Leaving my language behind, I entered the labyrinth. Its streets were narrow, old and crowded with small fruit-colored buildings made of mud and stone. Dogs spoke in tongues and birds, following an alien gyroscope, flew downward into a cloudy underworld. Saints loitered in shadows making deals with passers-by. I was greeted by a cockroach who kindly explained their price, plastic flowers and bottled flame. I could see within the wicker shadows of their tiny huts, each saint stood stoic and faithful before their candles and the litter of past offerings; blackened, shattered glass and dusty clods of petals and wax. But at the hour any nearby church bell rang, they winced in their solitude. I asked the cockroach if anyone else was in the business.The dogs, she answered, adding that I best consider carefully before choosing among them. Before I could ask anything else she scuttled off, disappearing into the crack of a flame red wall.