About the Author 3 страница

“Are they hunting down vermin over there, Lieutenant? ” Bermú dez pointed to the university campus with an insipid smile. “What’s going on at San Marcos? ”

Military barriers closed off the four corners of the square and there were patrols of helmeted soldiers, assault guards and mounted police. Down with Dictatorship, said some placards stuck to the walls of San Marcos, Only Aprismo Will Save Peru. The main door of the university was closed and mourning drapes fluttered on the balconies, and on the rooftops small heads watched the movements of the soldiers and police. The walls of the university courtyard breathed with a sound that grew and shrank between bursts of applause.

“A few Apristas have been holed up inside there since October twenty-seventh. ” The Lieutenant waved to the officer in charge of the roadblock on the Avenida Abancay. “The ‘buffalo squad’ hoodlums won’t learn their lesson. ”

“Why don’t they shoot them? ” Bermú dez asked. “Is this how the army has started its cleanup? ”

A police lieutenant came over to the jeep, saluted, examined the pass the Lieutenant handed him.

“How are those subversives getting along? ” the Lieutenant asked, pointing to San Marcos.

“Over there raising hob, ” the police lieutenant said. “Sometimes they throw their little stones. Go ahead, Lieutenant. ”

The policemen moved the sawhorses out of the way and the jeep went through the University Square. On the waving drapes there were white pieces of cardboard, In Mourning for Freedom, and skulls and cross-bones drawn in black paint.

“I’d shoot them, but Colonel Espina wants to starve them out, ” the Lieutenant said.

“How are things going in the provinces? ” Bermú dez asked. “I imagine there’s trouble in the North. The Apristas are strong there. ”

“All peaceful, that business about the APRA controlling Peru is a myth, ” the Lieutenant said. “You saw how their leaders ran for asylum in foreign embassies. You’ve never seen a more peaceful revolution, Mr. Bermú dez. And the San Marcos affair could be settled in one minute if the higher-ups wanted to. ”

There was no military movement on the downtown streets. Only on the Plaza Italia did helmeted soldiers appear again. Bermú dez got out of the jeep, stretched, waited for the Lieutenant, looking at everything with ennui.

“Have you ever been in the Ministry? ” the Lieutenant tried to cheer him up. “It’s an old building, but the offices are quite elegant. The Colonel’s has paintings and everything. ”

They went in and two minutes hadn’t passed when the door opened as if there had been an earthquake inside and Don Cayo and Rosa came tumbling out with the Vulture behind, cursing a stream and charging like a bull, a sight to see, they say, yessir. He wasn’t mad at Tú mula’s daughter, he didn’t seem to have hit her, just his son. He knocked him down with a punch, lifted him up with a kick, and just like that all the way to the Plaza de Armas. There they held him back because otherwise he would have killed him. He wouldn’t accept his getting married that way, snotnose that he was, and especially to the one he did. He never did accept it, of course, and he never saw Don Cayo again or gave him a penny. Don Cayo had to earn his own keep for himself and for Rosa. The one the Vulture said was going to be a future big brain didn’t even finish high school. If instead of a priest they’d only been married by a justice of the peace, the Vulture would have fixed it up overnight, but how can you make a deal with God, sir? Doñ a Catalina being the church biddy she was too. They probably had a consultation, the priest must have told them there’s nothing you can do, religion is religion and till death do them part. So there was nothing left for the Vulture except despair. They say he gave a beating to the priest who married them, that afterward he was refused absolution and as a penance they made him pay for one of the steeples of the new church in Chincha. So even religion got its slice of meat from the whole business, yessir. The Vulture never saw the couple again. It seems that when he sensed he was dying he asked have I got any grandchildren? Maybe if he’d had any he would have forgiven Don Cayo, but Rosa hadn’t only turned into a horror, yessir, to top it off she never grew full. They say that just so his son wouldn’t inherit anything, the Vulture began to get rid of what he had in drinking bouts and charity and that if death hadn’t caught him all of a sudden he would have given away the house he had behind the church too. He didn’t have time, nosiree. Why did he stay with the Indian for so many years? That was what everyone said to the Vulture: the love will wear off and he’ll send her back to Tú mula and you’ll have your son again. But he didn’t do it, I wonder why. Not because of religion, I don’t think so, Don Cayo never went to church. To make his father mad? Because he hated the Vulture, you say? To cheat him so that he could see all the hopes he’d put in him go up in smoke? Fucking himself up to kill his father with disappointment? You think that’s why? Making him suffer no matter what it cost, even becoming trash himself? Well, I don’t know, no sir, if you think so it must be because of that. Don’t look that way, we were having a good talk. Don’t you feel good? You’re not talking about the Vulture and Don Cayo but about yourself and young Santiago, yessir, right? All right, I’ll keep quiet, yes, I can see that you’re not talking to me. I didn’t say anything, no sir, don’t act like that, no sir.

