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García’s names, because we were determined to leave first. It didn’t work, and with that behind us and only one miserable bullet left to fire we sent Calica a telegram telling him to wait for us. That evening I met Enrique Arbuiza, the insurance salesman, who told us he might be able to organize things, and the following morning, today, we met the head of a tourism business. He also refused, but gave us new hope, saying that the company taking us to Panama could issue us with a ticket. The insurance salesman, also a friend of the Guayos captain , took me along to see him and present him with our problem. The captain nearly exploded, but calmed down after we had a chance to explain things a little; we agreed to wait for the final answer this afternoon.
    At any rate, we sent another telegram to Quito, revising the first, so that Calica could continue alone, at least to Bogotá. Our plan is to wait for the final answer, and then either for two of us to go to Panama, or for the three of us to clear out as soon as possible.
    We will see…
    We’ve seen nothing: over an hour of futile waiting for the captain of the Guayos to show up. We’ll decide once and for all what to do tomorrow, but either way Andro Herrero is staying. He thinks one of us should stay behind as a contact point in Guayaquil, and that at any rate it’s easier for two to slip through than three. Although that’s true, we sense a hidden motive in all this and think that some love affair must be keeping him here; he’s so mysterious, no one knows what he’s up to.
    I spent a terrible day prostrate with asthma, and with nauseaand diarrhea from a saline purgative. García did nothing all day, so the uncertainty continues.
    We’re fixated on the visa for Panama. But with everything ready, they hit us for an extra 90 sucres, which none of us had, so it was put off until the afternoon. Nevertheless, I met the consul, who invited me to visit an Argentine ship. They treated us well enough and gave us mate , but the consul made me count out the 10 sucres for the boat religiously. It’s a barge like the Ana G. , which holds so many memories for me. 17 I want to point out the following fact: the soldiers guarding the enrolment offices have the initials “US” on their backs.
    We now have the visa, with its wonderful words: “Fare paid Panama to Guatemala.” There’s going to be a tremendous row . Today I ate with García on board the Argentine ship, and we were treated like kings. They gave us American cigarettes and we drank wine, not to mention the stew. The rest of the day, zero.
    Two more days. A sad Saturday of upsetting farewells, a sad Sunday of further postponement. On Saturday I had the typewriter all but sold, until the residue of my bourgeois desire for property stopped me at the last moment. Now it’s apparently too late, although I’ll find out today. On Sunday evening, the ring was also pretty much a sure sale.
    In the morning, when all our plans seemed to be in ruins, without a cent or any way of finding one, news of the postponement seemed like a gift from heaven. But when the engineer was asked for a date and replied, dubiously, “Who knows, it could be Thursday,” our enthusiasm hit the floor. Five more days mean another 120 sucres, more difficulty paying for things, etc.
    And now more and more days, and the machine couldn’t be sold, and there’s virtually nothing left to burn. Our situation isprecarious, to say the least—not a single peso left, debts of 500 and potentially 1,000—but when? That is the question. We’ll be leaving now on Sunday, if there’s not another delay for some unforeseen reason.
    Guayaquil [October 21, 1953]
    [To his mother]
    I am writing you this letter (who knows when you’ll read it) about my new position as a 100 percent adventurer. A lot of water has flowed under the bridge since the news in my last epistle.
    The