It was dark when the old farmer who I would deem the Machete Murderer happened upon my porch. He found me, Alejandro and Mara on a rocking chairs staring at the star pocked sky.
We didn’t notice him at first. In Ometepe, a farmer yielding a machete is akin to a business man texting in North America.
So when his knife tip caught the porch light as he gestured into my backyard, I thought nothing of it. Alejandro greeted him; a pat on the back, a rapid exchange of Spanish, followed by a long, hard stare into the yard.
When Alejandro returned, he shook his head with a grin. The old man walked back the way he came, waving goodbye with an “adios” and a “buenos noches,” tipping his machete like a top hat to the sky.
“The farmer,” Alejandro said waving back. “He is looking to kill a man.” We laughed.
“No, I’m serious.” He said, still grinning. “He bought a gun for $250. Now the seller has run off with his money while laughing at the farmer. He’s wondering if he’s in the backyard because he wants to find him and kill him."
The porch plunged into silence but for the sound of jaws dropping.
“It’s okay,” Alejandro said. “I told him I’m a lawyer and advised him to visit the police because they’ll help him get his money back.”
A lone cow complained as she wandered down the dirt road. A television blasted. But no birds sang.
“He said, ‘Really? They will help me?’ And I said, ‘Yes, no need to kill him.’”
“Where is he going now?” Mara asked.
“He's going to bed. Tranquilo. It’s normal here.