Would he come this Saturday? The Military Academy was grand, and so were the uniforms, but how awful not to know when you could get out. Teresa was walking through the arcades at the San Martín Plaza. The bars and cafés were full of customers; the air was dense with greetings, laughter, and the smell of beer; there were little clouds of smoke over the tables. He told me he isn’t going to be a soldier, Teresa thought. But what if he changes his mind and goes to the military school in Chorrillos? What’s the use of getting married to an army man, they spend their whole lives on the post, and if there’s a war they’re the first ones to get killed. Besides, they keep getting transferred, how awful to be living in a city and suddenly get shifted to the jungle, with all those mosquitoes and savages. As she passed the Zela Bar she heard some compliments that alarmed her: a group of older men raised their drinks to her, a young man said hello, and she had to dodge a drunkard who tried to stop her. But no, Teresa thought, he’s not going to be a soldier. He’s going to be an engineer. But I’ll still have to wait five years. That’s a long time. And then if he doesn’t want to marry me, I’ll be too old, nobody falls in love with an old woman. On other days, the arcades were almost deserted. When she passed the empty tables and the news-stands in the middle of the day, she saw only the shoeshine boys on the corners and a paperboy running by. She hurried to catch the streetcar so that she could eat her lunch, quickly, and get back to the office on time. On Saturday, however, she walked through the crowded, noisy arcades at a slower pace, always looking straight ahead, enjoying herself without showing it. The compliments the men gave her were flattering, and it was pleasant not to have to go back to work in the afternoon. But years before, Saturday had been a horrible day. Her mother swore and complained even more than on other days, because her father came home very late. And he arrived like a hurricane, full of rage and alcohol. His eyes burned, his voice thundered, his huge fists were clenched, and he paced back and forth like a wild beast in a cage, staggering, cursing his poverty, tipping the furniture over and pounding on the doors, until finally he collapsed on the floor, his anger exhausted. Then she and her mother undressed him and covered him with a blanket; he was so heavy they could not lift him into bed. Sometimes he brought someone home with him. Her mother dashed at the intruder like a fury, her thin hands trying to scratch her face. Her father set Teresa on his knees and told her with savage glee, “Watch them, this is better than a wrestling match.” That was until the day a woman split her mother’s forehead open with a bottle and they had to take her to the Public Aid. After that, her mother became resigned and docile. When he came home with another woman, she shrugged her shoulders, took Teresa by the hand, and left the house. They went to stay with the aunt in Bellavista, not returning until Monday. They found their house a stinking graveyard of empty bottles, with her father asleep, his legs spread out, in a great puddle of vomit, muttering in his dreams about the filthy rich and the injustices of life. He was a good man, Teresa thought. He worked like a horse all week. He drank to forget how poor he was. He loved me, he wouldn’t have abandoned me. The Lima-Chorrillos streetcar passed the reddish front of the penitentiary, the huge white mass of the Hall of Justice, and suddenly emerged into an open area where there were tall trees with swaying branches, and pools of still water, and winding paths bordered with flowers, and, in the midst of a vast, circular lawn, that enchanted palace with its gleaming white walls, its bas-reliefs, its latticed windows, its many doors with knockers in the shape of human faces: the Garifos Park. But my mother wasn’t a bad person either, Teresa thought. It’s just that she’d suffered a lot. When her father died in a charity hospital after a long illness, her mother took her one night to the door of her aunt’s house, gave her a hug, and said, “Don’t knock till I’m gone. I’m fed up with this dog’s life. I’m going to live for myself from now on, and may God forgive me. Your aunt will take care of you.” The streetcar brought her nearer her house than the express. But to get home from the streetcar stop she had to pass a series of open yards full of ragged, wild-looking men who said insolent things to her and sometimes tried to grab her. This time, no one molested her. She could only see two women and a dog, all of them busily digging in some heaps of rubbish, surrounded by swarms of flies. Otherwise the yards were deserted. I’ll do all the housecleaning before lunch, she thought. She was walking through lince now, among small, worn-out houses. Then I’ll have the whole afternoon free.
