This story is dedicated to the many ESL students I've had the privilege of teaching.

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With a sigh, Jorge slumped back onto his bench. Belching into his hand, he grimaced at the taste of the greasy hamburger that the boss had bought for lunch. Five years here, and he still hadn't gotten used to the food. He sighed again at the thought of the rice and empanadas he used to have. At least lunch was free when the boss bought it.

Back in his home country, his old boss was so penny-pinching he didn't even heat the shop in the winter. Jorge needed to wear an alpaca wool hat his mother had made over his short, wiry hair to keep warm.

He brought the full set of long underwear she'd made for him right before he left. He grunted. A good thing too that he brought it; they got just as much snow here as back home in the mountains.

"Piece of trash hammer!" Mike, always the hotheaded one, threw the hammer at the ground. Jorge stifled a laugh when it rebounded and hit Mike in the leg.

"Smooth move, Mike," Sanders said, laughing and pointing unreservedly at his co-worker hopping around holding his leg.

The one and only time Jorge had joined in ridiculing Mike, he arrived at work the next day to find the word 'chili' painted across his workbench and all of his tools glued to the surface - well, almost all his tools. He always took home the chisel his father had given him at the start of his apprenticeship as a carpenter.

Sanders had always been kind to him. He was the only one in the shop patient with Jorge's halting English. He'd even supplied the solvent to unglue the tools after Mike's prank. He never called Jorge 'Chili', which the others started because he added tobasco sauce or red chili flakes to everything he ate.

Jorge looked over at Sanders' bench. He had been given a choice piece of work - an ornate clock in cherrywood.

He snatched up his chisel and rushed over to Sanders' bench.

"Uh," he began. Sanders turned to him with a smile so wide Jorge could see his molars.

"Yes?" Sanders replied.

"Uh, here, and here," Jorge gestured to the virgin wood at the corners of the block. Most of the face had been carved already with a filigree of leaves and birds. But the corners, the corners were untouched.

"Small, round, sweet," Jorge waved the tip of his chisel around, trying to draw in the air. What was the word for 'cherries'? He ground his teeth at the language barrier.

Sanders tilted his head to the left. He pursed his lips as he considered Jorge. "Hmmm, I don't know what you mean." Looking between the clock face and Jorge, Sanders idly scratched his beard with an awl, deciding. He held an open hand to the clock. "Why don't you show me?"

Jorge's eyes widened briefly. Could Sanders really be offering him - him! - the chance to work on the cherrywood? He'd been craving to touch it since it came in.

The boss only let him work on framing, so Jorge contented himself with real craftwork after everyone went home at night. After Sanders helped with the glue, Jorge had shown him a few of his pieces. Sanders hadn't commented, but his eyes widened when Jorge set down the little birds, poised as if for flight, very softly on the bench.

To actually be able to carve. Carve like he used to when he sold his pieces to the tourists who came to climb up to Maccu Piccu.

Slowly he reached out his chisel to touch the wood. "Me...ok do?" He waited for the denial.

"Please, be my guest," Sanders stepped to the side.

Quickly flipping his brightly coloured poncho over his shoulder to free his arms, Jorge set to work. He'd closely watched the development of the clock face from afar, agreeing with some of Sanders choices and not with others.

With quick deft movements he completed the first bunch of cherries, fixed a few of Sanders coarser strokes on the filigree, then moved to the second corner. So involved in the work was he, that he didn't hear more co-workers returning from lunch, or the snickering when they realised Sanders had let the 'Chili' touch the clock.

Jorge surfaced out of his creative daze. Standing the clock face up, he brushed off a few stray wood chips, then stepped back reverently.

He felt alive. Exuberant. His face might split from the smile of joy.

He looked around for Sanders and noted the loose semi-circle of men around him. Why were they looking at him with such hatred? John even had his hand clenched into a fist.

Jorge glanced back at the clock. The cherries were perfect. They complemented the rest of the carving, and balanced the whole thing.

Looking back at the men, he quickly sized up the situation. He'd gotten into enough fights with the street urchins back home to know the kind of hostility he was facing from his co-workers. It was best defused quickly.

Ducking his head, Jorge hid his tools under his poncho and quickly went back to his own workbench.

"Ah, men, what are you all gathered around to look at?" Mr. Peel, the owner, announced in his loud, brash voice as he entered the room. For such a portly man, he could move surprisingly quick. He had pushed his way through to Sanders' bench before anyone could reply.

"Ah, Sanders, you've finished!" Mr. Peel exclaimed. His hands hovered over the clock face as he weighed the different components of the carving. "Yes, yes. The cherries were exactly the right choice!" Mr. Peel leaned in closely to peer at the corners. "These cherries are definitely the best work you've ever produced, Sanders. You've got more skill than I thought."

Jorge felt the weight of the sidelong glances the men gave him. All except Sanders, who kept his eyes firmly on Mr. Peel.

"Yes," the shop owner continued, "I was right to trust you with this." Mr. Peel stood and clapped Sanders on the shoulder. "You'll get to work on the next commission, and maybe a little something extra in your paycheck this week. Marvellous work, those cherries."

Jorge clenched his tools tightly, but didn't feel the sharp edges bite into his hands as bitter resentment filled his mouth.

"Thank you, sir, thank you," Sanders replied, sweeping some of the wood flakes Jorge had created to the floor. He kicked them under his table. "I look forward to it."

The men smirked at Jorge as they returned to their benches.

As Mike passed behind him, Jorge heard him viciously whisper under his breath, "Chili!"

And Jorge burned.