The Time of the Hero

by Mario Vargas Llosa

  Lt. Gamboa left his room and walked quickly across the parade ground. He reached the classroom building at the moment that Pitaluga, the Officer of the Day, was blowing his whistle: the first class of the morning had just ended. The cadets were in the classrooms, and a steady roar emerged from the gray walls of the building: it was like a vast, round monster hovering over the patio. Gamboa paused a moment on the stairs, then went on to the office. Pezoa, the noncom on duty, was there, leafing through his notebook.

  “Come on, Pezoa.”

  The noncom followed him, stroking his thin mustache with one finger. He walked with his legs apart, as if he were in the cavalry. Gamboa respected him because he was alert and efficient, especially during the field exercises.

  “When they get out of classes, tell the first section to fall in. With their rifles. March them out to the stadium.”

  “An arms inspection, Sir?”

  “No. I want them to form up in combat groups. Look, Pezoa, they didn’t get out of position during the exercises, did they? I mean, they advanced in the proper order, the first group first, then the second, then the third.”

  “No, Sir,” Pezoa said. “The captain told us to put the shortest ones in the front line.”

  “Yes.” Gamboa thought for a moment. “Yes, you’re right. Anyway, I’ll be waiting for you in the stadium.”

  The noncom saluted and left. Gamboa returned to his quarters. The morning light was clearer, with almost no fog, and the sea wind barely stirred the grass on the open field where the vicuña was wandering in circles. It was almost summer, the Academy would be empty, life would be easier, softer: he would have fewer hours on duty, fewer things to worry about, he could go to the beach at least three times a week. And his wife would be all right again, they could take the baby out for a ride. And he could also study harder for the exams, he had had only eight months to get ready, that was too little: twenty candidates would be promoted to captain, but a hundred lieutenants had applied.

  A few moments later, he went to the captain’s office. Garrido was sitting at his desk, reading reports, and did not look up when he entered. At last he said, “Lieutenant?”

  “Yes, Sir?”

  “What’s it all about?” Capt. Garrido was scowling at him. Gamboa hesitated before answering.

  “I’m not sure, Sir,” he said. “It’s hard to say what really happened. I’ve started investigating. Perhaps I can find out.”

  “I’m not thinking about that,” the captain said. “I’m thinking about the consequences. Aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” Gamboa said. “It could be serious.”

  “Serious?” The captain smiled. “I’m sure you haven’t forgotten I’m in charge of the battalion. And I’m sure you haven’t forgotten you’re in charge of the company. Whatever happens, we’ll take the rap, the two of us.”

  “I’ve thought about that, Sir,” Gamboa said. “You’re right, of course. And believe me, I don’t like it.”

  “When do you expect a promotion?”

  “Next year.”

  “So do I,” the captain said. “The exams are going to be tough, there’s less and less room at the top. Let’s face the facts, Gamboa. We’ve both got excellent records. There isn’t a single black mark against us. But they’ll hold us responsible for this. The cadet seems to believe you’re backing him up. Talk with him. Convince him we’re right. The only thing to do is to forget the whole affair.”

  Gamboa looked the captain in the eyes. “May I speak to you frankly, Sir?”

  “That’s exactly what I’ve been doing, Gamboa. I’m treating you as a friend, not a subordinate.”

  “I’m as interested in a promotion as you are, Sir. I’ll do all I can to get it. I don’t want to be stuck here at the Academy any more than you do. I can’t feel I’m in the army when I’m bossing these kids around. But if I didn’t learn anything else at the Military School, I learned the importance of discipline. Without that, everything breaks down, everything falls to pieces. Why is our country the way it is? Lack of discipline. Lack of order. The only part of it that stays strong and healthy is the army, because of its structure, its organization. If it’s true they killed that boy, if it’s true about the liquor and the sale of exams and the rest, I feel I’ve got a duty, Captain. I feel it’s my duty to find out if there’s any truth in that story.”

  “You’re exaggerating, Gamboa,” the captain said. He began to pace back and forth as he had done during his interview with Alberto. “I don’t say we should cover up everything. We’ll have to punish them for the liquor and the exams. But remember, the first thing you learn in the army is to be a man. And what do men do? They smoke, they drink, they gamble, they fuck. The cadets all know they get expelled if they’re discovered. If, Gamboa. We’ve already expelled quite a few. But the smart ones don’t get caught. If they’re going to be men, they have to take chances, they have to use their wits. That’s the way the army is, Gamboa. Discipline isn’t enough. You’ve got to have guts, and you’ve also got to have brains.” He paused for a moment. “But we can discuss all that some other time. What’s worrying me right now is the main accusation. It’s asinine, of course, but it could still do us a lot of harm if it gets to the colonel.”