Half a block from her house, she saw the silhouette of a figure in a dark uniform and a white cap, standing beside a small valise. He was so motionless that she thought at once of the sentries who guarded the high, barred gates of the Government Palace. But the sentries always looked very gallant, they puffed out their chests and stretched their necks, proud of their tall boots and plumed helmets; while Alberto’s shoulders drooped, his head was bent, his whole body sagged. Teresa waved to him but he did not see her. The uniform looks good on him, Teresa thought. And how the buttons shine. He looks like a cadet from the Naval Academy. Alberto raised his head when she was a few yards away. Teresa smiled and he lifted his hand. What’s happened to him? she wondered. Alberto seemed to have aged, he was almost unrecognizable. There was a deep furrow between his eyebrows, his eyes had dark shadows under them, and his cheekbones seemed about to rip through his pallid skin. His glance wandered and his lips were nearly bloodless.
“Did you just get out?” Teresa asked, scrutinizing his face. “I didn’t think you’d come till later.”
There was no reply. He looked at her with vacant, defeated eyes.
“You look fine in your unifor,” Teresa said softly, after a brief pause.
“I don’t like the uniform,” Alberto said with a furtive smile. “I take it off as soon as I get home. But I haven’t been to Miraflores today.” He spoke without moving his lips, and his voice was faint and hollow.
“What’s happened?” Teresa asked. “Why are you like this? Are you sick? Tell me, Alberto.”
“No,” he said, looking away. “I’m not sick. But I don’t want to go home right now. I want to see you.” He ran his hand across his brow; the furrow vanished, but only for an instant. “I’ve got a problem.”
Teresa waited, leaning toward him slightly, and she looked at him tenderly to encourage him to go on speaking, but Alberto had closed his lips and was slowly rubbing his hands together. What should she say, what should she do to give him confidence in her, how could she cheer him up, what would he think of her afterward? Her heart had begun to beat very rapidly. She still hesitated for a moment. Then, on an impulse, she took a step toward Alberto and grasped his hand.
“Come in the house,” she said. “Stay and have lunch with us.”
“Lunch?” Alberto said, bewildered. He ran his hand across his brow again. “No, don’t bother your aunt. I’ll eat something nearby here and come back for you later.”
“Come on in,” she insisted, picking up his bag. “Don’t be so silly. My aunt won’t be bothered at all. Come on.”
Alberto followed her. At the door, Teresa let go of his hand. She bit her lip, then said in a whisper, “I don’t like to see you unhappy.” His eyes seemed to come back to life, and he was smiling at her gratefully. He lowered his face to hers and they kissed each other’s lips, very quickly. Teresa knocked on the door. Her aunt thought Alberto was a stranger at first: her little eyes peered at him suspiciously, took in the details of his uniform, and lighted up when she recognized his features. A smile spread across her fat face. She wiped her hand on her skirt and held it out, meanwhile babbling a stream of greetings.
“How are you, how are you, Señor Alberto? What a pleasure, come in, come in! I didn’t recognize you in that beautiful uniform you’re wearing. I asked myself, Who is he, who is he? and I couldn’t tell. I swear I’m going blind, from the smoke in the kitchen, you know, and besides that, I’m getting old. Come in, Señor Alberto, what a pleasure to see you.”
They had scarcely entered when Teresa said to her aunt, “Alberto�
�s going to stay and have lunch with us.”
“What?” the aunt said, as if thunderstruck. “What’s that you said?”
“He’s going to stay and have lunch with us,” Teresa repeated.
