beans with sugar.
At the end of the meal we were each served a dulce ― a sweet ― and I had café con leche, that is, coffee with hot milk, but Antonio took only the hot milk.
Antonio and I exchanged small talk while eating. We didn’t want to spoil our digestion by taxing our brains with profundities.
For our meal we paid fifty centavos each, all included. It was the usual price in a Chinese restaurant, a café de chinos.
And now we sailed along to the bakery. I went into the pastry shop and asked a clerk if I could see the boss.
“Are you a baker?” the owner asked me.
“Yes, baker and pastry cook.”
“Where were you working last?”
“In Monterrey.”
“Good. You can start tonight. Free room, board, laundry, and I pay you one peso twenty-five a day. Wait a moment,” he added suddenly. “Are you good on cakes, cakes with fancy icing?”
“In my last job in Monterrey I did nothing but cakes with fancy icing.”
“Fine. But I’d better have a word with my master baker and hear what he says. He’s a first-class man. You can learn a lot from him.”
He took me into a dormitory, where the master was in the act of putting on his shoes, getting ready to go out.
“Here’s a baker from Monterrey who’s looking for work. See if he’s any use to you.” The boss went back to his office and left the two of us alone.
The master, a short, fat fellow with freckles, didn’t hurry himself. He finished putting on his shoes and then seated himself on the edge of his bed and lit a cigar. When he’d taken a few puffs he looked at me suspiciously, looked me up and down and said: “Are you a baker?”
“No,” I said. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know much about baking.”
“Really?” he said, still suspicious. “Do you know anything about cakes?”
“I’ve eaten them,” I said, “but I’ve no idea how they’re made. That’s just what I want to learn.”
“Well, have a cigar. You can start tonight at ten s Would you like something to eat?”
“Not just now, thank you just the same.”
“All right. I’ll have a word with the old man. Now I’ll show you your bed.” It seemed he’d lost all his mistrust of me, and was very friendly.
“I’ll make a good baker and pastry cook out of you if you pay attention to what I have to tell you and don’t try bringing in new-fangled ideas of your own. That would never do you any good around here.”
“I’ll be most grateful to you, señor. I’ve always wanted to become a baker and pastry cook of the first order.”
“You can have a nap now if you want one, or you can have a look around the town ― just as you like.”
“All right,” I said, “I’ll take a walk in the town.”
“Well, ten o’clock, don’t forget.”
9
I met Antonio, as agreed, in the park.
“Well?” he greeted me from the bench where he sat.
“I’m starting tonight.”
“That’s fine. Maybe later on I might hike down to Colombia with you.”
I sat down beside him.
I couldn’t think of anything to talk about and, searching in my mind for some subject of conversation, it occurred to me that this might be a good moment to mention Gonzalo. Actually I wasn’t so much interested in talking about it as in observing his reaction and seeing how a man with murder on his conscience would behave when someone surprised him by disclosing that he knew all about the crime.
There was, no doubt, a certain risk involved. If Antonio discovered I knew he was a murderer, he’d make it his business to do away with me at the first chance. But I was prepared to run the risk; the very danger made me itch to throw my card on the table face up. I wouldn’t be taken by surprise and was quite able to defend myself, although I would certainly avoid tramping through the bush, or going to Colombia, with him as my only companion.
“Do you know, Antonio,” I said suddenly, out of nowhere, “that you’re wanted by the police?”
“Me?” He seemed quite
At the end of the meal we were each served a dulce ― a sweet ― and I had café con leche, that is, coffee with hot milk, but Antonio took only the hot milk.
Antonio and I exchanged small talk while eating. We didn’t want to spoil our digestion by taxing our brains with profundities.
For our meal we paid fifty centavos each, all included. It was the usual price in a Chinese restaurant, a café de chinos.
And now we sailed along to the bakery. I went into the pastry shop and asked a clerk if I could see the boss.
“Are you a baker?” the owner asked me.
“Yes, baker and pastry cook.”
“Where were you working last?”
“In Monterrey.”
“Good. You can start tonight. Free room, board, laundry, and I pay you one peso twenty-five a day. Wait a moment,” he added suddenly. “Are you good on cakes, cakes with fancy icing?”
“In my last job in Monterrey I did nothing but cakes with fancy icing.”
“Fine. But I’d better have a word with my master baker and hear what he says. He’s a first-class man. You can learn a lot from him.”
He took me into a dormitory, where the master was in the act of putting on his shoes, getting ready to go out.
“Here’s a baker from Monterrey who’s looking for work. See if he’s any use to you.” The boss went back to his office and left the two of us alone.
The master, a short, fat fellow with freckles, didn’t hurry himself. He finished putting on his shoes and then seated himself on the edge of his bed and lit a cigar. When he’d taken a few puffs he looked at me suspiciously, looked me up and down and said: “Are you a baker?”
“No,” I said. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know much about baking.”
“Really?” he said, still suspicious. “Do you know anything about cakes?”
“I’ve eaten them,” I said, “but I’ve no idea how they’re made. That’s just what I want to learn.”
“Well, have a cigar. You can start tonight at ten s Would you like something to eat?”
“Not just now, thank you just the same.”
“All right. I’ll have a word with the old man. Now I’ll show you your bed.” It seemed he’d lost all his mistrust of me, and was very friendly.
“I’ll make a good baker and pastry cook out of you if you pay attention to what I have to tell you and don’t try bringing in new-fangled ideas of your own. That would never do you any good around here.”
“I’ll be most grateful to you, señor. I’ve always wanted to become a baker and pastry cook of the first order.”
“You can have a nap now if you want one, or you can have a look around the town ― just as you like.”
“All right,” I said, “I’ll take a walk in the town.”
“Well, ten o’clock, don’t forget.”
9
I met Antonio, as agreed, in the park.
“Well?” he greeted me from the bench where he sat.
“I’m starting tonight.”
“That’s fine. Maybe later on I might hike down to Colombia with you.”
I sat down beside him.
I couldn’t think of anything to talk about and, searching in my mind for some subject of conversation, it occurred to me that this might be a good moment to mention Gonzalo. Actually I wasn’t so much interested in talking about it as in observing his reaction and seeing how a man with murder on his conscience would behave when someone surprised him by disclosing that he knew all about the crime.
There was, no doubt, a certain risk involved. If Antonio discovered I knew he was a murderer, he’d make it his business to do away with me at the first chance. But I was prepared to run the risk; the very danger made me itch to throw my card on the table face up. I wouldn’t be taken by surprise and was quite able to defend myself, although I would certainly avoid tramping through the bush, or going to Colombia, with him as my only companion.
“Do you know, Antonio,” I said suddenly, out of nowhere, “that you’re wanted by the police?”
“Me?” He seemed quite
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