B004L2LMEG EBOK (11 page)

I regret that your poorly understood notion of evangelical meekness, or your mere pusillanimity, causes you to preserve the abject image that says we men of the cloth are not full, red-blooded men, capable of imitating Christ, who with a whip attacked the merchants affronting the Temple.

Greater dignity and greater courage, Captain Rojas!

“Wake up, Panta!” Pochita is saying. “Pantita, it’s six o’clock already.”

“Has our little cadet moved?” Panta is rubbing his eyes. “Let cadet’s fathel feel belly.”

“Don’t talk like an idiot. What’s gotten into you, imitating the Chinks?” Pochita makes a gesture of annoyance. “No, he hasn’t moved. Touch. Do you feel anything?”

“These crazy ‘brothers’ have turned into something serious,” Bacacorzo is waving the newspaper. “Did you see what they did in Moronacocha? Enough to make you shoot them, damn it. It’s good the police are going after them with a clean-up campaign.”

“Wake up, little cadet,” Panta glues his ear to Pochita’s navel. “You no heal leveille? What you waiting fol? Wake up, wake up!”

“I don’t like you talking like that. Can’t you see how jumpy I am after what happened to that little boy in Moronacocha?” Pochita resists. “Don’t push on my belly so hard. You’re going to hurt the baby.”

“But, sweetheart, I’m just fooling around,” Panta is stretching his eyes with two fingers. “I’m hooked on the way one of my aides talks. Are you going to get mad over that stuff? C’mon, gimme a little kiss.”

“I’m scared our little cadet’s dead,” Pochita is kneading her belly. “He didn’t move last night, he hasn’t moved this morning. Something’s wrong with him, Panta.”

“Mrs. Pantoja, I’ve never seen such a normal pregnancy,” Dr. Arizmendi soothes her. “Everything’s going fine, don’t worry. The only thing, take care of your nerves. And for that, you already know: try not to think or talk about the tragedy in Moronacocha.”

“Enough. Time to lise and do exelcises, Mistel Pantoja,” Panta jumps out of bed. “Uppy! Uppy!”

“I hate you. Drop dead. Why don’t you ever try to please me?” Pochita throws a pillow at him. “Panta, don’t talk like a Chink.”

“I’m just happy, girl, everything’s going well,” Panta is opening and closing his arms, squatting and jumping up. “I never thought I’d get ahead with the mission the Army gave me. And in just six months I’ve come so far I’m even surprised myself.”

“At first it bothered you to be a spy. You had nightmares and you cried and shouted in your sleep,” Pochita sticks out her tongue. “But now I see you love the Intelligence Service.”

“Sure I know about that mess,” Captain Pantoja agrees. “Just imagine, Bacacorzo, my poor mother got to see that sight. Of course, it made her faint, and she’s spent three days in the clinic under medical treatment, with her nerves shot to pieces.”

“Didn’t you have to leave at six-thirty, son?” Mother Leonor pokes her head in. “Your breakfast’s already on the table.”

“I take showel in jiffy, Mama,” Panta is flexing, shadow-boxing, jumping rope. “Good molning, Mothel Leonol.”

“What’s wrong with your husband that he’s acting like this?” Mother Leonor is astonished. “You and me with our hearts in our mouths with all that’s happened in this city and he’s happier than a lark.”

“The seclet is the Blazilian,” Chino Porfirio is whispering. “I sweal to you, Chuchupe. He meet her last night at Aladdin Pandulo’s and she knocked him cockeyed. I no pletend, he went closs-eyed with admilation. This time he fell, Chuchupe.”

“Is she still as pretty or is she a little run-down?” asks Chuchupe. “I haven’t seen her since before she went to Manaos. She didn’t call herself the Brazilian then, just Olguita.”

“Knockout of a pletty chick and besides hel eyes, tits, legs and all hel life looked like flom a stole window, she splouted a tellific ass,” Chino Porfirio whistles, paws the air. “They say two guys died ’cause of hel.”

“And what about the student, Mama?” Freckle is wrinkling his nose. “The police chief’s son, the guy who hanged himself in Moronacocha. He also committed suicide over her.”

“No, that was an accident,” Chuchupe moves his hand away from his nose and gives him a handkerchief. “The kid had already gotten over her. He was coming back again to Casa Chuchupe and chasing our best girls.”

“But in bed he made them all call themselves Olguita,” Freckle blows his nose and hands back the handkerchief. “Don’t you remember how we laughed when we spied on him, Mama? He was kneeling and kissing their feet, imagining they were her. He killed himself for love, I’m sure of it.”

“I know why you doubtful, icy lady,” Chino Porfirio is pounding his chest. “’Cause you lack what Chupón and I have too much of: healt.”

