P.V. is, "BEACH CLOSED--go back to Mexico City or Guadalajara, or wherever you came from." I can't help but think they are missing something. Semana Santa is usually a time for celebration. Mexicans come from all over to have ice-box parties on the beach and parks or any random parking lot they find where they can set down their chairs and coolers of food and beer. Usually, it's time for fiestas, fireworks, snorkeling, and swimming. Not today, and not next week either. The city is closed, shuttered. Containment has reached the painful point of closed restaurants and stores, lights-out for all hotels and reservations. The waves continue their work on the shore, but not the workers, the maids, the waiters, taxi drivers, or craftsmen. They all must wait for the virus. Unfortunately, their stomachs don't. I don't doubt that the pair I just saw along the road are hungrier than most. It's life on Calle Hortencias during Covid-19.