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"
Political
economy
is
n't
your
strong
point
,
"
said
the
consul
,
impudently
.
"
You
ca
n't
create
a
demand
.
But
you
can
create
a
necessity
for
a
demand
.
That
's
what
I
am
going
to
do
.
"
Two
weeks
after
the
consul
sent
his
cable
,
a
fruit
steamer
brought
him
a
huge
,
mysterious
brown
bale
of
some
unknown
commodity
.
Johnny
's
influence
with
the
custom-house
people
was
sufficiently
strong
for
him
to
get
the
goods
turned
over
to
him
without
the
usual
inspection
.
He
had
the
bale
taken
to
the
consulate
and
snugly
stowed
in
the
back
room
.
That
night
he
ripped
open
a
corner
of
it
and
took
out
a
handful
of
the
cockleburrs
.
He
examined
them
with
the
care
with
which
a
warrior
examines
his
arms
before
he
goes
forth
to
battle
for
his
lady-love
and
life
.
The
burrs
were
the
ripe
August
product
,
as
hard
as
filberts
,
and
bristling
with
spines
as
tough
and
sharp
as
needles
.
Johnny
whistled
softly
a
little
tune
,
and
went
out
to
find
Billy
Keogh
.
Later
in
the
night
,
when
Coralio
was
steeped
in
slumber
,
he
and
Billy
went
forth
into
the
deserted
streets
with
their
coats
bulging
like
balloons
.
All
up
and
down
the
Calle
Grande
they
went
,
sowing
the
sharp
burrs
carefully
in
the
sand
,
along
the
narrow
sidewalks
,
in
every
foot
of
grass
between
the
silent
houses
.
And
then
they
took
the
side
streets
and
by-ways
,
missing
none
.
No
place
where
the
foot
of
man
,
woman
or
child
might
fall
was
slighted
.
Many
trips
they
made
to
and
from
the
prickly
hoard
.
And
then
,
nearly
at
the
dawn
,
they
laid
themselves
down
to
rest
calmly
,
as
great
generals
do
after
planning
a
victory
according
to
the
revised
tactics
,
and
slept
,
knowing
that
they
had
sowed
with
the
accuracy
of
Satan
sowing
tares
and
the
perseverance
of
Paul
planting
.
With
the
rising
sun
came
the
purveyors
of
fruits
and
meats
,
and
arranged
their
wares
in
and
around
the
little
market-house
.
At
one
end
of
the
town
near
the
seashore
the
market-house
stood
;
and
the
sowing
of
the
burrs
had
not
been
carried
that
far
.
The
dealers
waited
long
past
the
hour
when
their
sales
usually
began
.
None
came
to
buy
.
"
Qué
hay
?
"
they
began
to
exclaim
,
one
to
another
.
At
their
accustomed
time
,
from
every
'
dobe
and
palm
hut
and
grass-thatched
shack
and
dim
patio
glided
women
--
black
women
,
brown
women
,
lemon-colored
women
,
women
dun
and
yellow
and
tawny
.
They
were
the
marketers
starting
to
purchase
the
family
supply
of
cassava
,
plantains
,
meat
,
fowls
,
and
tortillas
.
Décolleté
they
were
and
bare-armed
and
bare-footed
,
with
a
single
skirt
reaching
below
the
knee
.
Stolid
and
ox-eyed
,
they
stepped
from
their
doorways
into
the
narrow
paths
or
upon
the
soft
grass
of
the
streets
.
The
first
to
emerge
uttered
ambiguous
squeals
,
and
raised
one
foot
quickly
.
Another
step
and
they
sat
down
,
with
shrill
cries
of
alarm
,
to
pick
at
the
new
and
painful
insects
that
had
stung
them
upon
the
feet
.
"
Qué
picadores
diablos
!
"
they
screeched
to
one
another
across
the
narrow
ways
.
Some
tried
the
grass
instead
of
the
paths
,
but
there
they
were
also
stung
and
bitten
by
the
strange
little
prickly
balls
.
They
plumped
down
in
the
grass
,
and
added
their
lamentations
to
those
of
their
sisters
in
the
sandy
paths
.
All
through
the
town
was
heard
the
plaint
of
the
feminine
jabber
.
The
venders
in
the
market
still
wondered
why
no
customers
came
.
Then
men
,
lords
of
the
earth
,
came
forth
.
They
,
too
,
began
to
hop
,
to
dance
,
to
limp
,
and
to
curse
.
They
stood
stranded
and
foolish
,
or
stooped
to
pluck
at
the
scourge
that
attacked
their
feet
and
ankles
.
Some
loudly
proclaimed
the
pest
to
be
poisonous
spiders
of
an
unknown
species
.
