Chapter 16

He, on the other hand, is having a ball. He stops as they swing by his table near the end of the third song, signals Milton for another beer. He’s breathing hard and fast, his forehead’s shiny and slick, and the pits of his polo are soaked, but he’s laughing. He compliments Carlotta, who gushes over his fancy footwork. He nibbles at the cevichethat arrived in a parfait glass while he was up, and when a cousin in a red dress invites him back onto the floor, he slugs his beer and acquiesces. In the time it takes Carlotta to drop her balboa in the jerry-rigged slot and launch another set, he’s refueled, rested, and back at it.

Giggling and clapping along, Carlotta sidles up to my table. “Your turn.” She speaks English like she has a mouth full of soup, sloshing the words in her mouth until she swallows most of them, but her vocabulary is extensive and varied. She is patient and helpful with my Spanish, but she expresses herself much more confidently in my language than I can in hers.