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“Can I ask you a question? ” Aí da said. “Why didn’t you join up? What doubts have you got? ”

“I talked to you about it once, ” Santiago said. “I’m still not convinced about some things. I’d like …”

“Are you still not convinced that God doesn’t exist? ” Aí da laughed.

“Nobody has any right to argue about his decision, ” Jacobo said. “Let him take his own time. ”

“I’m not arguing about it, but I’m going to tell you one thing, ” Aí da said, laughing. “You’re never going to join up, and when you finish at San Marcos you’re going to forget all about the revolution, and you’ll be a lawyer for International Petroleum and a member of the Club Nacional. ”

“You’ve got one consolation, the prophecy wasn’t fulfilled, ” Carlitos said. “You’re not a lawyer and not a member of the Club Nacional, you’re not a proletarian and not a bourgeois, Zavalita. Just a poor little turd somewhere in between. ”

“What ever became of that Jacobo, that Aí da? ” Ambrosio asks.

“They got married, I suppose they have children, I haven’t seen them for years, ” Santiago said. “I learn about Jacobo’s existence when I read in the papers that he’s been arrested or just let out. ”

“You’re still jealous of him, ” Carlitos said. “I’m going to forbid you to bring the matter up with me again, it does you more harm than drinking does to me. Because that’s your addiction, Zavalita: that Jacobo, that Aí da. ”

“That thing in La Prensa this morning was horrible, ” Señ ora Zoila said. “They shouldn’t print stories about atrocities like that. ”

Jealous because of Aí da? Not anymore, he thinks. Because of that other business, Zavalita? He would have to see him, talk with him, find out if that sacrificed life had made him better or worse. He thinks: find out if his conscience is at rest.

“You spend all your time complaining about crime and that’s the first page you read, ” Teté said. “You’re awfully funny, mama. ”

He probably didn’t feel alone, at least, he thinks, but surrounded, accompanied, protected by people. That thing that was a little warm and viscous that he felt during discussions in the group and the cell and the section, he thinks.

“Another child kidnapped and raped by a monster? ” Don Fermí n asked.

“Ever since that day we saw even less of each other than before, ” Santiago said. “Our groups became cells, so we kept on being separated. At the meetings of the section we were surrounded by people. ”

“You’re worse than the newspapers, ” Señ ora Zoila said. “You shouldn’t talk that way in front of Teté. ”

“But how many were there and what the devil were they doing? ” Carlitos asked. “I never heard of Cahuide during Odrí a’s times. ”

“Do you think I’m still ten years old, mama? ” Teté asked.

“I never knew how many there were, ” Santiago said. “But we did some things against Odrí a, at the university, at least. ”

“Isn’t anyone going to tell me what the piece of news that’s so horrible is? ” Don Fermí n asked.

“Did they know at home what you were mixed up in? ” Carlitos asked.

“Selling his children! ” Señ ora Zoila said. “Did you ever hear of anything as horrible? ”

“I tried to avoid seeing them and talking to them, ” Santiago said. “Relations with my folks kept getting worse and worse. ”

Days, weeks without rain in Puno, the drought had destroyed crops, decimated livestock, emptied villages, and there were Indians painted against a backdrop of parched landscapes, Indian women walking across cracked furrows with their children on their backs, dying animals with open eyes, and the titles and subtitles appeared followed by a question mark.

“They have feelings, but most of all they’re hungry, mama, ” Santiago said. “If they sell them it must be so they won’t starve to death. ”

Slave trade between Puno and Juliaca under the effects of the drought?

“What else did you do besides discussing newspaper editorials and reading Marxist books? ” Carlitos asked.

Indian women selling their children to tourists?

