—They laugh at me, little Chan said, wondering why people pointed.

—No, no, little Chan, they don’t understand how special you are.

Don José had little Chan climb on his shoulders so he could rest his feet.

They walked into the opening of the city and stopped to look at all the vendors lining the streets. The marines pulled on the skirts of women who stared into their blue and green eyes. Crowds of people bumped against each other. Horses pushed people away as they charged through the city; pickpockets feasted on the oblivious crowd gathered around to listen to politicians who stood on small stages giving speeches. Newspaper vendors on bicycles and wagons shouted out headlines, hungry dogs sniffed the ground and around people’s feet for scraps, the handicapped leaned against the rotunda begging for change. Fathers hid their daughters inside their arms as the malecón’s tempestuous water splashed against the wall. Many rushed about through the crowds, praying that they could survive one more day without being asked for a bribe by a self-appointed official.

Little Chan gasped at the sight of all the bustling people, tugging at Don José’s pants leg to show him the green parrot on the man’s shoulder, the circus lady juggling limes, the ships that, up close, were the size of mountains. Maybe bigger, thought little Chan. He had never seen something as big as a ship, with such great presence.

—Hold on to my pants leg, Don José said, not swayed by little Chan’s curiosity. All the excitement of the city was a breeding ground for trouble. If he spent one moment looking at the clown the marines had brought to entertain the crowds, thieves would steal the few pennies he had in his pocket to buy his supplies.

Little Chan held on to Don José’s pants leg, and looked around trying to see as much as he could before they had to return to Juan Dolio. He tripped and splashed his feet in puddles, giggling and excited.

—Look where you’re going. The city is not for playing, Don José said, more frustrated at how fast the city had grown. It was a sign of the beginning of the end for people like him who worked from the sea.

—Excuse me, sir.

A man, who Don José assumed was untrustworthy by the beard that hid his face, called out after them. Don José pretended not to hear him.

—Señor, excuse me, the man said again, reaching up to grab Don José’s shoulder.

The man was small and round, red from too much sun.

Little Chan hid behind Don José, wrapping his arms around his leg.

—I offer you this pouch for the boy, the man said, showing Don José a glimpse of the coins inside the small red pouch.

—I’m sorry, but he’s not for sale, Don José said and moved away from him in haste.

The man followed. Don José carried little Chan on his back so it would be easier for them to move about through the crowds. He slipped in behind the houses and crossed over to the street. All he needed was some fishing supplies and some herbs for his daughter who had stomach problems. Everything else could wait. It had been a bad idea to bring little Chan into the city. Don José did not know what was going on in the city with the occupation, but the selling of children?