Chapter 6
Rego walked down the streets of the huge city, looking for a place to sit down and find something to eat. The city was an incredible site with mountains all around. Rego marveled at the site of such wondrous nature. The snow-capped peaks looked like a postcard that surrounded the city.
The sun was bright and the streets were active in La Paz. It was mid-day and church goers were now filing out of chapels and cathedrals after attending Mass. Rego walked down a narrow street lined with a few shops and stores. He came upon a store with the name Manoel’s painted in red letters on the window. He decided to walk in and see if he could get something to eat.
The store was dark inside despite the bright sun outside. An overweight man with about two days growth on his beard stood behind the counter drying a beer mug. He was the owner, Manoel. He stood keeping a sharp eye on Rego as he slowly walked in. He knew he had never seen the boy before.
“What can I do for you, kid?” Manoel said in Spanish. Rego was required to study Spanish all through school, since the rest of South America spoke Spanish and not Portuguese as they do in Brazil. So his Spanish was ok, but not fluent, but he knew enough to carry on a conversation with someone.
Rego approached the counter, which served as a bar as well as a grocery counter. “I was wondering if you had any food to buy?” he said shyly to Manoel.
“That is some accent, kid, where are you from?” Manoel asked, setting the glass down.
“Brasilia,” Rego said. “Do you have any food to eat, a sandwich or something?”
“You got any money, kid?” he said somewhat agitated.
Rego looked into his pocket to see how much he had left. “Yes, about one hundred cruzeiros.” He placed the coins on the counter.
“Don’t take cruzeiros, only bolivianos,” Manoel said turning away.
“Are you sure? This is all I have, sir?” Rego said with some desperation.
“What do I look like, kid, a bank?” Manoel said reaching down to clean more glasses. “Can’t take no cruzeiros. Go see if you can exchange them at the bank down the street.”
“Today is Sunday, sir,” Rego said with growing disappointment. “I am sure the bank is closed.”
“Sorry, kid.” Manoel looked Rego over and could see he must have just come into the city and had no means to buy anything. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Rego Ouliveyra, sir.”
“Call me Manny. I tell you what, take some of that jerky in that jar, it’s getting old anyway.” Rego nodded with an eager smile and grabbed a couple sticks of jerky. He quickly started to devour them. “How long have you been in La Paz?” he asked.
“About an hour,” Rego said with a mouthful of jerky. “I just came in on the bus. Well, I drove the bus, actually,” Rego said, now remembering what he had just gone through.
“A bus driver, huh? Where’s your bus at then?” Manny asked sarcastically.
“Oh, it’s not my bus. I took over the driving after the driver was shot in the arm,” Rego said casually.
Manny set his glass down and looked at Rego with wide eyes. “You’re fooling me, kid.”
“Nope.”
“Ha!” Manny laughed, slapping his hand down on the counter. “That’s a good one, kid. I’ll have to remember that one.” He walked further down the counter still laughing to himself.
Rego took another bite of the jerky, then yelled down the counter, “Do you think the bank will give me much for these coins, Manny?”
“I doubt it. Ain’t worth much around here,” Manny said matter-of-factly.
Rego frowned. He noticed a dusty TV set sitting on the counter behind the bar. “Hey, are you going to watch the World Cup?”
“Is Bolivia competing in it?” Manny asked without looking back at Rego.
Rego thought for a moment. “I don’t think so.”
“Then I could care less about that shit,” Manny said with contempt.
“Not me, I hope I get to see some of it. Pelé is my favorite player,” Rego said with a smile. He took another bite of his jerky.
Manny ignored him. Football was the last thing he wanted to discuss. He hated the game.
“Do you think I could have a job here working for you, Manny?” Rego said out of the blue.
Manny turned way around and looked at Rego with bewilderment. “A job? Here? Can’t do it, kid. Ain’t got enough work here for me as it is.” Manny began to grow tired of Rego. “You better finish up there, kid, I’ve got work to do.”