“They don’t know what a child is, what a family is, poor simple animals, ” Señ ora Zoila said. “If you don’t have enough to eat, you shouldn’t have children. ”

“We revived the Federated Centers, the University Federation, ” Santiago said. “Jacobo and I were elected delegates from our classes. ”

“I don’t suppose you’re going to blame the government because it hasn’t rained in Puno, ” Don Fermí n said. “Odrí a is trying to help those poor people. The United States has made an important donation. They’re sending them food, clothing. ”

“The elections were a success for the section, ” Santiago said. “Eight Cahuide delegates from Letters, Law and Economics. The Apristas had more, but if we voted together we could control the centers. The non-political people weren’t organized and it was easy for us to split them up. ”

“Don’t tell me again that the gift from the gringos will only line the pockets of the Odrí ists, ” Don Fermí n said. “Odrí a has asked me to head up the commission in charge of distributing the aid. ”

“But every agreement between us and the Apristas came at the price of endless arguments and fights, ” Santiago said. “For a whole year my life was nothing but meetings, at the center, at the section, and secret meetings with the Apristas. ”

“He’ll probably say that you’re stealing too, papa, ” Sparky said. “Superbrain thinks that everyone who’s respectable in Peru is an exploiter and a thief. ”

“Here’s another news item in La Prensa made to order for you, mama, ” Teté said. “Two people died in the Cuzco jail and when they performed an autopsy they found shoelaces and the soles of shoes in their bellies. ”

“Why did you get so bitter over losing the friendship of that pair? ” Carlitos asked. “Didn’t you have any other friends in Cahuide? ”

“Do you think they ate the soles of their shoes because they didn’t know any better, mama? ” Santiago asked.

“The only thing this sassy little boy hasn’t done is call me an imbecile and give me a slap, Fermí n, ” Señ ora Zoila said.

“I was friends with all of them, but it was a functional friendship, ” Santiago said. “We never talked about personal things. With Jacobo and Aí da friendship had become kind of deep. ”

“Don’t you keep saying that the newspapers lie? ” Don Fermí n said. “Why does it have to be a lie every time they talk about government projects and the truth when they publish a horror story like that? ”

“You ruin lunch and dinner for us every time, ” Teté said. “Do you always have to be looking for a fight, Superbrain? ”

“But I’ll tell you one thing, ” Santiago says. “I never regretted going to San Marcos instead of the Catholic University. ”

“Here’s the clipping from La Prensa, ” Aí da said. “Read it so you can vomit. ”

“Because, thanks to San Marcos, I didn’t become a model student, a model son, or a model lawyer, Ambrosio, ” Santiago says.

“The drought has created an explosive situation in the South, ” Aí da said, “an excellent stew for agitators. Keep on reading, you haven’t seen anything yet. ”

“Because you’re closer to reality in a whorehouse than in a convent, Ambrosio, ” Santiago says.

“Garrisons should be alerted, the farmers who suffered damages should be watched closely, ” Aí da said. “They’re worried about the drought because there might be an uprising, not because Indians are dying of hunger. Have you ever seen anything like it? ”

“Because, thanks to San Marcos, I fucked myself up, ” Santiago says. “And in this country a person who doesn’t fuck himself up fucks up other people. I don’t regret it, Ambrosio. ”

“It’s precisely because they’re filthy trash that these newspapers are a great stimulant, ” Jacobo said. “If you feel demoralized, all you have to do is open up any one of them to bring back your hatred for the Peruvian bourgeoisie. ”

“So you might say that with our scatography we’re stimulating eighteen-year-old rebels, ” Carlitos said. “So don’t let your conscience bother you so much, Zavalita. Look, even though it’s indirect, you’re still helping your ex-buddies. ”

“You’re making fun, but it just might be true, ” Santiago said. “Every time I write something that’s repugnant to me, I make the article as disgusting as I can. Suddenly, on the following day a boy reads it and feels like throwing up and, well, something’s happened. ”

On the door was the sign Washington had spoken about. Dust completely covered the crude letters of “Parlor, ” but the picture of the table, the cue, the three billiard balls stood out very clearly and there was also the sound of balls coming from inside: that was it.

“Now it turns out that Odrí a is noble. ” Don Fermí n laughed. “Did you read El Comercio? He’s the descendant of barons, and so forth, and if he wants to, he can claim his title. ”

Santiago pushed open the door and went in: a half-dozen pool tables and, between the green velvet and the naked beams of the ceiling, faces dissolved in waves of smoke; a wire network hung over the table, the players kept count of their points with their cues.

“What did that streetcar workers’ strike have to do with your leaving home? ” Carlitos asked.

He crossed the playing area, then another room with only one table being used, then a courtyard overflowing with garbage cans. In the back, beside a fig tree, there was a small closed door. Two knocks, he waited, then two more, and it opened at once.

