*
On the streetcar they sat together and Ambrosio paid her fare. She was so furious for having come that she didn’t even look at him. Why are you so mad, Ambrosio was saying. Her face close to the window, Amalia was looking at the Avenida Brasil, the cars, the Beverly theater. Women have good hearts and bad memories, Ambrosio was saying, but you’re just the opposite, Amalia. That day when they’d met on the street and he told her I know of a place in San Miguel where they were looking for a maid, hadn’t they had a nice chat? She the Police Hospital, the Magdalena Vieja oval. And the other day at the service entrance, hadn’t they had a nice chat? The Salesian School, the Plaza Bolognesi. Was there another man in your life now, Amalia? And at that moment two women got on, sat down opposite them, they looked like bad sorts and they began to look at Ambrosio fresh as you like. What was wrong with their going out together once like good friends? Laughing at him, looks and flirting, and suddenly, without realizing it, her mouth said right out, looking at the two women, not at him: all right, where shall we go? Ambrosio looked at her with surprise, scratched his head and laughed: what a woman. They went to Rímac, because Ambrosio had to see a friend. They found him in a little restaurant on the Calle Chiclayo, eating chicken and rice.
“Let me introduce you to my girl friend, Ludovico,” Ambrosio said.
“That’s not so,” Amalia said. “We’re just friends.”
“Sit down,” Ludovico said. “Have a beer with me.”
“Ludovico and I worked together for Don Cayo, Amalia,” Ambrosio said. “I drove the car and he took care of him. Rough nights, right, Ludovico?”
There were only men in the restaurant, some of them looked awful, and Amalia felt uncomfortable. What are you doing here, she thought, why are you so stupid. They were watching her out of the corner of their eyes but they weren’t saying anything. They were probably afraid of the two big men with her, because Ludovico was as tall and as strong as Ambrosio. Except so ugly, his face pockmarked and gaps in his teeth. The two of them were talking between themselves, asking about friends, and she was bored. But suddenly Ludovico pounded on the table: that’s it, they were going to the Acho bullring, he’d get them in. He got them in, not through the public entrance but through an alley, and the policemen greeted Ludovico like an old friend. They sat down in the Shade, high up, but since there weren’t many people, when the second bull came out they went down to the fourth row. There were three bullfighters, but the star was Santa Cruz, it was odd to see a black man dressed as a bullfighter. You’re rooting for him because he’s your blood brother, Ludovico teased Ambrosio, and he, without being annoyed, yes and besides he’s got guts. He did: he spun around, knelt down, turned his back on the bull. She’d only seen bullfights in the movies and she closed her eyes, she shrieked when the bull knocked down an apprentice, the picadors are savages she said, but with Santa Cruz’s last bull she waved her handkerchief too, like Ambrosio, and asked them to give him an ear. She was happy leaving Acho, at least she’d seen something new. It was so silly wasting her day off helping Señora Rosario hang clothes, listening to her aunt complain about her boarders, or walking all over with
Anduvia
and María with noplace to go. They had some dark chicha at the entrance to Acho and Ludovico said good-bye. They walked toward the Paseo de Aguas.
“Did you like the bullfight?” Ambrosio asked.
“Yes,” Amalia said. “But it’s awfully cruel for the animals, isn’t it?”
“If you liked it, we can come back another time,” Ambrosio said.
She was going to answer him not in your wildest dream but she had second thoughts and closed her mouth and thought stupid girl. It
occurred
to her that it had been more than three years, almost four, since she’d gone out with Ambrosio, and suddenly she felt sad. What do you want to do now? Ambrosio asked. Go to her aunt’s in Limoncillo. What could he have been doing all those years? You can go another time, Ambrosio said, let’s go to the movies instead. They went to one in Rímac, to see a pirate picture, and in the darkness she felt her eyes filling with tears. Were you remembering when you used to go to the movies with Trinidad, stupid girl? When you used to live in Mirones and you spent days, months without doing anything, not talking, not even thinking? No, she was remembering from before that, the Sundays they saw each other in Surquillo, and the nights they got together secretly in the little room next to the garage and what happened. She felt rage again, if he touches me I’ll scratch his eyes out, I’ll kill him. But Ambrosio didn’t even try, and when they went out he invited her to have a snack. They walked along to the Plaza de Armas, talking about everything except before. Only when they were waiting for the streetcar did he take her arm: I’m not what you think I am, Amalia. And you’re not what you think you are either, Queta said, you’re what you do, that poor Amalia makes me feel sorry. Let me go or I’ll scream, Amalia said, and
Ambrosio
let go of her. But they weren’t fighting, Amalia, I’m only asking you to forget what happened. It’s been such a long time, Amalia. The streetcar came, they rode to San Miguel in silence. They got off at the stop by the Canonesas School and it had grown dark. You had another man, the textile worker, Ambrosio said, I haven’t had another woman. And a while later, getting to the corner of the house, with a resentful voice: you’ve made me suffer a lot, Amalia. She didn’t answer him, she started to run. At the door of the house, she turned to look: he’d stayed on the corner, half hidden in the shadows of the little branchless trees. She went into the house, making an effort not to let herself be
sentimental
, furious at feeling sentimental.
