The Cubs and Other Stories

by Mario Vargas Llosa

  “Let’s leave without making any noise,” David had said. “It’ll be better if she doesn’t wake up.”

  Going down the steps of the ranch house on tiptoe and along the abandoned road flanking the fields, he had a strange sensation of choking, as if he were on the highest peak in the mountains; he hardly felt the buzzing thicket of mosquitoes that hurled themselves at him viciously and bit every exposed portion of his city dweller’s skin. When they began to climb the mountain the choking went away. He was not a good horseman and the precipice, spread out like a terrible temptation at the edge of the path which looked like a thin streamer, absorbed him. He was on guard all the time, watchful of his mount’s every step and concentrating his willpower against the dizziness he felt would overcome him.

  “Look!”

  Juan trembled. “You scared me,” he said. “I thought you were asleep.”

  “Be quiet! Look.”

  “What?”

  “Over there. Look.”

  Level with the ground where the cascade’s roar seemed to originate, there was a small, twinkling light.

  “It’s a campfire,” David said. “I swear it’s him. Let’s go.”

  “Let’s wait for it to get light,” Juan whispered: suddenly his throat had gone dry and was burning. “If he starts running, we’ll never catch up to him in this darkness.”

  “He can’t hear us over the deafening roar of that water,” David answered firmly, taking his brother by the arm. “Let’s go.”

  Very slowly, his body bent as if for a leap, David began to slide forward, hugging the hill. Juan was at his side, stumbling, his eyes fixed on the light, which grew smaller and then larger as if someone were fanning the flame. The closer the brothers drew, the more the glare of the fire revealed the nearby ground: rough boulders, brambles, the edge of the lagoon, but no human figure. Nevertheless, Juan was certain now that the man they were stalking was there, sunk in those shadows, in a spot very close to the light.

  “It’s him,” David said. “See?”

  For a mere instant the fragile tongues of fire had lit up a dark and evasive profile seeking warmth.

  “What’re we going to do?” Juan whispered, halting. But David was no longer at his side; he was running toward the place where that fleeting face had emerged.

  Juan closed his eyes and imagined the Indian: squatting, his hands stretched out toward the flames, his eyes irritated by the sputtering of the campfire. Suddenly something fell on him, and he had guessed it was some animal, when he felt two violent hands closing around his neck and he understood. He must have experienced infinite terror at this unexpected attack coming out of the darkness. Most likely he was not even trying to defend himself. At most, he contracted like a snail to make his body less vulnerable and opened his eyes wide, struggling to see his assailant in the dark. Then he recognized the voice: “What have you done, pig? What have you done, you worm?” Juan heard David and realized that David was kicking the man. Sometimes his kicks seemed to smash against the rocks on the bank, not against the Indian. That must have made him even angrier. At first, a low growl reached Juan’s ears, as if the Indian were gargling, but afterwards he only heard David’s enraged voice, his threats, his insults. Suddenly Juan found the revolver in his right hand, his finger pressing the trigger lightly. In astonishment he thought that if he shot he might also kill his brother, but he didn’t put the weapon away and, on the contrary, he felt immensely calm as he approached the fire.

  “Enough, David!” he shouted. “Shoot him. Don’t hit him anymore.”

  There was no answer. Now Juan could not see them: interlocked, the Indian and his brother had rolled outside the ring lit by the campfire. He did not see them, but he heard the dry sound of the punches and, sometimes, a curse or a deep breath.

  “David,” Juan shouted, “get out of there. I’m going to shoot.”

  A captive of intense excitement, he repeated seconds later: “Let him go, David. I swear I’m going to shoot.”

  Still there was no answer.

  After firing the first shot, Juan stood thunderstruck for a moment, but then, without aiming, he continued shooting, until he could hear the metallic vibration of the firing pin against the empty cartridge. He stood motionless; he did not feel the revolver come loose from his hands and fall to his feet. The noise of the waterfall had disappeared and a trembling ran through his whole body; his skin was bathed in sweat and he was scarcely breathing. Suddenly, he shouted: “David!”

