“You want something?” he asked.

“Yes, please. A beer in the bottle, some grilled chicken, and some bread.”

“We do not have chicken.”

“But it is the Fat Chicken.”

He shrugged.

I said, “All right. In that case, a beef filet, very well done.”

“We have pork.”

“All right. Bring me pork, but cook it very well, okay?”

He shrugged again, then went inside.

Ten minutes later he came back out with a beer. It was room temperature. I sighed and took a drink. In half an hour, he came out with a plate. On it were three pork chops, two slices of bread, and a mound of steaming vegetables. He put the food in front of me.

I said, “I have no knife or fork.”

He turned to go back inside.

I said, “Please.”

He returned and stood beside the table. I put a pair of one hundred quetzal bills on the table, worth about twenty-five dollars. I said, “It would be a great tragedy if this excellent food became cold while I wait on a fork.”

Looking at the money, he shrugged. Then he went back inside.

He was out again in a few seconds, with a fork, a knife, and a cloth napkin. I gave him the two bills. “What is your name?” I asked.

“Ernesto.”

“My name is Malcolm, Ernesto. As you can tell from my accent, I am a visitor to your fine country. Could you recommend a good hotel nearby?”

Ernesto frowned with concentration. It seemed to cause him pain to think. Then suddenly he brightened. “La Posada Elena.”

“An excellent name. Where would I find it?”

“Why, it is right there, on the other side of the park.”

“I see. And may I ask you one favor?”

Ernesto shrugged. “You can always ask.”

“Would you please tell Valentín Vega I am waiting for him here?”

“I do not know this man.”

I nodded. “Well, some people at the Guatemalan consulate in Los Angeles, California, gave me this address for him, so maybe he will come by. I will eat this excellent food and then sit here and wait for him if that is okay.”

Ernesto shrugged, then went back inside, and I began to eat. The food was surprisingly good. I ate it leisurely and then sat back to nurse the warm beer. There was no hurry. I was there to be seen, after all.

Ernesto reappeared and took away the plate. I ordered another beer and asked him to get it from the refrigerator this time. The two hundred quetzal bills had the desired effect. He returned more quickly than before, and the beer was slightly cooler.

The street was one way, from my left toward the right. I watched the cars and trucks roar past. I watched the old men over in the park. I watched pedestrians pass by along the sidewalk. I finished the beer, picked up my bag, and went inside the restaurant, looking for a restroom.

On my way back outside, I passed Ernesto, who was sitting at the counter reading a newspaper. I asked him for a mineral water. He stood up, went into the kitchen, and came back with a clear bottle. I took it, thanked him, and went back outside to the same chair, where I dropped my bag to the sidewalk and sat down to watch the cars and trucks and old men and pedestrians.

Children started walking past, laughing and jostling each other, the boys in black slacks and white shirts, the girls in white shirts and black-and-blue plaid skirts. Most of them wore backpacks. Some carried books. I decided a school down the street must have just let them out for the day.

A man and woman passed me and went into the restaurant. It was good to know there were other customers. I would have hated to see the place go out of business.

Ernesto came outside to stand by my table again. I said, “It is a beautiful day, Ernesto, is it not?”

He squinted up toward the sky and shrugged.

I said, “Would you like a beer or something? I would be happy to buy.”

He went inside and came back out with two beers, ice cold this time. He gave one to me and sat down at the table with the other. He said, “You are American?”

“I am indeed.”

“My brother lives in Houston, Texas.” He pronounced it “Oo-stone Tay-has.”

I said, “Houston is a fine city.”

“He says it is much bigger than Guate.”

“That may be true, but size is not the most important thing. You also have to consider history. And culture. And civic pride. In all those ways, it seems to me your city is superior.”

He shrugged again. He took a drink of beer. Cars and trucks went by. Old men played dominoes. Ernesto finished his beer and went back inside. I remained where I was, waiting.

If I had been given good information about that place, I figured Valentín Vega must know I was there by that time. I wondered how the man would play it. Would he ignore me? Would he come himself to meet me? Would he send someone to meet me? Would he send someone to try to kill me? The restaurant address was my only lead, so I could only wait and see.

The shadows lengthened. Lights mounted on the wall behind me were illuminated. I remained alone, and alive.

Ernesto emerged again. He said, “Dinner?”

“What is good?”

“Pork.”

“What else?”

“Spaghetti.”

“Does it come with tomato and meat sauce?”

“Of course.”

“And the meat in the sauce is?”

“Pork.”

“Excellent.”

Two hours later, Ernesto emerged to say, “We close.”

I stood up. “Thank you very much,” I said. “The hotel is across the park?”

“Just there,” he said, pointing.

“Is it safe to walk across the park after dark?”

“No place is safe in Guate after dark.”

I gave Ernesto enough money to pay for the meals and the drinks, plus another tip of two hundred quetzals.

“If anyone should ask, Valentín Vega perhaps, would you please tell them I am at the hotel?”

Taking the money, Ernesto shrugged.

I might not be feeling suicidal anymore, but I hadn’t traveled all that way to avoid trouble, either. I picked up my bag, crossed the street, and entered the shadows of the park.

36

I overslept. Probably I would have slept much later, except for the insistent pounding on the hotel room door.

I called, “One moment,” got out of bed, and slipped into my blue jeans and a shirt. After maybe ten seconds, whoever was outside started pounding again. I called “One moment” again and sat down on the side of the bed to put on my shoes.

It wasn’t much of a hotel room. Creaking ceiling fan, no bathroom, old-fashioned washstand in the corner with one threadbare towel, and a single window overlooking Columbus Park. I had just begun to tie the laces on my second shoe when the door flew off its hinges and landed on the floor in front of me.

Four men came in after the door. They all carried guns. I wasn’t surprised to see that one of them was my new friend from the day before—Ernesto. Everything was proceeding according to plan.

I said, “Good morning.”

Ernesto gestured toward the door with his gun. “We go.”

“Sure,” I said, standing up. I had finished with my laces anyway.

Ernesto and another gunman went ahead of me, and two remained behind as we walked along the dimly lit interior hallway, then down the stairs to the street level lobby, which was only a small room with a counter in one corner. The man behind the counter didn’t bother to look up from a magazine when we walked through.

At the curb outside the door stood an old Ford Econoline van. The sliding side door was open. The men herded me straight across the sidewalk and into the van. The entire rear of the van was empty. There weren’t even any seats. Three of the men got in with me. Ernesto went around front and got into the passenger side. There was a fifth guy already behind the wheel. One of the men in back with me slammed the door closed. We all sat cross-legged on the steel deck.