Cabrera. After the President!â
Evie crossed her ankles like a lady. An invisible clock ticked audibly from somewhere.
Tick, tick, tick
. Making her anxious. She wanted to tell Ubico about all the mistakes in his map, wanted to warn him that Magellan might bite, and that Estrada Cabrera was a terrible name for a bird, but knowing she shouldnât say anything, she grabbed one of her braids and plugged her mouth with it.
Mr. Ubico leaned back in his rigid throne, taking his time. âDo you like my office?â he asked.
âItâs very nice,â Father agreed.
âThe cathedral!â Mr. Ubico roared unexpectedly, making her heart leap into her throat. âThe cathedral falls and suddenly I have new office furniture!â
âThatâs very fortunate for you,â Father remarked, sounding not at all like himself.
Mr. Ubico looked content, as if they had just dropped by to give him this tribute and admire his office. Evie, hoping this was true, began counting inher head. Under two minutes and theyâd be gone. At first, she had thought that Father was joking when he said this man had replaced God. But now the furniture, her fatherâs strange formality, the gift, the chalice, and the fact that her mother had dressed her as if for church made her think that it might not be a joke at all.
âSeñor Ubico,â Father tried, with a little sitting bow, âIâd like to speak with you about some business concerns I have. Iâve tried talking with the desk, but they donât understand my special situation.â
The ticking clock was maddening, keeping a strict record of Mr. Ubicoâs silence. Six seconds, before he replied. âAh, yes. The second draft. Itâs been all day. Everyone is worried about the new draft. We were hoping the first would be enough, but it wasnât.â
Father pitched forward and sat on his hands. âBut I have no problem with the draft. I just want to make sure that my men, who are indebted to me, are not taken away.â
Father pressed on, for the utter blankness of the manâs expression. âI realize the importance of the drafts. With all the Indians wandering around without any desire to work, itâs important to utilize them. It is their country, after all, and they need to be responsible for it. But my men are hard workers, I didnât coerce them, they arenât just working because of the vagrancy laws. Theyâve been working for me for years and my crop depends on them.â
Evie hit ninety seconds. Just thirty more and this would be over.
âAnd these men,â Mr. Ubico asked finally, âare indebted to you?â
âI have the papers right here.â He patted his suit coat, right over his heart. âI advanced money to six of my men. Two yearsâ wages.â
âWhen did you do this?â
âA month ago,â Father said.
Evie kicked her legs furiously under her chair for this lie. The heart-shaped buckles clicked against each other as she smashed her ankles together.
Mr. Ubico waved a hand in the air, as if offering absolution or fanning away a bad smell. âNo matter, Mr. Crowder. We are sorry it has to be this way, but now we need all the Indians. Have you seen the new decree? The second draft is necessary.â
âBut you have to make exceptions.â
The man made no reaction. Two minutes, gone. Evie tapped her toes on the floor.
âWheatâs a very important crop, not only for export,â Father explained.âIf you want to utilize your workforce, itâs vital. The Indians canât live on corn like they did hundreds of years ago.â And here he launched into a speech Evie knew well. He counted off his points on his fingers. âCorn requires too much land. You canât build a strong economy on a starving population. You canât build a railroad. You can only go so farââ
He stopped suddenly, seeming to forget his own
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