When we had climbed up to the edge of the plateau where the village of El Dorado begins, we almost stopped; and then slowly, very slowly, we went on. I heard Picolino draw his breath, and, like him, I breathed in very deeply, forcing the air right down into the bottom of my lungs and letting it out gently, as though I were afraid of living these wonderful minutes too fast, these _first minutes of freedom_.
The broad plateau opened in front of us; to the right and left were houses, all bright and clean and surrounded by flowers. Some children had caught sight of us, and even though they knew where we came from, they approached us, not unfriendly at all; no, they were kind, and they walked beside us without a words They seemed to understand how grave this moment was, and they respected it.
In front of the first house there was a little wooden table where a fat black woman was selling coffee and _are pas_, corn muffins.
"Good morning, lady."
"_Buenas dias, hombres!_"
"Two coffees, please."
"_Si, senores_." And the good fat creature poured us two cups of delicious coffee; we drank standing, there being no chairs.
"What do I owe you?"
"Nothing."
"How come?"
"It's a pleasure for me to give you the first coffee of your freedom."
"Thank you. When's the next bus?"
"Today's a holiday, so there's no bus; but there's a truck at eleven."
"Okay. Thanks."
A black-eyed, light-skinned girl came out of a house. "Come in and sit down," she said with a lovely smile.