“Don’t you want to be with me?” I placed my hands on her shoulders and kneaded a couple of times.

“If you start listening to me, I want to be with you. Otherwise, you’re just another trial.”

“Maybe you’re still here because God doesn’t want the competition,” I said.

She considered that but kept her answer to herself. “Let’s eat,” she said. She headed to the dining room. “I already had dinner, but this could be my last meal.”

Beng shuttled out with a platter of fried fish and a bowl of rice. As soon as I began to eat, I realized how hungry I was. I ate seconds. And then thirds. Tita Rosa called to the kitchen for atis, which must have just started appearing at the market. “Your favorite,” she said. Atis was not my favorite, but Tita Rosa tended to say that anytime she presented fruit that had just come into season. An atis looked like a grenade, dark green and bumpy. When it was ripe, the rind would break along the segments easily. Inside, the fruit was white and had a sweetish, milky taste. There were big black seeds hidden in its meat. It was a fruit that married the mild and the potentially violent.

“Ate Ting,” said Beng. She was holding my phone, lifted off the side board, which was buzzing and ringing. I thanked her and looked at the screen. It was José Martin and I swiped immediately.

“Here,” I said.

“Ting, I’m sending you a link. Watch it now.”

“What?”

“I don’t know how long it will be up. I think it’s Bontotot.”

“Wait. What?”

“I have to go. I’m going. Ting, I’m working.” And he hung up.

“Ting! Ting!” said my aunt. I had no idea how long she had been calling my name. “Ting, what’s wrong?”

“We need internet now.”

“Just go upstairs.”

“No, I need to stream something. Is there any good internet? That was my friend the journalist. It’s something about Laird.”

My aunt got up from the table. “We’ll go to Baby’s apartment.”

“Isn’t there a tenant? That Norwegian guy?”

“He’s Dutch,” my aunt said. “Beng!”

Beng was already standing close by and my aunt was at first startled then relieved by her proximity. “Bring the atis.” Beng picked up the bowl and the three of us made for the front door. My aunt held tight to my arm and we exited the house, carefully down the front steps, and then, walking as fast as could be managed, along the driveway. “What did your friend say?”

“Nothing,” I said. “He just sent me a link for a video.” We were now at the gate. I was trying my phone, now that we were closer to the internet, but the link wasn’t opening. “I should get my computer.”

“Don’t worry about that. Yoren has a computer.”

“Who is Yoren?”