“What’s Pucallpa like? ” Santiago asks.

“A small town that’s not worth anything, ” Ambrosio says. “Haven’t you ever been there, son? ”

“I’ve spent my whole life dreaming about traveling and I only got fifty miles away, just once, ” Santiago says. “At least you’ve traveled a little. ”

“It brought me bad luck, son, ” Ambrosio says. “Pucallpa only brought me trouble. ”

“It means things have gone bad for you, ” Colonel Espina said. “Worse than for the rest of our class. You haven’t got a penny and you’re still a country boy. ”

“I didn’t have time to follow in the footsteps of the rest of the class, ” Bermú dez said calmly, looking at Espina without arrogance, without modesty. “But you, of course, you’ve done better than all the rest of us put together. ”

“The best student, the most intelligent, the one who studied the hardest, ” Espina said. “Bermú dez will be President and Espina his Minister, old Dapple Gray used to say. Remember? ”

“Even then you wanted to be a minister, really, ” Bermú dez said with a sour little smile. “There you are, now you are one. You must be happy, right? ”

“I didn’t ask for it and I didn’t look for it. ” Colonel Espina opened his arms in resignation. “They laid it on me and I accepted it as a duty. ”

“In Chincha they said you were an Aprista officer, that you’d gone to a cocktail party given by Haya de la Torre, ” Bermú dez went on, smiling without conviction. “And now, just think, hunting down Apristas like vermin. That’s what the little lieutenant you sent to get me said. And, by the way, it’s time you told me why so much honor for me. ”

The office door opened, a man with a circumspect face came in bowing, with some papers in his hand, could he come in, Mr. Secretary? but then the Colonel Dr. Alcibí ades stopped him with a gesture, no one was to disturb them. The man bowed again, very well, Mr. Secretary, and he left.

“Mr. Secretary. ” Bermú dez cleared his throat, without nostalgia, looking around lethargically. “I can’t believe it. Like sitting here. Like the fact that we’re already in our forties. ”

Colonel Espina smiled at him affectionately, he’d lost a lot of hair but the tufts he still had showed no gray and his copper-colored face was still vigorous; he ran his eyes slowly over the tanned and indolent face of Bermú dez, the old-before-its-time, ascetic body sunken in the broad red velvet chair.

“You fucked yourself up with that crazy marriage, ” he said with a sweetish and paternal voice. “It was the great mistake of your life, Cayo. I warned you, remember. ”

“Did you send for me to talk about my marriage? ” he asked without anger, without drive, the same mediocre little voice as always. “One more word and I’m leaving. ”

“You’re still the same. Still grumpy. ” Espina laughed. “How’s Rosa? I know you haven’t had any children. ”

“If you don’t mind, let’s get to the point, ” Bermú dez said; a shadow of fatigue clouded his eyes, his mouth was tight with impatience. Roofs, cornices, aerial trash piles were outlined against fat clouds through the windows behind Espina.

“Even though we haven’t seen much of each other, you’ve always been my best friend. ” The Colonel was almost sad. “When we were kids I thought a lot of you, Cayo. More than you did of me. I admired you, I was even jealous of you. ”

Bermú dez was imperturbably scrutinizing the Colonel. The cigarette he had in his hand had burned down, the ash fell on the rug, the curls of smoke broke against his face like waves against brown rocks.

