“Then what?” Alberto asked.
“That’s all,” the corporal said. “It’s just that he started to bleed, and I told him, ‘Stop your bellyaching.’ So the idiot said, ‘I’m not, Corporal, but I’m hurt.’ And since all the privates are buddies, they started saying, ‘He’s hurt, he’s hurt.’ I didn’t believe it, but maybe it was true. Do you know why, Cadet? Because his hair was getting red. I told him to go wash it off so he wouldn’t dirty the floor in the barracks. But he was a stubborn bastard, he wouldn’t do it. If you want to know the truth, he’s a fairy. He just sat there on his bunk, and I gave him a shove so he’d get up. That’s the only reason I shoved him, Cadet, but the others started yelling, ‘Leave him alone, Corporal, can’t you see he’s hurt.’”
“And after that?” Alberto asked.
“That’s all, Cadet, that’s all. The sergeant came in and asked what was the matter with him. ‘He fell down, Sergeant,’ I said. ‘Isn’t that right, you fell down?’ But the fairy said, ‘No, you hit me on the head, Corporal,’ and the other bastards started shouting, ‘That’s right, that’s right, the corporal hit him.’ What goddamned fairies! So the sergeant sent that idiot to the infirmary and brought me here to the guardhouse. I’ve been here four days, on bread and water. You can’t guess how hungry I am, Cadet.”
“Why did you hit him on the head?” Alberto asked.
“Bah,” the corporal said with a scornful gesture. “I just wanted him to clear out the rubbish faster. Want me to tell you something? There isn’t any justice. If the lieutenant finds any rubbish in the barracks he restricts me to the grounds for three days or he kicks my ass. But if I give a soldier a bat on the head they put me in the guardhouse. Want to know the truth, Cadet? The officers walk all over the privates, but they’re all buddies and they help each other. We noncoms, though, we get it from both sides. The officers treat us like dirt and the privates hate us, they do everything they can to make it tough for us. I was better off when I was a private, Cadet.”
The two cells were in back of the guardhouse. They were high and dark, with a grating between them through which Alberto and the corporal could chat comfortably. In each cell there was a small window near the ceiling that let in a few rays of light; there was also a rickety field cot, a straw mattress and a khaki blanket.
“How long’re you going to be here, Cadet?” the corporal asked.
“I don’t know,” Alberto said. Gamboa had not given him any explanation the night before, he had merely said curtly, “And sleep there, I don’t want you to go to the barracks.” It was scarcely ten o’clock, Costanera Avenue and the patios were deserted, with a silent wind sweeping through them; the cadets who had been confined were in their barracks and the cadets who had gone out on pass would not return until eleven. The privates were sitting together on a bench at the rear of the guardhouse, talking in low voices. They had not even glanced at Alberto when he entered the cell. For a few moments he could not see anything in the darkness, then he made out the shadow of the field cot in one corner. He put his bag on the floor, took off his jacket, shoes and cap, and covered himself with the blanket. He could hear someone snoring, it sounded like an animal growling, but he fell asleep almost at once. He woke up several times during the night, and that snoring still continued, unchanged, powerful. At daybreak he discovered the corporal in the next cell: a tall man with a face as sharp as a knife, sleeping with his cap and leggings on. A little later a soldier brought him a cup of hot coffee. The corporal woke up and gave him a friendly wave from his bunk. That was when they started chatting together, and they were still at it when reveille sounded.
