I sat on a chair and waited, waving away mosquitoes. There was no sign of life in the corridor and I was sure that most of the rooms were unoccupied. I felt relieved when a young man and a woman came along the corridor and went into one of the rooms.

The man returned. “You can go into the room now,” he said.

“Is it possible to have food sent into my room?” I asked.

“I can get you something from the restaurant next door.”

“Would you get me chicken and a coke?”

“All right.” He accompanied me to the room, carrying my valise. Then he left.

The room was small and painted green. There was a cot in a corner, with a bright pink imitation velvet bedspread. A fake leopardskin rug covered the floor next to the bed and an earthen pitcher of water stood on the window sill.

I went to the window, pulled open the gauze curtains and looked out. All I could see were the mass of trees and stars flaring in the sky.

I turned and sat at the edge of the bed, mechanically brushing away mosquitoes which kept attacking my neck, face, arms. Somewhere a radio went on and a high voice carried on a slow, mournful melody. There was a tap-tap of footsteps in the corridor, starting and stopping.

Suddenly I became aware of a tiny black bug crawling on the bedspread. I looked closely—it was a tick. I jumped up and pulled off the bedspread and inspected the sheets underneath. They were a bluish color from bleach and seemed clean.

I heard a knock at the door and the hotel clerk walked in with a tray of food. He put the food on the bed and lingered.

“Would you put the cost on my hotel bill?” I said.

“Yes,” he said, waiting still.

I took out a bill to give to him as a tip. He took it, examined it, and stretched out his hand towards me again as though about to give the money back. “That’s all?” he said. “If it hadn’t been for me the boss wouldn’t have let you stay here.”

I took out another bill and gave it to him.

He folded the bills, put them in his pocket, and left.

The chain swung against the door. I got up and put the chain in the latch.

Then I began to eat. The food was appetizing with its lemon and mint flavor and for the first time all day I felt somewhat relaxed.

It was ten o’clock when I turned off the light and lay in bed. I woke once to what I thought was a knock at the door and I leaped up, pulled the sheet up to my chest and listened. I could hear nothing except the bark of faraway dogs and the singing of cicadas.

8

A ray of sunlight shone on the leopardskin rug when I opened my eyes in the morning. I dressed, put back my nightgown and a few other items in the valise and went to the desk. I paid and left quickly.