“The Uplander thought that they were going to resign en masse and he wanted to begin naming prefects and subprefects like crazy,” Cayo Bermúdez said. “You can see, doctor, that the Colonel doesn’t know his Peruvians.”
“A regular bull, Melquíades, you were right, it’s incredible at his age.” The stranger in white tossed the coin into the air and Trifulcio caught it on the fly. “Say, how old are you?”
“He thinks they’re all like him, men of honor,” Dr. Alcibíades said. “But tell me, Don Cayo, why would those prefects and subprefects remain loyal to poor old Bustamante? He’s never going to raise his head up again.”
“I don’t know for sure.” Trifulcio laughed, panted, dried his face. “I’ve got lots and lots of years behind me. More than you, sir.”
“Reappoint the ones who sent telegrams of support and the silent ones too, we’ll calmly go about replacing all of them,” Bermúdez said. “Thank the ones who resigned for services rendered and have Lozano put them on file.”
“Here’s one of the kind you like, Hipólito,” Ludovico said. “He comes with a special recommendation from Mr. Lozano.”
“Lima’s still flooded with underground fliers,” Colonel Espina said. “What’s going on, Cayo?”
“Where the underground
Tribuna
is printed and who’s printing it, one, two, three,” Hipólito said. “Remember, you’re one of the kind I like.”
“These subversive sheets have got to disappear right away,” Bermúdez said. “Do you understand, Lozano?”
“Are you all set, black man?” Don Melquíades asked. “Your feet must be burning up, right, Trifulcio?”
“You don’t know who or where?” Ludovico asked. “Then how come you had a
Tribuna
in your pocket when you were picked up in Vitarte, pappy?”
“Am I all set?” Trifulcio laughed with anguish. “All set, Don
Melquíades
?”
“Right after I came to Lima I sent money to the old woman and would go visit her from time to time,” Ambrosio said. “Then nothing. She died without knowing what I was doing. It’s one of the things that bother me, sir.”
“Did they put it in your pocket without your knowing?” Hipólito asked. “But that was awful silly of you, pappy. And just look at the skin-tight pants you’re wearing and all that grease on your hair. You’re not even an Aprista, you don’t even know where
La
Tribuna
is printed and who prints it?”
“Have you forgotten that you’re getting out today?” Don Melquíades asked. “Or are you so used to it here now that you don’t want to leave?”
“I found out that the old woman had died, from a person from Chincha, son,” Ambrosio says. “When I was still working for your papa.”
“No, sir, I didn’t forget, sir.” Trifulcio shuffled his feet, rubbed his hands. “Absolutely not, Don Melquíades.”
“See? Hipólito got mad and look what happened to you. You’d better get your memory back pretty quick,” Ludovico said. “Remember, you’re the kind he likes.”
“They don’t answer, they lie, they point their finger at each other,” Lozano said. “But we’re not asleep, Don Cayo. Whole nights without shutting our eyes. We’ll get rid of those handbills, I promise you.”
“Give me your finger. That’s it, now make an X,” Don Melquíades said. “All set, Trifulcio, free again. You can’t believe it, can you?”
“This isn’t a civilized country, it’s barbarian and ignorant,” Bermúdez said. “Stop sitting around and find out what I need to know right away.”
“But look how skinny you are, pappy,” Hipólito said. “With your coat and shirt on, you wouldn’t think it, I can even count your ribs, pappy.”
“Do you remember Mr. Arévalo, the one who gave you a sol to pick up the barrel?” Don Melquíades asked. “He’s an important rancher. Do you want to work for him?”
“Who and where? One, two, three,” Ludovico said. “Do you want us to go on like this all night? What if Hipólito gets mad again?”
“Of course I do, Don Melquíades,” Trifulcio answered with his head and his hands and his eyes. “Right now or whenever you say, sir.”
“You’re going to get your body hurt and it kills me,” Hipólito said, “because I’m getting fonder and fonder of you, pappy.”
“He needs people for his election campaign, because he’s a friend of Odría’s and he’s going to be a senator,” Don Melquíades said. “He’ll pay you well. Take advantage of this opportunity, Trifulcio.”
“You haven’t even told us what your name is, pappy,” Ludovico said. “Or maybe you don’t know that either, maybe you’ve forgotten it too.”