Alberto left the grating and went over to the cell door, which looked out into the main room of the guardhouse. Lt. Gamboa was leaning toward Lt. Ferrero, saying something almost in a whisper. The soldiers rubbed their eyes, stretched, picked up their rifles and went out of the guardhouse on the double. When they opened the door, Alberto could see the patio out front and the border of white stones around the monument to the hero. The privates who were going on duty with Ferrero would be waiting out there to come in. Gamboa left the guardhouse without looking toward the cells. Alberto heard a whistle blowing, then another and another, and he knew that the cadets of the different Years were forming ranks in their patios. The corporal was still on his cot. He had closed his eyes again, but he was not snoring. When he heard the sound of the battalions marching to the mess hall, he whistled in time with their steps. Alberto looked at his watch. He must be in with the Piranha now, Teresita, or else he’s already talked with him, they’ve talked with the major and the commandant, they’re going to see the colonel, Teresita, the five of them are talking about me, they’ll call the newspapers and I’ll be photographed and the first day I get a pass I’ll be lynched and my mother’ll go crazy, and I won’t be able to go to Miraflores any more because they’ll all point their fingers at me, I’ll have to go away and change my name, Teresita. A few minutes later, they heard the whistles again. The cadets left the mess hall and crossed the field to take their places on the parade ground; in the guardhouse the sound of their footsteps was like a distant murmur. But when they marched to the classrooms the sound was a heavy, martial beat that slowly diminished and finally died away. They know about it now, Teresita, they’re saying the Poet didn’t come back, Arróspide’s put me down as absent, they’ll draw lots to see who’ll beat me up, it’ll all come out and my father’ll say, you’ve dragged my name in the mud, in the police reports in the newspapers, your grandfather and your great-grandfather would’ve died of shock, we’ve always been the best in every way and you’re a disgrace, we’ll run away, Teresita, we’ll go to New York and never come back to Peru, they’re in the classrooms now and they’re looking at my empty place. Alberto stepped back when Lt. Ferrero came to the cell. The metal door opened silently.
“Cadet Fernández?” He was a very young lieutenant, in charge of a company in the Third.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Go to the office of your Year and report to Captain Garrido.”
Alberto put on his jacket and cap. The morning was clear, with a smell of salt and fish in the wind. He had not heard any rain during the night, but the patio in front of the guardhouse was full of puddles and the statue of the hero looked like a sad, wet plant. There was no one on the parade ground, no one in the patio outside his barracks. The office door was open. He pulled his jacket down and rubbed his hand over his eyes. Gamboa was standing, Capt. Garrido was sitting on a corner of the desk; when they saw him, the captain nodded him in. Alberto went in and came to attention. The captain looked him up and down very slowly. For once, his jaw muscles were not working, but they bulged out like abscesses under his ears. His mouth was closed but his bright white teeth stuck out through his lips, that was why they called him the Piranha. The captain nodded again.
“All right,” he said, “let’s get to the facts. What’s it all about, Cadet?”
Alberto opened his mouth, but it was as if he had let in some poisonous air that destroyed his vitals. What was he going to say? The captain seemed both angry and nervous, he kept fiddling with the papers on his desk. Gamboa was off to one side and he could not see his face. His cheeks burned, he knew that he must be blushing.
“What are you waiting for?” the captain said. “Haven’t you got a tongue?”
Alberto lowered his head. He felt immensely tired and suddenly unsure of himself: the words that rose seemed fragile and deceptive, they retreated or they died on his lips.
Gamboa interrupted his stammering. “Come on, Cadet,” he said. “Calm down, get hold of yourself. The captain’s waiting. Just repeat what you told me on Saturday. Don’t be afraid to speak out.”
“Yes, Sir,” Alberto said. He took a deep breath. “They killed Cadet Arana because he told on the Circle.”
“Did you see it with your own eyes?” the captain asked him crossly. Alberto looked up: the captain’s jaws were working now, the muscles moving in rhythm under his green
ish skin.
“No, Sir,” he said, “but…”
“But what?” the captain roared. “How can you dare make an accusation like that without concrete evidence? Do you know what it means to accuse someone of murder? Why have you made up this idiotic story?”
Capt. Garrido’s brow was damp and there was a little yellow fire in both of his eyes. His hands gripped the top of the desk, his temples were pulsing. All at once, Alberto recovered himself. He returned the captain’s look without blinking, and after a few seconds he could see the officer shift his eyes.
“I haven’t made up a thing, Sir,” he said, and his voice sounded convincing to his own ears. “Not a thing, Sir. The cadets in the Circle were looking for whoever made Cava get expelled. The Jaguar wanted revenge no matter what happened, he hates squealers worse than anything. And everybody hated Cadet Arana, they treated him like a slave. I’m sure the Jaguar killed him, Sir. If I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t’ve said anything.”
