Highway victim; June 8, 1945.
Friday, the Octava of Corpus, has extra excitement beyond the regularly scheduled activities. Gabriel [Ospina] and I descend from the yácatas [pyramids] and pass the presidencia [municipal building]. A small knot of people clusters on the porch. Zeferino [Villagómez, the mayor] calls to me. "Señor Foster, won't you please come and take a picture of the dead man?" And there he lies on the cold tiles of the floor, the face so mashed and bloody that only with difficulty do we make out that it is a boy of not more than 15 years of age. Two candles have been placed, one at his head and the other at his feet, tilting grotesquely toward the body. Men stand around, not quite knowing whether they should take off their hats in the presence of Death. "He was struck by a car last night near El Tigre," explains Zeferino, and "brought here just a short time ago. We want the photograph so he can be identified." I take the picture as quickly as possible, knowing that no identification could ever be made from a photograph of the mangled body of what had once been a boy.
Fortunately, the identity is established in the afternoon before the pauper's burial. An older brother, perhaps 17, has heard in Morelia that a corpse has been found. The night before, his brother had left his widowed mother, determined to leave home, and the search was instigated. Somewhat drunk, the boy approaches me. Is it true that I have taken a picture of the corpse? Can he have one? "Yes, of course, but they must first be developed. Write your name in this notebook and I'll send one to you" (1948).
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