I was trying to keep an eye on Diego—who had passed Camila off to Carlos and was having an animated discussion outside one of the huts with Vern and three villagers—when I felt a poke in my side. I turned and gazed down. It was a boy of about six or seven. He looked like a miniature version of Juan Pablo, with shaggy black hair and skin the color of espresso. He was smiling wide, one of his front teeth missing. He said, “Hey-lo.”

“Hello,” I said with a laugh.

“Guyd-bah.”

“Yes, goodbye.”

He beamed, then continued: “Gurl. Boy. Mo-der. Fa-der. Ay-mey-ee-ca. Tree. Feesh. Mon-kay.” It took the boy another minute to exhaust all the English words in his vocabulary.

I was imagining Gina sitting with this little boy somewhere in the village, teaching him little bits of English—the thought so bittersweet I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry—when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

It was Diego and Vern.

Vern said, “So here’s the story. A little over a week ago, at dawn, three soldiers showed up and held the entire village at gunpoint. They said they heard there was a doctor living in their village, and they needed her. But Gina was out running.”

I tried unsuccessfully to fight back a smile. I ran to stay in shape; Gina ran because she loved to run.

Vern continued, “When Gina got back from her run, they grabbed her, threatened to hurt one of the boys if she didn’t come with them. Then they made her grab a bunch of medical supplies, and they marched her off.”

I blew out my cheeks. “He said they were soldiers?”

“Yep.”

“So, do we still think they are narcos?”

“Probably. Lots of narcos have soldiers on the payroll.”

“Which way did they go?”

Diego pointed what I guessed was east and said, “That way. A few of the villagers followed them, but at some point, the soldiers saw them and shot at the tree right next to them, and they turned around.”

“Can they show us?”

“Sí, but is getting dark and will be hard to see. We start early mañana.”

I hadn’t noticed in all the excitement that the sky above had turned a dark blue. A half dozen large lanterns were now burning.

Vern said, “The villagers would be honored if we would eat with them, and they have offered us a place to sleep for the night.”

≈

Dinner was a thick soup with big hunks of fish and potatoes. It was delicious. The villagers offered water, but Diego said we should drink our own. The Tibiónos’ water came from the river, and though it was safe for the villagers to drink (as their systems had adapted to it), it would most likely cause my temperamental gringo digestive system to self-destruct.