“God carries me on his back.”
The body enters the house, instead of getting on the plane, which would bring it to Mexico City first, and then to Oaxaca. It could still catch the evening bus there, crossing the mountains over the night to Puerto Escondido. It would travel on a truck in the piercing light of the early morning, all the way down on Highway 175. At Puerto Angel it would squeeze into a cab with eight other passengers. They would reach for the horn of the Huatulco bay that resembles a sweet water lake. Waiting in the shades a fisherman would come and offer a ride, crossing, for a few dollars, to the other side of the lagoon.