“Faena” (free)?
“Si, Señor,” he answers.
“Un sol” (one “sol” or fifty cents gold). The assistant hands over the money and the man gives way to the next one on the list. If he is a laborer in regular and constant employ he receives five soles (two fifty gold) per week. There are interruptions now and then. A ragged, half-drunken man has been leaning against the door post, suspiciously impatient to receive his money. Finally his name is called.
“Faena?” asks the contador.
“No, Señor, cinco (five) soles.”
At that the field superintendente glances at his time card and speaks up in protest.
“You were the man that failed to show up on Friday and Saturday. You were drunk. You should receive nothing.”
“No, mi patrón,” the man contends, “I had to visit a sick cousin in the next valley. Oh, he was very sick, Señor,” and he coughs harshly as if he too were on the verge of prostration. The sick cousin, a faena Indian, has been at work in another cane field on the same plantation for two days and now calls out that he is present and has never had a sick day in his life. Those outside laugh uproariously. The contador throws down two soles and the drunkard is pushed back into the sweating crowd, jostled right and left, and jeered by all his neighbors as he slinks away grumbling.
Another Indian seems strangely shy. He scarcely raises his voice above a whisper. He too is a faena Indian. The contador finds fault.
“Why didn’t you come last month when I sent for you?”