Tranquilino the Mountain Man
A bunch of the Honduran and American missionaries and I drove in the mist up El Volcan mountain. It's not really a volcano. We saw armed guys in camo walking down the hill. I wouldn't want to mess with them. We went off onto a tiny, slippery mountain path that led us out of the pines and into misty banana tress with big bunches of fruit and enormous umbrella leaves. We found ourselves cutting across the steep slopes of a coffee fenca that was dripping with rain and mist. We brushed through the dripping red berries and brilliant green leaves...Lo and behold, we found ourselves at a small mountain hut--the owner of the coffee fenca, who was busily frying his lunch. He had a very friendly face and served us delicious nectar, called coffee, but I wanted to ask if it as from Heaven, actually it came from his own grove. A dear, sweet happy man in a hovel with five sons out cutting coffee and a wife dead 11 years. His name was Tranquillino. We ran back down through the misty mountains.