Her eyes begged the woman not to look so shocked, and to make some gesture of assent. But her aunt’s expression did not change: her eyes were wide open, her lower lip hung down, her forehead was covered with deep wrinkles, she seemed to be in a trance. Finally she came to, made a bitter face at Teresa, and told her, “Come with me.” Then she turned and went to the kitchen, rocking her body as she walked like a ponderous camel. Teresa followed her, closed the curtain, and immediately put her finger to her mouth. But her aunt did not speak, she merely looked at her furiously and made as if to scratch her eyes out.
Teresa whispered in her ear, “The grocer can trust you till Tuesday. Don’t say anything now, he’ll hear you, I’ll explain later. He’s got to stay. Please don’t be angry, Aunt. Go ahead, I’m sure he’ll trust you.”
“You idiot!” her aunt bellowed, but in the midst of doing so she lowered her voice and put her finger to her lips. “You idiot,” she murmured. “Have you gone crazy, do you want me to die of rage? It’s been years since the grocer gave me credit. We owe him money and I can’t even stick my head in there. Idiot.”
“Beg him,” Teresa said. “Do anything you can.”
“Idiot,” her aunt exclaimed, then spoke in a low voice again. “There’s only two soles. What’re you going to give him? Soup? There isn’t even any bread.”
“Go ahead, Aunt,” Teresa insisted. “Get whatever you like.”
And without waiting for a reply she went back to the living room. Alberto was sitting down. He had put his bag on the floor, with his cap on top of it. Teresa sat down next to him. She saw that his hair was tangled and dirty. The curtain opened again and her aunt came out. Her face was still red with anger, but it was wearing a fixed smile.
“Here I am, Señor Alberto. I’ll be right back. I have to go out for a moment or two, just a little errand.” She glared at Teresa and said, “Take care of things in the kitchen.” She slammed the door as she left.
“What happened to you last Saturday?” Teresa asked. “Why didn’t you get out?”
“Arana’s dead,” Alberto said. “They buried him on Tuesday.”
“Who?” she asked. “Arana, the boy on the corner? He’s dead? But that’s impossible. Do you mean Ricardo Arana?”
“The wake was at the Academy,” Alberto said. There was no emotion in his voice, only a certain weariness; his eyes looked vacant again. “They didn’t bring him home. It happened last Saturday. In the field exercises. We were having rifle practice. A bullet hit him in the head.”
“But…” Teresa said when he stopped speaking. She appeared confused. “I knew him very slightly. But I’m awfully sorry. It’s horrible!” She put a hand on his shoulder. “He was in the same section with you, wasn’t he? Is that why you’re so sad?”
“Yes, partly,” he said. “He was my friend. And besides that…”
“Yes, yes,” Teresa said. “But why are you so different? What else has happened?” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. Alberto did not move and she straightened up, flushing.
“It doesn’t seem like much to you?” Alberto asked. “It doesn’t seem like much for him to die that way? And I couldn’t even talk with him. He thought I was his friend and I… It doesn’t seem like much to you?”
“Why are you speaking to me in that tone of voice?” Teresa asked. “Tell me the truth, Alberto. Why are you angry at me? Have they been telling you things about me?”
“It doesn’t matter to you if Arana’s dead? Can’t you see I’m talking about the Slave? Why do you change the subject? You only think of yourself and…” He stopped shouting because he could see that Teresa’s eyes were full of tears, her lips trembling. “I’m sorry,” Alberto said. “I’m talking like an imbecile. I didn’t mean to shout at you. It’s just that so many things have happened, I’m all nerves. Please don’t cry, Teresa.”
He drew her toward him, she rested her head on his shoulder, and they remained like that for a moment. Then Alberto kissed her cheeks, her eyes, and then, for a long while, her lips.
“Of course I’m sorry about it,” Teresa said. “The poor boy. But you looked so different, I was frightened, I thought you were angry at me about something. And when you shouted at me it was terrible, I’d never seen you in a rage before. How your eyes flashed!”
“Teresa,” he said, “I want to tell you something.”
“Good,” she said. Her cheeks were burning red and she was smiling happily. “Tell me, I want to know all about you.”