  “Here I am, you idiot,” a frightened and angry voice answered at his side. “You realize you could’ve shot me too? Are you out of your mind?”

  Juan spun on his heels, his hands extended, and he hugged his brother. Clinging to him, he stammered incomprehensible sounds; he groaned and did not seem to understand the words coming from David, who was trying to soothe him. For a long while, Juan kept repeating incoherent words, sobbing. When he became calm, he remembered the Indian: “And him, David?”

  “Him?” David had recovered his poise and spoke firmly. “How do you think he is?”

  The campfire continued to burn, but it was giving very little light. Juan grabbed the biggest firebrand and looked for the Indian. When he found him, he stood observing him for a moment with fascinated eyes and then the torch fell to the ground and went out.

  “Did you see, David?”

  “Yes, I saw. Let’s get out of here.”

  Juan was rigid and deaf. As if dreaming, he felt that David was dragging him toward the hill. The climb took them a long time. With one hand David held the flashlight and with the other, Juan, who seemed like a rag: he slipped on even the firmest rocks and fell to the ground without reacting. At the summit, they collapsed, exhausted. Juan buried his head in his arms and lay stretched out, breathing in great gulps. When he sat up, he saw his brother examining him with the flashlight.

  “You’re wounded,” David said. “I’m going to bandage you.”

  He tore his handkerchief in two and with each of the pieces he bandaged Juan’s knees, which were showing through rips in his pants, bathed in blood.

  “That’s for now,” David said. “We’ll go back right away. They might get infected. You’re not used to climbing mountains. Leonor will fix you up.”

  The horses were shivering and their muzzles were covered with blue foam. David wiped them off with his hand, stroked them on the flanks and rumps, tenderly clucked his tongue next to their ears. “Now we’re going to get warm,” he whispered to them.

  It was growing light when they mounted. A feeble glow was encompassing the mountain region and a white lacquer spread along the broken horizon, but the chasms lay sunk in darkness. Before leaving, David took a long drink from his canteen and handed it to Juan, who did not want any. They rode all morning through a hostile countryside, letting the horses set their own pace. At noon they stopped and made coffee. David ate some of the cheese and the beans that Camilo had put in their saddlebags. At dusk they sighted two wooden sticks forming an X. From them hung a board on which could be read “The Aurora.” The horses neighed: they recognized the sign marking the boundary line of the ranch.

  “Good,” David said. “It was about time. I’m bushed. How’re those knees holding up?”

  Juan did not answer.

  “Any pain?” David insisted.

  “Tomorrow I’m leaving for Lima,” Juan said.

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m not going back to the ranch. I’m fed up with the mountains. I’ll always live in the city. I don’t want anything to do with the country.”

  Juan looked straight ahead, avoiding David’s probing eyes.

  “You’re upset now,” David said. “It’s natural. We’ll talk later.”

  “No,” Juan said. “Let’s talk now.”

  “Okay,” David said gently. “What’s the matter with you?”

  Juan turned toward his brother; his face was washed out, his voice rasping. “What’s wrong with me? Do you realize what you’re saying?
Have you forgotten that guy at the waterfall? If I stay at the ranch I’m going to end up thinking it’s normal to do things like that.”

  He was going to add, “like you,” but he did not dare.

  “He was a sick dog,” David said. “Your scruples are foolish. Maybe you’ve forgotten what he did to your sister?”

  At that moment Juan’s horse balked and started bucking and rearing on his back legs.

  “He’s going to bolt, David!” Juan said.

  “Let go of his reins. You’re choking him.”

  Juan loosened the reins and the animal calmed down.

  “You haven’t answered me,” David said. “Have you forgotten why we went looking for him?”

  “No,” Juan answered. “I haven’t forgotten.”

  Two hours later they reached Camilo’s cabin, built on a promontory between the ranch house and the stables. Before the brothers drew to a halt, the cabin door opened and Camilo appeared in the doorway. Straw hat in hand, head lowered with respect, he came toward them and stopped between the two horses, whose reins he clasped.

