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“We don’t give any instructions, ” he said, interested in the patterns the smoke was making, the white dots on Tallio’s necktie. “We only suggest in a friendly way, and very rarely, that news items displeasing to the country not be published. ”

“Yes, of course, of course I know that, Mr. Bermú dez. ” Now I’ve got him just right for you, Robertito. “I’ve always followed Dr. Alcibí ades’ suggestions to the letter. But this time there wasn’t any indication, no suggestion. I beg of you …”

“The government hasn’t wanted to set up an official censorship system so as not to hurt the agencies, for just that reason, ” he said.

“If you don’t call Dr. Alcibí ades this will never be cleared up, Mr. Bermú dez. ” Your jar of vaseline and forward, Robertito. “Have him explain to you, have him explain to me. Please, sir. I don’t understand any of this, Mr. Bermú dez. ”

“Let me order, ” Carlitos said, and to the waiter: “Two German beers, the kind that comes in cans. ”

He had leaned against the wall that was papered with covers from The New Yorker. The reflector was lighting up his curly hair, his wide eyes, his face darkened by a two-day beard, his reddish nose, of a rummy, he thinks, a person with a cold.

“Is that beer expensive? ” Santiago asked. “I’m a little tight on cash. ”

“I’m treating, I just got an advance out of those bastards, ” Carlitos said. “By coming here tonight with me, your reputation as a proper little boy is dead, Zavalita. ”

The covers were brilliant, humorous, multicolored. Most of the tables were empty, but on the other side of the grill work that divided the two parts of the place there were murmurs; at the bar a man in shirtsleeves was drinking a beer. Someone hidden in the darkness was playing the piano.

“I’ve left whole pay checks behind me here, ” Carlitos said. “I feel at home in this den. ”

“It’s my first time at the Negro-Negro, ” Santiago said. “A lot of artists and writers come here, don’t they? ”

“Shipwrecked artists and writers, ” Carlitos said. “When I was a young squirt I used to come in here like a religious old biddy into church. From that corner I used to spy, listen in, when I recognized a writer my heart would swell up. I wanted to be close to the geniuses, I wanted to be infected by them. ”

“I knew you were a writer too, ” Santiago said. “That you’ve published poetry. ”

“I was going to be a writer, I was going to publish poetry, ” Carlitos said. “Then I joined La Cró nica and switched vocations. ”

“Do you like journalism better than literature? ” Santiago asked.

“I like drinking best. ” Carlitos laughed. “Journalism isn’t a vocation, it’s a frustration, you’ll find out soon enough. ”

He shrugged, sketches and caricatures and titles in English where his head had been, and there was the grimace that twisted his face, Zavalita, his clenched fists. He touched his arm: didn’t he feel well? Carlitos straightened up, leaned his head against the wall.

“Probably my ulcer again. ” Now he had a crow-man on one shoulder and a skyscraper on the other. “Probably the lack of alcohol. Because even though I may seem drunk, I haven’t had anything all day. ”

The only one you have left and in the hospital with the d. t. ’s, Zavalita. You’d go see him tomorrow without fail, Carlitos, you’d take him a book.

“I’d come in here and feel I was in Paris, ” Carlitos said. “I thought, I’ll get to Paris someday, and boom, a genius, as if by magic. But I never got there, Zavalita, and here I am with stomach cramps of a pregnant woman. What were you going to be when you were cast away on La Cró nica? ”

“A lawyer, ” Santiago said. “No, a revolutionary, I mean a Communist. ”

“Communist and journalist rhyme at least, but poet and journalist, on the other hand, ” Carlitos said, and, starting to laugh: “A Communist? They fired me from a job for being a Communist. If it hadn’t been for that I wouldn’t have got on the paper and I’d probably be writing poetry. ”

“Do you know what the d. t. ’s are? ” Santiago asks. “When you don’t want to know something, nobody will ever get ahead of you, Ambrosio. ”

“What in hell would I be doing being a Communist, ” Carlitos said. “That’s the funniest part of it, the truth is I never did find out why they fired me. But they screwed me, and here I am, a drunk with ulcers. Cheers, proper little boy, cheers, Zavalita. ”

