Free Latin America Diaries by Ernesto «Che» Guevara Page B

at the boarding housewhen I couldn’t pay even five cents on Saturday. I left my watch and a gold chain as security[…]. After pawning my jewelry, I set off for Tiquisate and on the way came down with asthma—an omen of what it will be like if I do go there. Dr. Aguilar was again brief and to the point: there’s a job as a laboratory technician, but not unless all my papers are in order. Now I’m caught up in that.
    Sra. de Holst has invited me to stay at her house. I’ll probably go, but I haven’t yet given a definite answer […].
    Tomorrow, I stop hanging out in the shit to surround myself with blood. My aunt, Sara de la Serna, died of an embolism arising from an operation to remove a malignant tumor from her large intestine. I didn’t love her, but her death has had an impact on me. She was healthy, and very active, and a death like this seemed so unlikely. Nevertheless, it’s a solution, since the disease would have meant she would have had a terrible life.
    A day of utter immobility. Haya de la Torre passed through Guatemala […]. A letter arrived from Gualo telling me Fatty Rojo has been given a visa. Also a letter from Beatriz saying another kilo of mate has left Buenos Aires. Tomorrow I’ll see the minister’s secretary and find out what they have to say about the residence permit.
    Days continue to pass, but I no longer care. Maybe I’ll change my mind about the thing with Helenita Leyva, maybe not. Eitherway, I know things will sort themselves out, and I’m no longer doing my head in.
    In terms of work, nothing can be done about the residency permit until after Easter; the minister for health said I could ask around, and I know there’s work at Livingston on the Atlantic coast, which Helenita will ask about for me on Monday. Hilda says she will ask about a job at the OAS [Organization of American States]. We’ll see what comes of all this, but I don’t have many illusions. My mind is made up, and one of these days I’ll write to China and see what they have to say.
    Nothing new under the sun […].
    On Sunday we went to San José Pinula, where there’s a Children’s City, a slightly pretentious name considering there are only two small buildings housing 40 kids, but nevertheless it is still an interesting project. The director is a lawyer, Orozco Posadas, half crazy, but what he has done is worthy of merit. The city is for reformatory kids; they are given good food, good accommodation, schooling, and are taught agricultural work and given an occupation. The little kids are delighted. As for job prospects, the only new thing comes from Hilda’s statistics professor, who works in the OAS, while Núñez Aguilar has promised to talk to the minister for foreign affairs to give me residency.
    The thing with the professor is just hot air, it means nothing […]. Returning from San Juan Sacatepéquez, we stumbled across a procession of frightening looking souls wearing hoods and carrying candles and a Christ on their backs. As we passed alongside, the men carrying spears shot us some nasty looks I didn’t appreciate at all.
    We had to take a jeep to Guatemala, which cost $5 for eight people. Today, the next day, I’ve spent writing, eating at the de Holsts’, playing canasta and checking out the gringo’s books, allin English but very interesting. My progress in that language is not enough to immerse myself in those hefty tomes, but I do have a number of journals, among them Pavlov’s physiology of the nervous system.
    Several days have passed with nothing to alter this useless life […]. The gringo invited me to see a Russian film about Rimsky Korsakov. Lovely music and a woman whose singing was moving but, as always, the plot was ponderous and slow, and the actors didn’t bring much authenticity to their roles, except for the main character who was very convincing.
    My residency permit is still