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Vietnamese detective – Two miners, Jimmy Sánchez and Jorge Galleguillo, a Chilean flag by their sides, faced the media Sunday at Camp Hope outside the San José Mine.

SAN JOSÉ MINE, Chile — Family members of the 33 miners who were trapped for 69 days had said a special Mass on Sunday would be a chance for the miners to find closure and understanding.

Victor Ruiz Caballero for The New York Times

One rescued miner, Carlos Mamani, a Bolivian, was joined by family and friends outside his home in Copiapó, Chile, on Saturday.

As one of them, Omar Reygadas, 56, left the service and walked with his family to the tent where they had lived while the men were trapped, cameramen and photographers surrounded him. His 2-year-old great-granddaughter was pushed in the mob and began to cry. As Mr. Reygadas picked her up, cameramen moved closer, zooming in.

Wearing a ball cap and sunglasses, Mr. Reygadas remained calm in the media glare, but he revealed little of what the world had been waiting to hear: the miners’ own stories about life in their subterranean prison.

“I’ve had nightmares these days,” Mr. Reygadas said from the cramped tent, as reporters jostled for space. “But the worst nightmare is all of you.”

Saying they had signed a pact not to reveal details about their ordeal, the miners have said little since Wednesday’s rescue. But many have made clear that the bidding had begun for their personal accounts, reflecting the complexity behind a feel-good story of hope and perseverance that was always encumbered by the economic challenges faced by Chile’s miners.

On Saturday, in an area of squatter homes in the Juan Pablo Segundo slum of Copiapó, a city about an hour from the mine, reporters milled in front of the home of Carlos Mamani, 24, a Bolivian.

Verónica Quispe, his wife, said they were charging for interviews, even with reporters from Bolivia, where Mr. Mamani is considered a national hero. She said they were traveling there this week to discuss a job offer Mr. Mamani received from President Evo Morales.

“We’re poor — look at the place we live,” Ms. Quispe said, squinting under the desert sun. “You live off our stories, so why can’t we make money from this opportunity to feed our children?”

Miners have asked for as little as $40 and upward of $25,000 for interviews. Some media outlets have offered to fly miners to Japan, Germany or Italy for exclusives. Some reporters who spent weeks living in Camp Hope, the tent village that sprang up when families gravitated to the site, exchanged letters with miners underground and were asked for large sums for interviews once the miners were out.

On Friday night in Copiapó, reporters and photographers gathered outside the home of Florencio Ávalos, the first miner to be rescued. A man identifying himself as Mr. Ávalos’s cousin told them that access was possible — for a price.

“We paid $500 for the interview,” Ari Hirayama of Asahi Shimbun of Japan, said upon exiting the house. “And it felt like he was withholding details.”

Jessica Chilla, the wife of Darío Segovia, was equally direct. “He is charging for interviews as compensation. He is physically and psychologically exhausted and will not recover for at least a month,” she said.

She added, “He will not give interviews for free, not now or later.”

As of Saturday Mr. Segovia had given two interviews, one for half an hour to a German television station for 500,000 pesos, about $1,040, and another to a Japanese media outlet for about $417.

Cash is king, Ms. Chilla said. The family is not asking for trips or other gifts because, she said, they have been promised so many already.

Even one miner, Marcos Aciares, who was supposed to have been part of the fateful shift on Aug. 5, has been cashing in. Mr. Aciares, 43, said he charged a Chilean television station 2 million pesos for an interview, or about $4,175.

Other miners at the San Esteban Mining Company, which shut down the San José Mine after the accident, have felt left behind. A few dozen protested on Sunday, demanding their severance payments. Not all the miners have refused to speak at all without payment.

A short walk from Mr. Mamani’s home in a patchwork of slum housing, Susana Valenzuela, 52, the companion of one miner, Yonny Barrios, 50, had no problem speaking out.

“Just bring me a bottle of sidra!” she told an Argentine news crew, referring to a popular tipple in Argentina. The Argentines promptly dispatched a producer to purchase a bottle. Later, the soft-spoken Mr. Barrios appeared on his porch to say hello, under s sign reading, “I love you, my Tarzan”.


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