“Poor thing, I really sympathize with you, Mother Leonor,” Pochita shudders. “If I, who only know of the crime from hearing and reading about it, have nightmares and wake up thinking they’re crucifying the little cadet, why shouldn’t you be half crazy, having seen the child with your own eyes. God, Mother Leonor, I just talk about it and I get goose bumps, I’m telling you.”

“Look at Olguita, she’s spent her whole life causing trouble,” Chuchupe philosophizes. “And she just gets back from Manaos and they catch her working right in the middle of the evening show at the Bolognesi movie house with a police lieutenant. The things she must’ve done in Brazil!”

“Loud and brassy, just the way I like ’em,” Freckle is biting his lips. “Really stacked, here and there, tall as a willow, and she even seems intelligent.”

“Want me to drown you in the river, you louse?” Chuchupe shoves him.

“It was just a joke to get you mad, Mama,” Freckle jumps up, kisses her, lets out a laugh. “I’ve got a soft spot only for you. As for the others, I look at them with professional eyes.”

“And Mr. Pantoja has already hired her?” asks Chuchupe. “How nice it would be to see him finally fall into a woman’s trap: men in love always go soft. He’s too straight. It’s just what he needs.”

“He want to, but no have money,” Chino Porfirio is yawning. “Ohhh, I tiled. Only thing I no like about Selvice is this getting up at dawn. Hele come the gils, Chupón.”

“I should have realized as soon as I got out of the taxi,” Mother Leonor is grinding her teeth. “But I didn’t, Pochita, in spite of the fact that I noticed how the Ark was fuller than other times and everyone was—I don’t know—half hysterical. They were praying, crying out, there were sparks in the air. And to top it all off, that thunder and lightning.”

“Good morning, happy and cheerful specialists,” Freckle is singing. “Come on, you’re going to line up for me, to have your medical examination. First come, first served, and no fighting. Like in the barracks, just the way Pan-Pan likes.”

“What eyes flom a lough night, Pichuza,” Chino Porfirio pinches her cheek. “We see the Selvice not nuff fol you.”

“If you keep working on your own, you’re never going to last here,” Chuchupe warns. “You’ve heard it a thousand times from Pan-Pan.”

“Being a specialist and a whore—excuse the expression—is incompatible,” Pantoja decrees. “You are civilian functionaries of the Army and not traffickers in sex.”

“But I haven’t done anything, Chuchupe,” Pichuza shows her fingernails to Porfirio, slaps her backside and stands her ground. “My face is so bad ’cause I’ve got the flu and I’m up all night.”

“Let’s not talk about that, Mother Leonor.” Pochita is embracing her, “The doctor has ordered you not to think about that boy, and the same thing for me, remember. My God, the poor child. Are you sure he was already dead when you saw him? Or was he still suffering?”

“I swore I wouldn’t go through the medical exam again and I’m not going to, Freckle,” Knockers puts her fists on her hips. “That male nurse is a smart aleck. He’s never going to lay his hands on me again.”

“Then I’ll lay mine on you,” shouts Freckle. “Have you read that security poster? Read it, read—what the hell does it say?”

“‘Orders are to be obeyed without question or complaint,’” reads Chuchupe.

“You not lead this othel one?” Chino Porfirio shouts. “It hanging hele fol mole than month.”

“‘An order can be contested only after it has been carried out,’” reads Chuchupe.

“I haven’t read them because I don’t know how to read,” Knockers laughs. “And I’m proud of it.”

“Knockers is right, Chuchupe,” Peludita steps forward. “That guy’s a bully. The medical exam is his brainstorm for taking advantage of us. With his line about looking for infections, he sticks his hand in up to our tonsils.”

“The last time I had to give him a slap,” Coca is scratching her back. “He took a bite out of me, right here, just where I get those cramps you know all about.”

“Line up, line up, and no complaints—the nurse also has feelings,” Chuchupe gives slaps and smiles, prodding them. “Don’t be ingrates. What more do you want from the Service that has you examined and always keeps you healthy.”

“Line up and get moving, specialists!” orders Freckle. “Pan-Pan wants the convoys ready for departure by the time he gets here.”

“Yes, I think he already was. Aren’t they saying they nailed him up when the downpour had just begun?” Mother Leonor’s voice is trembling. “At least, when I saw him he wasn’t moving or crying. And remember, I saw him from very, very close up.”

“Did you transmit my request to General Scavino?” Captain Pantoja aims at a heron basking in the sun on the branch of a tree, shoots and misses. “He agrees to see me?”

“He’s expecting you at ten in the morning at headquarters,” Lieutenant Bacacorzo watches the bird frenetically flapping away over the trees. “But he agreed grudgingly. You know the Special Service has never been able to count on his approval.”

