The phone rings. I answer it. I am speaking with a señor and he asks to speak with my abuela. However, she is in the United States, at my parent’s house. El señor’s tone of voice starts to change. He sounds agitated. He begins to speak hurriedly. He explains to me that he has a framed photograph bien bonita of my abuela and her hija. Immediately, I realize the ‘hija’ of which he speaks must be my late tía, Isabel. She passed away nearly a year ago. She was much too young to be a victim of cancer.

            El señor wastes no time in telling me that I owe him sesenta mil colones. He claims my abuela spoke with him last week and instructed him to come tomorrow to collect the agreed upon amount. Having no such knowledge of such a thing, I explain to him that my abuela never mentioned it to me and that I would have to speak with her first. His agitation level rises. He speaks faster and louder. El señor sounds furious. He says he needs to come tomorrow morning to get the money.

Miercoles

I always wake up a little later than usual los miercoles because I don’t have class until one. The maid, Tereza, is already downstairs. She is a fascinating person. Her corpulence makes her more intimidating than any one of the characters that roam the streets outside my house at night. In fact, if last month’s assailant had anything less than a two foot long, double sided machete, she probably would have broken every bone in the mierdita’s body. What she lacks in literacy she more than makes up for with invention, humility, and lightness of personality. I would never think of hanging my chocolates from the ceiling so that mice would stop stealing them. I would never think of using a moat to stop the ants from getting into the sugar.

By the time I make it downstairs for breakfast, it is almost eight. As I read the daily newspaper, I tell her about el señor that called last night. She knows nothing of the subject but agrees that we shouldn’t pay him, not even un pesito.

Now, it is almost eleven in the morning. I am upstairs in my office, writing a lab report. The doorbell rings. I know who it is so I don’t answer it. El señor rings the doorbell again. I am rather enjoying sensing him getting madder and madder. Not before he rings three more times, I hear Tereza talking to him. Any doubt I may have had disappears as his agitated, raised voice rings clearly in my office. Soon, he is yelling at Tereza. She tells him to stop being such a mal criado.