He closed his mouth abruptly, and his anxious expression dissolved into a timid smile.
“What is it?” she asked. “Tell me, Alberto.”
“I love you very much,” he said.
When the door opened, they separated so hurriedly that the valise tipped over and his cap fell on the floor. Alberto bent over to pick it up. The aunt smiled at him benevolently. She was carrying a bundle in her hands. Teresa helped to prepare the meal, blowing kisses to Alberto whenever her aunt’s back was turned. Then they all talked about the weather, the summer vacation, the latest movies. It was not until they were halfway through lunch that Teresa told her aunt about the death of Arana. The woman bewailed the tragedy in a loud voice, pitying the boy’s parents, above all his poor mother, and asserting that God sends the worst misfortunes to the best families, nobody knows why. It seemed as if she was also going to weep, but she limited herself to rubbing her dry eyes and sneezing. When lunch was finished, Alberto said he had to leave.
At the front door, Teresa asked him again, “You really aren’t angry at me?”
“No, I swear I’m not. Why should I be angry at you? But perhaps I won’t be able to see you for a while. Write to me at the Academy every week. I’ll explain everything later.”
Teresa watched him until he disappeared from sight. She was puzzled by his last remarks. Why had he left in that manner? Then she had a revelation: He’s fallen in love with another girl and he didn’t dare tell me because I invited him to lunch.
The first time, we went to La Perla. Skinny Higueras asked me if I’d mind walking instead of taking a bus. We walked down Progreso Avenue, talking about everything except what we were going to do. Skinny didn’t seem nervous, he even seemed calmer than usual, and I figured he wanted to give me courage, because I was scared sick. After a while, Skinny took off his jacket, he said it was hot, but I was freezing to death, I kept on shivering and I had to stop three times to take a leak. When we got to the Carrión Hospital, a man came out from among the trees. I jumped back and shouted, “Skinny! The cops!” But it was one of the characters that were with Skinny the night before in that dive on Sáenz Peña. He didn’t behave like Skinny, he was very serious, he even looked nervous. They talked in an underworld slang I could hardly understand. We kept on walking, and after a while Skinny said, “This is where we cut across.” We left the street and crossed a field. It was dark, and I was almost stumbling along. Before we got to Palmeras Avenue, Skinny said, “We’d better sit down and talk it over so we’ll know just what we’re doing.” We sat down and Skinny told me what I had to do. He said the house was empty and they’d help me get up on the roof. I’d have to climb down into the garden and get inside through a small window that didn’t have any glass in it. Then I had to open one of the windows on the street and come back to where we were. They’d meet me there. Skinny repeated what I had to do a number of times and told me exactly where to find the window. He seemed to know the house inside out, he told me where every room was. I didn’t ask him anything about the instructions, only about what could happen to me. “Are you sure there isn’t anybody in there? And what if there’s a dog? What’ll I do if I get caught?” Skinny calmed me down, he was very patient with me. A little later he turned to his friend and said, “Go ahead, Jitters.” Jitters walked on toward
Palmeras Avenue and in a few minutes we lost sight of him. Skinny asked me, “Are you scared?” “Yes,” I said, “a little.” “So am I,” he said, “so don’t worry, you’re like the rest of us.” A moment later we heard a whistle. Skinny got up and said, “Let’s go. That whistle means the coast is clear.” I started to shake and I told him, “Look, Skinny, I’d better go back to Bellavista.” “Don’t be stupid,” he said, “we can do it in half an hour.” We walked over to the avenue and Jitters met us again. “It’s just like a graveyard,” he said. “Not even a cat.” The house was as big as a castle, and completely dark. We cased the walls all around, and when we got out back Skinny and Jitters boosted me up so I could get onto the roof. Once I was up there I stopped being afraid. I wanted to do everything very quickly. I crossed the roof and I saw that the tree in the garden was very close to the wall of the house, the way Skinny said. I got down without making any noise and without scraping myself. The window was very small and I was scared