“Go get drunk, visit your family, whore around a little,” Don
Melquíades
said. “And on Monday report to his ranch, on the way out of Ica. Just ask anybody and they’ll tell you.”
“Have your nuts always been so small or is it because you’re scared?” Hipólito asked. “And I can barely see your little deal, pappy. Is that because you’re scared too?”
“Of course I’ll remember, sir, what more could I want?” Trifulcio said. “I can’t thank you enough for recommending me to the gentleman, sir.”
“Leave him alone, Hipólito, he can’t hear you,” Ludovico said. “Let’s go to Mr. Lozano’s office. Leave him alone, Hipólito.”
The guard gave him a pat on the back, fine, Trifulcio, and closed the gate behind him, until never again or until the next time, Trifulcio. He walked rapidly ahead, through the dust that he knew so well, that he could see from the block of better cells, and soon he reached the trees that he also knew from memory, and then he went forward along a new stretch until he reached the shacks on the outskirts, where instead of stopping he quickened his pace. He went through the huts and human figures almost on the run, while they looked at him with surprise or indifference or fear.
“And it’s not that I was a bad son or didn’t love her, the old black woman deserved heaven, just like you, sir,” Ambrosio said. “She broke her back raising and feeding me. What happens is that life doesn’t give a body any time, not even to think about his mother.”
“We left him because Hipólito got carried away and the guy began to say crazy things and then he fainted, Mr. Lozano,” Ludovico said. “I don’t think that Trinidad López there is an Aprista or even has any idea what he is. But if you want, we’ll wake him and keep on with it, sir.”
He continued forward, more and more in a hurry and wilder, unable to get his bearings on those first paved streets that his bare feet were treading furiously, going deeper and deeper into the city that was so much longer, so much wider, so different from the one his eyes
remembered
. He walked without direction, without haste, finally he dropped down onto a bench shaded by the palm trees of a square. There was a store on the corner, women and children were going in, some boys were throwing stones at a street light and some dogs were barking. Slowly silently, without realizing it, he began to weep.
“Your uncle suggested I call you, Captain, and I wanted to meet you too,” Cayo Bermúdez said. “We’re colleagues of sorts, right? And we’ll certainly have to work together someday.”
“She was good, she worked hard, she never missed mass,” Ambrosio says. “But she had her ways, son. For example, she never hit me with her hand, only with a stick. ‘So you don’t turn out like your father,’ she’d tell me.”
“I already knew you by name, Mr. Bermúdez,” Captain Paredes said. “My uncle and Colonel Espina appreciate you very much, they say that this whole setup is functioning only because of you.”
He got up, washed his face in the fountain on the square, asked two men where he could catch the bus to Chincha and how much it cost. Stopping from time to time to look at the women and the things that had changed so much, he walked toward another square, covered with
vehicles
. He asked, bargained, begged and got into a truck that waited two hours before leaving.
“Let’s not talk about merits because you’ll leave me way behind,” Cayo Bermúdez said. “I know that you got deeply involved in the revolution by lining up officers, that you got military security rolling along. I learned from your uncle. You can’t deny it.”
All through the trip he was standing, holding onto the side of the truck, smelling and looking at the sand, the sky, the sea that appeared and disappeared behind the dunes. When the truck got to Chincha, he opened his eyes wide and turned his head from side to side, startled by the changes. There was a cool breeze, no more sun, the tops of the palm trees on the square danced and whispered as he walked under them, agitated, nauseous, still in a hurry.
“The part about the revolution is all true and there’s no need to be modest,” Captain Paredes said. “But as far as military security is
concerned
, I only work for Colonel Molina, Mr. Bermúdez.”
But the way to the slum settlement was long and tortuous because his memory went back on him and he had to keep asking people how to get to the road to Grocio Prado. He got there when it was already the time of lamps and shadows, and the settlement was no longer a collection of shacks but a group of well-built houses, and instead of the cotton fields that began where the edge used to be, the houses of another settlement started. But the hut was the same and the door was open and he
recognized
Tomasa at once: fat, black, sitting on the floor, eating, to the right of the other woman.
“Colonel Molina’s the one who heads it up, but you’re the one who keeps the wheels rolling,” Bermúdez said. “I know that too from your uncle, Captain.”
“Her dream was to win in the lottery, sir,” Ambrosio said. “Once an ice cream man in Chincha won, and she maybe God will send it here again and she bought her pieces of a ticket with the money she didn’t have. She’d take them to the Virgin, light candles for them. She didn’t even get a rebate prize, sir.”
