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to map out a fantastic route through Chile for him. He explained that the weather now was lousy down there now, and he would be better off waiting. Itzik smiled and promised to think it over.

We kept returning to the ice-cream vendor. ‘I know, I know,’ she said, ‘grande, grande.’

The coffin dealer looked a little sad. He didn’t say anything to us about blocking the steps to his store.

At five that afternoon we were waiting for Karl in Marcus’s room at the Rosario. It was a new hotel with clean, spacious rooms, but the best thing about it was the price: two dollars a night. Kevin was staying there too. I had gone to his room to fetch him. Good Lord, what a mess! There were clothes everywhere, cameras, maps, cigarettes, a jackknife, half a loaf of bread, cheese, melted butter – all heaped on the floor, the sink, and the dresser. Kevin reclined contentedly on the bed; he didn’t seem at all bothered by the disarray. Though I had known him only a short time, I ribbed him about it. Something about him made me feel particularly at ease.

Karl arrived at six o’clock. He didn’t apologise for being late, but, then, Latin America isn’t famous for punctuality. He had prepared a detailed list of things we would need to buy. It was all written down precisely in large, round letters. Spices, salt, sugar, alcohol, tea, and medicines. Cooking and eating utensils, cups, waterproof