Miss Queta was the mistress’s best friend, the one who came the most to the little house in San Miguel, the one who never missed parties. Tall, long-legged, red hair, dyed, Carlota used to say, cinnamon-colored skin, a body that attracted more attention than Señ ora Hortensia’s, her clothes too, and her way of talking and her antics when she was drinking. She was the liveliest one at the parties, a daredevil for dancing, she really did put herself at the service of the guests, she never stopped provoking them. She would sneak up behind them, muss their hair, pull their ears, sit them down on her knees, a bold one. But she was the one who livened up the night with her madness. The first time she saw Amalia she stood looking at her with a very strange smile, and she examined her and looked at her and was thinking and Amalia what’s the matter with her, what’s wrong with me. So you’re the famous Amalia, I’ve finally met you. Famous for what, ma’am? The one who steals hearts, who destroys men, Miss Queta was laughing, Amalia the passion flower. Crazy but so nice. When she wasn’t playing tricks on the phone with the mistress, she was telling jokes. She would come in with a perverse joy in her eyes, I’ve got a thousand new stories, kid, and from the kitchen Amalia would hear her carrying on, gossiping, making fun of everybody. She also played tricks on Carlota and Amalia which left them mute and with their faces burning. But she was very good, whenever she sent them to the Chinaman’s to buy something she would give them one or two soles. On one day off she had Amalia get into her little white car and she drove her to the streetcar stop.

“Alcibí ades telephoned your office in person asking that that piece of news not be sent to the newspapers. ” He sighed, barely smiling. “I wouldn’t have bothered you if I hadn’t already looked into it, Mr. Tallio. ”

“But it can’t be. ” His ruddy face devastated by his upset, his tongue suddenly thick. “My office, Mr. Bermú dez? But my secretary gives me all the … Dr. Alcibí ades in person? I don’t understand how …”

“They didn’t give you the message? ” he helped him, without sarcasm. “Well, I imagine something like that. Alcibí ades spoke to one of the editors, I think. ”

“One of the editors? ” Not a trace of the smiling aplomb, the exuberance of before. “But it can’t be, Mr. Bermú dez. I’m all mixed up, I’m terribly sorry. Do you know which editor, sir? I’ve only got two, and well, all I can say is that I can assure you it won’t happen again. ”

“I was surprised because we’ve always had good relations with Ansa, ” he said. “National Radio and the Information Service buy your complete bulletins. That costs the government money, as you well know. ”

“Of course, Mr. Bermú dez. ” So get mad now and sing your aria, opera singer. “Can I use your phone? I’m going to find out right now who got Dr. Alcibí ades’ message. This is going to be cleared up right now, Mr. Bermú dez. ”

“Sit down, don’t worry about it. ” He smiled at him and offered him a cigarette, lighted it for him. “We have enemies everywhere, there must be someone who doesn’t like us in your office. You can investigate later, Mr. Tallio. ”

“But those two editors are a couple of boys who …” Grieved, with a tragicomic expression. “Well, I’m going to clear this up today. I’m going to ask that in the future Dr. Alcibí ades always communicate with me personally. ”

“Yes, that would be the best thing, ” he said; he reflected, observing as if by chance the clippings that were dancing in Tallio’s hands. “The sad part is that it’s created a bit of a problem for me. The President, the Minister are going to ask me why we buy bulletins from an agency that gives us headaches. And since I’m the one responsible for the contract with Ansa, you can imagine. ”

“That’s precisely why I’m bothered, Mr. Bermú dez. ” And that’s so true, you probably wish you were miles away from here. “The person who spoke to the doctor will be fired today, sir. ”

“Because things like this are bad for the government, ” he said, as if thinking aloud and with melancholy. “Enemies take advantage when a piece of news like that appears in the press that way. They already give us enough problems. It isn’t right for friends to give us problems too, don’t you think? ”

“It won’t happen again, Mr. Bermú dez. ” He had taken out a pale blue handkerchief, was drying his hands furiously. “Of that you can be sure. You can be sure of that, Mr. Bermú dez. ”

“I admire the dregs of humanity. ” Carlitos doubled over again as if he’d been punched in the stomach. “The police beat has corrupted me, as you can see. ”

“Don’t have any more to drink, ” Santiago said. “We’d better go. ”

But Carlitos had sat up straight again and was smiling.