“Odrí a doesn’t realize that by allowing that kind of fawning he’s becoming the laughingstock of Lima, ” Señ ora Zoila said. “If he’s noble, what can we be, then? ”

“The Apristas haven’t got here yet, ” Hé ctor said. “Come in, the comrades are here already. ”

“Up till then our work had been on the student level, ” Santiago said. “Collections for students in jail, discussions at the centers, the distribution of fliers, and Cahuide leaflets. That streetcar strike let us go on to greater things. ”

He went in and Hé ctor closed the door. The room was older and dirtier than the ones used for billiards. Four pool tables had been pushed up against the wall to make more space. The delegates from Cahuide were spread about the room.

“What fault is it of Odrí a’s if someone writes an article saying that he’s noble? ” Don Fermí n asked. “Sharp people will think of anything to make a little money. Even invent family trees! ”

Washington and Half-breed Martí nez were standing and talking near the door, Soló rzano was sitting on a table looking through a magazine, Aí da and Jacobo had almost disappeared into the shadows of a corner, The Bird had made herself comfortable on the floor, and Hé ctor was peeping into the courtyard through the cracks in the door.

“The streetcar workers’ strike wasn’t political, but for a pay raise, ” Santiago said. “The union sent a letter to the San Marcos Federation asking for the students’ support. In the section we thought it was our great opportunity. ”

“The Apristas were told to come one at a time, but they don’t give a damn about security, ” Washington said. “They’ll come in a gang the way they always do. ”

“Then call that fellow up and have him check our titles too, ” Señ ora Zoila said. “Odrí a noble, that’s all we needed. ”

They arrived a few minutes later, in a group, just as Washington had feared, five of the twenty-odd Aprista delegates: Santos Vivero, Aré valo, Ochoa, Huamá n and Saldí var. They mixed in with the Cahuide people, without taking a vote it was decided that Saldí var would run the meeting. His thin face, his bony hands, his graying hair gave him a responsible look. As always, before starting, they swapped jokes, sarcastic remarks.

“In the section we agreed to try to have a strike at San Marcos in support of the streetcar workers, ” Santiago said.

“I can see now why you’re so worried about security, ” Santos Vivero told Washington. “Because you’re all the redtails left in the country and if the cops come and arrest us, Communism will disappear in Peru. The five of us, on the other hand, are just one drop in the broad sea of Peruvian Aprismo. ”

“Anyone who falls into it won’t drown in water but in a sea of bourgeois snobs, ” Washington said.

Hé ctor had remained at his observation post by the door; they were all speaking in low voices, there was a continuous murmur, a fluffy sound, and suddenly a laugh would arise, an exclamation.

“The delegates from the section couldn’t decide a strike, we only had eight votes in the Federation, ” Santiago said. “But with the Apristas we could. We had a meeting with them in a pool parlor. It started there, Carlitos. ”

“I doubt that these guys will support the strike, ” Aí da whispered to Santiago. “They’re divided. Everything depends on Santos Vivero, if he agrees the rest will follow him. Like sheep, you know, whatever the boss says is fine. ”

“It was the first big argument in Cahuide, ” Santiago said. “I was against the sympathy strike; the one who headed those in favor was Jacobo. ”

“All right, companions. ” Saldí var clapped his hands twice. “Come closer, we’re going to begin. ”

“It wasn’t just to go against Jacobo, ” Santiago said. “I didn’t think we would get the support of the students, I thought it would be a failure. But I was in the minority and the idea carried. ”

“Companions must apply to you people. ” Washington laughed. “We’re all in the same place, but don’t get us mixed up, Saldí var. ”

“Those meetings with the Apristas were like friendly soccer matches, ” Santiago said. “They began with embraces and sometimes ended up with punches. ”

“All right, companions and comrades, then, ” Saldí var said. “Come closer or I’m going to the movies. ”

A circle was formed around him, the laughs and murmurs died out. Adopting a sudden funereal gravity, Saldí var summed up the reasons for the meeting: tonight at the Federation they would discuss the petition for support of the streetcar workers, companions, to decide if we could bring off a motion together, comrades. Jacobo raised his hand.