Rego sat quietly, finishing the last piece of beef jerky. Now he was thirsty, but he didn’t have the nerve to ask Manny for something to drink. He could tell his welcome was quickly wearing thin. He looked around thinking what he could do next. He needed to find a way to get some money, so he could take another bus to Lima. That was the next logical place for him to find a ship.
“Damnit,” Rego said out loud. He made sure Manny heard him.
“What the hell is it now, kid?” Manny said frowning at Rego.
“My head is killing me, ever since we started up those mountains,” Rego said. He really did have a bad headache.
Manny laughed again. “It’s the mountain air, kid. Up here is God’s country. Up here, you are on top of the world! We see all from here. That is the pride of La Paz. But since we are so high in the sky, the air ain’t as thick as it is where you come from. That’s why your head hurts. You’ll get used to it. Here, drink some of this water.”
Rego had a feeling it was the high altitude of the city. He saw the elevation sign when he drove in on the bus. The city rested higher than 3300 meters. Rego smiled when Manny handed him some water to drink. He knew his headache might come in handy.
The door opened to the store and a man walked in and passed Rego, not even noticing him. He walked down the counter to where Manny was sifting through some boxes.
“What do you say, Manny?” the man said to the bartender.
“Alonso, come on in my friend,” Manny said with a smile. The men shook hands. “How are the fields coming along?”
“Slow. And, too much damn dust out there. I need a pint to clear out my throat,” Alonso said pointing to the beer tap. Manny obliged and drew some beer into a mug for him.
Alonso owned a small potato farm on the outskirts of the city. He ran it with his brother Miguel. But the crops grew smaller each year as the rains fell less and less. He took a long drink from his mug of beer and wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve. “I can’t move that lazy brother of mine fast enough anymore. I don’t know if I can get the sacks to market in time.” He took another long drink from his mug.
“Maybe I can help you out,” Manny said putting down a box on the counter. “That kid down there could probably do it for you. He was looking for work here. I told him to beat it, but he’s still in here.”
Alonso took another drink and drained the mug of beer, not looking down the bar. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve again, “What kid?”
Manny looked at him as if he were blind. He pointed towards Rego, “That kid down at the end, the Brazilian. He’ll tell you some wild stories for sure.”
Alonso stared down the counter at Rego. “From Brazil, huh? What the hell is he doing here?”
“I don’t know, why don’t you ask him?” Manny said turning back to his work.
“Hey, kid, what’s your name? Come on down here.” Alonso yelled down to Rego.
Rego looked up and thought for a moment whether he should answer him. His first impression of Alonso was not a good one. He finally decided to answer him. “Rego,” he said.
“Come on down here, Rego, I’ve got a proposition for you,” Alonso said. Rego got up from his stool and walked down and sat next to Alonso.
“I’m Alonso,” he said extending his hand. Rego shook his hand and stared at him.
“You just got here, eh? Where are you headed?” Alonso asked
wryly.
“I’m trying to get to Lima,” Rego said, trying to keep his answers short.
Alonso let out a big laugh. “You want to go to Peru? Good luck, kid. You couldn’t pay me to set foot in that madhouse.”
“Really, why not?” Rego asked curiously.
“Because of the revolution, that’s why. Some hothead named Velasco went in there and overthrew President Belaunde a couple of years ago, and it’s been chaos ever since,” Alonso stated in his opinion. “I sure as hell wouldn’t go there. If you do, you better tell them Velasco is the best thing since sliced bread, or they’ll throw you in the clink.” Alonso took another drink from his fresh mug of beer.
Rego looked down at the counter with concern. Getting put in jail is the last thing he needed. “But where else could I go to catch a ship?” he thought. “Lima was still the best place. How bad could the revolution be after two years?”
“Manny tells me you are looking for work,” Alonso interrupted Rego’s deep thought. “Well, I’ve got some work for you, if you want it.”
