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“I brought these straws too, ” Amalia said. “That’s how you drink it, right? ”

“Why did you bother, ” Santiago said. “We were just leaving. ”

She handed them the Coca-Colas and the straws, dragged over a chair and sat down opposite them; she had combed her hair, had put on a hairband and buttoned her jumper and was watching them drink. She didn’t have any.

“You shouldn’t have spent your money like that, silly, ” Popeye said.

“It’s not mine, it’s what young Santiago gave me. ” Amalia laughed. “Just to do a little something for you. ”

The street door was open, outside it was beginning to grow dark and sometimes and in the distance the sound of streetcars was heard. A lot of people were passing along the sidewalk, voices, laughter, some faces paused to look for a moment.

“They’re getting out of the factories now, ” Amalia said. “It’s too bad your father’s laboratory isn’t near here, child. I’ll have to take the streetcar to the Avenida Argentina and then the bus. ”

“Are you going to work at the lab? ” Santiago asked.

“Didn’t your papa tell you? ” Amalia said. “Yes, starting Monday. ”

She was leaving the house with her suitcase and she met Don Fermí n, would you like me to get you a job in the lab? and she of course, Don Fermí n, anywhere, and then he called young Sparky and told him to telephone Carrillo to give her a job: what a show-off, Popeye thought.

“Oh, that’s good, ” Santiago said. “You’ll be much better off in the lab. ”

Popeye took out his pack of Chesterfields, offered a cigarette to Santiago, doubted a moment, and another to Amalia, but she didn’t smoke, child.

“You probably do smoke and you’re fooling us the way you did the other day, ” Popeye said. “You told us I can’t dance and you knew how. ”

He saw her grow pale, no, child, no, he heard her stammer, he sensed that Santiago was moving in his chair and he thought I put my foot in it. Amalia had lowered her head.

“I was kidding, ” he said, and his cheeks were burning. “What have you got to be ashamed of, did anything happen, silly? ”

She was getting her color back, her voice: she didn’t even want to remember, child. How bad she felt, the next day everything was still all mixed up in her head and things danced in her hands. She raised her face, looked at them timidly, enviously, with amazement: didn’t Coca-Cola do anything to them? Popeye looked at Santiago, Santiago looked at Popeye and they both looked at Amalia: she’d vomited all night long, she’d never drink Coca-Cola again in her life. And still, she’d drunk beer and nothing happened, and Pasteurina, nothing, and Pepsi-Cola, nothing, could that Coca-Cola have gone bad, child? Popeye bit his tongue, took out his handkerchief and blew his nose furiously. He squeezed his nose and felt that his stomach was going to explode: the record was over, now was the time, and he quickly took his hand out of his pants pocket. They were still sunk in half darkness, come on come on, sit down for a while and he heard Amalia: the music had finished, child. A difficult voice, why had the other child turned out the light, barely fluttering, that they should turn it back on or she was leaving, complaining without strength, as if some overpowering dream or languor were extinguishing her, she didn’t like the dark, she didn’t like it that way. It was a shapeless silhouette, one more shadow among the other shadows of the room and they seemed to be struggling in a sham way between the night table and the bureau. He got up and went over to them, go out into the garden, Freckle Face, and he it’s too much, he bumped into something, his ankle hurt, he wasn’t going, bring her to the bed, let me go, child. Amalia’s voice rose up, what’s the matter, child, she was getting furious, and now Popeye had found her shoulders, let me go, he should let her go, and he dragged her, what a nerve, how dare the young master, eyes closed, breathing heavy and he rolled onto the bed with them: there it was, Skinny. She laughed, don’t tickle me, but her arms and legs kept on struggling and Popeye laughed anxiously: get out of here, Freckle Face, leave me alone. He wasn’t leaving, why should he leave, and now Santiago was pushing Popeye and Popeye was pushing him, I’m not leaving and there was a confusion of clothing and wet skins in the shadows, a whirl of legs, hands, arms and blankets. They were smothering her, child, she couldn’t breathe: the way you laugh, you devil. Get away, they should let her go, a drowned voice, a regular, slow animal panting, and suddenly shh, shoves and little shouts, and Santiago shh, and Popeye shh: the street door, shh. Teté, he thought, and he felt his body dissolve. Santiago had run to the window and he couldn’t move: Teté, Teté.

“Now we do have to go, Amalia. ” Santiago stood up, left the bottle on the table. “Thanks for inviting us in. ”

“Thank you, child, ” Amalia said. “For having come and for what you brought me. ”

“Come by the house and see us, ” Santiago said.

