The man in the corner mumbled at me with his toothless gums. I
remember wondering if we were all to starve there peacefully
together--Schwartz and his remaining gold coins, the man far gone
in years, and myself. I did not greatly care.
After a while the light was blotted out. There followed a slight
pause. Then I knew that someone had flown to my side, and was
kneeling beside me and saying liquid, pitying things in Mexican.
I swallowed something hot and strong. In a moment I came back
from wherever I was drifting, to look up at a Mexican girl about
twenty years old.
She was no great matter in looks, but she seemed like an angel to
me then. And she had sense. No questions, no nothing. Just
business. The only thing she asked of me was if I understood
Spanish.
Then she told me that her brother would be back soon, that they
were very poor, that she was sorry she had no meat to offer me,
that they were VERY poor, that all they had was calabash--a sort
of squash. All this time she was bustling things together. Next
thing I know I had a big bowl of calabash stew between my knees.
Now, strangely enough, I had no great interest in that calabash
stew. I tasted it, sat and thought a while, and tasted it again.
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