NONE of his closest friends, not Virgie Moreno, Larry Francia, not any of his American pupils who attended his weekly poetry tutorials, knew he had one. Willie Sanchez and that erstwhile infant terrible David Cortez Medalla who lived with Villa in his Greenwich Village apartment were none the wiser. Andres Cristobal Cruz, who liked to snoop around for literary memorabilia, did not suspect anything when he visited Villa years ago. Dylan Thomas, had he known, could have written about it—but more of that later. I stumbled on the fact quite accidentally, although I realized it much later. I am rather uneasy about talking about it now because Villa had sworn me to secrecy. But I figure, since he’s been gone all these years, what could be the harm in that?
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