“Of course, child, ” Amalia said. “And give my best to little Teté. ”

“Get out of here, get up, what are you waiting for, ” Santiago said. “And you, fix your shirt and comb your hair a little, you fool. ”

He had just lighted the lamp, he was smoothing his hair, Popeye tucked his shirt in his pants and looked at him, terrified: beat it, get out of the room. But Amalia kept sitting on the bed and they had to lift up her dead weight, she stumbled with an idiotic expression, supported herself on the night table. Quick, quick, Santiago smoothed the bed cover and Popeye ran to turn off the phonograph, get out of the room, you fool. She was unable to move, she was listening to them with eyes full of surprise and she slipped out of their hands and at that moment the door opened and they let go of her: hi, mama. Popeye saw Señ ora Zoila and tried to smile, in slacks and wearing a garnet turban, good evening, ma’am, and the lady’s eyes smiled and looked at Santiago, at Amalia, and her smile diminished and died: hi, papa. Behind Señ ora Zoila he saw the full face, the gray mustache and sideburns, Don Fermí n’s laughing eyes, hello, Skinny, your mother decided not to, hello, Popeye, I didn’t know you were here. Don Fermí n entered the room, collarless shirt, summer jacket, loafers, and he shook hands with Popeye, how are you, sir.

“You, why aren’t you in bed? ” Señ ora Zoila asked. “It’s already after twelve. ”

“We were famished and I woke her up to make us some sandwiches, ” Santiago said. “Weren’t you going to sleep over in Ancó n? ”

“Your mother had forgotten that she’d invited people to lunch tomorrow, ” Don Fermí n said. “Your mother’s outbursts, otherwise …”

Out of the corner of his eye, Popeye saw Amalia go out with the tray in her hands, she was looking at the floor and walking straight, they were in luck.

“Your sister stayed at the Vallarinos’, ” Don Fermí n said. “All in all, my plans for a rest this weekend didn’t work out. ”

“Is it twelve o’clock already, ma’am? ” Popeye asked. “I’ve got to run. We didn’t pay any attention to the time, I thought it must have been ten. ”

“How are things with the senator? ” Don Fermí n asked. “We haven’t seen him at the club in ages. ”

She went to the street with them and there Santiago patted her on the shoulder and Popeye said good-bye: ciao, Amalia. They went off in the direction of the streetcar line. They went into El Triunfo to buy some cigarettes; it was already boiling over with drinkers and pool players.

“A hundred soles for nothing, a wild bit of showing off, ” Popeye said. “It turned out that we did the girl a favor, now your old man has got her a better job. ”

“Even so, we got her in a jam, ” Santiago said. “I’m not sorry about those hundred soles. ”

“I don’t want to keep harping on it, but you’re broke, ” Popeye said. “What did we do to her? Now that you’ve given her five pounds, forget about your remorse. ”

Following the streetcar line, they went down to Ricardo Palma and they walked along smoking under the trees on the boulevard between rows of cars.

“Didn’t it make you laugh when she talked about Coca-Cola that way? ” Popeye laughed. “Do you think she’s that dumb or was she putting on? I don’t know how I held back, I was pissing inside wanting to laugh. ”

“I’m going to ask you something, ” Santiago says. “Do I have the face of a son of a bitch? ”

“And I’m going to tell you something, ” Popeye said. “Don’t you think her going out to buy the Coca-Cola for us was strictly hypocritical? As if she was letting herself go to see if we’d repeat what happened the other night. ”

“You’ve got a rotten mind, Freckle Face, ” Santiago said.

“What a question, ” Ambrosio says. “Of course not, boy. ”

“O. K., so the breed girl is a saint and I’ve got a rotten mind, ” Popeye said. “Let’s go to your house and listen to records, then. ”

“You did it for me? ” Don Fermí n asked. “For me, you poor black crazy son of a bitch? ”

“I swear you don’t, son. ” Ambrosio laughs. “Are you making fun of me? ”

“Teté isn’t home, ” Santiago said. “She went to an early show with some girl friends. ”

“Listen, don’t be a son of a bitch, Skinny, ” Popeye said. “You’re lying, aren’t you? You promised, Skinny. ”

“You mean that sons of bitches don’t have the faces of sons of bitches, Ambrosio, ” Santiago says.

