"They were paper zebras!"

"Paper zebras? I never heard of such a thing."

"Pictures of zebras!"

"I see now."

"Silly Papi!"

Pablo takes his hand and they start to walk toward the bus stop. This simple, normal activity is an intense relief from the insanity of "narco-world," as he terms it.

"Am I staying with you tonight?" Mateo asks now.

"Yes."

"How many sleeps?"

"What? Oh yes, for two sleeps."

"Yay." He tightens his grip. Then he asks, "What are we doing?"

"If you'd like," Pablo says, "I thought we'd go to the park and kick the ball. Then To Toms is reading from his book. Would you like to go to that?"

"Can I bring coloring?"

"Of course," Pablo says. "Then Ta Ana is having a party. Ta Jimena will be there. Would you like to go to that?"

"Will To Giorgio be there?"

"Probably," Pablo answers.

Everyone loves Giorgio, he thinks.

Me too.

"Maybe he'll let me take a picture," Mateo says.

"I'm sure he would," Pablo says. "And if you get tired, you can fall asleep on Ta Ana's big bed."

"Can we go to the zoo?" Mateo asks.

"Saturday?"

"Well, not today."

"Yes."

"Good."

"What did you color your zebras?" Pablo asks.

"Orange and blue."

Good, Pablo thinks.

All this narco stuff is foolishness. All that matters is that his son is willing to color zebras in orange and blue.

- The two rectangular boxes-one yellow, the other terra-cotta-of Cafebrera, sit on Jose Reyes Estrada Circle, just off the Plaza de las Americas and close to the university, and are the epicenter of the intellectual life of the city.

It represents everything Pablo loves about Jurez.

A coffeehouse, a bookstore, a gallery, a performance spot, a gathering place for everyone who cares about ideas and art and community, Cafebrera is almost literally the heart of the city for him.

He goes there to see friends, meet new people, find interesting ideas, get into discussions and debates (which occasionally turn into arguments but never fights), listen to music, hear readings, buy books that he can neither afford nor resist, not to mention just get an honest strong cup of coffee that doesn't come from a giant corporate chain, and sit in a quiet spot and read.

Now he sits in a metal folding chair with Mateo at his feet happily coloring (a magenta and turquoise tiger this time) and listens to Toms read from his latest novel. It's a beautiful book and a beautiful reading, as one would only expect from Toms Silva, whom Pablo regards as a national treasure.

One thing that Pablo loves about Toms's readings is that there is no sense of irony in them. The author is serious about his work and reads it seriously, his sad eyes glowing from behind his glasses, his strong jaw set as if he's reconsidering his words as he speaks them.

Ana sits down the row with her eyes closed, shutting off visual stimuli to focus on the sounds of the words. Giorgio stands off to the side, quietly snapping photos of Toms without the distraction of a flash.

scar has his bad leg propped up on the chair beside him, his cane hooked over the chair in front. He and Toms go back to their university days-close friends still-and Pablo knew that El Bho wouldn't miss this reading.

Really, most of the Jurez intelligentsia are present for the event-writers, poets, columnists, and a scattering of serious readers who always show up for this kind of thing. Pablo recognizes a few local politicians, there to display that they have a brain and, supposedly, a soul, although he doubts both.

Victoria is not there, even though she loves Toms, both professionally and personally.

Probably working, Pablo thinks.

Victoria is always working.

The reading ends and Toms takes questions. There are many-some of them legitimately curious and wanting an answer; others more statements than interrogatives, meant to show off the questioner's knowledge or express a dogma. Toms is patient and painstaking with all of them, but is clearly relieved when the Q&A is over.

Then there's coffee and wine and the usual standing around and schmoozing, but Pablo figures that he's probably used up his four-year-old's full store of patience and takes him across the boulevard into the park to run around and play before they go over to Ana's.

- Four hours later, Pablo sits on the kitchen steps that lead into the small fenced-in backyard of Ana's little bungalow in Mariano Escobedo. Pablo has spent many a good evening out there, sitting on the kitchen steps or in one of the wooden chairs, or helping Ana to cook on the little charcoal grill.

Tonight, the house is packed.

Ana of course ended up inviting everyone who attended the reading, and most of them showed up. It didn't matter, she'd made enough paella to feed a small army, and a lot of her guests went out to dinner first before showing up at the party.

And most of them brought wine or beer, as did Pablo, so as not to put a financial strain on the hostess. That was just expected at Jurez gatherings, especially among a group that is mostly communist, or at least socialist, anyway.

Now Pablo sips on a beer and listens to Toms and El Bho, just slightly in his cups, passionately discuss the romantic lyricism of Efran Huerta as Giorgio debates the World Bank with an attractive woman whom Pablo doesn't know.

