Galindo got worse, and the family decided that they would have to chance the robbers. Two microbusses might be safer than one (I don’t get the logic), so they somehow found TWO drivers that fit the aforementioned criteria, and were brave enough to drive at midnight. As Galindo worsened, he started getting chills and tremors, so I ran back to our house to get the three hot water bottles I filled earlier to keep our bed warm, and put them in his bed.

Diganos si hay demasiado calor (tell us if they’re too hot) I told him, and he was lucid enough to tell me it was OK.

When it became apparent that the departure was imminent, people started running around packing and throwing on nicer clothes for the trip to the Big City. Galindo looked worse and worse, then the whole scene started getting really morbid. They asked Emily to take pictures of him, with various family members sitting on the bed next to him, so they would have something if he died. At one point, they told her to get his whole body in the picture. He looked pretty miserable with the flash going off, literally on his death bed. I would have felt absolutely WRONG during all this, except they specifically requested it, and to refuse would have been even more culturally awkward. We’re going to print the pictures out for them, but I think you won’t get to see them on the blog. It wouldn’t be right.

It was about that time that I took Reina aside. She’s Galindo’s aunt, and has become Emily’s best buddy here (they’re the same age, too). She’s a nurse, and probably the single most responsible person in town. “Are you going with them?” I asked, already knowing the answer. “Si” she replied. I then explained to her that we are going to give her 400 quetzales to take with her, to use in case they have some sort of emergency. She is not to tell ANYONE of it, or else our lives here will be miserable for the next two years. I made her promise this. “Is this a loan?” she asked. “It could be a loan, or a gift. We can decide that later. Now, you need to leave,” I told her.

I know, I know, we promised to never lend any more money. This also leaves us with only 100 quetzales. But the fact of the matter is, if we can save a friend’s life by giving away what amounts to about $60, then i don’t care if we ever see the money again.

We went back into the house, and things were about together. There was a 5-minute pause in the action as everyone prayed over Galindo, then they dressed him for the trip. “Can we take these with us?” Manuel said, holding up our water bottles. I cringed inside; we LOVE our Nalgene water bottles, and I fear we will never see them again. But how can you say no to something like that? And the worst part is, one of the bottles I’ve had since I hiked the Appalacian Trail ten years ago. My brother John gave it to me for my birthday.

So, they got Galindo on a sturdy blanket, and ten men grabbed the edges of it and started down the mountain towards the road (and the waiting microbusses). I somehow ended up being one of the litterbearers, and when we got to the micro, I found myself being the guy that pulled Galindo into the bus. I laid his head down on the seat, and he looked up at me, somewhat suprised to see me and somewhat coherent.

Vas a quedar? (Are you going to stay here?) he asked.

Si. No podemos ir contigo. Tengo que hablar contigo cuando regresas. ¿Vas a regresar, si? I told him. (Yeah, we can’t go with you. I need to talk to you when you return. You’re going to return, right?)

He nodded, and said he would.

Hay gente aqui que te quiere. Necisitas regresar. Tengo que hablar contigo. Entiendes? (There are people here that love you. You need to come back. Do you understand?)

He told me he understood. I am glad I got to speak to him, for that brief instant, when there were just two of us (and not 20 family members) and I had his full attention. He seemed genuinely relieved to see me, in the dark of the microbus with the smell of the heater running. I worry that he is still not happy to be living, and I don’t know if the family knows how to tell him that they really want him here. They do want him, too, but people here are so damn PRACTICAL. They never talk about their emotions.

So, I exited the microbus. In the next 5 moinutes, there was a lot of commotion and chaos, but eventually the two busses filled with about 50 townspeople between them, and headed off to Huehuetenango. As they drove away, I looked up to a full moon directly overhead, with a brilliant white corona around it taking up nearly half of the sky. I hope that is a good omen.