Eleven years later, he is still eking out a living on the same batey, or labour encampment, where he arrived, with no money, nine fingers, and a foot-long vertical gash on his chest that has been sewn up like a mailbag.
“Can you help me get a cédula?” he asks,
“It’s very important for me,” she says. “I pay for the kids, I pay for the telephone and the light and the water and the cellphone and collective buses and food with it. Everything. It pays for us completely.”
Julio does not enjoy living in the US, she says, and