  “Everything all right?” David asked.

  Camilo shook his head no. “Miss Leonor…”

  “What’s happened to Leonor?” Juan interrupted, standing up in the stirrups.

  In his slow, muddled speech, Camilo explained that from her bedroom window Miss Leonor had seen the brothers leave at dawn and that when they were only about a thousand yards from the house, she had appeared on the grounds in boots and riding outfit, shouting orders for her horse to be saddled. Following David’s instructions, Camilo refused to obey her. Then, by herself, she entered the stables resolutely and, like a man, with her own hands, placed the saddle, blankets and equipment on the roan, the ranch’s smallest and most nervous horse, which was also her favorite.

  When she was ready to mount, the servants from the house and Camilo himself had held her back; for a long while they endured insults and slaps from the exasperated girl, who argued and begged and demanded that they let her follow after her brothers.

  “But,” David stopped him, “did she know we…?”

  Always going slowly, taking care to choose his words and give them a humble and respectful turn, Camilo replied that yes, the girl knew where her brothers had gone.

  “Oh, she’ll pay for that!” David said. “It’s Jacinta, I’m sure of it. She heard us talking that night with Leandro when she was serving dinner. It was her.”

  The girl had been very much affected, Camilo went on. After insulting and scratching the maids and himself, she began crying loudly and went back to the house. She had remained there ever since, shut up in her room.

  The brothers left their horses with Camilo and headed for the house.

  “Leonor mustn’t know one word about this,” Juan said.

  “Of course not,” David said. “Not one word.”

  Leonor knew they had gotten back by the dogs’ barking. She was half asleep when a hoarse growl broke the night and under her window a panting animal passed by like a streak of lightning. It was Spooky. She recognized his frantic pacing and his unmistakable howling. Immediately, she heard the lazy trot and dull yowl of Domitila, the pregnant bitch. The dogs’ aggressiveness stopped abruptly; the barking gave way to the eager panting with which they always greeted David. Through a slit in the blinds she saw her brothers approaching the house and heard the sound of the front door opening and closing. She waited for them to come upstairs and reach her room. When she opened the door, Juan was stretching out his hand to knock.

  “Hello, little Leonor,” David said.

  She let them hug her and she brushed their foreheads with her lips, but she did not kiss them. Juan lit the lamp.

  “Why didn’t you let me know? You should have told me. I wanted to overtake you but Camilo wouldn’t let me. You have to punish him, David. If you’d seen how he grabbed me. He’s disobedient and rude. I kept begging him to let me go and he wouldn’t pay any attention to me.”

  She had started speaking forcefully, but her voice broke. Her hair was uncombed and she was barefoot. David and Juan tried to calm her by stroking her hair, smiling at her, calling her baby sister.

  “We didn’t want to upset you,” David explained. “Besides, we decided to go at the last minute. You were still asleep.”

  “What happened?” Leonor asked.

  Juan took a blanket off the bed and put it around his sister. Leonor had stopped crying. She was pale; her mouth was half open and her gaze was filled with anxiety.

  “Nothing,” David said. “Nothing happened. We didn’t find him.”

  The tension vanished from Leonor’s face and an expression of relief came to her lips.

  “But we will find him,” David said. With a vague gesture he indicated to Leonor that she should go to bed. Then he turned around.

  “Just a second; don’t go,” Leonor said.

  Juan had not moved.

  “Yes?” David said. “What’s the matter, Leonor?”

  “Don’t go looking for him anymore.”

  “Don’t you worry,” David said. “Forget about all that. It’s a matter for men. Leave it to us.”

  Then Leonor started crying again, this time with wild gestures. She raised her hands to her head, her whole body seemed electrified and her wailing alarmed the dogs, who began barking under her window. With a gesture, David signaled to Juan to do something, but the younger brother stood silent and motionless.

  “All right, Leonor,” David said. “Don’t cry. We won’t go looking for him.”

  “That’s a lie. You’re going to kill him. I know you.”

  “No I won’t,” David said. “If you think that skunk doesn’t deserve to be punished…”

  “He didn’t do a thing to me,” Leonor said very quickly, biting her lips.