“In the section we would rehearse those meetings like a ballet, ” Santiago said. “Taking turns, each one developing a different argument, always knocking any contrary opinion down. ”

His tie was hanging loose, his hair was uncombed, he was speaking in a low voice: the strike was a magnificent occasion to take over the students’ awareness. His hands hanging beside his body: to develop the student-worker alliance. Looking at Saldí var very seriously: to initiate a movement that could be extended to demands like the freeing of imprisoned students and political amnesty. He stopped speaking and Huamá n raised his hand.

“I’d been against the idea of a strike for the same reasons as those expressed by Huamá n, an Aprista, ” Santiago said. “But since the section had agreed on a strike, it was up to me to defend it against Huamá n. That’s called democratic centralism, Carlitos. ”

Huamá n was small and mannered, it had taken us three years to rebuild the centers and the Federation of San Marcos after the repression, his gestures were elegant, how could we start a strike for reasons that lay outside the university which might be rejected by our power base? and he spoke with one hand on his lapel and the other fluttering about like a butterfly, if the base rejected the strike we would lose the confidence of the students, and his voice was artificial, florid, shrill at times, and furthermore, repression would come and the centers and the Federation would be dismantled before they’d been able to operate.

“I know Party discipline has to be like that, ” Santiago said. “I know that if it wasn’t there’d be chaos. I’m not defending myself, Carlitos. ”

“Don’t get bogged down in details, Ochoa, ” Saldí var said. “Stick to the point under discussion. ”

“Exactly, precisely, ” Ochoa said. “I ask: is the Federation of San Marcos strong enough to make a frontal action against the dictatorship? ”

“Say what you’ve got to say, we haven’t got much time, ” Hé ctor said.

“And if it isn’t strong enough and goes on strike, ” Ochoa said, “what will the attitude of the Federation be? That’s my question. ”

“Why don’t you get a job running the Kolynos program, ‘The Twenty Thousand Soles Question’? ” Washington asked.

“Would it or wouldn’t it be an act of provocation? ” Ochoa said imperturbably. “I ask a question and I give a constructive answer: yes, it would be. What? A provocation. ”

“It was in the middle of those meetings that all of a sudden I felt I’d never be a revolutionary, a real militant, ” Santiago said. “All of a sudden, anguish, nausea, a feeling of a horrible waste of time. ”

“The young romantic didn’t want discussions, ” Carlitos said. “He wanted epic actions, bombs, shooting, attacks on a military post. All stuff out of novels, Zavalita. ”

“I know it bothers you having to speak in defense of the strike, ” Aí da said. “But you’ve got one consolation, all the Apristas are against it. And without them the Federation will reject our motion. ”

“They should have invented a pill, a suppository to work against doubts, Ambrosio, ” Santiago says. “Just think how beautiful, you stick it in and there you are: I believe. ”

He raised his hand and he began to speak before Saldí var recognized him: the strike would consolidate the centers, it would fire up the delegates, the student base would give their support because hadn’t they shown their support for them by electing them? He kept his hands in his pockets and dug in his nails.

“Just the same as when I made the examination of my conscience on Thursdays before confession, ” Santiago said. “Had I dreamed about nude women because I’d wanted to dream about them or because the devil had wanted it and I couldn’t stop him? Were they there in the dark as intruders or as invited guests? ”

“You’re wrong, you did have the making of a militant, ” Carlitos said. “If I had to defend ideas that were contrary to my own, all that would come out would be brays, grunts or peeps. ”

“What are you doing on La Cró nica? ” Santiago asked. “What are we doing each one of these days, Carlitos? ”

Santos Vivero raised his hand, he’d listened to the speeches with an expression of soft uneasiness, and before he spoke, he closed his eyes and coughed as if he still had his doubts.

“The omelet was flipped at the last minute, ” Santiago said. “It looked as if the Apristas were against it, that there wouldn’t be any strike. Maybe everything would have been different, then, I wouldn’t have gone to work at La Cró nica, Carlitos. ”

He thought, companions and comrades, that the fundamental thing at this time was not the struggle for university reform, but the struggle against the dictatorship. And an effective way of fighting for civil liberties, the release of prisoners, the return of exiles, the legalization of parties was, companions and comrades, by forging the worker-student alliance, or, as a great philosopher had said, the one between manual and mental workers.