THE LIEUTENANT DIDN’T YAWN once during the trip; he was talking about the revolution the whole time, explaining to the sergeant driving the jeep how now that Odrí a had taken power the Apristas would toe the mark, and smoking cigarettes that smelled like guano. They had left Lima at dawn and had only stopped once, in Surco, to show their pass to a patrol that was manning a roadblock on the highway. They entered Chincha at seven in the morning. There were no signs of the revolution there: the streets were alive with schoolchildren, there wasn’t a soldier to be seen on the corners. The Lieutenant leaped to the sidewalk, went into the café -restaurant called Mi Patria, heard on the radio the same communiqué with a military march in the background that he had been hearing for two days. Leaning on the counter, he asked for coffee and milk and a cream cheese sandwich. He asked the man who waited on him, wearing an undershirt and with a sour face, if he knew Cayo Bermú dez, a businessman in town. Was he going, the man rolled his eyes, to arrest him? Was that Bermú dez an Aprista? How could he be, he wasn’t involved in politics. That’s good, politics was for bums, not hardworking people, the Lieutenant was looking for him on a personal matter. He wouldn’t find him here, he never came here. He lived in a little yellow house behind the church. It was the only one that color, the other ones around were white or gray and there was also a brown one. The Lieutenant knocked on the door and waited and heard footsteps and a voice who is it.

“Is Mr. Bermú dez in? ” the Lieutenant asked.

The door opened with a creak and a woman came forward: a fat Indian woman with a blackish face that was full of moles, yessir. The people in Chincha said if you could only see her now. Because she wasn’t bad-looking as a girl. Night and day, I tell you, what a change, yessir. Her hair was all messy, the woolen shawl that covered her shoulders looked like a burlap bag.

“He’s not home. ” She looked sideways with suspicious greedy little eyes. “What’s it about? I’m his wife. ”

“Will he be back soon? ” The Lieutenant examined the woman with surprise, mistrust. “Can I wait for him? ”

She drew away from the door. Inside, the Lieutenant felt nauseous in the midst of the heavy furniture, the pots without flowers, the sewing machine and the walls with constellations of shadows or holes or flies. The woman opened a window, a tongue of sun came in. Everything was worn, there were too many things in the room. Boxes stacked up in the corners, piles of newspapers. The woman murmured an excuse and vanished into the dark mouth of a hallway. The Lieutenant heard a canary trilling somewhere. Was she really his wife? Yessir, his wife before God, of course she was, a story that shook up Chincha. How did it begin? A whole string of years ago, when the Bermú dez family left the De la Flor ranch. The family, that is the Vulture, Doñ a Catalina the church biddy, and the son, Don Cayo, who was probably still crawling in those days. The Vulture had been foreman on the ranch and when he came to Chincha people said that the De la Flors had fired him for stealing. In Chincha he became a loan shark. Anybody needed money, he went to the Vulture, I need so much, what’ll you give me for security, this ring, this watch, and if you didn’t pay he kept the item and the Vulture’s interest was so high that people owed him so much they might as well have been dead. That’s why they called him the Vulture, yessir: he lived off corpses. He was loaded with money in a few years and he put the gold clasp around it when the government of General Benavides began to put Apristas in jail and deport them; Subprefect Nú ñ ez gave the orders, Captain Rascachucha put the Apristas in the lockup and chased their families away, the Vulture auctioned off their belongings, and they split the pie among the three of them. And with money the Vulture became important, yessir, he was even mayor of Chincha and you’d see him wearing a derby on the Plaza de Armas during parades on national holidays. And he got all puffed up. He saw to it that his son always wore shoes and didn’t mix with black people. When they were kids they played soccer, stole fruit in the orchards, Ambrosio visited his house and the Vulture didn’t care. When they got money-rich, on the other hand, they kicked him out and they scolded Don Cayo if they caught him with him. His servant? Oh, no sir, his friend, but only when he was this size. The black woman had her stand on the corner where Don Cayo lived then and he and Ambrosio gave her a hard time. Then they were split up by the Vulture, yessir, that’s life. Don Cayo was put into the José Pardo School and the black woman, ashamed because of Trifulcio, took Ambrosio and Perpetuo to Mala, and when they came back to Chincha, Don Cayo was always with someone from José Pardo, the Uplander. Ambrosio would meet him on the street and he didn’t use the intimate form anymore, only the formal. In the activities at José Pardo Don Cayo recited, read his little speeches, carried the school flag in parades. The child prodigy of Chincha, they said, a future brain, and the Vulture drooled when he talked about his son and said he’d go a long way, they said. And he really did, yessir, right?

