by Jerold Last
"In addition to the Civil War that divided the Incas and had them killing one another, which advanced the Spanish cause, there was something else. The Incas had a lot of Gods in their complicated religion. There was a legend about a white god that would come and lead them, which gave Pizarro the opportunity to take advantage of his and his soldiers' ethnicity. He exploited this advantage to manipulate the Incan leaders and encourage the internal fighting between the factions. Pizarro was completely ruthless in his pursuit of gold and silver treasure, and was apparently very, very good at playing off the different groups and factions to leverage his military technology advantages," Rogelio answered.
He was a natural teacher, so made this whole story come alive and not just be part of a boring history lesson. The trick seemed to be that he was enthusiastically telling us the story, not just droning on and sharing factoids. We had been lucky enough to choose the perfect companion for today's museum visit.
Rogelio continued his explanation, "The Spaniards stole all of the gold and silver they could ship back to Spain. But despite that, some of it remained hidden in South America, first with the remnants of the Incas and later in private collections. The Gold Museum was originally a private collection of pre-Incan and Inca pieces and weapons from the era. Now it has been expanded as a public museum. The current collection is huge, and is probably more gold figures, adornments, and implements than the average American can, or will, see cumulatively elsewhere in their entire lifetime. Much of the wealth the Spanish conquistadores and their followers stole from their South American colonies originated from Peruvian mines and native artifacts, and from the entire Inca Empire that spanned all of western South America and had its capital in Cuzco. Those treasures will never return to Peru as they have probably long since been melted down into unrecognizable ingots and jewelry. During the Spanish Civil War in the 1930s much of Spain's gold was stolen and found its way to Germany and Russia.
"Governance of the Spanish colonial empire in South America was centered in Lima, which has an excellent natural harbor and a central location. Thus, the wealth from what later became Chile, Argentina, Bolivia, and Ecuador also flowed through colonial Lima en route to Spain."
About an hour later we staggered out into the street with total sensory glut, quite amazed by the enormous amount of wealth the Incas had accumulated in their short century of dominance in the Andean regions of South America.
Our next stop was the oddly named Museum of the Inquisition and Congress House. The Spanish Inquisition, the official church agency charged with making the rest of the world practice the official state religion or die resisting this imperative, followed the first colonists who came to Recife, Brazil right behind Christopher Columbus in the beginning of the 16th century. By 1528 the Inquisition was functioning against "heretics" in Mexico and South America. The Museum has exhibits that demonstrate the methods of torture used to punish individuals to make them recant their heretical beliefs before they were killed. It was tough on individuals whose ancestors were alleged to be Jewish or Muslim, including political and social rivals who were merely accused of such ancestry or beliefs, in those days. One of the more interesting forms of torture was to put an individual in the bottom of a deep well and leave him or her there for months or years with just enough food and water to keep them alive---a "refined" version of solitary confinement.
"The colonial era was a time of unbelievable cruelty in the name of religion and Spanish national policy," observed Eugenio. "But modern Peru has little to be proud of when we think of its cruelty to its own citizens during the military dictatorship and the eradication of the 'Shining Path' revolutionaries under the democratic government of President Fujimori."
Our final cultural stop was a street fair to celebrate the potato that we stumbled over as we walked through the neighborhood near the museum. Peru is the original home of the potato, which was brought back to Europe in the 16th century by the Spanish conquistadores. The fair highlighted over 200 different varieties of potato grown in Peru---of different shapes, colors, textures, and tastes. Visitors to the fair could taste and buy dozens of different potato dishes made from these various varieties.
I made a note to self, "order potatoes with dinner tonight."
Dinner in Peru is usually eaten late, as in Argentina and Uruguay, so we were nominally on a 9 P.M. dinner schedule. However, the Peruvian national dish, ceviche, raw fish and/or seafood pickled in lemon juice and seasoned with herbs, is available anytime. We stopped for ceviche and beer at a local restaurant that looked OK. Eugenio took center stage as tour guide here, with a comprehensive knowledge of Peruvian beers that he shared with us. Eugenio's hometown, Santa Cruz, is by far the largest city in Bolivia, situated in the jungles of the Bolivian lowlands on the Atlantic Ocean side of the Andes Mountains. It is not a great place for buying or eating fresh fish or seafood, so Eugenio was looking forward to trying the ceviche as much as we were. The ceviche was served in a desert-type cup and consisted of pieces of fish, shrimps, and mussels decorated with cilantro sprigs. It was very much intended as an appetizer, not a main course. Everything was fresh and good and the local lager beer was the perfect complementary beverage.
We headed back to the hotel for a short siesta, with plans to get together for dinner at 9 with our new friends, who would select the restaurant. They might also bring a few more of the meeting attendees who they knew from previous society get-togethers to join us and meet Suzanne, whose tall blond beauty had apparently already captivated Eugenio and Rogelio.