“With the second beer the jabs disappear and I feel great, you still don’t know me. This is the first time we’ve had a drink together, isn’t it? ” Yes, Carlitos, he thinks, it was the first time. “You’re so serious, Zavalita, you finish work and you take off. You never come to have a drink with us castaways. Are you afraid we’ll corrupt you? ”

“I can just get by on my salary, ” Santiago said. “If I went to brothels with you people, I wouldn’t be able to pay my rent. ”

“Do you live by yourself? ” Carlitos asked. “I thought you were a good family boy. Haven’t you got any relatives? And how old are you? You’re just a kid, aren’t you? ”

“A lot of questions all at the same time, ” Santiago said. “I have a family, yes, but I live alone. Listen, how can you people get drunk and go to whorehouses with the money you make? I can’t understand it. ”

“A professional secret, ” Carlitos said. “The art of living in debt, dodging creditors. And why don’t you go to whorehouses, have you got a woman? ”

“Are you going to ask me if I jerk off too? ” Santiago said.

“If you haven’t got one and you don’t go to whorehouses, I imagine you must jerk off, ” Carlitos said. “Unless you’re a fag. ”

He doubled over again and when he straightened up his face was all twisted. He leaned his curly head against the magazine covers, kept his eyes closed for a moment, then dug into his pockets, took out something that he put to his nose and breathed in deeply. He stayed with his head back like that, his mouth half open, with an expression of peaceful drunkenness. He opened his eyes, looked mockingly at Santiago.

“To put the daggers in my belly to sleep. Don’t look surprised, I’m not proselytizing. ”

“Are you trying to surprise me? ” Santiago asked. “You’re wasting your time. A drunk, an addict, I knew it all the time, everybody on the paper told me. I don’t pass judgment on people over things like that. ”

Carlitos smiled affectionately at him and offered him a cigarette.

“I had a bad impression of you because I’d heard you’d been hired on somebody’s recommendation and because you didn’t hang around with us. But I was wrong. I like you, Zavalita. ”

He was speaking slowly and on his face there was a growing ease and his gestures were becoming more and more ceremonious and slow.

“I sniffed coke once, but it made me sick. ” It was a lie, Carlitos. “I vomited and my stomach got all upset. ”

“You still haven’t turned bitter and you’ve already been on La Cró nica for three months, right? ” Carlitos was saying with absorption, as if he were praying.

“Three months and a half, ” Santiago said. “I just finished the trial period. They gave me a contract on Monday. ”

“I feel sorry for you, ” Carlitos said. “Now you’ve got your whole life ahead of you as a newspaperman. Listen, come closer so nobody can hear. I’m going to tell you a big secret. Poetry is the greatest thing there is, Zavalita. ”

That time Miss Queta arrived at the little house in San Miguel at noon. She blew in like a storm, as she passed she pinched Amalia’s cheek when she opened the door for her and Amalia thought high as a kite. Señ ora Hortensia appeared at the top of the stairs and Miss Queta threw her a kiss: I’ve come to rest awhile, girl, old Ivonne’s been looking for me and I’m dead from lack of sleep. How popular you’ve become, the mistress laughed, come on up, girl. They went into the bedroom and a while later a shout from the mistress, bring us some cold beer. Amalia went up with the tray and from the door she saw Miss Queta collapsed on the bed with just her slip on. Her dress and shoes and stockings were on the floor, and she was singing, laughing and talking to herself. It was as if the mistress had been infected by Miss Queta, because even though she hadn’t had anything to drink in the morning, she too was laughing, singing and joking with Miss Queta from the stool by the dressing table. Miss Queta pounded the pillow, did gymnastics, her red hair covering her face, in the mirrors her long legs looked like those of an enormous centipede. She saw the tray and sat down, oh, she was so thirsty, she drank half her glass in one swallow, oh, how delicious. And suddenly she grabbed Amalia by the wrist, come here come here, looking at her with such deviltry, don’t leave me. Amalia looked at the mistress, but she was looking at Miss Queta roguishly, as if thinking what are you going to do, and then she laughed too. Listen, you find good ones, girl, and Miss Queta pretended to threaten the mistress, you’ve been cheating on me with this one, haven’t you? and the mistress let out one of her laughs: yes, I’ve been cheating on you with her. But you don’t know who this little innocent has been cheating on you with, Miss Queta was laughing. Amalia’s ears began to buzz, Miss Queta shook her arm and began to sing, an eye for an eye, girl, a tooth for a tooth, and she looked at Amalia and as a joke or seriously? tell me Amalia, in the morning after the master leaves do you come to console this girl? Amalia didn’t know whether to be annoyed or to laugh. Sometimes yes, then she stammered and she must have said something funny. Oh, you devil, Miss Queta exploded, looking at the mistress and the mistress, dying with laughter, I’ll loan her to you, but take good care of her for me, and Miss Queta gave Amalia a push and made her sit on the bed. It was good that the mistress got up, ran over and, laughing, struggled with Miss Queta until she let her go: go on, get out of here, Amalia, this nut is going to corrupt you. Amalia left the room, pursued by the laughter of both of them, and went down the stairs laughing, but her legs were trembling and when she went into the kitchen she was serious and furious. Sí mula was scrubbing the washbasin, humming: what’s the matter. And Amalia: nothing, they’re drunk and they were trying to embarrass me.