“Do you think he’ll be very long? ” The Lieutenant crushed out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Do you know where he is? ”

“And I got married too, ” Santiago says. “Didn’t you get married? ”

“Sometimes he comes home very late for lunch, ” the woman muttered. “Would you like to leave a message? ”

“You too, son, and so young? ” Ambrosio says.

“I’ll wait for him, ” the Lieutenant said. “I hope he doesn’t take too long. ”

He was already in his last year at school, the Vulture was going to send him to Lima to study to be a shyster and Don Cayo was made to order for that, they said. Ambrosio was living in the group of shacks that used to be outside Chincha then, yessir, on the road to what was Grocio Prado later on. And he’d run into him there once, and right away caught on that he was playing hooky and right away wondered who the female was. Mounting her? No sir, looking at her with the eyes of a lunatic. He was pretending not to notice, somebody watching hogs, somebody waiting. He’d left his books on the ground, he was kneeling, his eyes were turned toward the huts and Ambrosio said which one is it, I wonder which one it is. It was Rosa, yessir, the daughter of Tú mula the milk woman. A skinny girl with nothing particular about her, at that time she looked more like a little white girl than an Indian. There are some kids who are born ugly and get better later on, Rosa started off passable and ended up a dog. Passable, not good, not bad, one of those that a white man does a favor for once and if I saw you I’ve forgotten. Her little teats half formed, a young body and nothing else, but so dirty she couldn’t even be fixed up to go to mass. She used to be seen in Chincha driving the donkey with the jugs, yessir, selling it by the gourd from house to house. Tú mula’s daughter, the Vulture’s son, you can imagine the scandal, yessir. The Vulture already had a hardware store and a warehouse and they say he said that when the boy comes back from Lima with his law degree he’ll make a pile of money. Doñ a Catalina spent all her time in church, a close friend of the priest, raffles for the poor, Catholic Action. And the son prowling around the milk woman’s daughter, who would have thought it. But that’s the way it was, yessir. He was attracted by the way she walked or something, some people would rather have a mongrel than a thoroughbred, they say. He must have been thinking, I’ll work her over, wet her and leave her, and she realized that the white boy was drooling over her and must have thought I’ll let him work me over, wet me and I’ll grab him. The fact is that Don Cayo went ki-yi, yessir: what can I do for you? The Lieutenant opened his eyes, leaped to his feet.

“I’m sorry, I fell asleep. ” He ran his hand over his face, coughed. “Mr. Bermú dez? ”

Next to the horrible woman was a man with a dry and acidy face, in his forties, in shirtsleeves, a briefcase under his arm. The wide cuffs of his pants covered his shoes. Sailor pants, the Lieutenant managed to think, a clown’s pants.

“At your service, ” the man said, as if bored or displeased. “Have you been waiting for me long? ”

“Please pack your bags, ” the Lieutenant said jovially. “I’m taking you to Lima. ”

But the man didn’t change his expression. His face didn’t smile, his eyes weren’t surprised or alarmed or happy. They watched him with the same indifferent monotony as before.

“To Lima? ” he asked slowly, his eyes dull. “Who wants to see me in Lima? ”

“Colonel Espina, no less, ” the Lieutenant said with a triumphal little voice. “The Minister of Public Order, no less. ”

The woman opened her mouth, Bermú dez didn’t blink. He remained expressionless, then the hint of a smile altered the dreamy annoyance of his face, a second later his eyes became uninterested and bored again. His liver’s kicking up, the Lieutenant thought, bitter over life, with the wife he’s saddled with it’s easy to understand. Bermú dez tossed the briefcase onto the sofa.

“Yes, indeed. Yesterday I heard that Espina was one of the ministers of the Junta. ” He took out a pack of Incas, offered an unappetizing cigarette to the Lieutenant. “Didn’t the Uplander tell you why he wanted to see me? ”

“Only that he needs you urgently. ” The Uplander, the Lieutenant thought. “And for me to bring you back to Lima even if I have to stick a pistol in your chest. ”

Bermú dez dropped into an easy chair, crossed his legs, blew out a mouthful of smoke that clouded his face and when the smoke disappeared, the Lieutenant saw that he was smiling at him as if he was doing me a favor, he thought, as if he was making fun of me.