“When I was a minister under Bustamante, the whole class looked me up, all except you, ” Espina said. “Why? You were in bad shape, we’d been like brothers. I could have helped you. ”

“Did they come like dogs to lick your hands, to ask you for recommendations, to propose business deals to you? ” Bermú dez asked. “Since I didn’t come, you must have said that fellow must be rich or maybe he’s dead. ”

“I knew that you were alive but half dead from hunger, ” Espina said. “Don’t interrupt, let me speak. ”

“It’s just that you’re still so slow, ” Bermú dez said. “A person has to use a corkscrew to get the words out of you, just the way you were at José Pardo. ”

“I want to help you, ” Espina murmured. “Tell me what I can do for you. ”

“Just give me transportation back to Chincha, ” Bermú dez whispered. “The jeep, a bus ticket, anything. Because of this trip to Lima I may have lost out on an interesting piece of business. ”

“You’re happy with your lot, you don’t mind growing old as a penniless country boy, ” Espina said. “You’re not ambitious anymore, Cayo. ”

“But I’m still proud, ” Bermú dez said dryly. “I don’t like to take favors. Is that all you wanted to tell me? ”

The Colonel was watching him, as if measuring him or guessing what he was thinking, and the cordial little smile that had been floating on his lips vanished. He clasped his hands with their polished nails and leaned forward.

“Do you want to get down to cases, Cayo? ” he asked with sudden energy.

“It’s about time. ” Bermú dez put out his cigarette in the ashtray. “You were getting me tired with that great show of affection. ”

“Odrí a needs people he can trust. ” The Colonel spaced his syllables, as if his safety and confidence were suddenly threatened. “Everybody here is with us and nobody is with us. La Prensa and the Agrarian Society only want us to abolish controls on exchange and to protect free enterprise. ”

“Since you’re going to do what they want, there’s no problem, ” Bermú dez said. “Right? ”

“El Comercio calls Odrí a the Savior of the Nation just because it hates APRA, ” Colonel Espina said. “They only want us to keep the Apristas in the clink. ”

“That’s an accomplished fact, ” Bermú dez said. “There’s no problem there either, right? ”

“And International, Cerro and the other companies only want a strong government that will keep the unions quiet for them, ” Espina went on without listening to him. “Each one pulling in his own direction, see? ”

“The exporters, the anti-Apristas, the gringos and the army too, ” Bermú dez said. “Money and power. I don’t see that Odrí a has any reason to complain. What more could he ask for? ”

“The President knows the mentality of those sons of bitches, ” Colonel Espina said. “Today they support you, tomorrow they stick a knife in your back. ”

“The way you people stuck it in Bustamante’s back. ” Bermú dez smiled, but the Colonel didn’t laugh. “Well, as long as you keep them happy, they’ll support the regime. Then they’ll get another general and throw you people out. Hasn’t it always been that way in Peru? ”

“This time it’s not going to be that way, ” Colonel Espina said. “We’re going to keep our backs covered. ”

“That sounds fine to me, ” Bermú dez said, stifling a yawn, “but what the hell have I got to do with all this? ”

“I talked to the President about you. ” Colonel Espina studied the effect of his words, but Bermú dez hadn’t changed his expression; his elbow on the arm of the chair, his face resting on his open palm, he listened motionless. “We were going over names for Director of Security and yours came to mind and I let it out. Did I do something stupid? ”

He was silent, a look of annoyance or fatigue or doubt or regret, he twisted his mouth and narrowed his eyes. He remained for a few seconds with an absent look and then he sought Bermú dez’ face: there it was, just as before, absolutely quiet, waiting.

“An obscure position but important for the security of the regime, ” the Colonel added. “Did I do something stupid? You need someone there who’s like your other self, they warned me, your right arm. And your name came to mind and I let it out. Without thinking. You can see, I’m talking frankly to you. Did I do something stupid? ”

Bermú dez had taken out another cigarette, lighted it. He took a drag, tightening his mouth a little, biting the lower lip. He looked at the end of it, the smoke, the window, the piles of garbage on the Lima rooftops.

“I know that if you want it, you’re my man, ” Colonel Espina said.