“It’s a shame this had to happen just now when the contract with Ansa is about to run out. ” Through the waves of smoke he was looking for Tallio’s eyes. “You can imagine how hard it’s going to be for me to convince the Minister that we should renew it. ”

“I’ll talk to him, I’ll explain it to him. ” There they were: clear, disconsolate, alarmed. “I was just about to talk to you about renewing the contract. And now, with this absurd mixup. I’ll explain everything to the Minister, Mr. Bermú dez. ”

“It would be better not to deal with him until he gets over his anger. ” He smiled and got up suddenly. “In any case, I’ll try to straighten things out. ”

The color came back to the milky face, hope, loquacity, he walked beside him to the door, almost dancing.

“The editor who talked to Dr. Alcibí ades is out of the agency as of today. ” He smiled, sweetening his voice, sparkling. “You know that the renewal of the contract means life or death for Ansa. I don’t know how to thank you, Mr. Bermú dez. ”

“It ends next week, doesn’t it? Well, make arrangements with Alcibí ades. I’ll try to get the Minister’s signature as soon as possible. ”

He reached a hand toward the doorknob but didn’t open it. Tallio hesitated, he’d begun to blush again. He was waiting, without taking his eyes off him, for him to get up his courage and say something.

“Regarding the contract, Mr. Bermú dez. ” You seem to be swallowing the shit, you eunuch. “Under the same conditions as last year. I’m referring to, I mean …”

“My services? ” he said, and saw the uneasiness, the discomfort, Tallio’s difficult smile; he scratched his chin and added modestly: “This time it’s not going to cost you ten, it’s going to cost you twenty percent, friend Tallio. ”

He saw him open his mouth a little, wrinkle and unwrinkle his forehead in a second; he saw that he’d stopped smiling and was nodding with his look suddenly far off.

“A check made out to cash drawn on a New York bank; bring it to me personally next Monday. ” You were making calculations, Caruso. “You know that the paper work in the Ministry takes a while. Let’s see if we can get it through in a couple of weeks. ”

He opened the door, but when Tallio made a gesture of anguish, he closed it. He waited, smiling.

“Very good, it will be wonderful if it can be done in a couple of weeks, Mr. Bermú dez. ” His voice had grown hoarse, he was sad. “As far as, that is, don’t you think that twenty percent is a little steep? ”

“Steep? ” He opened his eyes a little as if he didn’t understand, but he recovered immediately, with a friendly gesture. “Let’s say no more. Forget about the whole thing. Now you have to excuse me, I have a lot of things to do. ”

He opened the door, the chatter of typewriters, Alcibí ades’ silhouette in the background, at his desk.

“No problem at all, everything’s agreed on, ” Tallio blurted, waving his arms in desperation. “No problem at all, Mr. Bermú dez. Monday at ten o’clock, is that all right? ”

“Fine, ” he said, almost pushing him. “Until Monday, then. ”

He closed the door and immediately stopped smiling. He went to the desk, sat down, took the little vial from the right drawer, filled his mouth with saliva before he put the pill on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed, kept his eyes closed for a moment, his hands flattening out the blotter. A moment later Alcibí ades came in.