“One moment, Fernández,” Gamboa said. “Explain things in order. Come up closer. Sit down if you want to.”
“No,” the captain said in a harsh voice, and Gamboa turned to look at him. But Capt. Garrido had his eyes fixed on Alberto. “Stay where you are. And keep talking.”
Alberto coughed and wiped his brow with his handkerchief. He began to speak in a faint, unsteady voice, but as he described what the Circle did, and told the story of the Slave, and went on to the liquor and cigarettes, the stealing and selling of exams, the affairs at Paulino’s, the jumping over the wall, the poker games in the latrine, the contests, the vengeances, the bets, it was as if the secret life of the section took on the reality of a nightmare, and his voice grew stronger, steadier, even aggressive at times.
The captain turned paler at every revelation, and only interrupted him once: “But what’s that got to do with it?”
“I’m telling you so you’ll believe me, Sir,” Alberto said. “The officers don’t have any way of knowing what goes on in the barracks. I’m telling you so you’ll believe me about the Slave.”
Later, when Alberto had finished speaking, Capt. Garrido was silent for a few moments, glaring at all the objects on his desk. His hands twitched at the buttons on his jacket. “All right,” he said abruptly. “You mean we should expel the whole section. They’re all thieves or drunkards or gamblers. They’re all guilty of something. That’s just fine. But what about you?”
“We’re all guilty, Sir,” Alberto said. “Of everything. The only one who wasn’t was the Slave. That’s why he never had any friends.” His voice broke. “You’ve got to believe me, Sir. The Circle was out to get him. They wanted to get whoever told on Cava. It was revenge, Sir.”
“Stop right there!” the captain said. He seemed even more nervous than before. “That’s right where your story falls apart! What nonsense are you trying to hand me? Nobody accused Cadet Cava of anything!”
“It isn’t nonsense, Sir,” Alberto said. “Ask Lieutenant Huarina if it wasn’t the Slave who told on Cava. He was the only one who saw Cava when he left the barracks to steal the exam. He was on guard duty that night. Ask Lieutenant Huarina.”
“You haven’t got a leg to stand on,” the captain said. But Alberto could tell that he was still less sure of himself: one hand was dangling futilely in the air, and his teeth looked even bigger. “It’s nonsense, nonsense, Cadet.”
“But it was as if they’d told on the Jaguar himself, Sir,” Alberto said. “He was raving mad because they expelled Cava, and the Circle met every night. It was revenge. I know the Jaguar and he’s capable of…”
“That’s enough,” the captain said. “What you’re telling me is absolutely childish. You’re accusing a fellow cadet of murder, but without any proof. I wouldn’t be surprised if you yourself aren’t the one who wants revenge. You can’t play that kind of game in the army, Cadet. It could cost you dearly.”
“Captain,” Alberto said, “the Jaguar was behind the Slave when we attacked the hill.”
But then he stopped talking. He had said it without thinking and now he was not sure. He tried feverishly to visualize the scene at La Perla, the hill with the plowed fields around it, the morning light, the formations.
“Are you sure?” Gamboa asked.
“Yes, Sir. He was behind Arana. I’m sure.”
Capt. Garrido looked at them: his eyes jumped from one to the other, suspicious, angry. His hands were together now, one of them clenched, the other one covering it. “And what does that mean? Nothing!” he said. “Absolutely nothing!”
The three of them were silent for a few moments. Suddenly the captain straightened up and began pacing back and forth, his arms crossed, his hands on his shoulders. Gamboa sat where the captain had been sitting and stared at the wall.
“Cadet Fernández,” the captain said. He had stopped in the middle of the room and his voice was gentler now. “I’m going to talk to you man to man. You’re young and impulsive. That’s not a fault, it can even be a virtue. A mere tenth of what you’ve told me would be more than enough to expel you from the Academy. And that would be a terrible blow for your parents. Am I right?”
“Yes, Sir,” Alberto said. Lt. Gamboa was dangling one foot in the air and looking at the floor.