“I can see that you have confidence in your old classmate, ” Bermú dez finally said, in such a low voice that the Colonel leaned forward. “Having chosen this frustrated and inexperienced hick to be your right arm, it’s a great honor, Uplander. ”

“Cut your sarcasm. ” Espina rapped on the desk. “Tell me whether you accept or not. ”

“Something like that can’t be decided so fast, ” Bermú dez said. “Give me a few days to mull it over. ”

“I won’t even give you a half hour, you’re going to answer me right now, ” Espina said. “The President expects me at the Palace at six. If you accept you’re coming with me so I can introduce you. If not, you can go back to Chincha. ”

“The functions of Director of Security I can imagine, ” Bermú dez said. “On the other hand, I have no idea what it pays. ”

“A base salary and some living expenses, ” Colonel Espina said. “Around five or six thousand soles, I would calculate. I know it isn’t very much. ”

“It’s enough to live modestly. ” Bermú dez barely smiled. “Since I’m a modest man, it’ll do me. ”

“Not another word, then, ” Colonel Espina said. “But you still haven’t answered me. Did I do something stupid? ”

“Only time will tell, Uplander. ” Bermú dez gave a half-smile again.

Whether the Uplander ever recognized Ambrosio? When Ambrosio was Don Cayo’s chauffeur he got into the car a thousand times, yessir, he’d taken him to his house a thousand times. Maybe he recognized him, but the fact is that he never showed it, no sir. Since he was a minister then, he was probably ashamed that he’d known Ambrosio when he was a nobody, he wouldn’t have found it amusing that Ambrosio knew he’d been mixed up in the kidnapping of Tú mula’s daughter. He’d probably erased him from his head so that black face wouldn’t bring back bad memories, no sir. The times they saw each other he treated Ambrosio like a chauffeur seen for the first time. Good morning, good afternoon, and the Uplander just the same. Now he was going to say something, yessir. It’s true that Rosa turned into a fat Indian covered with moles, but underneath it all her story made you feel sorry for her, yessir, right? After all, she was his wife, right? And he left her in Chincha and she couldn’t enjoy anything when Don Cayo became important. What became of her during all those years? When Don Cayo came to Lima she stayed there in the little yellow house, she’s probably still there turning to bone. But he didn’t abandon her the way he did Señ ora Hortensia, without a penny. He sent her her pension, many times he told Ambrosio, remind me that I have to send Rosa some money, black man. What did she do all those years? Who can say. Probably the same life she always had, a life without friends or relatives. Because from the day she was married she never saw anyone from the settlement again, not even Tú mula. Don Cayo must have forbidden it, he must have. And Tú mula went on cursing her daughter because she wouldn’t receive her in her house. But that wasn’t why, no sir; she didn’t get into Chincha society, never, who wanted to mix with the milk woman’s daughter, even if she was Don Cayo’s wife and wore shoes and washed her face every day. They’d all seen her driving the donkey and pouring out gourds of milk. And besides, knowing that the Vulture didn’t recognize her as his daughter-in-law. There was nothing left for her to do but shut herself up in a little room that Don Cayo took behind the San José Hospital and live the life of a nun. She almost never went out, from shame, because they pointed at her in the street, or from fear of the Vulture, maybe. Then it must have become a habit. Ambrosio had seen her sometimes, in the market or taking out a washbasin and scrubbing clothes, kneeling on the sidewalk. So what good was all her spark, yessir, all the tricks to catch the white boy. She might have got a better name and joined a better class, but she was left without any friends and even without a mother. Don Cayo, you say? Yes, he had friends. On Saturdays he could be seen having his little old beers in the Cielito Lindo or tossing coins at the toad in the Jardí n el Paraí so, and in the whorehouse and they said he always had two of them in the room. He almost never went out with Rosa, no sir, he even went to the movies by himself. What kind of work did Don Cayo do? At the Cruz warehouse, in a bank, in a notary’s office, then he sold tractors to the ranchers. He spent about a year in the little room there, when he was better off he moved to the southern part of town, in those days Ambrosio was already an interprovince driver and didn’t get to Chincha very often, and one of those times he got to town they told him that the Vulture had died and that Don Cayo and Rosa had gone to live with the church biddy. Doñ a Catalina died during Bustamante’s government, yessir. When Don Cayo’s luck changed, with Odrí a, in Chincha they said now Rosa will get a new house and have servants. None of that, no sir. Visitors rained down on Rosa then. In La Voz de Chincha they printed pictures of Don Cayo, calling him a Distinguished Son of Chincha, and who didn’t rush to Rosa to ask her for some little job for my husband, a little scholarship for my son, and my brother to be named schoolteacher here, subprefect there. And the families of Apristas and Aprista-lovers to cry in front of her for her to get Don Cayo to let my nephew out or let my uncle come back into the country. That was where Tú mula’s daughter got her revenge, yessir, that was where the ones who had snubbed her got what was coming to them. They say that she would receive them at the door and give them all the same idiot face. Her little boy was in jail? Oh, that’s too bad. A position for her stepson? He should go to Lima and talk to her husband and so long. But Ambrosio only knew all that from hearsay, yessir, can’t you see he too was already in Lima then? Who had convinced him to go look up Don Cayo? His black mama, Ambrosio didn’t want to, he said they say everyone from Chincha who goes to ask him for something gets turned away. But he didn’t turn him away, no sir, he helped him and Ambrosio was grateful to him for it. Yes, he hated the people in Chincha, who knows why, you can see that he didn’t do anything for Chincha, he didn’t even have a single school built in his town. When time passed and people began to say bad things about Odrí a and the exiled Apristas came back to Chincha, they say that the subprefect put a policeman at the yellow house to protect Rosa, can’t you see how much Don Cayo was hated? Yessir. Pure foolishness, ever since he was in the government they didn’t live together and they didn’t see each other, everybody knew that if they killed Rosa that wouldn’t have hurt Don Cayo, it would have been more like doing him a favor. Because he not only didn’t love her, no sir, he even must have hated her, for having got so ugly, don’t you think?