“The Italian’s all upset, Don Cayo. I hope that editor was there at the agency at eleven o’clock. I told him that was when I called. ”

“He’s going to fire him in any case, ” he said. “It’s not right for a fellow who signs manifestoes to work at a news agency. Did you give my message to the Minister? ”

“He expects you at three, Don Cayo, ” Dr. Alcibí ades said.

“All right, tell Major Paredes I’m coming by to see him, doctor. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes. ”

“I came to La Cró nica without any enthusiasm, just because I had to make some money, ” Santiago said. “But now I think that out of all the possible jobs, it may be the least bad of the lot. ”

“Three and a half months and you haven’t been disillusioned? ” Carlitos asked. “That’s enough to put you in a cage and show you off at the circus, Zavalita. ”

No, you hadn’t been disillusioned, Zavalita: the new Ambassador from Brazil Dr. Hernando de Magalhã es presented his credentials this morning, I am optimistic about the future of tourism in the country the Director of Tourism declared last night at a press conference, the Entre Nous Society celebrated another anniversary with a well-attended and select reception. But you liked that garbage, Zavalita, you sat down at your typewriter and you were happy. No more of that careful detail with which you wrote short articles, he thinks, that fierce conviction with which you corrected, tore up and rewrote the pages before you took them to Arispe.

“How long did it take you to become disillusioned with journalism? ” Santiago asked.

Those little articles and pygmy boxes that you’d look for anxiously the next morning in the copy of La Cró nica you bought at the newsstand next to the boardinghouse in Barranco. That you would show with pride to Señ ora Lucí a: I wrote that, ma’am.

“A week after I came to La Cró nica, ” Carlitos said. “At the agency I wasn’t in journalism, I was more of a typist. I had a schedule that went straight through without any breaks, by two o’clock I was off and I could spend my afternoons reading and my nights writing. If they hadn’t fired me, literature wouldn’t have lost a great poet, Zavalita. ”

You were due at five, but you got to the editorial room much earlier, and from three-thirty on you were already watching the clock in the boardinghouse, impatient to go get on the streetcar, would they give you an outside assignment today? a reporting job? an interview? to arrive and sit down at your desk waiting for Arispe to call you: put this information into ten lines, Zavalita. Never again such enthusiasm, he thinks, the desire to do things, I’ll get myself a scoop and they’ll congratulate me, never again such plans, they’ll move me up. What went wrong, he thinks. He thinks: when, why.

“I never knew why, one morning that fag queen came into the agency and told me you’ve been sabotaging the service, you Communist, ” and Carlitos laughed in slow motion. “Are you serious? ”

“Quite serious, God damn you, ” Tallio said. “Do you know how much your sabotage is going to cost me? ”

“It’s going to cost you your mother’s name if you curse me or raise your voice to me again, ” Carlitos said, happy all over. “I didn’t even get any severance pay. And then and there I came to La Cró nica and then and there I found the tomb of poetry, Zavalita. ”

“Why didn’t you quit journalism? ” Santiago asked. “You could have found a different kind of job. ”

“You get in and you can’t get out, it’s quicksand, ” Carlitos said, as if going away or falling asleep. “You keep on sinking, sinking. You hate it, you can’t free yourself. You hate it and suddenly you’re ready for anything just to get a scoop. Staying up all night, getting into incredible places. It’s an addiction, Zavalita. ”

“I’ve had it up to here, but they’re not going to put a lid on me, you know why? ” Santiago says. “Because I’m going to finish my law degree one way or another, Ambrosio. ”

“I didn’t pick the police beat, it so happened that Arispe couldn’t stand me on local news anymore or Maldonado on cables either, ” Carlitos was saying, far, far away. “Only Becerrita could stand to have me working for him. The police beat, the worst of the worst. Just what I like. The dregs, my element, Zavalita. ”

Then he was silent and sat motionless and smiling, looking into space. When Santiago called the waiter, he woke up and paid the check. They went out and Santiago had to hold his arm because he was bumping into tables and walls. The arcade was empty, a pale blue strip of sky was creeping in over the rooftops of the Plaza San Martí n.

“It’s strange that Norwin didn’t come by, ” Carlitos was reciting in a kind of quiet tenderness. “One of the best of the castaways, a magnificent part of the dregs. I’ll introduce you to him someday, Zavalita. ”

He was staggering, leaning against one of the columns of the arcade, his face dirty with a growth of beard, his nose igneous, his eyes tragically happy. Tomorrow without fail, Carlitos.

