I struck a match and put it close to my face. The brightness made me squint. He opened
my eyelids with a firm hand. He couldn't see very well. Standing on tiptoe, he stared at
me intensely. The flame burned my fingers. I dropped it. A silent moment passed.
Are you convinced now? They're not blue."
"Pretty clever, aren't you?" he answered. "Let's see. Light another
I struck another match, and put it near my eyes. Grabbing my sleeve, he ordered:
I knelt. With one hand he grabbed me by the hair, pulling my head back. He bent over
me, curious and tense, while his machete slowly dropped until it grazed my eyelids. I
closed my eyes.
"Keep them open," he ordered.
I opened my eyes. The flame burned my lashes. All of a sudden he let me go.
"All right, they're not blue. Beat it."