B004L2LMEG EBOK (19 page)

The truth is it was my fault. Mr. Pantoja kicked me out ’cause on a trip to Borja I ran away and married a sergeant. That was a few months ago, like centuries to me. Maybe it’s a sin to get married? One of the bad things about being a specialist, they don’t take married women. Mr. Pantoja says there’s an incompatibility. That seems really unfair to me. Now I have to tell you it was bad news I got married, Sinchi, ’cause Teófilo turned out half crazy. But better not speak bad about him since he’s a prisoner, and he’ll be one for so many years. They even say they might shoot him and the other “brothers.” Think they’ll do that? Look, I’ve hardly seen my poor husband four or five times; it’d be enough to make you laugh if it wasn’t such a big tragedy. And to think I made him a “brother.” He’d never even started to think about the Ark, or about Brother Francisco or salvation by the crosses, until he met me. I talked to him about the Ark, I made him see it was something with good people, something for the good of your fellow man and not all the evil things the dummies were saying it was—the things you repeat, Sinchi. But what ended up convincing him was meeting the “brothers” of Santa María de Nieva; they helped us a lot when we ran away. They gave us food, loaned us money, opened up their hearts and their homes to us, Sinchi. And later, when Teófilo was a prisoner on the post, they went to see him, they brought him food every day. Right there they were teaching him truths. But I never would’ve dreamed he’d give himself so strongly to religion. Just imagine, when he got out of the guardhouse, me searching high and low for money to go join him in Borja, he was another man. He greeted me saying I can’t touch you ever again, I’m going to be an apostle. That if I wanted to we could live together, but only as “brother” and “sister” the apostles have to be pure. But that’d be a misery for both of us and it’d be better for each to go his own way, since they were so different, and he’d chosen sainthood. In a nutshell, you see, Sinchi, I was left without Pantiland and without a husband. And I hardly got back to Iquitos when I heard they’d nailed up Don Arévalo Benzas there in Santa María de Nieva and Teófilo organized the whole thing. Oh, Sinchi, what an impression it made on me! I knew that nice old man, he was head of the town’s Ark, he helped us most and gave us a lot of advice. I don’t believe that story in the newspapers, the one you’re repeating too, that Teófilo had him crucified to get to be head of the Ark in Santa María de Nieva. My husband had become a saint, Sinchi, he wanted to become an apostle. What the “brothers” confessed has to be true—I’m sure the old man felt he was dying, and called them and begged them to nail him to the cross so he could end up like Christ, and they did it to please him. Poor Teófilo, I hope they don’t shoot him; I’d feel responsible. Don’t you see I got him mixed up in this mess, Sinchi? Who’d’ve thought he’d end up like this, with religion so deep in his blood? Yeah, I’ll talk about that right now.