SHE WAS COMING BACK from the drugstore with two rolls of toilet paper when she came face to face with Ambrosio at the service entrance. Don’t look so serious, he said, I haven’t come to see you. And she: why should you be coming to see me, there’s nothing between us. Didn’t you see the car? Ambrosio asked, Don Fermí n’s up there with Don Cayo. Don Fermí n, Don Cayo? Amalia asked. Yes, why was she surprised. She didn’t know why, but she was surprised, they were so different, she tried to imagine Don Fermí n at one of the parties and it seemed impossible.

“It would be better if he didn’t see you, ” Ambrosio said. “He might tell him that you were thrown out of his house or that you ran out on the laboratory, and Señ ora Hortensia might fire you too. ”

“What you don’t want is for Don Cayo to find out that you brought me here, ” Amalia said.

“Well, that too, ” Ambrosio said. “But not because of me, because of you. I already told you that Don Cayo has hated me ever since I left him to go work for Don Fermí n. If he found out that you know me, you’d be all through. ”

“My, what a good person you’ve become, ” she said. “The way you worry about me now. ”

They’d been chatting by the service entrance and Amalia kept looking to see if Sí mula or Carlota was coming. Hadn’t Ambrosio told her that Don Fermí n and Don Cayo didn’t see each other the way they used to? Yes, ever since Señ or Cayo had young Santiago arrested they weren’t friends anymore; but they had business together and that’s probably why Don Fermí n is in San Miguel now. Was Amalia happy here? Yes, very happy, she had less work than before and the mistress was very good. Then you owe me a favor, Ambrosio said, but she cut off his joking: I already paid you a long time back, don’t you ever forget it. And she changed the subject, how was everybody in Miraflores? Señ ora Zoila very good, young Sparky had a girl friend who’d been a runner-up for Miss Peru, Missy Teté a young lady now, and young Santiago hadn’t been back to the house since he ran away. You couldn’t mention his name in front of Señ ora Zoila because she’d start crying. And all of a sudden: San Miguel’s been good for you, you’ve turned into a good-looking girl. Amalia didn’t laugh, she looked at him with all the fury she could muster.

“Sunday’s your day off, isn’t it? ” he said. “I’ll wait for you there at the streetcar stop, at two o’clock. Will you come? ”

“Not in your wildest dream, ” Amalia said. “Is there something between us that we should go out together? ”

She heard a sound in the kitchen and went into the house without saying good-bye to Ambrosio. She went to the pantry to spy: there was Don Fermí n, saying good-bye to Don Cayo. Tall, gray-haired, so elegant in gray, and she remembered all at once all the things that had happened since she’d seen him last, Trinidad, the alley in Mirones, the Maternity Hospital, and she felt the tears coming on. She went to the bathroom to wash her face. Now she was furious with Ambrosio, furious with herself for having stopped to talk to him as if there was anything between them, for not having told him did you think that just because you told me they needed a maid I’d forgotten, that I’d forgiven you? I hope you drop dead, she thought.

He tightened his tie, put on his jacket, took his briefcase and left the office. He passed by the secretaries with an absent-minded face. The car was parked by the door, the Ministry of War, Ambrosio. It took them fifteen minutes to cross the downtown area. He got out before Ambrosio could open the door for him, wait for me here. Soldiers who saluted, a hallway, stairs, an officer who smiled. In the waiting room of the Intelligence Service a captain with a little mustache was expecting him: the Major is in his office, Mr. Bermú dez, go right in. Paredes got up when he saw him come in. On the desk there were three telephones, a small flag, a green blotter; on the walls maps, city plans, a photograph of Odrí a and a calendar.

“Espina called me to complain, ” Major Paredes said. “If you don’t get rid of that man at the door I’ll take a shot at him. He was furious. ”

“I already ordered the plainclothesman withdrawn, ” he said, loosening his tie. “At least he knows he’s being watched now. ”

“I’ll say again that it’s a waste of time, ” Major Paredes said. “Before he was let go he was promoted. Why should he start plotting? ”

“Because it hurts his pride not being Minister, ” he said. “No, he wouldn’t plot on his own, he’s too dumb for that. But they can use him. Anybody can get his finger into the Uplander’s mouth. ”