Well, I had the short siesta. Suzanne got only as far as the hotel lobby before she was grabbed by several of the female attendees at the meeting to join them for a trip to go shopping in downtown Lima's Mercado de Las Incas. The Inca Market, she was told, is the best place to go gift shopping in all of Peru, with two square blocks of stalls to shop at, low prices, and anything made in Peru for sale. Off they went in a cab, with Suzanne promising to be back in an hour or two.
Suzanne looked at her little group in the cab, two women scientists from Government agencies in Lima, one from a university in Chile, and one from a university in Bolivia. The four women were a lot shorter than Suzanne, dark haired, brown eyed, and darker skinned than she was. All of the women had obvious indigenous bloodlines, but on a sliding scale from mild mix in Chile, to more obvious Indian ancestry in Peru, to mostly Indian in Bolivia. This appeared to be typical based on the people Suzanne had seen previously in South America. They were an interesting mix of very thin to plump, pretty to not so pretty, early 30s to mid-50s.
In less than 10 minutes they were at the Inca Market. The entrance was at the corner of a wide avenue and a normal street. There was an exit half way down the street. The avenue perpendicular to the street was filled with large stores and smaller shops and was crowded with Peruvians and tourists shopping for consumer goods. The Inca Market looked like just another store entrance from the outside, but was enormous once they entered it. The business part of the market was indoors and made up of a lot of small stalls, each a different shop. The stalls sprawled along the length of the street for two whole blocks, and along a depth of at least a hundred meters along the avenue. Many of the stalls seemed to carry very similar merchandise, but there were subtle differences in price and quality between the shops. Each shop seemed to specialize in stuff for a different type of customer---men, women, children, or infants. As they stood in the doorway deciding where to begin one of the women asked Suzanne whether she was expecting.
"I didn't know it showed so obviously," she replied.
"I've had five children of my own and have a couple of dozen nieces and nephews, so I've developed a good eye for someone who is pregnant," she answered. "The important thing is you have to buy some things here for the baby. Peru has the softest wool in the world, perfect for baby clothes and blankets. Do you know whether it's a boy or a girl yet?"
"No, not officially, it's still too early for the ultrasound study to tell us. But if you want to trust my
hormones and my feelings, it's going to be a boy."
The five women walked down an aisle on the left until they stopped at a stall featuring baby's clothes. Much of what was offered was mass produced items available in the USA as inexpensive imports from Peru. There were what seemed to be an infinite number of stalls selling faux silver jewelry, woolen "Inca hats" with ear flaps, cheap synthetic yarns in all lengths and colors, mass-produced wood carvings and scarves, and all sorts of faux religious icons and trophies. But the treasures were made from baby alpaca wool, which really was a lot softer and finer than sheep's wool. With a little help Suzanne had picked out (or had picked out for her) four baby blankets, two cute little hats, four coveralls for sleeping in, and a pair of tiny mittens, all alpaca and all in various shades of blue. A little bit of bargaining by her four adopted aunts had got the prices down to Walmart-type prices in California for the same items in synthetic fibers imported from China. A short lecture from the merchant about how to wash Alpaca convinced her that a cold-water wash followed by drying on a clothesline would work with this stuff.
The Inca Market reminded Suzanne of the empanadas she had been introduced to in Argentina. They didn't look like much from the outside, but the rich fillings inside were a pleasant surprise. She turned to her companions to say, "Thank you very much for bringing me here. Normally, I hate to go shopping. In this case I'm having a lot of fun. It's the first time I have shopped for junior here," she said while patting her belly, "and it's completely different buying baby stuff than getting things for myself. And I really appreciate all of your help picking stuff out."
The "aunts" didn't reply, but sort of glowed with pleasure.
Less than two hours later they had all bought gifts for friends and family at home. It was obvious that none of the women had a lot of money, but they were enthusiastic shoppers and could find bargains or negotiate them efficiently. Suzanne ended up with a lot of alpaca goods for adult gifts, including sweaters, scarves, berets, and gloves. They were back to the hotel almost exactly two hours after they had left. Suzanne dumped a lot of packages in the room and got to relax for almost five minutes before it was time to meet the dinner crew.
We met in the hotel lobby at 9 where we were introduced to two more of the meeting attendees, Andres Cortes and Vincent Romero, both faculty members from The University of Chile, who would be joining us for dinner. Both were older gentlemen, Vincent 50-ish and Andres 60-ish. Andres was from Santiago and was more comfortable speaking Spanish although his English was certainly adequate. Vincent, from the northern city of Iquique, was fluent in English as well as Spanish.
Both bowed graciously when introduced to Suzanne saying "Con mucho gusto, Senora."
Dinner was at a very nice restaurant within walking distance of the hotel with earnest discussions of science, in Spanish, for the most part. We men began with the national drink, Pisco sour, ceviche, and conversation. Suzanne, who was banned from all alcoholic beverages for the duration of her pregnancy, had the same ceviche and conversation with tea.
Vincent Romero asked me, "What have you seen so far in Lima?"
"We've visited the Museum of Gold, the Museum of the Inquisition, and the Potato Festival today."
