60 ALBACORA 



X-rays, and despite Nieves' continued skepticism, the 

 prompt arrival of two men to carry me down the stairs 

 was something that delighted me. Outside the hotel, the 

 men put me into a taxi which I think was either a 1934 

 Ford or a 1933 Plymouth. The secret of surviving a 

 ride in the rattletrap taxis of Iquique lies in holding 

 on to the sides of these antique autos. Otherwise each 

 bump may bash your head against the roof. The only 

 danger in this system is that the sides of the taxis oc- 

 casionally fall off, but I suppose that there is very little 

 one can do anywhere on this earth that does not involve 

 some element of risk. 



The houses of Iquique are flimsy wooden frames last 

 painted when the nitrate business boomed some time in 

 1939. But after a bleak and bumpy ride down many 

 barren blocks, I suddenly saw a massive building, spot- 

 lessly white, which might have been a major hospital in 

 America. It had been built for the people of Iquique by 

 the government of Chile, but unfortunately the govern- 

 ment had run short of funds once the exterior of the 

 hospital was completed. The gleaming elegant building 

 was woefully short of equipment inside. Still the X-ray 

 machine looked like all other X-ray machines, and the 

 presence of Dr. Lombardy was comforting. 



I was hoisted to a large white table and my hip, so 

 often aired, exposed and probed during the last few 

 hours, was aired and exposed once again. Under Dr. 

 Lombardy's guidance, a technician moved the big ma- 

 chine into place and speedily zeroed it in on target. 