  “Excuse me, Captain,” Gamboa said, “but…well, I agree with you that the cadets in my company can do what they want as long as I don’t know about it. But now I do know about it, and I’d be neglecting my duty if I tried to pretend I didn’t. I’m positive there’s something very wrong. Cadet Fernández showed me that the whole company has been laughing in my face all along. They’ve made a fool of me.”

  “But that’s because they’re men now, Gamboa,” the captain said. “When we first get them, they’re sniveling little brats. And look at them!”

  “Then I’m going to make better men of them,” Gamboa said. “By the time I get through investigating I’ll have the whole company court-martialed if I have to.”

  The captain stopped pacing. “You talk like a religious fanatic,” he said, raising his voice. “Do you want to wreck your career?”

  “A soldier can’t wreck his career by doing his duty, Sir.”

  “Very well,” the captain said, beginning to pace again. “I can’t stop you. But surely you realize you’ll end up holding the bag. You aren’t stupid, in one way, Gamboa: you know I won’t back you up, you know you’re doing this on your own.”

  “Of course, Sir. Excuse me.”

  Gamboa saluted and left the office. In his room there was a photograph of a woman on the nightstand. It had been taken before they were married. He had met her at a party, while he was still at the Military School. The picture had been taken in the countryside, but Gamboa did not know where. She was slimmer then, and wore her hair loose. She was standing under a tree, smiling, and there was a river in the background. Gamboa studied it for a few moments, then re-examined the reports and the punishment orders. A little before noon he went back to the patio. Two soldiers were sweeping out the barracks of the first section. When they saw him approaching they came to attention.

  “At ease,” Gamboa said. “Do you sweep out this barracks every day?”

  “Yes, Sir, I do,” one of the soldiers said. He pointed to the other and added, “He sweeps out the second.”

  “Come with me.”

  Out in the patio, the lieutenant stared at him for a moment and then said, “You’ve screwed yourself, you idiot.”

  The soldier automatically came to attention, and opened his eyes wider. His face was coarse and beardless. He seemed to accept it as a fact that he had done something wrong.

  “Why haven’t you turned in a report?” Gamboa asked.

  “But I have, Sir. Thirty-two beds. Thirty-two lockers. But I turned it in to the sergeant.”

  “I’m not talking about that. And don’t pretend you don’t know. Why didn’t you report the bottles of liquor, the cigarettes, the dice, the cards?”

  The soldier opened his eyes even wider, but without replying.


  “Which lockers?” Gamboa asked.

  “I don’t understand, Lieutenant.”

  “Which lockers had cards and liquor in them?”

  “I wouldn’t know, Sir. It must’ve been in another section.”

  “If you lie to me, you’ll be confined to the grounds for two weeks,” Gamboa said. “Which lockers had cigarettes in them?”

  “I’m not sure, Sir.” But then he lowered his eyes and said, “All of them, I think.”

  “And liquor?”

  “Just in a few, I think.”

  “And dice?”

  “Just in a few, I think.”

  “And why haven’t you reported it?”

  “I haven’t seen a thing, Sir. I can’t open the lockers. They’re all locked, and the cadets’ve got the keys. I only think those things are there. I haven’t seen them.”

  “All right,” Gamboa said. “This afternoon I take over as Officer of the Day. I want you and the other privates on the clean-up detail to report to me at the guardhouse at three o’clock.”

  “Yes, Sir,” the soldier said.

