Beverly´s Hill

Isla de Bastimentos, Bocas del Toro, Panamá

Naomi of the beautiful smile, has a scar that slides permanently down her cheek like a dirty tear. She shows me her purple shoes, and beams with pride. (I tell her they must be the most beautiful shoes in the world.) Takes her papa´s hand and leads us up a long path through the sharp edges of the garden palms.

Later, drinking a beer in the hammock, I get the story of the scar from her papa, Simon, between lengthy laments over his futbol club´s latest loss. "Ahh... 3-2 in the 89th minute, and they lost it 4-3 ... 95th minute ... extra time. And Eduardo scored - hasn´t scored in months, has he? But he did, and he was over it. And the passion - he goes bonkers diving in the stands - nearly murders the front row - and he stands up and looks at the crowd and rips his shirt off. Oh, He´s got the passion, no doubt."

Apparently, Naomi loves the cat more than the cat would like, and when she was squeezing him, he had enough of it and got hold of her cheek. "She thinks he´s her baby, and that, but if he does it again, I´ll have to get rid of him. Not that I want to, mind you, but he can´t be scratching up the prettiest face you´ve ever seen - I´m a bit biased, you see."

But he´s not biased. She is one of the most adorable and precocious little girls I´ve ever met.

When we say goodbye the next morning, she´s singing a song of made-up words, standing in a foot of water in her bathing suit and water wings dumping a cut-up-half of a-gallon-milk-jug full of water on herself and feeding the 80 pound bulldog named Reno some melted chocolate.