SLIM SHADY

The windows at the Posada San Jose (San Jose Inn) are of a unique design. There is no glass. Instead, decorative concrete blocks fill the window space. The two windows in my room measure six feet in length and four feet wide. Thirty-two blocks - four rows horizontal and eight vertical - each containing a Celtic cross design, comprise the window compartment. The blocks are roughly four inches deep and provide ample space around the cross design to allow the passage of light and air.

Mosquitoes can be an issue along the Pacific coast of Mexico. At least in the winter months, they don't arrive in swarms, but a few are enough to pose a nuisance during sleeping hours. Hence, screens are set in place on the inside face of the windows as a barrier against mosquitoes and other pests. The screens are discrete units built with flimsy wooden frames and wedged into place in the window opening.

I inhabit a room at the far back of the posada on the second floor. My side window overlooks a shaded empty lot and the rear window affords a view of a staircase and brick wall. Encroaching upon the brick wall are towering mango trees and other thick foliage trees with bright orange flowers. A sheet of plywood covers three quarters of the outside face of the rear window from the bottom towards the top. Almost a foot of space remains uncovered at the top of the window. To reiterate, the rear window of my room consists of decorative concrete blocks sandwiched between a screen on the inside and a sheet of plywood on the outside that covers three-quarters of the window space save a foot or so at the top.

Recently, as I'm sitting at the table in my room reading and jotting a few notes, I notice a flicker of movement at the far periphery of my visual field. I look up and an iguana is staring back at me from a top block of the room's rear window. The iguana is upside down propped up on its front legs with half of its body hidden from view above the window. Startled, I bark at it, "Go on, get outta here!" The iguana, unperturbed, crawls down between the concrete blocks and the window screen. The dry scrape of its scales against the rough concrete is revolting.

Seeking respite from the midday sun, the iguana continues its downward journey for a foot or so, then makes a sharp turn into the darkness of a concrete block. A trepidatious inspection reveals the iguana lodged in the narrow space between the rear of the decorative window blocks and the sheet of plywood.

A control box for an overhead fan clings to the concrete window arrangement and protrudes through the front screen into the room. Unseen bolts secure the box in place. Several electrical cables squirm from the back of this box, slither up the concrete face of the window, and exit to the outside of the building. The iguana soon disappears behind this box. Shaken, I dig out my flashlight and investigate. Peering as best I can into the shadowy morass behind the fan control box, I discern two scaly, webbed feet jutting out from the tangled cables.

I'm at a loss. The head of my bed abuts the rear wall of the room and rests partially underneath this window. My anxiety stems from a concern that the iguana, attempting to escape the cramped window structure, will push against the screen, disengage it, and somehow land on my face in the middle of the night. An erroneous belief that these iguanas wield poisonous bites amplifies my fears.

I decide to search out Lupita, my landlady. Lupita is in the habit of exposing her midriff to me to show off its relative tautness following the birth of her eleven children (recently amended from ten). Additionally, Lupita has informed me that she possesses 'dons' (gifts). She'll hold out her palm like a police officer stopping traffic to demonstrate her ability to move objects, including people, with the power of her mind. I find Lupita watering an herb planter and explain to her the situation in my room. Lupita fetches Rufo, a tall, bulky man of about sixty who lives in the linen supply room of the posada. Rufo is a nice-enough guy, kind of quiet. He has a large, fleshy face beneath a slightly askew baseball cap and wears ill-fitting, rumpled clothes. As often as not, a quart bottle of beer sits at his side. According to Lupita, Rufo also possesses 'dons.' He can fly.

Team Iguana marches up the stairs to confront the situation. Heading into my room, Lupita assures me that not only are iguanas harmless, but they're darn good eating. I shine my flashlight into the concrete crevices behind the screen to discover the iguana is gone. We laugh it off and they once again insist I have nothing to fear. Later, I joke to Lupita and Rufo that I have fed the iguana and it is now sleeping comfortably on my pillow.

The next day, I settle down at my table to write the iguana vignette. After several minutes, I hear a familiar scraping sound. Slim Shady is back at my window. He proceeds to his favorite spot behind the fan control box. I want to accept him as a friend, so hold off on taking action. An hour or so later, I stroll out to the posada's balcony for a dash of sunshine. On returning to my room, I notice a dark form stretched out across my back window. Slim Shady has emerged and isn't so slim, afterall. He is at least two feet long, chubby, and alarmed by my entrance. He clatters up the concrete blocks, then tilts his head back to reveal a swelled sac at the neck. Though unnerved, I return to my table. Slim Shady doesn't exit, but goes back to his spot behind the fan control box.

Slim Shady and I reach an uneasy peace. He doesn't land on my face during the night and I let him be. I understand, though, that Rufo is making some noise about a hankering for iguana soup. Stay tuned.