But I wasn’t convinced that she really meant it. Because nothing was really fine. For any of us. Not for her. Not for Lou and me. And I should just get out of here, stop pressuring her, pestering, hassling her.

“But I can’t help it,” I said quickly.

“What?”

“I can’t help pestering you. I’m sorry.”

“Come back tomorrow,” Jeanette said.

We were on our way to the boat and the only ones walking in that direction, walking out of the camp.

“Everyone wants to get inside,” Lou said.

At least twenty people were standing in front of the entrance to the camp and waiting to be registered. People who wanted to get inside. I hadn’t seen so many people there before—so many, so dirty, so tired. And some with soot marks on their faces.

Where were they going to live, all of them?

I wanted to hurry away from the camp, taking Lou with me. But I couldn’t help noticing three young men who were standing at the front of the line. There was something rough about them, something guarded. They had been on the road a long time, were used to sleeping with one eye open, used to having to watch over their things, take care of themselves, listen for footsteps, look over their shoulder. They spoke quickly. Laughed a little too loudly, the way you laugh when you want everyone to hear how much fun you are having. Like waiting in line to enter a nightclub, the way Eduard and I had done, once upon a time.

Suddenly one of them spun around to face the man behind them in the line and he spoke loudly to him in Spanish. The man was in his forties, thick-necked, heavyset, his skin sun-beaten. He took a threatening step toward the young men and said something, also in Spanish and in an even louder voice.

Two of the friends approached him. One of them pointed to his buddy’s bag, gesturing—it seemed like they were saying that Thick-Neck had tried to help himself from it.

The words began to fly rapidly back and forth between them. Their voices rose, almost to screams. They stood close to one another, the three young boys on the one side, the adult and another man, who clearly was taking his side, on the other.

I could make out a few words that I understood: idiot, bastard.

Thick-Neck slapped his forehead with his hand.

At the same time, he moved one step closer. Everyone in the line noticed them and had stopped talking. The woman seated at the registration table was completely silent. Lou pressed up against me.

“What are they doing?” she whispered.

The young boy looked at Thick-Neck and then at the camp entrance. One of his buddies put his hand on his arm, restraining him: take it easy.

Finally the young boy took a deep breath, nodded quickly. “Okay, okay.”