"It sounds like you're off to a good start. Will you be attending our meetings or going off on your own as a tourist?"
"Are there any sessions in English? If there are, I'd like to attend those."
"Yes, there are a few sessions planned in English only and several more that will have paper presentations in either language. Our society is starting to encourage giving papers in English so our faculty members will become more comfortable attending international meetings. Historically we have lagged far behind in that respect. I hope that I'll see you at some of those sessions."
The rest of dinner featured pleasant company, good food, and Chilean wine for the men in honor of our Chilean guests. There seemed to be a consensus that Peruvian wines were not particularly good and Chilean or Argentine wines were the correct choice with nice dinners. This wasn't just wine snobbery or misplaced chauvinism. In Peru the wine industry lacked the financial resources to invest in modern fermentation technology on a large scale. Peruvian farmers also had yet to develop the various high quality grape varieties that produced Napa Valley-quality wines. Most local wines were made from the high yield, low quality grapes called "criollas", which were the descendents of grapes brought to South America by the Jesuit missionaries who also brought Christianity and missions to support the Spanish conquest in the 16th and 17th Centuries.
We returned to the hotel and went directly to bed as jet lag kicked in.
"Hey, Suzanne, did you appreciate all of the security at the airport?"
"Not especially. Why?"
"I was reminded of the guy with absolutely no sophistication about computers who was trying to set up his password for an on-line banking account. The directions instructed him to choose a password with at least 8 characters. Guess what he chose."
"I haven't the slightest idea. What password did he select?"
"Snow White and the Seven Dwarves."
Chapter 5. Santa Cruz de Bolivia, Two Years Ago
The urge was stronger tonight. The full moon was a hunter’s moon. He dressed carefully and drove out to a deserted area just outside of town, carefully scanning for hitchhikers or women waiting alone at the intermittent bus stops. Within half an hour his patience was rewarded on a lonely stretch of road. She was sitting by herself at the unsheltered bus stop, just a bench alongside the sign “Parada”. He pulled over, rolled down the passenger side window, and spoke directly to the woman.
“It will soon be raining and it’s a chilly night. Can I give you a ride to wherever you’re going?”
She looked at him carefully before she replied.
“If I can’t trust a priest who can I trust? Muchas gracias, Padre.”
She got into the front passenger seat firmly clutching her purse to her body.
“I’m just going to the next town, Padre. Can you please drop me off at the corner of Calle de las Incas and Avenida San Martin.”
He nodded as the car accelerated, and thought once again about how easy this was with the proper costuming to inspire trust from these simple peasants.
A few moments later he turned the car onto a dirt and gravel road on the right and quickly explained.
“I have to make sure one of my flock is all right. We needn’t stop. I just have to check that the lights are on in her house.”
He offered her a sip of brandy from his flask for medicinal purposes and to ward off the cold, which she accepted gratefully. A moment later she was completely helpless. He pulled out the syringe and injected the paralytic drug directly into her jugular vein.
Another minute of driving brought the car to the cleared area he would use for tonight’s killing. He got out of the car, walked over to the passenger side, opened the door, and pulled her out of the car. The false priest dragged her about 50 meters away from the vehicle to eliminate any concerns about leaving forensic traces on the car itself. He went back to the car, opened the trunk, and donned his usual disposable protective coveralls and latex gloves, hairnet, and protective face shield. He also picked up the new large machete. She stared helplessly at him through terrified eyes.
The killer proceeded to systematically swing the machete with all of the considerable strength in his arms and upper body. He hacked away at the arms, the legs, and the torso and continued slashing at the torso until several minutes after she had completely bled out. He continued chopping away at the corpse for several minutes after she had clearly died. He grunted to signify that he was finally satisfied, and the machete overkill ended. Picking up a convenient stick nearby to serve as a writing tool, the Surreal Killer used the still wet blood as ink to quickly write out “no mas” on the ground.
The bloodstained and splattered protective gear---paper coveralls, latex gloves, and face shield---were removed and thrown on top of the dismembered body. So wer
e the machete and the priestly cassock and collar. Careful examination revealed that there was no apparent blood visible anywhere on him after the disposables and priest's costume were taken off. He took a quick trip back to the trunk of the car to fetch a large plastic container of gasoline, which he poured over the body and the disposables. A match flared in the darkness and everything went up in flames, which burned long and hot. When all that remained was bones, teeth, charred flesh, and ashes he started the car, turned it around, and proceeded to his destination, satisfied that any trace evidence had been destroyed in the fire. There was no forensic evidence that could link him to the newest dead young woman, who was once again a perfect stranger. His smile of satisfaction lit up his entire face, making him look positively cheerful.
Chapter 6. Lima, Monday
I bumped into Vincent Romero on the way to breakfast at our hotel, so joined him for fresh fruit, rolls, and coffee. He pulled out a copy of the advance program for the meeting and called my attention to a morning session that would be presented in a mixture of English and Spanish and an afternoon session with all of the papers to be presented in English.
