Snow, flustered by the man’s sudden intrusion, aware of who he must be, said, ‘I’m sorry. What?’
‘Exploring.’ The man indicated Snow’s backpack. ‘Hiking. Taking in the scenery.’
‘Oh, right. I’m heading for Nebaj.’
‘Nebaj? What’s the attraction? Nebaj is a shithole.’
‘There’s a bus . . . to the city.’
‘Ah!’ The man stepped from behind the counter and, without invitation, joined Snow at his table. Snow was alarmed to have him so near. The cantina seemed more cramped than before, as if the man occupied a much greater space than in actuality he did. His movements were deft, precise, yet theatrical in their precision, and his eyes looked to be set at a peculiar angle within their orbits, canted slightly downward, investing his stare with an unnerving flatness. He flicked his hand toward Snow’s bottle and said, ‘A bit early for beer, no?’
‘I wanted coffee, but I didn’t know how to ask.’
The man spoke peremptorily to the girl, who vanished into the back room, and then said brightly, ‘Coffee’s on the way. Care for some eggs, some tortillas?’
‘No, that’s . . . I’m fine.’
‘Itzel can fix you something. It’s not a problem.’
‘I’m not really hungry.’
‘Well, if you change your mind, it’s no problem.’
‘Thanks.’
Snow couldn’t place the man’s accent. It was definitely not Temalaguan. Possibly some place farther to the south. Argentina or Chile.
‘You know,’ the man said. ‘You look familiar.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘You don’t think you look familiar to me? That’s quite a presumption.’
‘I meant, I don’t believe we’ve met.’
‘I didn’t say we’d met.’ The man’s voice held an ounce of irritation and Snow had the impression that he was seething with anger, that anger was his base emotion.
Itzel returned with a tray bearing a jar of instant coffee, another of Cremora, a cup of hot water and a spoon. Chickens squabbled out in the street. A pig trotted by, emitting soft, rhythmic grunts. The coffee restored Snow somewhat and he hunted about for a conversation starter, something that would lighten the mood.
‘You’ve been in my head,’ the man said.
Snow was caught off guard, perplexed by this peculiar phrasing.
‘You or someone very like you,’ the man went on. ‘I’ve been trying to remember.’
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Of course not. Why should you?’
Snow’s sense of unease spiked. ‘Look, I . . .’
‘You know who I am, don’t you?’
‘Maybe,’ said Snow, uncertain whether or not he could pull off an outright lie.
‘So who am I?’
‘I figure you’re the guy who lives in the big house on the hill.’
‘And you believe that because . . . ?’
‘You’re obviously not from around here and yet you act like you’re in charge.’
The man chuckled. ‘I believe you know more about me than that.’
Sitting up straight, Snow said, ‘I’m not sure what you think I know, or why you’re fucking with me. I’m just going to drink my coffee and move along.’
‘That’s a real shame. Visitors are at a premium here.’
Snow’s eyes went to Itzel. She stood with her head down, hands spread on the countertop, unmoving, as if bracing herself.
‘You ought to stay a while,’ the man said. ‘I’ll put you up at my place.’
‘That’s kind of you, but I can’t afford to miss my bus.’
‘Tres Santos may not look like much, but it offers a variety of attractions for the casual tourist. Of course the main attraction is . . .’ He performed a florid gesture, as though presenting himself to an audience. ‘Me. People come from all over to ask for my advice. I counsel them, and sometimes I put on a little show. An entertainment. It’s only an exercise routine, but I’m told it’s unique.’
‘Yeah, well.’ Snow gulped down coffee. ‘Wish I had the time.’
Without warning, the man hauled Snow’s pack over to his side of the table.
‘Hey!’ Snow made a grab for the pack, but the man fended him off. ‘What’re you doing?’
‘Having a peek inside.’
The man unzipped the top of the pack and began to inspect the contents.
Snow froze – then, thinking a lack of response would lend substance to the man’s suspicion that he, Snow, knew more than he had admitted, he reached for the pack again. The man caught his wrist and squeezed until the bones ground together, causing Snow to cry out. He struggled to break free, but the man’s grip was irresistible.
‘Please don’t do that again,’ the man said, letting him go.
Snow put pressure on his wrist to quell the pain and gazed out into the street. The gray sky and reddish mud, the puddles, the houses and the portion of the hillside framed by the doorway seemed to flutter, as if all the air and every object within view were made of the same inconstant stuff and troubled by a single disturbance. He was in deep shit, now. A thrill passed through a nerve in his jaw.
The man riffled through Snow’s passport. ‘Snow,’ he said, and repeated the word a couple of times, as if amused by it. ‘George Snow.’
‘Craig,’ said Snow, speaking out of reflex.
‘It says here, George.’
‘I don’t like George. My middle name is Craig. That’s what I go by.’
‘I think George is better for you,’ said the man indifferently.
He pulled out a filthy work shirt from the pack, deposited it on the floor, and extricated a pair of jeans.
‘It’s just dirty laundry,’ Snow said, and rubbed his wrist.
‘So it would appear.’ The man searched the pockets of the jeans. ‘What’s this?’
He fingered out a pill bottle, opened it, and shook three blue capsules out into his palm. ‘These aren’t prescription, are they?’
Alarmed, first by the fact that he had brought the pills through customs unawares, and secondly because he feared the man would force him to take them, Snow finally said, ‘A woman gave them to me in Miami. I didn’t realize I had the bottle with me.’
‘It’s contraband? Drugs? Are they any good?’
‘If you like to hallucinate.’
he man studied the pills and then popped them into his mouth. After a swift internal debate, realizing that if the man felt he had been poisoned he might punish him, Snow elected to err on the side of caution.
‘If I were you I’d bring those things back up quick,’ he said. ‘The woman who gave me them, she said not to do more than one.’
The man shook out two more pills and gulped them down.
‘Jesus! You need to stick a finger down your throat. Trust me, that shit will fuck with your head!’
‘Don’t be alarmed. Nothing will happen to me.’
‘I don’t know. I’ve done a shitload of drugs and one of those pills messed me up for a more than a day.’
The man seemed to take offense at this statement and said defiantly, ‘I have a strong resistance to drugs. I could swallow them all and it wouldn’t hurt me.’
Despite the man’s confidence, Snow was unconvinced, but there was nothing for it other than to hope he knew what he was doing.
‘If they don’t affect you,’ Snow asked, ‘why take them?’
‘Sometimes they affect me – they just don’t harm me.’ The man lost interest in the pack, pushing it aside with his foot. ‘Your coffee must be getting cold. Would you care for more?’