“It’s hard for me to leave Chincha today, ” he said with a growing laxness. “There’s a business deal I have to close on a ranch near here. ”

“If a person is summoned by the Minister of Public Order, he has no recourse but to go, ” the Lieutenant said. “Please be reasonable, Mr. Bermú dez. ”

“Two new tractors, a good commission, ” Bermú dez explained to the flies or holes or shadows. “This is no time for outings to Lima. ”

“Tractors? ” The Lieutenant put on an irritated face. “Use your head a little, please, and let’s not waste any more time. ”

Bermú dez took a puff, half closing his cold little eyes, and he exhaled the smoke unhurriedly.

“When you’re up to here with bills, you have to think about tractors, ” he said, as if he couldn’t hear or see him. “Tell the Uplander I’ll come by in a few days. ”

The Lieutenant looked at him with consternation, amused, confused: if things were that way he would have to draw his pistol and stick it in his chest, Mr. Bermú dez, if things were that way they were going to laugh at him. But Don Cayo as if nothing happened, yessir, played hooky and went into the settlement and the women pointed at him, Rosa, they whispered to each other and laughed at him, Rosita, look who’s coming. Tú mula’s daughter was very bold, yessir. Just imagine, the Vulture’s son had come there to see her, who’d have thought it. She didn’t come out to talk to him, she curled up, she ran to where her girl friends were, all laughs, all flirty. It didn’t matter to him that the girl gave him the cold shoulder, that seemed to get him all the hotter. She knew how to put on, Tú mula’s daughter did, yessir, and no need to talk about her mother, anyone would have realized it, but not him. He took it all, he waited, he went back to the settlement, the little half-breed would fall someday, black boy, he was the one that fell, yessir. Can’t you see that she gets stuck-up instead of thanking you, Don Cayo? Tell her to go to hell, Don Cayo. But he as if he’d been given a love potion, chasing right after her, and people were beginning to gossip. They’re talking all over the place, Don Cayo. And he what the fuck, he did what his belly told him and his belly told him to get the girl, naturally. Fine, who was going to call him down, any white boy can get sweet with a little half-breed, do this little thing, and who cares, yessir, right? But Don Cayo chased after her as if the thing was serious, wasn’t that crazy? And crazier still was the fact that Rosa gave herself the luxury of treating him like dirt. She seemed to be giving herself the luxury, yessir.

“We’ve already gassed up, I told Lima we’ll be there around three-thirty, ” the Lieutenant said. “Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Bermú dez. ”

Bermú dez had changed his shirt and was wearing a gray suit. He was carrying a small valise, a crumpled hat, sunglasses.

“Is that all your luggage? ” the Lieutenant asked.

“I’ve got forty bags more, ” Bermú dez grunted. “Let’s go, I want to get back to Chincha today. ”

The woman watched the sergeant who was checking the oil in the jeep. She had taken off her apron, the tight dress outlined her bulging stomach, her overflowing hips. You’ll have to excuse me, the Lieutenant gave her his hand, for stealing your husband, but she didn’t laugh. Bermú dez had got into the rear seat of the jeep and she was looking at him as if she hated him, the Lieutenant thought, or wouldn’t ever see him again. He got into the jeep, saw Bermú dez vaguely wave good-bye, and they left. The sun was burning, the streets were deserted, a nauseating vapor arose from the pavement, the windows of the houses sparkled.

“Has it been long since you were in Lima? ” The Lieutenant was trying to be pleasant.

“I go two or three times a year on business, ” he said without warmth, without grace, the slack, mechanical, discontented little voice of the world. “I represent a few agricultural concerns here. ”

“We didn’t get to marry, but I had my woman too, ” Ambrosio says.

“But how come your business isn’t going well? ” the Lieutenant asked. “Aren’t the landowners here pretty rich? There’s a lot of cotton, isn’t there? ”

“You had? ” Santiago asks. “Did you have a fight with her? ”

“It went well in other days, ” Bermú dez said; he isn’t the most unpleasant man in Peru because Colonel Espina is still around, the Lieutenant thought, but after the Colonel who except this one. “With the controls on exchange, the cotton growers have stopped making what they used to, and you have to sweat blood just to sell them a hoe. ”

“She died on me there in Pucallpa, child, ” Ambrosio says. “She left me a little girl. ”

“Well, that’s why we started the revolution, ” the Lieutenant said good-humoredly. “The chaos is all over now. With the army in charge everybody will toe the mark. You’ll see how things are going to get better under Odrí a. ”

“Really? ” Bermú dez yawned. “People change here, Lieutenant, never things. ”

“Don’t you read the papers? Don’t you listen to the radio? ” the Lieutenant insisted with a smile. “The cleanup has already started. Apristas, crooks, Communists, all in the lockup. There won’t be a single one of the vermin loose on the streets. ”

“What did you go to Pucallpa for? ” Santiago asks.

