excerpt
They didn’t exchange any words until they reached the airport. Costa opened the door for him, took his bag out of the trunk, and handed it to him. The Turk gave the driver ten dollars, although
the fare was only seven; he said Costa could have the rest as a tip. He
shook Costas’s hand and wished him the best in the new country. He
was always smiling as he walked through the automatic door and into
the airport. Costa thought the man’s shaking of his hand was as if he
meant he knew what hatred game his mind played with Costa, as if
he also had lived such moments on occasion and learned how to control
himself. Yes, the Turk knew, and suddenly Costa felt so warm and
happy. He didn’t know whether it was the jasmine-flavoured cigarette
he had smoked, or perhaps it was their little talk before the hurricane.
Costa surely felt full of emotions that he couldn’t explain, nor could
he place in any logical order; however, he felt tears in his eyes, and he
raised his arm as if to wipe something from his eyes, although he did
so, because he didn’t want people to see that he was teary-eyed.
Libros Libertad 