IT WAS ON ACCOUNT of the scar that I first noticed him, for it ran, broad and red, in a great crescent from his temple to his chin.
It must have been due to a formidable wound and I wondered whether this had been caused by a sabre or by a fragment of shell.
It was unexpected on that round, fat and good-humoured face. He had small and undistinguished features, and his expression was artless.
His face went oddly with his corpulent body.
He was a powerful man of more than common height.
I never saw him in anything but a very shabby grey suit, a khaki shirt and a battered sombrero.
He was far from clean.
He used to come into the Palace Hotel at Guatemala City every day at cocktail time and strolling leisurely round the bar offer lottery tickets for sale.
If this was the way he made his living it must have been a poor one, for I never saw anyone buy, but now and then I saw him offered a drink.
He never refused it.
He threaded his way among the tables with a sort of rolling walk as though he were accustomed to traverse long distances on foot, paused at each table, with a little smile mentioned the numbers he had for sale and then, when no notice was taken of him, with the same smile passed on.
I think he was for the most part a trifle the worse for liquor.
I was standing at the bar one evening, my foot on the rail, with an acquaintance—they make a very good dry martini at the Palace Hotel in Guatemala City—when the man with the scar came up.
I shook my head as for the twentieth time since my arrival he held out for my inspection his lottery tickets. But my companion nodded affably.
“Que tal, general?
How is life?”
“Not so bad.
Business is none too good, but it might be worse.”
“What will you have, general?"
“A brandy.”
He tossed it down and put the glass back on the bar. He nodded to my acquaintance.
“Gracias.
Hasta luego.”
Then he turned away and offered his tickets to the men who were standing next to us.
“Who is your friend?” I asked.
“That’s a terrific scar on his face."
“It doesn’t add to his beauty, does it?
He’s an exile from Nicaragua.
He’s a ruffian of course and a bandit, but not a bad fellow.
I give him a few pesos now and then.
He was a revolutionary general and if his ammunition hadn’t given out he’d have upset the government and be minister of war now instead of selling lottery tickets in Guatemala.
They captured him, along with his staff, such as it was, and tried him by court-martial.
Such things are rather summary in these countries, you know, and he was sentenced to be shot at dawn.
I guess he knew what was coming to him when he was caught.
He spent the night in gaol and he and the others, there were five of them altogether, passed the time playing poker. They used matches for chips.
He told me he’d never had such a run of bad luck in his life; they were playing with a short pack, Jacks to open, but he never held a card; he never improved more than half a dozen times in the whole sitting and no sooner did he buy a new stack than he lost it.
When day broke and the soldiers came into the cell to fetch them for execution he had lost more matches than a reasonable man could use in a lifetime.
“They were led into the patio of the gaol and placed against a wall, the five of them side by side, with the firing party facing them.
There was a pause and our friend asked the officer in charge of them what the devil they were keeping him waiting for.
The officer said that the general commanding the government troops wished to attend the execution and they awaited his arrival.
“ ‘Then I have time to smoke another cigarette,’ said our friend.
‘He was always unpunctual.’
“But he had barely lit it when the general—it was San Ignacio, by the way: I don’t know whether you ever met him—followed by his A.D.C. came into the patio.
The usual formalities were performed and San Ignacio asked the condemned men whether there was anything they wished before the execution took place.
Four of the five shook their heads, but our friend spoke.
“ ‘Yes, I should like to say good-bye to my wife.’
“ ‘Bueno,’ said the general, ‘I have no objection to that.
Where is she?’
“ ‘She is waiting at the prison door.’
“ ‘Then it will not cause a delay of more than five minutes.’