“If you quote Haya de la Torre again, I’ll read you the Communist Manifesto, ” Washington said. “I’ve got it right here. ”

“You’re like an old whore thinking back about her youth, Zavalita, ” Carlitos said. “We’re different that way too. What happened to me as a boy has been erased for me and I’m sure that the most important thing is going to happen to me tomorrow. You seem to have stopped living when you were eighteen years old. ”

“Don’t interrupt him, he might change his mind, ” Hé ctor whispered. “Can’t you see he’s in favor of the strike? ”

Yes, it could be a good opportunity because the companions on the streetcars were showing courage and fight, and their union wasn’t full of yellow dogs. The delegates shouldn’t follow their electorate blindly, they should show them the direction: wake them up, companions and comrades, push them into action.

“After Santos Vivero, the Apristas began to talk again and we talked again, ” Santiago said. “We left the pool parlor in agreement and that night the Federation approved an indefinite strike of sympathy with the streetcar workers. I was arrested exactly ten days later, Carlitos. ”

“Your baptism of fire, ” Carlitos said. “Or rather, your death certificate, Zavalita. ”

“MAYBE IT WOULD HAVE BEEN BETTER if you’d stayed at the house, not gone to Pucallpa, ” Santiago says.

“Yes, a lot better, ” Ambrosio says. “But who could have known, son. ”

See how pretty he talks, Trifulcio shouted. There was scattered applause in the square, horn-blowing, a few hurrahs. From the steps of the platform Trifulcio saw the crowd curling like the surface of the sea in a rainstorm. His hands were smarting, but he kept on clapping.

“First, who sent you to shout Long live APRA by the Colombian Embassy? ” Ludovico asked. “Second, who are your buddies? And third, where are your buddies? Out with it, Trinidad Ló pez. ”

“And, while we’re on it, ” Santiago says, “why did you leave the house? ”

“Take a seat, Landa, we stood long enough during the Te Deum, ” Don Fermí n said. “Take a seat, Don Emilio. ”

“I was getting tired of working for other people, ” Ambrosio says. “I wanted to try it on my own, son. ”

Sometimes he shouted Long live Don Emilio Aré valo, sometimes Long live General Odrí a, sometimes Aré valo-Odrí a. From the platform they made signs to him saying don’t interrupt while he’s speaking, cursing under their breath, but Trifulcio didn’t obey: he was the first to start clapping, the last to stop.

“I feel like a hanged man in this stiff shirt, ” Senator Landa said. “I wasn’t meant to wear full dress. I’m just a country boy, what the hell. ”

“Come on, Trinidad Ló pez, ” Hipó lito said. “Who sent you, who are they, and where are they. Out with it. ”

“I thought my old man had fired you, ” Santiago says.

“Now I know why you didn’t accept Odrí a’s offer of the senate seat from Lima, Fermí n, ” Senator Aré valo said. “So you wouldn’t have to wear a full dress suit and a high hat. ”

“What an idea, just the opposite, ” Ambrosio says. “He asked me to stay on with him and I refused. See how wrong you’ve been, son? ”

Sometimes he would go to the railing of the platform, face the crowd with his hands in the air, three cheers for Emilio Aré valo! and he himself would roar hurrah! three cheers for General Odrí a! and in a stentorian voice, hip, hip, hurrah!

“Parliament is fine for people who have nothing to do, ” Don Fermí n said. “For you people, landowners. ”

“I’m all excited now, Trinidad Ló pez, ” Hipó lito said. “Now I really am excited, Trinidad. ”

“I only got into this mess because the President insisted that I head up the ticket in Chiclayo, ” Senator Landa said. “But I’m sorry already. I won’t be able to look after Olave. This goddamned stiff shirt. ”

“How did you find out that the old man died? ” Santiago asks.

“Stop your fooling, the senate seat has made you ten years younger, ” Don Fermí n said. “And you’ve got no reason to complain, in elections like these a person is glad to be a candidate. ”

“In the newspapers, son, ” Ambrosio says. “You can’t imagine how sorry I was. Because your papa was a great man. ”

The square was boiling with songs, murmuring and shouts now. But when the voice of Don Emilio Aré valo came out through the microphone, it turned off the noise: it fell onto the square from the roof of the City Hall, the belfry, the palm trees, the park in the middle. Trifulcio had even set up a loudspeaker on the Hermitage of the Holy Woman.

