"We have met many times. Did you know him in Spain?"
They went to the car, and Hall told Pepe about some of Duarte's legendary feats in the war against the fascists. He was in the midst of a story about the Ebro retreat when they reached Duarte's cottage.
Duarte came to the door wearing a towel around his middle. "So you got up?" he laughed. "And you got Pepe up, too! Come in and fill your guts." He led them through the small living room, put on a pair of shorts and mismated huaraches.
"We'll all eat in the kitchen," he said. "I'll bet you forgot that I'm a wonderful cook, Mateo." He served a twelve-egg omelet whose pungent fires brought tears to Hall's eyes.
"This is really going to kill me," Hall said.
"The lousy gringo," Duarte said to Pepe. "He's got a gringo stomach."
Pepe defended Hall loyally. After he had his coffee, he rubbed his bristling beard and asked Duarte if he had a razor that could cut through steel wire. Duarte took him to the bathroom.
"Shave and bathe while I talk to Mateo," he said.
When they were alone, Hall asked him if he knew Fielding. "Sure, I do. He's the one English planter in South America who knows that the world is round."
"He's dead." Hall told Duarte all that he knew about Fielding's death, and what little he knew about Fielding himself. Duarte listened in stunned silence.