“I can imagine what this Ministry was like under Bustamante, Apristas everywhere and sabotage the order of the day,” Captain Paredes said. “But it didn’t do the devils much good.”
He went in with a leap, pounding his chest and grunting, and stood between the two and the stranger gave a cry and crossed herself. Tomasa, huddling on the ground, looked at him and suddenly fear left her face. Without speaking, without standing up, she showed him the door of the shack with her fist and finger. But Trifulcio didn’t leave, he began to laugh, he dropped down merrily to the ground and began to scratch his armpits.
“It did them enough good not to leave any traces, at least, the security records are useless,” Bermúdez said. “The Apristas got rid of the files. We’re reorganizing everything, and that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Captain. Military security could help us a lot.”
“So you’re Mr. Bermúdez’ chauffeur,” Ludovico said. “Pleased to meet you, Ambrosio. So you’re going to help us out a little in that matter of the slums.”
“There’s no problem, of course we have to work together,” Captain Paredes said. “Any time you need some piece of information, I’ll supply it, Mr. Bermúdez.”
“What have you come for, who sent you, who invited you?” Tomasa roared. “You look like an outlaw, you look like what you are. Didn’t you see how my friend took one look at you and ran away? When did you get out?”
“I’d like something else, Captain,” Bermúdez said. “I’d like to have access to the whole political file at military security. Have a copy of it.”
“His name is Hipólito and he’s the dumbest of all the dumbbells on the staff,” Ludovico said. “He’ll be back soon, I’ll introduce you. He’s not on the civil service list and he probably never will be. I hope to be someday with a little bit of luck. Say, Ambrosio, you must be on it, right?”
“Our files are untouchable, they’re classified secret,” Captain Paredes said. “I’ll tell Colonel Molina about your plan, but he can’t make a decision either. The best thing would be a request from the Minister of Public Order to the Minister of War.”
“Your friend ran off like I was the devil himself.” Trifulcio laughed. “Listen, Tomasa, let me have some of that food. I could eat a horse.”
“That’s precisely what we have to avoid, Captain,” Bermúdez said. “The copy of that file should reach the Director of Public Order without either Colonel Molina or the Minister of War himself knowing anything about it. Do I make myself understood?”
“Killing work, Ambrosio,” Ludovico said. “Hours on end losing your voice, your strength, and then along comes someone on the list and he insults you, and Mr. Lozano threatens to cut your pay. Killing for everybody except that horse of an Hipólito. Do you want me to tell you why?”
“I can’t give you a copy of top-secret files without my superiors’ knowing about it,” Captain Paredes said. “They hold the life and future of every officer and thousands of civilians. It’s like gold in the Central Bank, Mr. Bermúdez.”
“Yes, you’ll have to go away, but calm down now and have a drink, you poor devil,” Don Fermín said. “Tell me now just what happened. Stop crying.”
“Precisely, Captain, of course those files are worth their weight in gold,” Bermúdez said. “And your uncle knows that too. The matter has to stay just among those responsible for security. No, it’s not a matter of offending Colonel Molina….”
“Because after working a guy over for half an hour, that horse of an Hipólito, all of a sudden, boom, he gets all excited,” Ludovico said. “Your morale gets low, you get bored. Not him, boom, he gets all excited. You’ll meet him, you’ll see.”
“It’s a matter of promoting him,” Bermúdez said. “Giving him the command of a unit, a detachment. And no one will dispute the fact that you’re the person most indicated to take Colonel Molina’s place in charge of security. Then we can merge the services discreetly, Captain.”
“Not for one night and not for one minute,” Tomasa said. “You’re not going to stay here for one minute. You’re leaving right now, Trifulcio.”
“You’ve got my uncle in your pocket, friend Bermúdez,” Captain Paredes said. “You’ve only known him for six months and now he trusts you more than he does me. I’m joking, of course, Cayo. It’s time we got on a first-name basis, don’t you think?”
“They don’t lie because they’re brave, Ambrosio, but because they’re afraid,” Ludovico said. “Just try to see if you can get something out of one of them sometime. Who’s your leader? So-and-so, what’s-his-name. How long have you been an Aprista? I’m not. Then how can you say that so-and-so and what’s-his-name are your leaders? They’re not. Killing, believe me.”