—What you talking about? Santo carried a gun around all the time. We all did, Don Chan corrected her.

—It wasn’t loaded.

—It’s because you made him soft.

—What?

—I don’t know how you did it, woman, but you cut off Santo’s balls, and I swear I’ve never recognized him since.

—Watch your mouth. Only ’cause you old don’t mean you could be spitting nastiness like that.

—Before he met you, Santo was ready to die for his country. You can ask Miraluz—she was always by him.

—Don’t talk to me about that woman. She acted like she had more rights over him than his own wife.

—But it’s true. He would’ve never been in prison if you hadn’t gotten yourself into trouble.

—You don’t know what you’re talking about. So please let’s not fight. Not on this bus. People are staring at us.

Esperanza looked behind her and to the seat next to her and noticed that people were napping. She hadn’t realized how bad Don Chan’s memory lapses were. There was no point in fighting with a man who didn’t make sense.

—You always care about what people think. Even in D.R., I remember you were so worried what the neighbors would say. That’s what has us in this hole in the first place. We so worried about making a scene that we don’t do anything at all.

—Por favor, not now. I’m tired. I have to work tonight. What do you have to do, eh?

—I’ve done plenty, Don Chan said.

—You live in your dreams, old man. You never knew Santo. All this time you talk about him as if you were of the same mind. But you didn’t know him.

—What do you mean? Don Chan clenched his teeth. He wanted to get up to stretch his legs, to get away from Esperanza’s flowery perfume. She was so thick she took up part of his seat and hogged the armrest.

—Nothing, forget it. It’s not important.

—It’s important enough, Don Chan said.

—Santo was living on borrowed time.

—What?

—He started working for Balaguer behind your back or else they were going to kill you both.

—Lies. You speak lies.

—Everyone knew. But no one said anything to you because they were afraid of what you might do. Esperanza was whispering.

—Do? What on earth does that mean?

—I’d rather not talk about it…I rather not. Esperanza went into her purse to do something with her hands. Anything. The bus wasn’t moving fast enough. He wasn’t going to let her sleep.

—You made him afraid? Don Chan said.

—He had reason to be afraid, Esperanza said.

—We were all afraid. But one can’t live in fear.

—Jodio, Viejo…you don’t remember anything like it was. You’re rewriting history.

—But what do you mean? Don Chan couldn’t rely on his own mind. What had he forgotten?

—It’s the past. It doesn’t matter.

—The past visits me every day. It matters to me, Don Chan said.

—Remember? We were at a bar?