Rego perked up on his stool. “Oh yes, sir, I am looking for work. I need to make some money. But, I don’t have any place to stay.”
Alonso nodded, he had it all worked out in his mind. “Well, I’m not running a boarding house, kid. I have a potato farm that my brother and I work. I need some help getting the potatoes picked and put into hauling sacks for the market. You understand, right? It’s just business.” Alonso thought for a moment more and looked Rego over sitting on his stool and wearing the leather satchel across his chest. “But I do have a barn you can sleep in if you want. Just have to look out for the rats,” he said chuckling. Manny laughed as well.
Rego responded right away, “That sounds great to me, sir, I don’t mind picking potatoes. Thank you, I will take the job.”
“Good, then it is settled. Let me finish this beer and I’ll take you down to the farm,” Alonso said taking another long drink from his mug.
Rego rode on the back of Alonso’s motorized scooter, holding a fuel can on his lap all the way to the potato farm. They pulled up a dusty road that led a half kilometer into a hilly area with a few small trees around a small wooden shack and an old barn that stood two levels. A couple of dogs ran around in a curious manner as the scooter pulled up with the two men aboard. Alonso rode the scooter to the shack and shut off the motor.
“This is it, what do you think?” he said with a beaming smile. It was paradise to Alonso. Rego didn’t answer and just looked around the area in dismay. “Go take a look around the barn, pick out a spot for your things. Don’t worry, there aren’t any livestock in there anymore.”
Rego gave him an odd look and thought the barn looked more inviting than the shack. He walked inside the barn and saw that it was almost barren. It had nothing but a dusty dirt floor and some old wooden stalls. There was an old staircase that led only halfway up the second floor. The top half of the stairs had fallen away along with the whole second level. He was amazed the barn was still standing. He looked up to see just inside the doorway, hanging from a rope, two large gunny sacks full of potatoes. The ropes extended along the wall on some rusty pulleys down to the floor where they were held in place by a pin stuck inside a round metal ring. They slowly swung back and forth with the heavy weight.
“We have to hang them up there to keep the critters and bugs out of them,” an unfamiliar voice said behind him. Rego turned around to see a man wearing a dark green camouflage hat. “I am Miguel, his brother,” pointing a thumb behind him towards the shack.
Rego shook his hand, “Rego Ouliveyra. Thank you for the job, I am glad to be here.”
“Of course you are,” Miguel said coldly. “We will take them down tomorrow morning and load them on the mule cart. Then you will start in the fields, OK?” Rego nodded yes. Miguel turned and walked briskly out of the barn. Rego had the feeling Miguel was not happy to see him there.
Rego spent his days doing back-breaking work in the potato fields. The air was cool in the morning, but the wind blew swiftly on the mountain side, stirring up the dust everywhere. He loaded the dusty potatoes into gunny sacks and dragged them to the outside of the barn.
Miguel showed him how to close the bags in a twisted knot at the top and use a vise to tighten a metal ring around the knot. Then Miguel showed him how to attach the bags to the ropes in the barn and heave them up high and fasten them to the ring on the floor and carefully slip the ring-pin in place.
Miguel and Alonso noticed how Rego never put down the leather satchel and always wore it across his chest. They looked at each other and thought the boy to be very strange that he would work so hard and still carry the satchel around with him.
Rego worked hard and grew accustomed to the thin mountain air. He finished each day covered in dust and dirt. They let him wash beside the well that stood outside the old shack each evening. His arms were sore from all the heavy sacks of potatoes. He slept on the dirt floor of the barn on top of a pile of old gunny sacks. It was not comfortable but at the end of each hard day, he fell fast asleep anyway. He was able to eat as much as he needed in the small shack with Alonso and Miguel. At the end of the week, Alonso gave him his pay.
