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MARCHING POWDER

hopefully it would keep her happy and give me more time with Yasheeda. I also dragged Jaime back to the table, hoping that he could keep her friend occupied. There was little chance of that, though, since Sharon spoke only the most basic Spanish and my escort was so drunk that he could hardly focus. He needed to wake up, so I offered him the envelope of coke but he suddenly became nervous and refused to take it. 'No consumo. Nunca consumo.'

I knew this was all an act, though - hardly anyone in Bolivia ever admits to taking drugs, but a lot of people do it behind closed doors. How could you not take cocaine in a country where a gram is cheaper than a beer? Jaime eventually accepted the packet, saying it wasn't for him but for a friend he knew who took it, and went off to the bathroom. After that, he became more talkative and Yasheeda's friend played along politely, even though she was clearly bored by the standard list of questions he asked: 'Where are you from? You are very beautiful. Do you have a boyfriend?' She was rolling her eyes but he continued, oblivious. 'You are very pretty. What language do you speak in your country? Do you like La Paz?'

The nightclub was closing at four o'clock and I knew I had to go back to prison. There was nothing I could do about it, so I kissed Yasheeda again, though not as wildly as before. We stared into each other's eyes and I was so riveted by her that I only wished I could go somewhere private to spend more time with her.

'Where do you live?' she asked me. The question took me aback. I didn't want to lie, but I didn't have the energy to explain the whole situation to her.

'A place called San Pedro. Have you heard of it?'

'Oh, yes,' she said excitedly. 'I walked past there today. It's a really nice suburb. I'd love to see your house. Is it near San Pedro Plaza? That plaza is really pretty.'

Over the past twelve hours I had begun to believe I was a free man, and now the injustice of having to return to a prison cell irked me all the more.

'Yeah, right on the plaza,' I responded, trying not to show how sad I felt. 'You should come around and visit some time. I'll give you my mobile number if you like.' However, Yasheeda wasn't going to give up. I could tell that she was drunk and high as she leaned in close and whispered in my ear, 'So . . . who do you live with? Do you live on your own?'

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