“You saw how well he received you, ” Colonel Espina said. “You’ve seen what kind of a man the General is. ”

“I’ve got to get my head in order, ” Bermú dez muttered. “It’s like a potful of crickets. ”

“Go get some rest, ” Espina said. “Tomorrow I’ll introduce you to the people in the Ministry and they will bring you up to date on things. But tell me if you’re happy at least. ”

“I don’t know if I’m happy, ” Bermú dez said. “It’s more like being drunk. ”

“All right, I know that’s your way of thanking me. ” Espina laughed.

“I came to Lima with just this satchel, ” Bermú dez said. “I thought it was a matter of a few hours. ”

“Do you need some money? ” Espina asked. “Yes, sure, I’ll lend you some now and tomorrow we’ll get them to give you an advance in the payroll department. ”

“What bad luck happened to you in Pucallpa? ” Santiago asks.

“I’ll find a small hotel in the neighborhood, ” Bermú dez said. “I’ll come by early tomorrow. ”

“For me, for me? ” Don Fermí n asked. “Or did you do it for yourself, in order to have me in your hands, you poor devil? ”

“Someone who thought he was my friend sent me there, ” Ambrosio says. “Get yourself over there, boy. All a story, son, the streets are paved with gold. The biggest roasting of the century. Oh, if I only told you. ”

Espina took him to the office door and shook his hand. Bermú dez left with the satchel in one hand, his hat in the other. He had a distracted and serious look, as if he were looking inside. He didn’t answer the bow or the salute of the officer at the door of the Ministry. Was it quitting time in all the offices? The streets were full of people and noise. He mingled with the crowd, followed the current, he came, went, returned along narrow and jammed sidewalks, dragged along by a kind of whirlwind or spell, stopping at times at a corner or a doorway or a lamppost to light a cigarette. In a café on the Jiró n Azá ngaro he ordered tea with lemon, which he slowly savored, and when he got up he left a tip that was twice the bill. In a bookstore hiding in an alley off the Jiró n de la Unió n, he thumbed through some novels with flashy covers and cramped and tiny letters, looking without seeing, until The Mysteries of Lesbos caught his eyes for a second. He bought it and left. He wandered awhile longer through the downtown streets, the satchel under his arm, his hat crumpled in his hand, smoking ceaselessly. It was already getting dark and the streets were deserted when he went into the Hotel Maury and asked for a room. They gave him a card and he paused with the pen for a few seconds at where it said profession, he finally wrote civil servant. The room was on the third floor, the window opened onto an inner courtyard. He got into the bathtub and went to bed in his underwear. He thumbed through The Mysteries of Lesbos, letting his eyes run blindly over the tight little black figures. Then he turned out the light. But he couldn’t fall asleep until many hours later. Awake, he lay on his back, his body motionless, the cigarette burning between his fingers, breathing with anxiety, his eyes staring at the dark shadows above him.