“I know it only too well. In seven months I’ve only been able to see him once,” Captain Pantoja raises his rifle again and shoots at an empty tortoise shell, making it jump in the dust. “Do you think that’s fair, Bacacorzo? On top of its being a difficult mission, Scavino keeps an eye on me. He thinks I’ve got a shady character. As if
I
invented the Service.”

“You didn’t invent it, but you’ve done miracles with it, Captain,” Lieutenant Bacacorzo plugs his ears. “The Special Service is already a reality and in the garrisons it’s not only approved of but acclaimed. You should feel proud of your work.”

“I still can’t—you’re wrong,” Captain Pantoja throws away the empty shells, wipes his forehead, reloads his rifle and hands it to the lieutenant. “Don’t you see? The situation’s crucial. At the cost of economizing and great effort, we guarantee five hundred weekly services. And that’s like pulling teeth. It leaves us gasping. And do you know the demand we should meet? Ten thousand, Bacacorzo!”

“Little by little,” Lieutenant Bacacorzo hardly points toward a tree, shoots and kills a pigeon. “I’m sure with your firmness and your work system, you’ll reach those ten thousand lays, Captain.”

“Ten thousand weekly?” General Scavino wrinkles his forehead. “It’s a raving exaggeration, Pantoja.”

“No, General,” Captain Pantoja’s cheeks are getting red. “A scientific statistic. Look at these charts. It’s a question of careful calculation, a conservative one, even. Here, look: ten thousand weekly services correspond to the ‘primary psychological-biological need.’ If we tried to achieve the ‘virile totality’ of noncommissioned officers and soldiers, the figure would be 53,200 weekly services.”

“Are you sure that the poor tiny angel was still bleeding from his little hands and feet, Mother?” Pochita stammers, opening her eyes, her mouth, wide. “That all the ‘brothers’ and ‘sisters’ were soaked with the blood gushing from his body?”

“You’re going to give me a fainting fit,” Father Beltrán pants. “Who’s put this aberration into your noodle? Who said that ‘virile totality’ is only achieved by fornicating?”

“The most prominent sexologists, biologists and psychologists, Father,” Captain Pantoja lowers his eyes.

“I’ve told you to call me Commander, damn it!” bellows Father Beltrán.

“Excuse me, Commander,” Captain Pantoja clicks his heels, becomes confused, opens an attaché case, takes out papers. “I’ve permitted myself to bring along these reports. They are extracts from works by Freud, Havelock Ellis, Wilhelm Stekel,
Reader’s Digest
and Dr. Alberto Seguín, our countryman. If you prefer to consult the books, we have them in the library at the logistics center.”

“Because in addition to women, you distribute pornography in the barracks,” Father Beltrán is pounding on the table. “I know it very well, Captain Pantoja. In the garrison at Borja your aide the dwarf handed out this filth:
Two Nights of Pleasure
and
The Life, Passion and Loves of María the Tarantula
.”

“With the purpose of accelerating the men’s erections and thereby gaining time, Commander,” explains Captain Pantoja. “We do it on a regular basis now. The problem is we don’t have enough reading material. They’re cheap editions and they fall apart as soon as you open them.”

“He had his little eyes closed, his little head fallen over his heart, like a miniature Christ,” Mother Leonor folds her hands. “He looked like a baby monkey from a distance, but that white body drew my attention. I approached, went up to the foot of the cross and then I realized. Oh, God, Pochita, when I’m on my deathbed I’ll still see that poor little angel.”

“In other words, it wasn’t just that one time or the initiative of that fiendish dwarf,” Father Beltrán wheezes, sweats, chokes. “It’s the Special Service itself that gives those books to the soldiers.”

“We lend them. There’s no budget for giving them away,” Captain Pantoja clarifies. “A convoy of three or four specialists has to service fifty, sixty, eighty clients a day. The novels have given good results and so we use them. The soldier who reads those books while waiting in line completes the servicing two or three minutes faster than the soldier who doesn’t. It’s explained in the Service’s reports, Commander.”

“My God, I’ll have heard of everything before I die,” Father Beltrán waves his arms in the cloakroom, grabs his kepi, puts it on and stands at attention. “I never imagined my country’s army would ever fall into such decadence. This meeting is very painful for me. I request your permission to leave, General.”

“You have my permission to leave, Commander,” General Scavino nods at him. “You see what a state that cursed Special Service puts Beltrán in, Pantoja. And of course, with good reason. I request that in the future you spare us the scabrous details of your work.”

“How deeply I feel for your mother-in-law, Pochita,” Alicia uncovers the saucepan, samples the food with the tip of the spoon, smiles, turns off the burner. “It must have been terrible for her to see that. Is she still a ‘sister’? They haven’t bothered her? Seems the police are putting everyone from the Ark under arrest in search of the guilty parties.”