“So you’re not going to let me in on the big surprise?” she said to him.
The captain grazed her hand as if in passing, but didn’t manage to get hold of it. “You’re doubly curious, aren’t you? Professionally and as a woman.”
“My curiosity,” she said indignantly, but softening that indignation by playing with her dessert spoon with that marvelous hand that had just escaped his, “is one hundred percent professional. All reporters have to be born like this—men, women, and queers—impossible, bothersome, nosy as a bloodhound snooping out the facts.”
“And your feminine curiosity?” The captain elegantly poured her another glass of the rosé that he’d had brought on the double from the regiment’s wine cellar.
“That,” she answered, almost inaudibly, “I reserve for its full exercise … outside of working hours.”
“How splendid! Someone who’s able to keep the public and private realms distinct.”
“Only up to a point. All of a sudden the damned zones intersect and one can’t tell which to believe. But there’s an infallible method for finding out where you are. Know what it is?”
“I haven’t the slightest.”
“In my private life, my Captain, it’s I who provide the surprises, and then …”
“And then …?”
“And then I realize that I’m no longer acting as a reporter.”
“And that must make someone else curious.”
“Let’s put it that way. Some other person.”
At first the captain thought it strange that a woman would be sent to a province that less than six months ago had still been regarded as a combat zone, where the dangers were such that all requests by journalists to attend the theater of operations were uniformly rejected, but it was clear that the army’s public relations office knew what it was doing. Everything had been thought out down to the last detail.
The first brief news items concerning the unusual petition that had come to be known as “the case of the thirty-seven widows” had gotten past the vigilant eyes of the censors by assuming a jocular tone, harmlessly appearing in a gossip column of one of the dailies in the capital. As it turned out, it provided a field day for the commentators. In a little mountain village whose name mattered to no one and which wasn’t even on the map, a sizable group of women was fighting over nothing less than a corpse. In the absence of men, cadavers will do, was the ironic interpretation of one writer. An unprecedented case of collective bigamy, of unusual proportions, added another: the dead man was plenty macho about his business. In any case, summed up a columnist on some lost page of an insignificant daily, it was something unheard of before in this country or any other. We finally broke the record for something, since we always do so badly in sports competitions, more widows per corpse than anyplace else. Although it hadn’t yet turned into anything more than this, and the news was fading as the days went by, the public relations people—with their legendary sense of smell—had got wind of other interested parties who might be weaving their webs. Who could tell when the matter would spill over in new directions, religious, legal, even political, opening other matters by way of interpretation, treading forbidden ground, distilling the poison which the press, insolent and even encouraged by the recent liberal measures of the government in its phase of national reconciliation, had stored up over the years. Therefore, without either completely suppressing the news, advising the respective commentators to be more careful about what they wrote, or stressing too much what was worrying them, it was decided to send some trusted correspondent from the Sunday staff of The News, the largest and oldest paper in the country, to enlighten public opinion, especially that of women, concerning the truth of the matter.
“We hope you’re going to make the army look good,” that voice from public relations said to the captain, with an undefinable relish that bothered him. “Be sure to put in a good performance.”
“I’ll do what I can,” he answered, wondering about the meaning of that suggestive tone, but no one was listening anymore at the other end of the line.
Two days later, when her legs and then her hips slipped out of the car that brought her, he suddenly understood. And she, for her part, was more than frank. Almost immediately, and point-blank, she’d asked the captain if he was surprised at her appearance, and if he wouldn’t have preferred a man. Such aggressiveness and audacity in a handsome woman ended up softening the captain’s defenses as well as his voice, and he didn’t try to answer right away. He feasted his eyes on the simple miracle of her existence in a place like this.
“The army, miss,” he’d finally responded, “has secured this district. We have established optimum conditions to guarantee the safety of you or any other journalist, of whatever sex. But it’s easy for whoever visits us, especially in the case, as here, of persons who have not had nor been able to have, nor it is hoped will have the experience of war and its vicissitudes, to overlook the fact that only a short while ago crimes and incursions were occurring daily in this very spot, and that the husbands of these same women that you are going to interview and who are now crying and raising petitions and exhibiting probatory photographs, those husbands themselves are the ones responsible for the criminal and terrorist activities against the country which have obliged the armed forces to intervene with the efficiency and virility for which we are known and feared.”
“What a speech, Captain! So you would have preferred a man.” He smiled gallantly. “The truth is, yes, I would have preferred one. I would have. Now, however, I must advise you that my outlook has changed.”
“So soon? And how do you account for this change?”
