Delay

We're cooking breakfast when the gas runs out. It is a dark, blustery morning, unusually chilly for the jungle.

There are not many times when I miss electricity, but this is one of them. I'm just about to heat the water for oatmeal and put the muffins in the oven, but I can't get the oven to light. I try again. Nothing. It's kind of a complicated process, so Manuel comes to help. Nope. He tries one of the burners. No.

I sigh. Then I say, "Bueno, podemos comer desayuno un poquito mas tarde." That means, "Okay, breakfast, later."

So we detatch the purple gas tank from the plastic stove hose. I carry the tank in my arms and Carly and I hike to the road. We flag a motocar. Ten minutes later we're in Campo Verde.

The gas lady sits all day in her gas storehouse, a tall brick building full of purple tanks. We haul in our empty tank. We pay her. She points to the mound of full ones. We make our swap. The full tanks are very heavy. Carly and I manage by carrying it between us.

The townspeople stare from their dusty porches as we cross the street. "Treinta-ocho," the moto driver calls out. They know where we live. We bargain for the price we always pay.

Back up the road, then sticky-footed again through the mud, our flip flops spraying mud on the backs of our legs. Paint that is purple chips off in our hands. Home again. Hook up the line. Find a match, fire up the stove. In go the muffins, full blast flame under the oatmeal water.

Then I stand there, appreciating the soft heat, the bubbles on the bottom of the pot. Enough gas for about three more weeks.