again when I saw it was covered with a wire screen. He double-crossed me, I thought. But the wire was rusty, I gave it a little push and it fell apart. I had a hard time getting in, I scratched my shoulders and my legs and for a few moments I thought I was stuck. I couldn’t see anything when I got inside the house. I bumped into the furniture and the walls. Every time I went into another room I thought I was going to see the windows that looked out on the street, but everything was pitch black. I was so nervous I made a lot of noise, and I couldn’t figure out where I was. The minutes kept passing and I couldn’t find those windows. I bumped against a table and knocked a vase or something to the floor, and it broke with a loud crash. I almost bawled when I saw some narrow streaks of light in one corner. I hadn’t seen the windows because they were covered by heavy drapes. I peeked out, and there was Palmeras Avenue, but I couldn’t see either Skinny or Jitters and it gave me a terrible scare. I thought, A cop came along and they left me here alone. I kept watching for a while, to see if they’d show up. I began to feel as if I’d been taken in, and I thought, So what, I’m a minor after all, the worst they can do is send me to reform school. I opened the window and jumped out onto the sidewalk. I’d hardly landed when I heard footsteps and then Skinny’s voice. “Good work. Go back to the field and stay still.” I ran across the street and flopped onto the grass. I started thinking what I’d do if the cops came around. Now and then I forgot where I was and it seemed as if it was all a dream and I was home in bed, I could picture Teresa’s face and I wanted to visit her and talk with her. I was so busy thinking about her I didn’t notice when Skinny and Jitters came back. We returned to Bellavista through the fields without going on Progreso Avenue. Skinny’d taken a lot of things out of that house. We stopped under the trees in front of the Carrión Hospital, and Skinny and Jitters made up several packages. They said good-by to each other before we got into the city, and Jitters told me, “You passed the acid test, kid.” Skinny gave me some packages and I hid them in my clothes. We brushed our trousers and cleaned the dirt off our shoes. Then we went on toward the plaza, walking calmly. Skinny told me some jokes and I laughed like a madman. He walked me to the door of my house, and told me, “You did your part like a real buddy. We’ll see each other tomorrow and I’ll give you your share.” I told him I needed money right away, even if it was just a little. He gave me a ten-sol bill. “That’s only part of it,” he said. “I’ll give you some more tomorrow if I can sell the stuff tonight.” I’d never had so much money at one time in all my life. I thought about all the things I could do with ten soles, lots of things occurred to me but I couldn’t decide on any of them, I was only sure I’d spend a little for the fare to go into Lima. I thought, I’ll bring her a present. I spent hours trying to figure out what she’d like best. I thought of all sorts of things, from notebooks or chalk to caramels or a canary. The next morning when I got out of school I still hadn’t made up my mind. Suddenly I remembered the time she borrowed a magazine from the baker to read some stories. I went to a newsstand and bought three magazines, two of them with adventure stories, the other with love stories. I felt very happy in the streetcar and my head was full of ideas. I waited for her again in the store on Alfonso Ugarte and when she got out of school I hurried over to her. We shook hands and began talking about her classes. I had the magazines under my arm. She’d been glancing at them out of the corner of her eye for several minutes, and when we were crossing the Bolognesi Plaza she said, “Have you got some magazines? How nice. Will you lend them to me when you’ve read them?” I said, “I bought them for you as a present.” “Honestly?” she asked. “Of course,” I said. “Here, take them.” “Thank you,” she said, and began to glance through them as we walked along. I noticed she opened the love stories first and spent more time on them. I thought, I should’ve bought nothing but love stories, she won’t be interested in the adventures. As we reached Arica Avenue she said, “I’ll lend them to you when I’m finished.” I told her that would be fine. We didn’t say anything for a few moments. Suddenly she told me, “You’re very good.” I just laughed and said, “Don’t you believe it.”
The Time of the Hero Page 28