“The death of that cadet has affected you,” the captain went on. “I can understand, he was your friend. But even if some parts of what you’ve said are true, you could never prove it. Never. Because it’s all based on a sheer hypothesis. The most we can do is investigate the violations you mentioned…and if they exist, you’ll be the first one we’ll expel, of course. However, I’m willing to forget the whole affair if you’ll promise me you’ll never say another word about it.” He gestured as if to clap his brow, but then dropped his hand. “Yes, that’s the best thing. We’ll forget all these fantasies.”
Lt. Gamboa still had his eyes lowered and was still swinging his foot, but now the tip of his shoe was grazing the floor.
“Do you understand?” the captain said, trying to smile.
“No, Sir,” Alberto said.
“You don’t understand me, Cadet?”
“I can’t make that promise,” Alberto said. “They killed Arana.”
“In that case,” the captain said, “I order you to keep your mouth shut and stop talking nonsense. And if you don’t obey me, you’ll soon find out who you’re dealing with.”
“Excuse me, Sir,” Gamboa said.
“I’m speaking, Gamboa, don’t interrupt me.”
“I’m sorry, Sir,” Gamboa said, standing up. He was taller than the captain and Garrido had to raise his eyes. “Cadet Fernández has the right to make this accusation, Sir. I’m not saying it’s true, but he has the right to demand an investigation. That’s perfectly clear in the regulations.”
“Are you going to teach me the regulations, Gamboa?”
“No, Sir, of course not. But if you aren’t going to take any action, I’ll hand my report to the major. This is a serious thing and I believe it ought to be investigated.”
A little after the last exam, I saw Teresa with two other girls on Sáenz Peña Avenue. They were carrying towels and I called to her and asked her where she was going. “To the beach,” she told me. I was in a bad mood that day, and when my mother asked me for money I answered with a coarse remark. She got out the belt she kept under her bed. She hadn’t hit me for a long time and I threatened her: “If you touch me, I’ll never give you another centavo.” It was only a bluff and I never dreamed it’d have any effect. I was stunned when I saw her lower the belt, which was already in mid-air, and throw it on the floor. She muttered a remark as coarse as mine and went into the kitchen without another word. Teresa and the other two girls went to the beach the next day and the days that followed. One morning I decided to spy on them. They went to Chucuito. They had their bathing suits on under their clothes and they undressed on the beach. Three or four boys were waiting for them there. I only looked at the one that talked with Teresa. I watched them al
l morning from behind the railing. Finally the girls put on their clothes again and went back to Bellavista. I waited for the boys. Two of them left in a short while, but the boy that talked with Teresa stayed there with another one till almost three. Then they headed toward La Punta, walking in the middle of the street, swinging their towels. When they got to an empty block I began throwing stones at them. I aimed at both of them and I hit Teresa’s friend square in the face. He said, “Ow!” and bent over, and another stone hit him in the back. They both stared at me and I ran toward them before they had time to think what to do. The other one shouted, “He’s a lunatic!” and ran away, but Teresa’s friend just stood there and I piled into him. I’d had fights at school and knew what to do, also my brother taught me to use my feet and head while I was still little. “If you lose hold of yourself and just start throwing punches,” he told me, “you’re done for. It’s all right to fight that way if you’re a lot stronger than the other guy, you can get him into a corner and break through his guard. But if you aren’t, it’s bad. You wear yourself out swinging at the air, and you start getting bored, and pretty soon you don’t feel like fighting any more. And if the other guy knows what’s up, that’s when he takes advantage of it and gives you a real beating.” My brother taught me how to handle a guy that just swings wildly, how to tire him out, how to keep him away with your feet. Then when he gets careless you grab his shirt and bang him with your head. He taught me how to do it the Callao way, not with your forehead or the top of your head, you hit him with the bone that’s right at your hairline, it’s harder than the rest, and you drop your hands so he won’t bring his knee up and get you in the stomach. “There’s nothing like a bang with the head,” my brother told me, “one good one can stun the other guy and then you’re all set.” This time I forgot everything he taught me but I beat them anyway. The one who’d been with Teresa didn’t defend himself, he just fell down and started crying. His friend was watching about ten yards away and he shouted, “Don’t hit him, you fairy, don’t hit him,” but I kept on hitting him while he was down. Then I went after the other