  “Don’t think about it anymore,” David insisted. “We’ll forget all about him. Calm down, Leonor.”

  Leonor went on crying; her cheeks and lips were moist and the blanket had fallen to the floor.

  “He didn’t do anything to me,” she repeated. “It was a lie.”

  “Do you know what you’re saying?” David asked.

  “I couldn’t stand his following me everywhere,” Leonor stammered. “He was after me all day long, like a shadow.”

  “It’s my fault,” David said bitterly. “It’s dangerous for a woman to walk around the countryside by herself. I ordered him to protect you. I shouldn’t have trusted an Indian. They’re all alike.”

  “He didn’t do anything to me, David,” Leonor cried. “Believe me, I’m telling you the truth. Ask Camilo; he knows nothing happened. That’s why he helped him get away. Didn’t you know that? Yes, it was him. I told him to. I only wanted to get free of him, that’s why I invented that story. Camilo knows everything; ask him.”

  Leonor dried her cheeks with the back of her hand. She picked up the blanket and threw it over her shoulders. She seemed to have shaken off a nightmare.

  “We’ll talk about this tomorrow,” David said. “We’re tired now. We’ve got to sleep.”

  “No,” Juan said.

  Leonor became aware how close her brother was: she had forgotten that Juan was there too. His forehead was full of wrinkles; the wings of his nose were throbbing, like Spooky’s snout.

  “You’re going to repeat what you just said,” Juan said to her in a strange way. “You’re going to repeat how you lied to us.”

  “Juan,” David said. “I hope you’re not going to believe her. She’s trying to trick us now.”

  “I’ve told the truth,” Leonor roared. She was looking from one brother to the other. “I ordered him to leave me alone that day and he wouldn’t. I went to the river and there he was, behind me. I couldn’t even go swimming in peace. He’d stand there, sizing me up on the sly, like an animal. Then I came and told you that.”

  “Juan, wait,” David said. “Where’re you going? Wait!”

  Juan had turned around and was heading toward the door; whe
n David tried to stop him, he exploded. Like someone possessed, he began shouting insults: he called his sister a whore and his brother a swine and a tyrant. Violently he pushed David, who tried in vain to block his way, and he left the house in great strides, trailing a stream of insults. From the window, Leonor and David saw him cross the grounds at a full run, shouting like a madman, and they saw him go into the stables and come out, riding the roan bareback. At first, Leonor’s temperamental horse tamely followed the direction indicated by the inexperienced fists holding the reins: turning with elegance, changing step and waving the light hair of its tail like a fan, the roan got as far as the edge of the road that led through mountains, through narrow passes and vast sandy expanses, to the city. There it rebelled. Suddenly rearing up and neighing, it spun like a ballerina and swiftly returned to the ground.

  “It’s going to throw him,” Leonor said.

  “No,” said David at her side. “Look. He’s holding on.”

  Many Indians had come out of the stable and in amazement were watching the younger brother, who held himself unbelievably steady on the horse and at the same time ferociously kicked its flanks and pounded its head with one of his fists. Enraged by the blows, the roan went from one side to the other, rearing, jumping; it started dizzying, abrupt runs and suddenly stopped dead, but the rider seemed soldered to its back. Leonor and David saw him appear and disappear as steady as the most seasoned horse tamer, and they were mute, stunned. Suddenly the roan gave up; its graceful head hanging down toward the ground as if ashamed, it stood motionless, breathing heavily. At that moment they thought he was coming back: Juan headed the horse toward the house and stopped in front of the door, but he did not dismount. As if he had remembered something, he turned around and headed at a fast trot directly toward the building called the Shack. There he jumped down. The door was locked and Juan kicked the padlock off. Then he shouted at the Indians who were inside to get out, that the punishment for all of them was over. After that, he came back to the house, walking slowly. David was waiting for him at the door. Juan seemed calm; he was drenched in sweat and his eyes showed his pride. David came up to him and brought him inside, his arm around Juan’s shoulder.