we wait in shuffling silence, hands pushed deep into pockets, our hats pulled down tight against the cold and the watching policemen.
By the time the coaches arrive there are hundreds of workers waiting in the darkness. We press forward as the doors open. The foremen stand on the bottom steps of the coaches and ask, "Who has the permit?"
The men with permits hold them up and are allowed onto the coaches.
Some of the workers are from the countries in Europe and do no need permits, so they are allowed on when they show their passports. I go from coach to coach until I see a group of Chileans, who I know have no permits, climb aboard a waiting coach. The leader of their group speaks first with the foreman and shakes his hand, then they are taken on. I stand before the foreman.
"You have the permit?" he asks me. He is browww.zcaimao.com
ad and stout, and fills the doorway of the coach. His