ALBACORA 71 



brought a little warmth to Iquique, Nieves carried me 

 to the balcony of the Hotel Prat and put me in a chair 

 where I could get some fresh air. I sat on the balcony- 

 looking over the prado, watching the life of Iquique 

 ebb and flow. Burro love was a major portion of that 

 life. 



Sound is the keynote of all burro romance. When boy 

 burro meets girl burro, there is neither nuzzling nor 

 whispering intimate messages. When his passions are 

 aroused, the male burro simply opens his mouth wide 

 and howls. Demurely, the female acknowledges with a 

 cry that is only slightly less deafening. So it goes for 

 many minutes. But burro love in the prado is doomed to 

 remain incomplete. The people who own the burros can- 

 not spare the time and so they virtually drag the little 

 animals apart. Then the howls of passion turn to howls 

 of hopeless love, but still they grow no softer. 



Across the street from my balcony was the one movie 

 house that served Iquique's 40,000 people. The same 

 picture was playing all that week, and on the marquee 

 was a title considerably longer than any I could remem- 

 ber ever having seen before. One afternoon when Jo 

 Manning returned early from fishing, I asked her what 

 she thought the title meant. She reads Spanish much 

 better than I can. 



"Let's see," Jo said slowly, staring across at the mar- 

 quee. "The title says, 'Where Went Yesterday? Where 

 Went Today? Where Goes Tomorrow?' " 