As if the bitch didn’t know how he accounted for it, as if females didn’t learn the science of flirtation before birth, as if the way she … But the captain preferred to cut off the course of his elaborations. He’d take full control of this affair. It was necessary to keep his ideas on ice, to imagine nothing, absolutely nothing. Because this hunk of woman was the kind that winds up reading a man’s mind. He regained the appropriately professional tone. He believed, he said in substance, that an educated woman was in an exceptionally good position to appreciate the underlying causes of this situation. It wasn’t only a matter of there being a conspiracy—there was, that was clearly evident—but of comprehending the backward mental and emotional state the inhabitants of places like this were stuck in, with their pagan customs, their age-old ignorance, their marginal existence almost untouched by the benefits of contemporary civilization. This barbarism constituted the only valid explanation for these poor women allowing themselves to be manipulated by the enemy, contriving to dirty the cleanest thing they had, their sacred links to home, family, the veneration of their ancestors, honor, in an absurd and senseless adventure.
She calmly took it all down in her notebook. Still writing, she asked, “Do you have a family, Captain? You defend it so zealously.”
Without hesitating, he opened his desk and passed her the photo of his wife and three children.
“How pretty they are,” she said, returning the photo.
He put it away before proceeding. “Besides, I suppose you know that you’ve arrived at a very opportune moment, most propitious, I’d say. I don’t know if they explained to you in public relations that, on the occasion of your visit, we’re going to demonstrate publicly the falseness of the assertions of these women.”
“They told me so, Captain, but they didn’t offer details. I don’t know what it’s about.”
“It’s about the fact, which you will be able to verify, and later publicize, that this is nothing more than a maneuver, a well-mounted deception.”
“Could you be a bit more explicit?”
“Since you haven’t been informed of the matter, the truth is I prefer that it be a surprise. Let’s just say that it’s a little surprise that no one’s expecting, not those women nor you either.”
“A surprise?”
“We could call it a present for you, if you don’t
take it the wrong way,” the captain said to her. “It’s always good to offer a reward to those who make an effort not only to understand the difficulties of the current situation, but also to transmit that understanding to their readers.”
“Thanks for the pretty words, but if you can tell me what the famous surprise consists of, then I’d really be grateful.”
“If I were to announce it”—the captain rose from his seat—“it would end up ruining the pleasure, the joy and delight, of perceiving the news in all its fresh originality. If you can wait until after lunch …”
“Lunch will not sit well with me, Captain. I won’t be able to do a proper interview.”
“We have time.”
“I have to leave this afternoon. We don’t have as much time as you say.”
“We’ll see about that,” said the captain.
vii
“I’ve got them all together, Captain,” said the sergeant, “as you ordered.”
“And they’ve also been informed there’ll be a reporter present,” added the lieutenant, shooting her a glance without much enthusiasm.
“And the rest?”
“All ready, sir.”
“Then let’s go in.”
The school was one large room, the only one, other than the church, that could hold that many people. The villagers had built it themselves, Father Gabriel had explained, working Sundays and even nights. When everything was ready, the government had given a hand with the painting and some high functionary from the Ministry of Education had come to inaugurate the building. Since then, the hall had been used for festivals, fairs, dances, and municipal and political meetings. Now it was full of women, the thirty-seven petitioners seated or standing, in a motionless silence. They looked at the military men with the same mixture of hatred and indifference as always, extremely detached, yet intimate. The presence of a woman among the soldiers didn’t seem to have an effect on them, insofar as she’d come from the other side of the mountains and was wearing clothes whose tone, color, and cut they’d rarely seen, nothing like their own mourning.
“Quiet,” shouted the lieutenant, although no one was talking.
The captain got up from his schoolteacher’s seat behind the table. From here the high functionary from the Ministry of Education had made his speech, but that was to another public. Husbands were present, children, nervous adolescents, families.
“Very well. We are pleased and happy to have with us today the presence of a lady reporter from The News. I don’t expect that you have ever read this newspaper, although its prestige extends even to a place like this, but perhaps you’re aware that it is the most important one in our country and enjoys considerable international prestige as well. She has made this difficult and exhausting journey because there is interest in your case. The public, like the judge, has found the matter we’re all familiar with as incredible as we have. Later, the young lady will have the opportunity to ask you questions which you’ll be able to answer freely. As a result, I’m going to request that you remain here after my talk, so that you’ll be able to converse with the press.”
The photographer, who was at the back of the room, next to the sergeant, snapped a picture. The flash lit up the women, who turned around, frightened.
The captain smiled. “But I’ve brought you together for another purpose. I’ve insisted, at each of our meetings, since the first time I spoke with one of you two days after I took command here, I have insisted that this mania for burying men who have nothing to do with your families is truly some kind of madness. I would even dare to qualify it as a collective hysteria.” He noticed that the reporter was taking down every word. “Collective hysteria,” he repeated with emphatic satisfaction. A woman decides to identify a corpse that’s been completely destroyed by the river current. She wants so badly to find her loved one that she ventures to recognize him under confused circumstances. The nation’s army understands that feeling and agrees, in a moment of generosity that does us honor, to grant a funeral to the anonymous victim. The army understands that when a family lives in uncertainty and instability, it is common that they should desire to do away with these feelings however they can, in order thus to resume the normal course of everyday life. They would rather see the father dead and buried than imagine him suffering the rigors of some presumed punishment, or lost out there in the mountains, or even finished off by his own fanatical colleagues in some desolate spot from which he will never return. We military men know what it is to live like this, because our own women and our own children, our mothers and fathers, have had to become accustomed with heroic self-denial to these kinds of emotions. But that’s how war is, ladies, and you’re all well aware that it wasn’t our armed forces who started this dispute. This region was prosperous and peaceful until some of its inhabitants, stirred up by sinister passions and foreign ideas, decided to desecrate this country’s legitimate authority and to sabotage the mission of national unity which the forces of order had imposed when we were faced with our land’s moral, and even physical, decay.”
