“Stop or we will shoot!” the second voice threatened.

 
“Halt!”

Victor, not saying a word, ducked into the nearest doorway. It was the University of Chile (“La U.”). A group called Patria y Libertad was protesting in front of the university (on the Alameda) and on the adjoining street, Avenida San Diego. After a long, spring day the sun had set but the protestors continued. They weren’t really Nazis but some rich boys who tried to elevate their cause through identification with a larger and more disgusting framework than which they could be entitled: Commandos Gremialistas.  Noticing the commotion, someone from an upstairs window poured a bucket on Victor’s pursuers. It was ; Victor was to learn. She was one of his students.

 
A door opened from the inside provided a fast escape in time. It was Pablo. Victor let out a whoosh of air and threw himself against the door to close it. He turned, looked at Pablo.

“What are you doing here, Pablo?”

“Believe me, if I break my foot, it will be on their heads.” Pablo threw the rock out the window. They heard a muffled scream. Someone yelled: “Grenade!”
There was a scuffle of boots tripping, stuttering staccato echoes, leather and taps across storm grates in the sidewalk. Grunts. Pablo’s rock bounced and skittered among them. The Nazi boys ducked waiting for an explosion. Was it only a rock? They suspected not. Eyes in the night went wide, suspicious, terrified, then silence. They waited. They watched. Hidden bodies around corners shivered: tight lips. Idiot’s grins like death heads. Their hands reached for pistols: Lugers. The rock came to rest. It sat silently like the last grenade seconds before lethal disintegration. Nothing happened. It was a rock. They heard Pablo chuckle from inside and knew they had been duped. Tails between legs, they emerged then disappeared into the night.

 
“Oh... thanks,” Victor said. He flashed an enormous grin.

 
“For letting you in?” Pablo asked.

 
“Yeah, for being here,” Victor answered.

 
“No problem.” Pablo shrugged.

 
was descending the stairs toward the ground floor. She had the bucket in her hand. She dropped it.

 
“ !” Victor exclaimed.

 
“Yeah, me,” said.

 
“Thanks for the water,” Victor said. They could hear the Nazis, still, outside.

 
“Thirsty?” asked.

“Why?” Victor asked.

 
“Because I wasted a whole bottle of Pisco brandy in that bucket,” said.

 
“It wasn’t water?” Victor asked

.
“Nope,” answered. She smiled.

“Such a waste,” Victor said.

 
“Yeah, on a gang of Nazis,” said.

 
“There were only two,” Victor stated.

 
“No, Professor. There are others,” said.