The sun was setting on another long Saturday, and Rego dragged the last two sacks of potatoes from the fields and prepared them to be hung in the barn. He fastened one sack and heaved it high on the pulleys and then fastened it to the ring on the floor and slipped the ring-pin in place. He then heaved the second bag up high and fastened it the other ring but he misplaced the ring-pin. He saw it behind him a few feet away but out of his reach. He carefully placed the rope on the floor and then stood on it to hold the sack up high. Then he stretched as far as he could to retrieve the pin. He grabbed it and quickly stood up with a smile.
“I’ll take that satchel from you now, kid,” a voice said from behind him. Rego looked to see Miguel standing just inside the barn door, holding a machete. Alonso stepped inside the door beside Miguel, also holding a machete, “And we’ll take back the thirty bolivianos we gave you this morning too,” Alonso said firmly.
The two brothers had caught Rego completely by surprise. He began to shake and thought quickly to say something. “No, I earned this money fair and square,” Rego said nervously. “I worked like a mule while your lazy, fat brother watched me all week.”
Miguel raised his machete and started to walk towards Rego. Alonso held his arm to stop him. “You did work hard, kid,” Alonso said, “But what I’m really interested in is that leather case of yours.” He pointed his machete towards the satchel hanging at Rego’s side.
“What do you want this for? It just has my travel papers in it and such. Nothing else,” Rego said innocently.
“Oh yeah, travel papers, huh?” Alonso said sarcastically. “You’re a terrible liar, kid. You never let that case out of your sight. I’ve watched you. It’s got something valuable in it alright, and now it’s mine!” Alonso and Miguel began to walk forward towards Rego.
“Wait!” Rego yelled. “Don’t come any closer! I’m warning you or you’ll be sorry.” Rego was nervous as hell and his voice trembled.
“Oh yeah, sorry how?” Miguel insisted.
Rego’s mind raced for something to say. “I’m…I’m a master of martial arts!” Rego said quickly. “And I won’t be responsible for what happens to you if you don’t step back!”
Miguel and Alonso laughed heartily at Rego. “That’s enough bullshit out of you, kid, hand it over!” Alonso demanded and started to advance on Rego.
“You forgot one thing…” Rego said. He quickly let his foot off the rope and the large sack of potatoes came crashing down on top of Miguel, startling Alonso. “Duck, asshole!”
Potatoes spilled out all over the dirt floor. Miguel lay unconscious amidst of pile of potatoes. Rego alertly picked up several potatoes and flung them at Alonso and struc
k him precisely in the head, knocking him to floor. “The same goes for you, too, dirt bag!” Rego yelled. He scooped up Miguel’s camouflage hat that lay on the floor and then ran out of the barn. He quickly jumped on the motorized scooter and sped off down the dirt road towards the city. Alonso stumbled out of the barn, holding his head, but it was too late. Rego was long gone. Alonso stood on the dirt road, cursing and swearing towards the empty road.
Rego rode as far as he could with the scooter into the city. He decided to find a fuel station and fill the tank on the scooter and the spare fuel can strapped to the back of the scooter.
He bought some food with his remaining money and stuffed it into his coat pockets. He rode as far as he could out of the city towards the Peruvian border. He found a hidden place off the old road amongst the trees and pulled the scooter over. He put on his jacket and used the satchel as a pillow and tried to get some sleep the rest of the night as he waited for the sun to rise the next morning.
The next morning, he ate some bread he had bought the night before, then pulled the scooter out of the trees and started it up. He had been riding for another hour when he spotted a small hut near the bottom of the hill. It was a hut at the border crossing. Next to it was a red and white lift gate.
Rego took out the camouflage hat he had taken from Miguel and placed it on his head. He then rode slowly towards the border crossing. A single Peruvian soldier stepped out of the hut, holding a rifle and wearing military fatigues and sunglasses. The soldier casually held up his hand for Rego to stop.
“State your business,” the soldier said in a bored voice as Rego stepped off the scooter.
Rego snapped to attention and saluted the soldier clumsily. “Viva Velasco!” he shouted.
The soldier lifted the gate and motioned for him to go on through.