*
“What about that lodge of officers in Cuzco?” he asked.
“As soon as the lists are presented to congress, Colonel Idiáquez is going to get his promotion,” Major Paredes said. “As a general he won’t be able to stay on in Cuzco, and without him the ring will break up. They haven’t done anything yet; they meet, they talk.”
“It isn’t enough just getting Idiáquez out of there,” he said. “What about the commandant, and the little captains? I don’t understand why they haven’t been broken up yet. The Minister of War assured me that the transfers would start this week.”
“I’ve spoken to him ten times, showed him the reports ten times,” Major Paredes said. “Since it’s a question of officers with prestige, he wants to drag his feet.”
“The President has got to intervene, then,” he said. “After his trip to Cajamarca, the first order of business is breaking up that little ring. Are they being watched closely?”
“You can imagine,” Major Paredes said. “I even know what they have for dinner.”
“When we least expect it somebody is going to lay a million soles on the table in front of them and we’ll have a revolution on our hands,” he said. “They’ve got to be broken up and sent to faraway garrisons as soon as possible.”
“Idiáquez owes the government a lot of favors,” Major Paredes said. “The President is always getting tremendously disappointed by people. It’s going to hurt him when he finds out that Idiáquez is stirring up officers against him.”
“It would hurt him more if he found out they’d risen in revolt,” he said; he stood up, took some papers out of his briefcase and handed them to Major Paredes. “Take a look at these and see if you’ve got any files on the people there.”
Paredes accompanied him to the door, held him back by the arm when he was about to leave.
“And that news from Argentina this morning, how did it get by you?”
“It didn’t get by me,” he said. “Apristas stoning a Peruvian embassy is a good piece of news. I talked to the President and he agreed that it should be printed.”
“Well, yes,” Major Paredes said. “The officers here who read it were indignant.”
“You see how I think of everything?” he said. “See you tomorrow.”
*
But in a little while Hipólito had come over to them, his face very sad, sir: there they were, with their signs and everything. They’d come in by one of the corners of the square, and the men approached like curious bystanders. Four of them were carrying a sign with red letters, behind came a small group, the ringleaders Ludovico had said, who made the others holler, and the others were half a block long. The people from the amusement park had also come close to look at them. They were
shouting
, especially those in front, and it couldn’t be understood, and there were old women, young women, children, but no men, just as Mr. Lozano said, Hipólito had said. A lot of braids, a lot of full skirts, a lot of hats. These people believe in the procession, Ludovico had said: there were three who were holding their hands as if they were praying, sir. Some two hundred or three hundred or four hundred and they finally all came into the square.
“Bread and butter, you see?” Ludovico had said.
“Stale bread and rancid butter, maybe,” said Hipólito.
“We get in the middle of them and divide them up,” Ludovico had said. “We’ll keep the head and you can have the tail.”
“I hope the lash of the tail is softer than the butt of the head,” Hipólito said, trying to make a joke, sir, but it didn’t come off. He pulled up his collar and went to round up his group. The women went around the square and they had followed them, from behind and separately. When they were by the Ferris wheel, Hipólito had appeared again: I’ve got second thoughts, I want to leave. I like you a lot but I like myself more, Ludovico had said. I’m warning you I’ll screw you, you faggot. That slap in the face had lifted his morale, sir: he gave a furious look, shot off. They’d got their people together, had stirred them up with words and had sneaked into the demonstration. The women were gathered together by the Ferris wheel, the ones with the sign were facing the others. All of a sudden one of the leaders climbed up onto a platform and began to make a speech. More people had crowded together, they were jammed in there, the music from the wheel had stopped, but you couldn’t hear what she was talking about. The men had been working in, clapping, the stupid women are making way for us, Ludovico said, and on the other side Hipólito’s people were sneaking in too. They were clapping,
embracing
, good fine bravo, some of the women were looking at them funny but others come in come in, shook hands with them, we’re not alone.