So like I was telling you, Mr. Pantoja never forgave me for running away with poor Teófilo. He hasn’t let me come back to Pantiland, no matter how much I begged him, and I guess now, after what I’ve told you, that’s the end of it forever. But you gotta live, right, Sinchi? ’Cause another of Mr. Pan-Pan’s taboos is talking about Pantiland. To nobody, not to family or friends, and if they ask you, deny it exists. Isn’t that another crazy thing? As if even the rocks in Iquitos didn’t know what Pantiland is and who the specialists are. But what d’ya want, Sinchi? Each to his own craziness, and Mr. Pantoja has more than enough of that. No, it’s not true what you said once, that he runs Pantiland with a whip, like a slave driver. You have to be fair. He’s got everything so well organized—another craziness of his is order. All of us used to say this seems like a barracks, not a brothel. He makes us line up in formation, call roll, you have to be still and silent when he speaks. The only things we didn’t have were reveille and they didn’t make us march, thank God. But really, that craziness was funny and we put up with it because in everything else he was a fair and good person. Only when he flipped, fell in love—he got hung up on the Brazilian—the unfair favoritism started; for example, he made them give her the only private cabin on the
Eve
for the trips. She has him under her thumb, I swear to you. Listen, are you going to put this on too? You better erase it, I don’t want any trouble with the Brazilian—she’s half witch and might give me the evil eye. Besides, she’s already got a pair of corpses behind her, don’t forget. Erase what I said about her and Mr. Pantoja. When all’s said and done, every guy’s got the right to fall head over heels in love with whoever pleases him most, and the same for every woman too, don’t you think? I think Mr. Pantoja would’ve forgiven me my running away with Teófilo if I hadn’t written that letter to his wife—and I didn’t even write it, I dictated it to my cousin Rosita, the teacher. I really put my foot in my mouth and that’s why I got into trouble, Sinchi, I put the knife in my own back. What d’ya want—I was desperate, dying of hunger, I would’ve done anything to get Mr. Pan-Pan to put me under contract again. And I wanted to help Teófilo too; they had him starving in a jail in Borja. It’s true Rosita warned me: “You’re doing a crazy thing, Maclovia.” But at the last minute it didn’t look that way to me. It occurred to me I could touch his wife’s heartstrings, that she’d sympathize, she’d speak to her husband and Mr. Pantoja would let me in again. It’s the only time I saw him so furious; he looked like he was going to kill me. Fool that I was, thinking his wife would’ve interceded, that it’d already be smoothed over, I went to see him in Pantiland, sure he was going to tell me I forgive you, a fine, a physical examination and you’re in again. The only thing he didn’t do, Sinchi, was take out a gun. He even said filthy things to me, him who’s not used to using bad words. His eyes were red, he was losing his voice, foaming at the mouth. That I’d destroyed his marriage, that I had stabbed his wife in the heart, that his mother had passed out. I had to leave Pantiland running ’cause I thought he was going to beat me. But poor him, too—right, Sinchi? His wife didn’t know nothin’ about nothin’. Mr. Pan-Pan’s story came out in the open with my letter. Boy, did I put my foot in my mouth, but I’m no fortuneteller—how could I think his wife was so innocent she didn’t know what her husband was up to to bring home the bacon. There’re simple people in this world, aren’t there? It seems his wife left him and took their little girl to Lima. Look at what a row broke out on my account. And so here I am again a “washerwoman.” Snotnose didn’t want me back ’cause I left him to go to Pantiland. He’s laid down this law so’s he won’t be left by the women in his houses: the woman who goes to work for Mr. Pan-Pan never returns again to Snotnose’s brothels. So here I am again like at the beginning, walking up and down, not even able to pay a pimp. Everything’d be O.K. if on top of everything I hadn’t gotten varicose veins. Look at my legs—did you ever see anything more swollen, Sinchi? And in spite of the heat I have to go around with thick stockings on so they don’t see my veins standing out; if I didn’t, I’d never pick up a customer. Well, I don’t know what else to tell you, Sinchi, that’s my story….

Well, then, very good, Maclovia, that’s right. On behalf of the listeners to
The Voice of Sinchi
, over Radio Amazon, who, we’re sure, understand your tragedy and pity your bad luck, we thank you for your frankness and spontaneity. We are very grateful to you for your testimony denouncing the scabrous activities of the Bluebeard of the Itaya River, even though we may not agree with you that all your calamities come from having left Pantiland. We think that the lurid Mr. Pantoja did you great service when he let you go, giving you—of course, without intending to—the opportunity to rehabilitate yourself and to return to an honorable and normal life, which we hope you desire and achieve soon. Good afternoon, Maclovia.

The last words of this unfortunate woman whose testimony we have just brought to your ears, dear listeners—I’m referring to ex-specialist Maclovia—have dramatically put a finger on the sore spot of a tragic and painful matter which she pictures better than a photograph or a Technicolor movie—the peculiarities of the person who displays on his record the black deed of having created in Iquitos the most unsuspected and populous house of ill repute in the country and perhaps in all Latin America. Because, in fact, it is established and credible that Mr. Pantaleón Pantoja has a family, or better said, that he had one, and that he has been leading a double life, submerged on the one hand in the pestilential swamp of sexual commerce, and on the other, feigning a dignified and respectable home life under the protection of the ignorance in which he kept loved ones—his wife and their little daughter—concerning his real and filthy activities. But one day the light of truth entered his unhappy home and his wife’s ignorance gave way to shock, to shame, and with every justification, to anger. Then, with dignity, with all the nobility of a mother offended, of a wife deceived in her most sacred honor, this upright lady determined to abandon that hearth tainted by scandal. At Lieutenant Bergerí Airport in Iquitos, in order to bear witness to her pain and to accompany her right to the stairway leading up to the modern Faucett seaplane that would carry her off through the air of our beloved city,
The Voice of Sinchi
was
THERE!