“SO IN PUCALLPA and that Hilario Morales’ fault, so you know when and why you fucked yourself up, ” Santiago says. “I’d give anything to know at just what moment I fucked myself up. ”

Would she remember, would she bring the book? Summer was ending, it seemed like five o’clock and it wasn’t even two yet, and Santiago thinks: she brought the book, she remembered. He felt euphoric going into the dusty entranceway with flagstones and chipped columns, impatient, he should get in, she should get in, optimistic, and you got in, he thinks, and she got in: ah, Zavalita, how happy you felt.

“You’ve got your health, you’re young, you’ve got a wife, ” Ambrosio says. “How could you have fucked yourself up, son? ”

Alone or in groups, their faces buried in their notes, how many of these would go in? where was Aí da? the candidates walked around the courtyard with the steps of a processional, they reviewed their notes sitting on the splintery benches, leaning against the dirty walls they asked each other questions in low voices. Half-breed boys and girls, proper people didn’t come here. He thinks: you were right, mama.

“Before I left home, before I got into San Marcos, I was pure, ” Santiago says.

He recognized a few faces from the written exam, he exchanged smiles and hellos, but Aí da didn’t appear, and he went to stand by the entrance. He listened to a group reviewing geography, he listened to a boy, motionless, his eyes lowered, reciting the names of the viceroys of Peru as if he were praying.

“The kind of pure tobacco cigars that the moneybags smoke at bullfights? ” Ambrosio laughs.

He saw her come in: the same straight, brick-colored dress, the same low-heeled shoes from the written exam. She came along with her look of a studious schoolgirl in uniform through the crowded entranceway, she turned her overgrown child’s face from one side to the other, no glow, no grace, no makeup, looking for something, someone with her hard adult eyes. Her lips were tight, her masculine mouth open, and he saw her smile: the hard face grew softer, lighted up. He saw her come toward him: hello, Aí da.

“I said to hell with money and I thought I was capable of great things, ” Santiago says. “Pure in that sense. ”

“Melchorita the holy woman lived on Grocio Prado, she gave away everything she had and spent her time praying, ” Ambrosio says. “Did you want to be a saint like her when you were a boy? ”

“I brought you Out of the Night, ” Santiago said. “I hope you like it. ”

“You’ve told me so much about it that I’m dying to read it, ” Aí da said. “Here’s that Frenchman’s novel about the Chinese Revolution. ”

“Jiró n Puno, Calle de Padre Jeró nimo? ” Ambrosio asks. “Do they give away money in that place to broken-down black men like yours truly? ”

“That’s where we took the entrance exams the year I entered San Marcos, ” Santiago says. “I’d been in love with girls from Miraflores, but on Padre Jeró nimo I really fell in love for the first time. ”

“It isn’t much like a novel, it reads more like a history book, ” Aí da said.

“Oho, ” Ambrosio says. “And did she fall in love with you? ”

“Even though this one is an autobiography, it reads like a novel, ” Santiago said. “Wait till you get to the chapter called ‘The Night of the Long Knives, ’ about a revolution in Germany. Fantastic, you’ll see. ”

“About a revolution? ” Aí da thumbed through the book, her eyes and voice full of mistrust now. “But is this Valtin a Communist or an antiCommunist? ”

“I don’t know whether she fell in love with me or not, I don’t even know whether she knew I was in love with her, ” Santiago says. “Sometimes I think she was, sometimes I think she wasn’t. ”

“You didn’t know, she didn’t know, what a mess, do you think that things like that can be ignored, son? ” Ambrosio asks. “Who was the girl? ”

“I warn you that if he’s anti, I’ll give it back to you, ” and Aí da’s soft, timid voice grew challenging. “Because I’m a Communist. ”

“You’re a Communist? ” Santiago looked at her in astonishment. “Are you really a Communist? ”

You still weren’t, he thinks, you wanted to be a Communist. He felt his heart beating strongly and he was amazed: in San Marcos you didn’t study anything, Skinny, they just played politics, it was a nest of Apristas and Communists, all the grumblers in Peru gather together there. He thinks: poor papa. You hadn’t even entered San Marcos, Zavalita, and look what you’d found.

“Actually I am and I’m not, ” Aí da confessed. “Because where can you find any Communists around here? ”