There is something about the paths of Mexico. In the mountains, through gullies, along streams. There are too many places for ambush, which is the word that comes closest to the feeling I have when on such a trail. As if something is about to happen that is so old, so hungry, so innocent, so incomprehensible that it seems dangerous. A man will appear with a hoe on his shoulder. A child will be standing in front of me, in the dust, not knowing whether to run, or salute me, or beg for food. Hunger and time are inseparable. The man also considers asking for food, or challenging you with his machete. But he is also the guardian of the path, and of the countryside. He will give you everything he has. ~ Notes on “The Yaqui Report,” another novel I’m writing.