Tortilla Factory

Everyone is cautioned to be careful with the food and water while traveling in Mexico, so when our tour group stopped at the tortilla factory, all I wanted to do was watch how they were being made. The factory was nothing more than a cement room, painted pink, with a metal conveyor-like machine in the middle of it. A girl had just taken a lump of dough and stuffed it into a funnel that formed the corn tortillas into round shapes. Then it dropped them onto the conveyor belt, moved them into the oven where they emerged cooked and hot. Another girl, standing at a wooden table, counted them out by the dozen and wrapped them in newspaper.

Our guide took several, sprinkled each one with salt, rolled them up, and handed one to each of us. "Eat, these are wonderful," she said. Everyone took bites and said how delicious they were except me. I did not want to risk it so when I thought no one was looking, I wrapped my fist around the tortilla and slipped it into my pant pocket. When I raised my eyes, the girl at the wooden table was looking straight at me.

                                             lightning
                                             mother's startled face
                                             through the window