one, he started running but I caught up with him and hit him and he fell down. He didn’t want to fight: the minute I let him loose he got up and ran. I went back to the other one, who was wiping his face. I meant to talk with him but as soon as I saw his face I got furious again and gave him a punch. He began screeching like a parrot. I grabbed him by his shirt and said, “If you go near Teresa again, I’ll hit you twice as hard.” I insulted his mother and gave him a kick, I might’ve gone on with it but just then I got grabbed by the ear. It was a woman, she started hitting me on the head and shouting, “You savage, you animal!” and the other one took the chance to run away. She finally let go of me and I went home to Bellavista. It was like before the fight, I didn’t feel as if I’d got revenge. I’d never felt that way before. The other times I didn’t see Teresa I just felt unhappy or I wanted to be alone, but this time I felt angry and unhappy all at once. I knew that when Teresa heard what I did, she’d hate me. I went to the Bellavista Plaza but I didn’t go in my house. I walked on to the bar on Sáenz Peña, and Skinny Higueras was there, talking to the bartender. “What’s the matter?” he asked me. I’d never told him anything about Tere, but now I had to spill it out to somebody I could trust. I told Skinny everything, from the time she came to live next door to us four years earlier. Skinny listened to me very seriously, he didn’t laugh even once. All he said was, “Really, man?” and “Christ!” and “So then what?” All at the right places. When I was through, he said, “You’re head over heels in love. I was about your age the first time I fell in love, but I didn’t take it so hard. Love’s the worst thing there is. You start acting like an idiot, you don’t look out for yourself. Everything seems different and you do the craziest things just on the spur of the moment. I mean that men do. Women, they’re different, they’re smarter, they only fall in love when it suits them. If they figure their man isn’t right for them, they fall out again and look for another one. And it doesn’t bother them at all. But don’t worry. I swear to God I can cure you right now, today, I know just the medicine you need.” He had me drinking pisco and cerveza till it got dark, then he made me throw up, squeezing my stomach to help me. After that he took me to a tavern in Callao, he made me take a shower in the patio and I had to eat things with lots of chili in them, the dining room was full of people. We got into a taxi and he gave the driver an address. “Ever been to a whorehouse?” he asked me. I shook my head. “It’s the sure cure,” he said. “You wait and see. But maybe they won’t let you in.” And that’s what almost happened: the woman that opened the door knew Skinny all right, but she got mad when she saw me. “You’re crazy if you think you can bring this kid in,” she said, “there’s a stool pigeon here every five minutes cadging a beer.” They argued for a while but she let me in with Skinny. “All right,” she said, “but go straight to the room and don’t come out of it till morning.” Skinny rushed me through the downstairs room, I didn’t even have time to look at the people that were there. We went up the stairs and the woman opened a door, and before Skinny could turn on the light she said, “I’m going to send you a dozen beers. I’ll put up with the kid here but you’ve got to spend some money. The girls’ll be up right away. You know Sandra, she likes these snot-nosed babies.” The room was large and dirty. There was a bed in the middle of it, with a red mattress, and a chamber pot, and two mirrors. One of them was on the ceiling over the bed, the other one was on the wall next to it. The rest of the walls were covered with drawings of naked men and women, some of them in pencil or ink, some of them scratched with a knife. Then two women came in with a lot of bottles of beer. They were friends of Skinny’s and they both kissed him, they pinched him and sat on his lap and used words like ass and whore and prick. One of them was thin, she was part Negro and she had a gold tooth, the other one was plump, with light-colored skin. They made fun of me and told Skinny he was corrupting a minor. They started drinking beer and a little later they opened the door part way so they could hear the music from downstairs, then they danced. At first I didn’t say a word to anybody but after I’d had some beer I felt happier. I danced with the light-skinned one and she pushed my head against her tits, they were outside her dress. Skinny got drunk and told the other one to put on a show for us. She danced a mambo in just her panties and suddenly Skinny went up to her and dumped her onto the bed. The light-skinned one grabbed my hand and took me to another room. “Is this the first time?” she asked me. I told her no but she could tell I was lying. She looked happy about that and she came over to me naked and said, “I hope you bring me good luck.”
The Time of the Hero Page 31