Ambrosio
and Ludovico had looked at each other as if saying let’s not get separated in this mess, buddy. They’d already cut them in two, they were jammed into them just like a wedge, right in the middle. They’d taken out their taunts, their whistling, Hipólito his megaphone, down with the troublemaker! long live General Odría! down with the enemies of the people! the truncheons, the whips, long live Odría! A terrible mess, sir. Troublemakers, the woman on the platform was howling, but the noise swallowed up her voice and around Ambrosio the women were shrieking and shoving. Get out of here, Ludovico was telling them, you’ve been tricked, go back home, and at that moment a hand had suddenly grabbed him and it felt like she was pulling off a strip of my neck, Ludovico had told Ambrosio afterwards, sir. That’s when the clubs and chains had come into play, the whacks and punches, and that’s when a million women had begun to bellow and kick. Ambrosio and Ludovico were together, one would slip and the other would help him up, one would fall and the other would lift him. The hens had turned into fighting cocks, Ludovico had said, dumb old Hipólito was right. Because they really did defend themselves, sir. They’d knock them down and they’d stay on the ground there, like dead, but from the ground they grabbed them by the feet and pulled them down. They kept on kicking, jumping, curses rang out like shotgun blasts. There are only a few of us, one of them had said, bring in the assault guards, but Ludovico, God damn it, no! They rushed them again and made them fall back, the fence around the wheel fell down and a pile of crazy women too. Some of them dragged themselves off and now instead of long live Odría the men were shouting
fuckyourmothers
, whores, at them, and finally the head of the column had been broken up into small groups and it was easy to chase them. From two, from three they would pick one and beat up on her, then another and beat up on her, and Ambrosio and Ludovico even joked about their sweaty faces. That was when the shot rang out, sir,
goddamnyourfuckinghide
the one who fired, Ludovico had said. It wasn’t there, but in back. The tail had been all together and wiggling, sir. They went to help and broke it up. Somebody named Soldevilla had shot, ten of them had me cornered, they were going to scratch my eyes out, he hadn’t killed anybody, he’d shot into the air. But Ludovico got worked up all the same: who the fuck gave you a revolver? And Soldevilla: this weapon doesn’t belong to the platoon, it belongs to me. You’ve fucked yourself up just the same, Ludovico had said, I’m making a report and you’ve lost your bonus. The amusement park was deserted, the fellows who ran the Ferris wheel, the whip, the rocket were trembling in their huts, the same as the gypsy women in their tents. They took count and one of them was missing, sir. They’d found him asleep beside a damned woman who was crying. Several of them got mad, what have you done, you whore, and they landed on her. His name was Iglesias, he was from Ayacucho, his mouth was busted, he got up like a sleepwalker, what, what. O.K., Ludovico had said to the ones who were beating up on the woman, it’s all over. They had taken the bus by the bar and nobody was talking, dead tired. When they got out they’d begun to smoke, look at each other’s faces, it hurts me here, my wife will never believe that I got this scratch as an accident at work. Fine, very good, Mr. Lozano had said, you did your job, now go fix yourselves up. That was the kind of job it was, more or less, sir.
5
A
LL WEEK LONG
A
MALIA WAS PENSIVE
, absent-minded. What are you thinking about, Carlota had said, and Símula a person who laughs to herself is thinking about what she’s done wrong, and Señora Hortensia where are you, come back down to earth. She wasn’t furious with him anymore, she wasn’t angry with herself for having gone out with him anymore. You hate him and he gets the better of you again, why are you so crazy. One night she dreamed that on Sunday, when she was going out, she would run into him at the streetcar stop, waiting for her. But that Sunday Carlota and Símula had a christening to go to and her day off was Saturday. Where would she go? She went to see Gertrudis, she hadn’t seen her for months. She got to the laboratory when they were coming out and Gertrudis took her home to have lunch. Ungrateful wretch, such a long time, Gertrudis said, she’d gone to Mirones any number of times and Señora Rosario didn’t know the address where you were working, tell me how things are going for you. She was about to tell her that she’d seen Ambrosio again but she thought better of it, she’d cursed him out so much before. They made a date for the next Sunday. She went back to San Miguel while it was still light and went to lie down on her bed. After all he did to you you’re still thinking about him, stupid. At night she dreamed about Trinidad. He was insulting her and at the end he warned her, livid: I’m waiting for you when you die. On Sunday Símula and Carlota left early and the mistress a while later with Miss
Queta. She washed the silverware, sat in the living room, turned on the radio. It was all horse races and soccer and she was starting to get bored when there was a knock on the kitchen door. Yes, it was him.