The Tang Dynasty Underwater Pyramid Read Free

were not required to dress as Chinese entertainers, except of course unless they were Chinese entertainers.
    The water ballet guys favored Speedos whether they were in the water or not, and spent a lot of time in the ship's gym, pumping iron and admiring themselves in the mirrors. The troupe's three women kept to themselves except when they went for a smoke on the fantail. I and my band, when performing, abandoned the contemporary look we'd adopted in Europe and did so in our traditional alpaca-wool ponchos.
    Our first performance, as the Tang Dynasty sped south through the night toward Hong Kong, was received fairly well, especially considering that we performed in a language that no one else on the ship actually spoke, and that the audience had come to see the Hopping Vampires anyway.
    All but one. Right in the front row, where I could scarcely miss him, was a man in a red poncho and a derby hat. He spent the entire concert grinning from ear to ear and bobbing his head in time with my nephew Esteban's electric bass. I could have understood this behavior if the head under the derby had been from the Andean highlands, but the face that grinned at me so blindingly was plump and bespectacled and Asian.
    The man in the poncho gave us a standing ovation and generated enough enthusiasm in the audience to enable us to perform a second encore. Afterwards, he approached.
    “Mucho fantastico!” he said, in what was probably supposed to be Spanish. “Muy bien!”
    “Thanks,” I said.
    “I'm a huge fan,” he said, dropping into something like English. “That was a terrific rendition of ‘Urupampa,’ by the way.”
    “I noticed you were singing along.”
    I soon understood that he was a Japanese businessman named Tobe Oharu, and that he belonged to a club devoted to Andean folk music. He and a group of fellow enthusiasts met weekly at a bar dressed in ponchos and derbies, listened to recordings, and studied Spanish from books.
    He was so enthusiastic that I never had the heart to tell him that in our culture it's the women who wear the derby hats, whereas the men wear knit caps, or in my case a fedora.
    “I had no idea you were performing here till I looked on the Tang Dynasty website the night before I left!” he said. “My friends are going to be so jealous!”
    I tried this story on for size and decided that the odds were that it was too bizarre not to be true. Besides, I knew that Japanese hobbyists were very particular about wearing the right uniform, dressing up for instance as cowboys while listening to Country and Western.
    “How did you happen to become a fan of Andean music?” I asked.
    “Pure accident. I was on a business trip to Brussels, and I heard a group playing at the central station. I fell in love with the music at once! How could I help it, when it was Fernando Catacachi I heard on the kena. ”
    Since Fernando happened to be my uncle, I agreed at once that he was the best, though personally I've always had a soft spot for the playing of another uncle of mine, Arturo.
    Oharu's eyes glittered behind his spectacles. “And of course,” he said, “Fidel Perugachi is supreme on the secus. ”
    There I had to disagree. “His playing is full of showy moves and cheap, audience-pleasing tricks,” I said. “Compared to my brother Sancho, Perugachi is an alpaca herder.”
    Oharu seemed a little taken aback. “Do you think so?”
    “Absolutely. It's a pity we're playing only traditional music, and you can't hear Sancho on ‘Twist and Shout.’”
    Oharu considered this. “Perhaps this could be an encore tune tomorrow night?”
    I had to credit Oharu for being a man of sound ideas. “Good plan,” I said.
    He offered to stand us all a round of drinks, but I begged off, pleading jet lag. I had to meet with Jesse and with the water ballet guys between the first and second show and get involved in some serious plotting.
    I did stick around for the opening of the Bloodthirsty Hopping Vampire Show, however.