Fernando and the others spent the rest of the day herding goats. This was both easier and more difficult than Fernando had anticipated. He’d constructed the pen in what he considered to be the optimal location based on the geography of the landscape and his observation of the goats’ grazing habits. It was a place

With the five of them working together on it, Fernando and his friends got the goat pen built in what seemed like no time—fencing, lean-to, water troughs and all. Fernando hadn’t recruited Chico and the others to the task, just as he hadn’t recruited them to scrounge materials for him. When he’d said what he

Fernando spent his summer days working at the construction site. He spent his summer nights roving about town with Chico and his mongrel crew. Smoking hand-rolled cigarettes and drinking cheap booze. Playing soccer under the flickering lamplights. Getting themselves into and out of scrapes. It was a bit surreal, if Fernando paused to reflect on

A sudden hush fell over the clamoring crowd. Like a tide they receded before the advance of a man whom Fernando would have readily believed was half Neanderthal. His crude features sloped downward into a blunt, trollish scowl. The chair opposite Fernando groaned like it was dying as the man sat himself down on it.

By the end of the workday, Fernando wasn’t sure what he’d accomplished besides busting up himself and everything around him. Chico seemed impressed with him, however. Onto a shaded beam Fernando collapsed, chugging water from an old milk jug and trying to catch his breath. Grinning, Chico clapped Fernando on the back where he sat.

Chico turned out to be the heavy-browed, sharp-eyed youth who’d questioned Fernando earlier. The other three churlish young men were called Tito, Pepe and Lalo. Pepe was very skinny, Tito was very ugly, and Lalo was very stupid. Chico, being the meanest of the bunch, was naturally their leader. All four of them glared at

If Fernando was going to make a proper pen and shelter for the goats, he was going to have to buy the materials to do so. His money had run out about the time he’d arrived in Cortez. He could send word back to Bogotá for more, but he found himself reluctant to do so.

The old woman’s bony brown hand seized Fernando’s elbow like a claw. It was as if he’d been about to stroll blindly through the gates of hell, the way she was restraining him. If she wasn’t so clearly distraught, Fernando might have laughed at the absurdity of it. Instead, he kept his face calm and