THE BOOTS OF PASTORES By Dennis Cunningham Antigua - Pastores, Guatemala Fabian, the vaquero I am shaking hands with in the flatlands of Guatemala, is a leathery, lean man. A perfect coil of rope hangs from his burnished wood-horned saddle, the leather of which, by the way, is the same color as his skin. They both have a kind of coppery, buttery polish. White brahmas amble along behind him in the dry field. They are white and long-eared, their horns curving up stylishly. He has just finished lassoing one of them and injecting her with a mammoth dose of pink liquid from a syringe with a barrel the size of a soda can. He can make his horse dance like Fred Astaire, skipping sideways, and then back, then forward, taking little high steps as if he’s
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