There was an empty lot next to the Unimarc supermarket on the south-eastern edge of town where sat a small shanty town of salvaged metal sheeting, cardboard, and plastic tarps. An unattended fire was burning in an empty oil drum in the middle of the lot, casting a weak orange glow that flickered and played in the night. A shaggy mutt was sleeping next to the drum, basking in the ambient heat, when the Teacher emerged from the darkness and spooked it awake. The Teacher's teeth were chattering audibly.
--Sale! Git.
He kicked a rock at the mutt, narrowly missing hitting it. The animal scrambled up and backed away, then dropped to it haunches just outside the firelight. It sat silently, watching as the Teacher pushed over the drum and spilled the fire out onto the ground. He then used his feet to kick the flames into a wide ring shape, which he proceeded to squat down in the center of, waving his hands slowly over the heat. There was a faint glow just over the mountains.
--It ain't going to beat me this easy. He said to the dog, which was still silently observing him.
--Calama won't win.
By the time the sun was up, he had found his way to her house. He stood across the street staring at her bedroom window, but there were curtains pulled-to and he couldn't see inside.
--What are you doing here, you idiot. He mumbled aloud to himself.
Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out his pack of cigarettes and looked inside. There were two left. He frowned and pulled both out, putting one in his lips and the other behind his right ear. He then crumbled the package and tossed it into the street. The sounds of traffic and of the city waking began to fill the air, and as he lit his cigarette, he turned and walked away.
He turned the corner from her house and stopped dead in his tracks. Leaning against the side of a small truck, nonchalantly drinking out of a glass beer bottle, was an stunning woman dressed in a European style that clashed with the immediate surroundings. The Teacher took a long drag on his cigarette, shaking his head as he exhaled.
--They told me you were dead.
The woman took the last swig from her bottle and then tossed it against the wall in front of her causing it to shatter.
--I know. Proper bummer, right? She spoke with a refined midland English accent.
The Teacher approached her with his arms crossed. He slowly looked her up and down with his eyes; her's were hidden behind a pair sunglasses. She was smiling slightly, clearly enjoying the moment.
--Convinced I'm not the hallucination of a desperate and lonely man?
--A mirage would be more apt.
She grinned broadly.
--Indeed. Convinced I'm no mirage?
--Not yet.
He uncrossed his arms and grabbed her by the waist, drawing her in. She was completely unfazed. He leaned his face close to hers and sniffed. Grimacing, he left go of her and took a step back.
--That smell is real enough.
She shrugged.
--I've been here a while.
She held up a finger, as if to say "one minute", and then turned around, reaching through the open passenger's side window of the truck and pulling out two litre bottles of cheap Chilean beer. She offered one to the Teacher, but he didn't move.
--Come on, you look a bit dehydrated. Not to mention tired, and extremely filthy. What did you do, sleep in the dunes?
His face flushed red and he snatched the bottle from her, flicking off the top with his thumb and taking a long drought. He finished and wiped the back of his hand across his lips. She nodded in approval and casually sipped at her own bottle.
--How did you know to wait for me here?
--Well dear, I went asking around your school for the gringo teacher and nobody could tell me where you were living now. But they all did have a very interesting story to tell. I bet you can't guess what it was.
He said nothing and instead spat onto the concrete. She continued.
--Anyway, knowing you, it wasn't much of a stretch to imagine you'd be back around here before too long. It was simply a matter of waiting. I'm not sure how long I've been here, but I will say I'm about out of bottles.
She leaned in close to him and ran a finger across his cheek. He shuttered.
--Tell me, was my death so hard for you that it really drove you into the arms of a schoolgirl?
He slapped her hand away and she laughed.
--You're not dead.
--No, she gasped for breath in between bouts of laughter, no. Not dead. Not yet.
--Why, why would you do that? Why wouldn't you tell me? It's been two months! His voice was climbing.
She held a finger to his lips and whispered shushing sounds.
--All in good time, dear, all in good time.
He was seething but he tried to calm himself, taking deep breaths. With a shaking hand he snatched his last cigarette from behind his ear and lit it up.
--Come, she beckoned with her hand, you look like you need some food, and a shower. I've got a room at the Keny.
She threw her half full bottle against the same place on the wall. This time it simply bounced off, landing a few feet away and emptying its contents into the street.
--Bollocks.
She shrugged and walked around the truck to the driver's side. She paused as she was climbing in and waved at the Teacher again.
--Alright now, get inside.
He sighed heavily and opened the door, climbing inside and dropping like dead weight into the seat. He sat silently, staring straight ahead as she drove towards the center. After a few minutes, he dropped dead asleep.
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