“Others will appear, ” Bermú dez said harshly. “In order to clean the vermin up in Peru you’d have to drop a few bombs and wipe us off the map. ”

“To work, son, ” Ambrosio says. “I mean, to look for work. ”

“Are you serious or joking? ” the Lieutenant asked.

“Did my old man know you were there? ” Santiago asks.

“I don’t like to joke, ” Bermú dez said. “I always speak seriously. ”

The jeep was going through a valley, the air smelled of shellfish and in the distance bare, sandy hills could be seen. The sergeant was chewing on a cigar as he drove and the Lieutenant had his cap pulled down to his ears: come on, they’d have a couple of beers, black boy. They’d had a friendly conversation, yessir, he needs me, Ambrosio had thought, and, naturally, it had to do with Rosa. He’d got hold of a pickup truck, a farmhouse, and he’d convinced his friend the Uplander. And he wanted Ambrosio to help him too, in case there was trouble. What trouble could there be, tell me? Did the girl have a father and brothers maybe? No, just Tú mula, trash. He enchanted to help him, except that. He wasn’t afraid of Tú mula, Don Cayo, or of the people in the settlement, but what about your papa, Don Cayo? Because if the Vulture found out Don Cayo would only get his whipping, but what about him? He wasn’t going to find out, boy, he was going to Lima for three days and when he returned Rosa would be back at the settlement. Ambrosio had swallowed the story, yessir, he was tricked into helping him. Because it was one thing to kidnap a girl for one night, do your thing and turn her loose, and something else, yessir, to marry her, right? That devil of a Don Cayo had made fools out of him and the Uplander, yessir. All of them, except Rosa and except Tú mula. In Chincha they said that the one who came off best was the milk woman’s daughter, who went from delivering milk on a donkey to being a lady and the Vulture’s daughter-in-law. Everybody else lost: Don Cayo, his parents, even Tú mula, because she lost her daughter. Or maybe Rosa was a sharp chippy. Who would have said so, yessir, worth so little, and the little toad won the lottery and more. What did Ambrosio have to do, sir? Go to the square at nine o’clock, and he’d gone and waited and they picked him up, they drove around and when the people went to bed, they parked the truck by the house of Don Mauro Cruz, the deaf man. Don Cayo was to meet the girl there at ten o’clock. Of course she came, why shouldn’t she come. She appeared, Don Cayo went ahead and they stayed behind in the truck. He must have told her something or she must have guessed something, the fact is that all of a sudden Tú mula’s daughter started to run and Don Cayo hollered catch her. So Ambrosio ran, caught her and threw her over his shoulder and brought her and sat her in the truck. That’s when he caught Rosa’s tricks, yessir, that’s when you could see her bringing them out. Not a shout, not a moan, just running around, little scratches, little punches. The easiest would have been to start hollering, people would have come out, half the settlement would have been on top of them, yessir, right? Who says she was scared to death, who says she’d lost her voice? She kicked and scratched while he carried her and in the truck she pretended to be crying because her face was covered, but Ambrosio didn’t hear her crying. The Uplander pushed the gas to the floor, the truck flew out of the side street. They got to the farm and Don Cayo got out and Rosa, with no need to carry her, she went right into the house, yessir, you see? Ambrosio went to sleep thinking about what Rosa would look like the next day, and whether she’d tell Tú mula and Tú mula would tell his black mama and his black mama would give it to him. Nobody had any notion of what was going to happen, nosiree. Because Rosa didn’t come back the next day, Don Cayo either, or the day after, or the one after that. In the settlement Tú mula was all tears, and in Chincha Doñ a Catalina was all tears, and Ambrosio didn’t know which way to turn. On the third day the Vulture came back and notified the police and Tú mula had notified them too. You can imagine the gossip, yessir. If the Uplander and Ambrosio ran into each other on the street they didn’t say anything, he must have been jumpy too. They only showed up the following week, yessir. He didn’t have to do it, nobody had stuck a pistol in his chest saying the church or the grave. He’d looked up the priest of his own free will. They say they were seen getting off a bus on the Plaza de Armas, that he was holding Rosa by the arm, that they were seen going into the Vulture’s house as if they were coming back from a walk. They must have appeared there all of a sudden, together, just imagine, Don Cayo must have taken out the certificate and said we got married, can you imagine the face the Vulture must have put on, yessir, what the devil is this all about?