Chapter I

Smell of Cocoa
Original
Literary translation
§ 1.1
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The man made a face of disgust. Then he spat out the mouthful, without noticing that he was adding fresh stains to the dirty tablecloth on the little table. The girl came over attentively, cleaning cloth in hand. “Was it hot?”
§ 1.2
. — , ¡! —.
The man turned on her, annoyed. “I’m the one who’s hot, damn it!” he retorted.
§ 1.3
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Right away he muttered a string of brutal curses under his breath. He finished: “And they call this filth cacao? This undrinkable stuff?”
§ 1.4
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The waitress watched him, flustered and silent. From inside, standing behind the counter, the proprietress looked on. The man continued: “And to think this is cacao country! Three hours from here there are already cacao groves...”
§ 1.5
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He said this in a gentle, nostalgic, almost sweet tone...
§ 1.6
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And he remained looking at the girl. Then, abruptly, he addressed her: “I don’t live in Guayaquil, you know. I live out there, out there... among the cacao plantations.”
§ 1.7
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He added, with an oddly confiding air: “I’ve come because I have a sick son, you know—bitten by a snake... I left him this afternoon at the children’s hospital... He’ll die, no doubt... It’s bad luck...”
§ 1.8
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The girl was closer now. She was very, very quiet, playing with the ruffles of her apron. She wanted to say: “I’m from out there too; from out there... from the cacao plantations...”
§ 1.9
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She would have smiled as she said it. But she did not say it. She had the thought, though only vaguely. And her nervous fingers fiddled with the lace trim.
§ 1.10
: —¡! ¡ !
The proprietress shouted: “María! See to the gentleman in the private room!”
§ 1.11
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It was a lie, only an agreed signal telling her to hurry. There was no gentleman and no private room. There were only these four little tables between these four walls, under the oppressive light of the kerosene lamp; and at the back, the counter, beneath which the two women slept huddled together, each keeping the other warm with her body. Nothing more. The man got up to leave.
§ 1.12
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“How much is it?” The waitress moved even closer to him. From where she now stood, the proprietress could see only her back; she could not see the strange movements of her nervous hands. “How much is it?”
§ 1.13
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“Nothing... nothing...” “Huh?” “Yes; it’s nothing... there’s no charge... Since you didn’t like it...”
§ 1.14
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The girl smiled meekly, pitifully, the way a dog will sometimes look at you. She murmured again, “Nothing...” Her words were almost a plea.
§ 1.15
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The man grumbled, satisfied: “Oh? All right...” And left.
§ 1.16
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The girl went to the counter. The proprietress asked, “Did he give you a tip?” “No; only the two reales for the cup...”
§ 1.17
. — .
She took some coins from the pocket of her apron and placed them on the zinc-covered counter. “Here.”
§ 1.18
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The woman complained: “How can you make a living... Nobody tips... You can’t make a living...” The girl was no longer listening to her.
§ 1.19
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She hurried to wait on a customer who had just arrived, moving mechanically. Before her eyes rose the haunting vision of the plantations back home, the dense, shaded cacao groves. Her heart ached as she prayed that God would spare the son of that man she had seen only in passing.