"Fiscal policy as foreplay," Jimena observes as she eases herself down beside Pablo, who slides over to make room.

Jimena is tall and thin, all awkward angles and sharp edges. One of nine brothers and sisters-her family have been bakers out in the Jurez Valley for generations-Jimena is also an activist. In her early fifties now, with two sons who are now young men, she spends more and more time on social causes, which often bring her to Jurez.

- They met when Pablo was covering the feminicidio, as it came to be called-the disappearances and murders of hundreds of young women.

Three hundred and ninety, to be exact, Pablo thinks.

He covered at least a hundred of them. Saw the bodies-if they were indeed found- interviewed the families, went to the funerals and memorial services. It seems to have ended now, with no more answers than there were when it started. But Jimena, who lost a niece, helped to create an organization-Our Daughters Coming Home-to pressure police and politicians to close the cases.

Now she wryly observes Giorgio make his moves.

"He does have a certain charm," Jimena says. "What about you? Any romance in your life?"

"Not lately," Pablo says. "Between work and having a kid..."

"Mateo's getting big."

"He is."

"Such a nice boy."

And he loves his Ta Jimena, Pablo thinks. Mateo went to her the second they got into the house, climbed into her lap, and they had a serious conversation about zebras, tigers, and other animals.

Then she got Mateo a bowl of rice from the paella and, after securing Pablo's permission, some polvorones de canela, then eventually took him into Ana's big bed and read him a story until he fell asleep.

"How's Victoria?" Jimena asks.

"She's Victoria," Pablo answers. "Conquering the world."

"Poor world." She ruffles his hair. "Poor Pablo. Our big, shaggy puppy of a Pablo. Who is Giorgio seducing now?"

"Some lawyer, I think."

"Is he succeeding?"

"Just a matter of time," Pablo says.

But Giorgio breaks it off and comes to sit down with them, and the lawyer goes into the house.

"Neofascist dyke," Giorgio says.

"Now, now," Jimena warns.

"Left-wing lesbians are perfectly natural," Giorgio says, "but there's something about a right-wing lesbian that's, I don't know...almost North American. Sort of Fox Newsish."

They get El Paso television broadcasts in Jurez, and Giorgio is masochistically addicted to Fox News, which makes him simultaneously livid and horny.

"Tell me you don't want to do those women on Fox News," Jimena says.

"Tell me you don't," Giorgio counters. "Anyway, of course I do. I want to convert them through the subversive power of the orgasm."

"So it would be a political act," Jimena says.

"I am willing to sacrifice myself for the cause," Giorgio answers.

"How did she find her way to this party?" Pablo asks.

"She's a disciple of Toms's," Giorgio answers. "She thinks he's 'important.'"

"He is," Jimena says. "And her supporting the World Bank doesn't necessarily make her a fascist any more than her resisting your doubtless charms makes her a dyke."

"I just couldn't imagine waking up with her," Giorgio says. "What would we talk about?"

"How wonderful you were in bed?" Jimena suggests.

"Certainly, but that gets boring after a few times," Giorgio says.

"Pobrecito. Such problems."

"You should go after her, Pablo," Giorgio says. "She's your type."

"But I'm not hers," Pablo answers.

"Pablo is giving up on love," Jimena says.

"Who said anything about love?"

"What about love?" Ana asks as she comes out the door. She sits down on Jimena's lap.

"Why do women love to talk about love?" Giorgio asks.

"Why don't men, is more the question," Ana says.

"You can either love," Pablo says, "or you can talk about it. You can't do both."

Ana whoops, then hollers, "scar, did you know that you have a young Hemingway working on your staff?"

scar blinks vacantly-he's much too involved in the discussion of poetry for this-but smiles politely before he turns back to make a point to Toms.

"I'm a little drunk," Pablo admits.

"But you make a point," Giorgio says.

"Oh?" Ana asks. "So, Giorgio, can you either make love or photograph it, but not both?"

The edge in her voice makes Pablo certain now that they had sex.

"You should have seen Ana with our esteemed governor today," Giorgio says, changing the subject. "She had him sputtering."

Ana laughs, then does a rather good imitation of the Chihuahua state governor: "'On the subject of a so-called cartel in Jurez, it does not now nor never has existed, and moreover, my administration has made excellent progress in combating it if it does or has, which, of course, it doesn't and hasn't, unless you have evidence that you're about to show me, in which case I'm late for a very important meeting.' He's a great idiot, our governor, but very well bred. He kissed my hand."

"He didn't," Jimena says.