The Demands of the Dead by Justin Podur

violations, threats, and harassment by the army and paramilitary against members of the community. It didn’t mention paramilitaries’ names, since they were often masked, and any photos that were in the folder weren’t good enough for me to identify any of them.
    “Raul, is there any way I could find out whether the murder victims, Diaz and Gonzalez, were working with, or as, paramilitaries?”
    “Them specifically? The only way is if people in the community recognize them. The community has its own investigation, you know. They probably even have an investigation commission for these murders.”
    “Are they likely to talk to me?”
    Raul smiled again. “It’s possible.”
    He printed off the letter of intro, and gave me the copy. “Raul, could I use your computer?” He nodded, then sat politely and read while I used it.
    This would probably be a heavily monitored computer, but Raul already had the encryption program installed. I just needed to use the keys off the disk to decrypt Maria's message.
    “Darling, I hope you are having a good time and missing us as much as we are missing you. Uncle's family has been asking about you and they'd like to see you soon. I told them you'd be in touch when you were ready, but don't be surprised if you run into them. Also, I got through to your friend. He didn't pick up, and I didn't leave a message, but I think he should be home in the next few days.”
    She was in Salant's email, and thought there was a good chance that there was something in there. And additional attention from the State Department on Hoffman. They wanted me to meet them, and not because they had anything to share, either. I decided the best thing to do would be to avoid them until I was finished in Hatuey.
    “Hi honey. Excellent that you got through to my friend. Look forward to hearing from him. Yes, please tell Uncle that while I can't wait to see him and the family, I am quite busy here and will get in touch as soon as my schedule eases up. Meanwhile, No Worries. With love especially to H., S.C.”
    As in, I'm still in San Cristobal, headed towards Hatuey, and haven't seen Walter yet. I thanked Raul and put my disk away.
    He walked me to the door.“Go shopping and get rest. You’ll need to leave early tomorrow to get there on time.”
     
    Evelyn was still waiting for me, with crossed arms, looking mildly affronted by the long wait.
    “Have dinner with me tonight. I live alone,” she said.
    I said nothing.
    “Do you have everything you need?” she asked, arms still crossed.
    The trip to Hatuey was 8 hours long, and she – unlike me – was going to be in the community for two weeks. Observers had to carry their own food, all their own gear.
    She was right. I would need to buy some rice and beans.
    “No,” I said. Could I meet her later?
    She wrote an address in my notebook and kissed me goodbye, rising up on her toes. Soap, perfume, clean laundry scent coming off her clothes. A Mexican custom, performed by a friendly person, not to be read into.
     
    We got out into the street to go our separate ways in the cool, cloudy late afternoon. I saw mountains in every direction, like you could almost everywhere in the state of Chiapas and certainly anywhere in San Cristobal.
    Working backwards from Evelyn's dinner, I calculated that I had an hour to wander the markets, take in the sights, and find bargains. I passed through the narrow alleys, sometimes slippery from squashed fruits and vegetables, the low-hanging ropes that held up the tarps and shelters of the booths that I had to duck under, the indigenous women sitting on the cobblestones with small scales in front of them and piles of pears or tomatoes or onions behind. But shopping here was a skill, one that needed practice to tune out the overload of stimulation. I needed to shop mindlessly. So I went to the Mayoreo, the big corporate grocery beside the markets, where I picked up good camp food from American companies. Oats in those individual