“Good afternoon, madam. You’re Mrs. Pantoja, aren’t you? Delighted to meet you.”

“Yes, I am. Who are you? And what’s that you have in your hand? Gladys, child, be quiet, you’re ruining my nerves. Alicia, give the baby her pacifier and see if that will quiet her.”

“
The Voice of Sinchi
, from Radio Amazon, at your service, madam. Will you allow me to steal a few seconds of your precious time for a very short interview?”

“An interview? Me? But about what?”

“About your husband, madam. About the illustrious and renowned Pantaleón Pantoja.”

“Go and interview
him
, sir. I don’t want to know anything about that person or his reputation, which makes me laugh, or about this loathsome city I hope I never see again, not even in a painting. Please, do me one little favor. Get away from here, sir—don’t you see you could step on the baby?”

“I understand your pain, madam, and our listeners understand it, and you should know that you can count on all our sympathy. We know that only your suffering could drive you to refer in this offensive way to the Pearl of the Amazon, which hasn’t done anything to you. Rather, it’s your husband who’s doing this area so much harm.”

“Forgive me, Alicita, I know you’re from Loreto, but I swear to you I’ve suffered so much in this city that I hate it with all my heart and I’ll never come back, you’ll have to come see me in Chiclayo. Look, my eyes are filling up with tears again in front of everybody. Oh, Alicia, how embarrassing!”

“Don’t cry, Pochita dear, don’t cry, be strong. And me, idiot that I am, I didn’t even bring a handkerchief along. Give me—hand me little Gladys, I’ll take her for you.”

“Allow me to offer you my handkerchief, madam. Here, please, I beg you. Don’t be ashamed of crying. Weeping is to a lady what dew is to flowers, Mrs. Pantoja.”

“But what are you still here for? Alicia, isn’t this guy annoying? Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t going to give any information about my husband? And what’s more, he won’t be my husband for much longer. I swear to you, Alicia, once I get to Lima I’m going to see a lawyer and I’ll start divorce proceedings. We’ll see if they don’t give me custody of little Gladys, with the filthy mess that miserable man is making here.”

“It was exactly about that that we dared hope for a statement, however brief, from you, Mrs. Pantoja. Because you are not unaware, apparently, of the irregular business that—”

“Get out of here, get out of here once and for all if you don’t want me to call the police. I’m getting fed up with you. I’m warning you, I’m in no mood to put up with rudeness right now.”

“You better not insult him, Pochita. If he attacks you on his program, what are the people going to say? More nasty talk. Please, sir, understand her: she’s humiliated, she’s leaving Iquitos, she doesn’t feel up to talking on radio about her difficulties. You must understand.”

“Of course we understand that, my dear lady. We are aware that Mrs. Pantoja has gotten ready to leave due to the uncommendable activities to which Mr. Pantoja dedicates himself in this city and which have deserved the citizens’ energetic censure. We—”

“Oh, how embarrassing, Alicia. If everybody’s found out, if everybody except me knew it, what a fool I am, what a dumbbell! I hate that louse, how could he have done this to me? I’ll never speak to him again, I promise you; I won’t let him see little Gladys so he can’t smear her.”

“Pocha, calm down. Look, they’re already calling you, your plane’s leaving. What a shame you’re going, Pochita. But you’re right, dear, that man has behaved so bad he doesn’t deserve to live with you. Little Gladys, sweetie, give your Aunt Alicia a kissy-kissy.”

“I’ll write you once I get there, Alicia. Thanks so much for everything. I don’t know what I’d have done without you, crying on your shoulder these awful weeks. Remember: you’re not going to say anything to Panta or to Mother Leonor for two or three hours, so they don’t call by radio and make the plane turn back.
Ciao
, Alicia, bye-bye.”

“Have a good trip, Mrs. Pantoja. Depart with the best wishes of our listeners and with our generous understanding of your tragedy, which is also, in a way, the tragedy of all of us and of our beloved city.”

And in view of the fact that the Movado clock in our studio indicates that it’s already 6:30
P.M.
, we must close our show with this impressive radio document that makes clear how the master of Pantiland has not hesitated in his dismal odyssey to bring pain and grief to his own family, in the same way he is bringing them to our land, whose only crime has been to welcome him and show him hospitality. And a very good afternoon, dear listeners. You have been listening to…