“Do you remember taking this photo?”
He glanced at the coffee-table book of a lifetime’s work. “A slum in Bogotá.” He looked up, surprised. “Not far from here, Señora Presidenta.”
“Forty years ago.”
“Little girl holding her puppy. No shoes. Rags for clothing. How she kept it alive…”
“Chulo. Faithful for a lifetime.”
“You know her?”
The president held out a faded square, images almost gone. “After using your expensive camera, you took a Polaroid of the two of them.”
“You?”
“The knowledge that a gringo found me important enough to photograph has stayed with me my whole life.”
liebjabberings 