The captain stepped down from the platform and walked out into the assembly. His boots stopped now and then beside one of the women, nearly touching her. Finally he stationed himself next to the old woman poised at the edge of a seat almost at the very center of the hall.
“But I told you that what you were claiming was absurd. I asked you what would that man say, that same man you insisted on burying, if he returned home to find himself dead, not at our hands, although we would have been justified in killing him, but at the hands of his own loved ones, who had given him a funeral, a cross, a religious service. And then here he is alive and healthy. I asked you what would be the indignant reaction of that man, what suspicions he would end up harboring. I told you that it was my opinion, and that of our nation’s army too, that we were dealing here with a conspiracy, that you were being used by enemies of the country to sow discontent, demand the impossible, stir up nonsense. Didn’t I say that to you? Didn’t I speak to you as a friend, with true sympathy, as there ought to be among fellow citizens, each and every one of us devoted to the common cause of patriotic reconstruction?”
The women were silent.
“All right, my esteemed ladies, the time has come to show you my words were true. Some of you have thought and even said that what this captain wants is for us to give up worrying about this matter so he can gain a little time. That’s what you’ve said and thought. I’m going to prove to you it wasn’t so. The Supreme Government has become interested in every one of you, in every single mother of this generous land we have the honor of living in together. And that’s because, for the nation’s army, there is nothing more sacred than woman and nothing greater than motherhood. It is in defense of that woman and of the values of the home which she seeks to preserve above all else that we have always acted. That woman is the sweetheart, the wife, the mother of the fatherland. You are about to see that I wasn’t lying to you and that we’ve always kept your problems resolutely in our hearts. The Supreme Government, like a benevolent father, knows how to punish and how to forgive. The reconciliation and family peace that we’ve proclaimed is not merely so many words on paper. And you’ll have proof of that in just a few minutes.”
The captain returned to the platform, walking backward, in such a way that his eyes, sliding from one impassive face to another, did not for an instant give up command of the scene, as if defying them to say something. As he took them all in panoramically, something like a grin began to sketch itself on his mouth. He half leaned, half sat on the edge of the table, then bent toward the reporter who was writing, twisting his neck in such a way that his watchful head still took in the room, and he said, lowering his voice, “Promises are promises. Now, Irene, comes the surprise.” He snapped to attention, with the decisive voice of command: “Sergeant!”
“Captain!”
“Proceed, Sergeant.”
Not one of the women made half a turn to observe how the sergeant, in back, opene
d one of the double doors and went out. It was as if the captain hadn’t even given that order. From outside, they heard the shout of the sergeant and like a strange echo, the prompt and distant sound of a truck or perhaps a car starting down the hill. Without taking his eyes off them, the captain again leaned slowly toward the reporter, till his lips stopped barely above her hair, careful not to touch it.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. You won’t be able to leave today.”
“May I ask why not?”
“Because now you’ll have to interview someone. Someone more or less special, under the circumstances.”
“A man?”
“Always so curious.”
“A man?”
“He’s of the male sex, but whether or not he’s a man …”
“And that’s the big surprise?”
“That’s the little surprise. Don’t expect more.”
An army truck pulled up in front of the windows. The women turned their heads in unison toward the outside, gradually, as if they weren’t overly interested, as if they could tell from experience they’d be able to see no more than the vague silhouette of the driver against the malignant light. A fine cloud of dust filtered into the hall and blurred what was happening. Then the truck disappeared, turning the corner. The screeching of brakes could be heard. The measured ballet of the women’s faces turned toward the captain.
“And them?” the reporter asked, still whispering, almost in the captain’s ear, so that he could feel the touch of her breath.
“What about them?”
“I came to speak with them. When will I be able to?”
“Later, much later. First the other interview, the surprise.”
She raised her voice slightly, impatient, but no one else could hear her. “I can’t. I have business in the city first thing in the morning.”
The captain controlled his words, kept them quiet, calm, domesticated, almost inaudible. “Sometimes,” he said, eyeing the stubborn figure of Sofia seated there in the hall, “one can’t carry out all one’s plans. Other times, yes. Other times things turn out like one never even dreamed they would. But don’t worry, Irene, we’ll put you up like a princess.”
Widows Page 7
