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can’t tell you how much respect I have for our fighting men. In my country, and in yours too, the army is the glue that holds everything together. If it wasn’t for the army, we’d still be in the Dark Ages, we’d be living in complete chaos. Am I right, or am I right? Of course I’m right. That’s just the way it is. Right?” He lifted his arms, as if to ask how anyone could object.
    Longoria nodded in assent and Duarte continued. “We need the army to bring order. Without the army we’d just be a country of poor peasants, illiterates. That’s how it is, and you know it too. I can see it in your face. That’s why you came here to work with me at El Pulgarcito, because you could see we thought alike. You could sense it as soon as you stepped in the place. We’re alike, me and you. We see things the same way. What sign are you, by the way? I’m a Gemini. You’re a Gemini too, aren’t you? I knew it! I can spot one every time.”
    Duarte was wearing a pale yellow guayabera with crusty bean stains on the bottom. He had soft hands that had been spared the indignities of physical labor, and a round gut that showed despite his loose-fitting shirt. His moussed hair was combed back neatly and he smelled of cologne, a vanity Longoria found especially irritating. Although Duarte was talking to him like an old friend, Longoria felt uncomfortable in his presence. He had not yet said a word, but Duarte just kept talking.
    â€œPersonally, I never joined the army because I had another role to play, with my business and organizing for the party here in Los Angeles. This is important work. Maybe it’s not as dangerous as what you did in the army, but it’s important. There are many insidious influences here among the people in Los Angeles, among the Centroamericanos. We have to fight them. We monitor their activities. Once in a great while we organize a little action to let them know we’re here. A little letter, a little phone call, sometimes something more serious. The newspapers get all excited and call us a ‘death squad,’ but it’s nothing like that. Just little things. Acciones. One day maybe you can help us. We could use someone with your training.
    â€œSo, tell me about your training. Did you get to work with the Americans, with the Green Berets? You know, we have a battalion like yours in El Salvador. They’re called the Atlatacl Battalion. Yes, yes, of course, you’ve heard of them. I forget, I’m talking to an expert here! The American training is simply the best, isn’t it? These gringos know what they’re doing. Just look at their soldiers, real warriors. For starters, they give them a lot to eat. For years and years our soldiers were always so skinny and small, and then we learned from the Americans that we shouldn’t skimp on the food for the fighting men. Little things like that it took us a long time to learn. You have that same look now, that healthy look. What’s the word? Robust. That’s it. You’re small but robust. You’re in fighting shape.”
    Duarte insisted on hearing about his military career, so Longoria told him about Fort Bragg and the Panama Canal Zone, about the John F. Kennedy Center for Special Warfare and the School of the Americas and how he had diplomas from both. Longoria said he had been impressed by North Carolina, by the antiseptic army base, the nicely stocked PX, everything so orderly and well thought out. He expected the rest of the United States to be like Fort Bragg, but then he came to Los Angeles and was badly disillusioned. What he remembered most about Panama was the unrelenting heat and the American officers who seemed to be two or three feet taller than all the Guatemalans and Salvadorans around them. There was the training in jungle warfare and no time to see the canal itself, which was something of a disappointment. When he wasn’t training, all he did