Our Jeepney reached the South American river town. After dust settled and people, pigs, and chickens departed, my 14-year-old son and I, here to help schools, looked for our contacts.
There’d been some mistake.
A friend had written, “If anything goes wrong, find shopkeeper Antonio Anau.”
My son guarded our luggage while I walked dusty streets asking for Antonio.
Clerks rattled off rapid-fire Spanish. He’d had surgery and was gone.
Dogs bite fearful people. I couldn’t fear.
Finally, through another doorway, I glimpsed a man I’d seen once in the U.S.
In town for other reasons, he “rescued” us.