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‘Let’s go have a look at the kid,’ he said to me. The boy was barefoot. His toe was swollen and had turned completely black. Pus oozed from the wound, and the infection had begun to spread. It looked horrible. Marcus asked for a pan of hot water. He gently dipped the foot into the water and then took cotton soaked in alcohol and swabbed away the dried pus. He spoke kindly to the boy to take his mind off the pain. Then he spread the toe with disinfectant and bandaged it properly. He gave the boy antibiotic tablets.

The news spread fast: there was a doctor in the village. People converged on the little hut from all directions. They recited a litany of aches and pains, injuries, and diseases. Marcus asked to have a look at the wounds, so as to be of more help, but none of them would show him. They just wanted medicines.

We laughed. The campesinos are wild about medicine and don’t hesitate to make up all kinds of ailments in order to get their hands on some. Kind-hearted Marcus took out a tin of hand cream and gave a little to everyone who wanted it.

Karl was talking business with Don Jorge. He bought a large quantity of rice and pork. The prices were ridiculously low. I was a little put out with Karl. ‘Why does it have to be pork and not lamb?’ I demanded.

‘Pork keeps better. We’ll smoke it to take along with us. Lamb tastes good but spoils quickly.’

We slaughtered the pig ourselves. Karl jumped