Before I could defend myself, I felt the point of a knife in my back, and a sweet
"Don't move, mister, or I'll stick it in."
Without turning, I asked:
"What do you want?"
"Your eyes, Mister," answered the soft, almost painful voice.
"My eyes? What do you want with my eyes? Look, I've got some money. Not much, but
it's something. I'll give you everything that I have if you let me go. Don't kill
"Don't be afraid, mister. I won't kill you. Im only going to take your
"But why do you want my eyes?" I asked again.
"My girlfriend has this whim. She wants a bouquet of blue eyes. And around here
they're hard to find.
"My eyes won't help you. They're brown, not blue."
"Don't try to fool me, mister. I know very well that yours are blue."
"Don't take the eyes of a fellow man. I'll give you something else."
"Don't play saint with me," he said harshly. "Turn around."
I turned. He was small and fragile. His palm sombrero covered half his face. In his
right hand he held a country machete that shone in the moonlight.
"Let me see your face."