American Visa by Juan de Recacoechea Page B

revolution crucifying themselves so that they don’t get laid off.”
    â€œIt’s a great way to attract attention.”
    â€œA veritable banquet for the human rights folks,” he stated. “I’m sure it’s part of a plan hatched by the Bolivian Mining Company’s foreign consultants. It is true, though, that our miners have always had a finely tuned sense of the pathetic. I’ll head down there around 2 o’clock to cheer them on. We the dispossessed need to give each other a hand.” He paused for a moment. “How’d it go with the agency?”
    â€œThey can get me a visa for eight hundred dollars.”
    â€œThey went overboard. I don’t think the lady from Tarija had that much dough. They must have thought you were a millionaire.”
    â€œIf they look good, women don’t need money to fix their problems.” “So you don’t have eight hundred?”
    â€œNot even close.”
    â€œTry mooching.”
    â€œThe one who might eventually cave is my godfather, the barber. But he’s so damn stingy . . . Mission impossible.”
    â€œAnd your son?”
    â€œI don’t even know where he is.”
    â€œDamn!”
    â€œNo one in Oruro would loan me the money. I owe a few pesos to the bank and to a shark, the one I gave a bad check to. I’m going straight to jail the minute he sees me.”
    â€œThere’s got to be a way.”
    â€œI’m going to pray to the Lord Jesus of May.”
    â€œWhere is the Lord Jesus of May?”
    â€œIn San Agustín.”
    â€œHas he performed any miracles that you know of?”
    â€œThey say his shrine is filled with thank you notes.”
    â€œYou’ve got to be kidding, Alvarez. I don’t think of you as much of a believer. I see you more on the side of the agnostics or the atheists.”
    â€œI have faith. Only a miracle can save me.”
    â€œLucky you. The Lord knows I’ve never been a believer.” Changing the subject, Don Antonio added, “My intelligence service informs me that you’ve been receiving conjugal visits.”
    â€œNo secret’s safe around here.”
    â€œThe manager would have a heart attack if he found out. In his fantasy world he’s the Lord Byron of Illampu Street. He wouldn’t allow for any challengers. The poor guy is obsessed.”
    â€œWhere are the other guests of the second patio?”
    â€œGardenia is asleep. After a night that you could call hectic, it’s a good thing he didn’t bring any special friends back. The goalie rushed off to pick up the memorandum that will probably transform him into the new manager of the Customs Union in Santa Cruz, and the wine salesman is busy running around the city. The guy’s a relentless walker, a pro at selling and even better at saving . . . I have a question for you, Alvarez. Could you spare five pesos?”
    I handed them over to him. He kept his eyes on me, trying to discern my reaction.
    â€œTomorrow I’ll be getting some cash from the hotel owner. I proofread an article he’s writing about the Pacific War.” Don Antonio served himself a second cup of chocolate. I noticed his asthma had intensified, perhaps because of the added humidity from the previous night’s rain.
    â€œI’m heading over to the university to check out the crucified miners.”
    â€œCareful the police don’t whack you over the head. They’re all on edge. Watching people crucify themselves is enough to knock anyone off his rocker.”
    An odd atmosphere pervaded downtown La Paz. Thousands of onlookers headed toward San Andrés University. On Avenida Montes, a column of police marched in pairs, helmets strapped on and army boots pounding against the pavement. An ancient fire truck sounded off a languid siren. Nobody could get into Plaza Venezuela; it was totally roped off. Hundreds of busybodies crowded against the statue of Marshall