“Hold it right there, the election may have been easy for Landa, who ran unopposed, ” Senator Aré valo said, “but in my district there were two slates and it cost me half a million soles to win, which is no joke. ”

“You see, Hipó lito got excited and he whacked you, ” Ludovico said. “Who was it, who are they, where. Before Hipó lito gets excited again, Trinidad. ”

“It’s not my fault that the other slate in Chiclayo had Aprista signatures on its petitions. ” Senator Landa laughed. “The Electoral Court turned it down, I didn’t. ”

What happened to the banners? Trifulcio said suddenly, his eyes full of surprise. He had his pinned to his shirt like a flower. He pulled it off with one hand, showed it to the crowd with a challenging gesture. A few banners here and there rose up over the straw hats and the paper hats many had made to protect themselves from the sun. Where were the others, what did they think they were for, why didn’t they bring them out? Quiet, boy, the man who gave the orders said, everything’s working out fine. And Trifulcio: they took their drinks, but they forgot about the banners, sir. And the man who gave the orders: leave them alone, everything’s fine. And Trifulcio: it’s just that the ungrateful bastards make me mad, sir.

“What did your papa die of, son? ” Ambrosio asks.

“This election hurly-burly may have made Landa younger, but it’s turned my hair gray, ” Senator Aré valo said. “I’ve had enough elections for a while. I’m going to get laid five times tonight. ”

“A heart attack, ” Santiago says. “Or from the rages I made him have. ”

“Five? ” Senator Landa laughed. “You won’t have any ass left, Emilio. ”

“And now Hipó lito’s got all aroused, ” Ludovico said. “Oh, mama, now you’re really going to get it, Trinidad. ”

“Don’t say that, child, ” Ambrosio says. “Don Fermí n loved you so much. He always said Skinny’s the one I love the best. ”

Solemn, martial, Don Emilio Aré valo’s voice floated over the square, went down the unpaved streets, was lost in the planted fields. He was in shirtsleeves, waving his arms, and his ring flashed beside Trifulcio’s face. He raised his voice, had he become angry? He looked at the crowd: quiet faces, eyes reddened with alcohol, boredom, or heat, mouths smoking or yawning. Had he become angry because they weren’t listening?

“You’ve become infected from rubbing elbows with the rabble so much during the campaign, ” Senator Aré valo said. “I hope you won’t make jokes like that when you speak in the senate, Landa. ”

“So much that he went through hell when you ran away from home, son, ” Ambrosio says.

“Well, the gringo gave me his complaints, this is what they were all about, ” Don Fermí n said. “The elections are over, it makes a bad impression on his government to have the opposition candidate still in jail. Those gringos believe in formalities, you understand. ”

“Every day he went to your Uncle Clodomiro’s and asked about you, ” Ambrosio says. “What do you hear from Skinny, how’s Skinny? ”

But suddenly Don Emilio stopped shouting and smiled and spoke as if he was happy. He smiled, his voice was soft, he was moving his hand, he looked as if he were holding a muleta and the bull had passed by, brushing his body. The people on the platform were smiling, and Trifulcio, relieved, smiled too.

“There’s no longer any reason to keep him in jail, they’re going to release him any day now, ” Senator Aré valo said. “Didn’t you tell that to the Ambassador, Fermí n? ”

“What do you know, you’ve started talking, ” Ludovico said. “Or maybe you’d rather have Hipó lito petting you than hitting you. What do you say, Trinidad? ”

“And to the boardinghouse in Barranco where you were living, ” Ambrosio says. “And asking the landlady what’s my son doing, how’s my son. ”

“I don’t understand those shitty gringos, ” Senator Landa said. “It seemed fine to them for Montagne to be put in jail before the elections, but now it doesn’t. They send us circus people for ambassadors, those people. ”

“He used to go to the boardinghouse and ask about me? ” Santiago asks.

“I told him that, of course, but last night I spoke to Espina and he has his doubts, ” Don Fermí n said. “We have to wait, if Montagne is let out now people might think he was put in jail so that Odrí a could win the elections without any opposition, that the business of the plot was all a lie. ”