  5

  You could tell that nobody’d escape, the whole thing was like witchcraft. They had us standing in formation, then they took us into the barracks, and I said to myself, some stool pigeon’s been singing, I don’t like to believe it but it’s as clear as day, the Jaguar’s told on us. They told us to open our lockers, my heart sank like a stone, “Keep hold of yourself,” Vallano said, “this is the end of the world,” and he was right. “Clothing inspection?” Arróspide asked, the poor guy looked like a corpse. “Don’t try to be a Pelopidas,” Pezoa said, “keep quiet, just stick your tongue up your ass, please.” I was so nervous I had cramps, and the guys were all like sleepwalkers. Everything was like a bad dream, with Gamboa standing on one locker, the Rat on another, and the lieutenant shouted, “All right, open your lockers, but that’s all, no one’s to stick his hand in.” And who would’ve dared, they had us screwed, at least it was good to know the Jaguar got screwed first. Who else could’ve told them about the bottles and the cards? But it’s very confusing, I still don’t understand all that about the stadium and the rifles. Was Gamboa in a bad mood, did he want to take it out on us? And some of them even laughed, it’s a shame there’s guys like that, they don’t know what the word disgrace means. Though the truth is, it was funny enough, the Rat began diving into the lockers, he got right inside them, and since he’s practically a dwarf the clothes hid him from sight. He got down on all fours, the ass-kissing bastard, so Gamboa’d know he was making a thorough search, he fished in every pocket, opened everything, smelled every bottle, he was having a wonderful time. “Here’s a pack of Incas, and Jesus, this one’s high society, he smokes Chesterfields, and here’s another bottle, were they going to throw a party?” We were all scared, but at least they found something or other in every one of the lockers, that made it a little better. Of course the guys that had bottles’ll get screwed the worst, mine was almost empty and I told him to notice that and the bastard said, “Shut up, stupid.” All through it, Gamboa was happy as a pig, you could tell from the way he’d ask, “How many did you say?” “Two packs of Incas, two boxes of matches, Lieutenant.” And Gamboa’d write it down in his notebook, slowly, slowly, to make the pleasure last longer. “A half full bottle of what?” “Of pisco, Sir. Sol de Ica brand.” Every time Curly looked at me he swallowed hard, that’s right, buddy, we’re screwed for sure. It was pitiful to see the look on the faces of the other guys. Where the Christ did they get the idea of inspecting the lockers? After Gamboa and the Rat went away, Curly said, “It’s got to be the Jaguar. He said himself, ‘If I get screwed, everybody gets screwed.’ He’s a fairy and a squealer.” He shouldn’t’ve said it like that, not without proof, even though it’s got to be true.

  The one thing I can’t figure out is why they took us to the stadium, I suppose the Jaguar’s to blame for that too, he must’ve told them what we did with the chickens sometimes, I bet the lieutenant said he’d take care of those wise guys, the Rat came into the classroom and said, “Fall in on the double, I’ve got a surprise for you.” We all shouted, “Rat! Rat!” He said, “It’s an order from the lieutenant. Fall in and quick-march to the barracks. Or do you want me to call him?” We fell in and he marched us to the barracks, and when we got to the door he said, “Get your rifles, I’ll give you one minute to fall in again. Brigadier, write down the names of the last three out.” We said everything we could think of about his mother and none of us knew what the story was. Out in the patio the cadets from the other sections made fun of us. Who ever saw a section with rifles going out for field exercises in the stadium in the middle of the day? Maybe Gamboa’s lost some of his marbles. He was waiting for us on the soccer field, he looked sort of eager like. “Halt!” the Rat said. “Take your field positions.” We all objected, it was like a nightmare to have to do field exercises in your regular uniform, and on an empty stomach besides, go tell your mother to flop around on the wet grass after three straight hours of classes. Gamboa broke in with that big voice of his, he said, “Form three lines, group three in front, group one at the rear.” And that ass-kissing Rat said, “Come on, you fuck-ups, get moving.” Then Gamboa said, “Attack formation. Each man ten yards apart.” Maybe there’s going to be a war, maybe the Minister told them to speed up our training. We’d all go, even if they just made us noncoms, but we’d probably be officers, I’d love to march into Arica all blood and thunder and put up the Peruvian flag all over the place, on the rooftops, in the windows, in the streets, they say Chilean women are the most beautiful in the world, I wonder if that’s true. But I don’t think there’s going to be a war, or they’d be drilling the others too, not just the first section. “What’s the matter?” Gamboa bellowed. “You in groups one and two, are you deaf or just plain stupid? I said ten yards, not twenty. You Negro there, what’s your name?” “Vallano, Sir,” and I could’ve died laughing to see Vallano’s face when Gamboa called him a Negro. “All right,” the lieutenant said, “why’re you twenty yards away when I told you ten?” “There’s a cadet missing, Sir,” Pezoa said. “Oh?” Gamboa said. “Then give him six points.” “That’s impossible, Sir. The missing cadet is deceased. Cadet Arana, Lieutenant.” What a stupid bastard the Rat is. And everything kept going wrong, Gamboa was furious. “Very well,” he said, “I want the cadet in the second line to move up.” A few moments later he shouted, “Why don’t you little shits obey my orders?” We all looked at each other and Arróspide came to attention and said, “That cadet’s missing too. The Jaguar.” “Take his place,” Gamboa said. “And don’t bitch about it. Orders should be carried out without questions or complaints.” That last was for all of us. Then he made us advance from one end of the field to the other, jump up when you hear the whistle, charge forward, flop on your belly again, you lose track of time, you even forget your own body in exercises like that, and when we started getting winded Gamboa marched us back to the barracks. The lieutenant got up on one locker and the Rat on another, Pezoa’s so small he sweat blood to get up there, and they told us, “Stand at attention in your regular places,” and right then I said to myself, the Jaguar’s sold us out to save his own skin, there aren’t any decent people in this world, who’d’ve thought he’d do a thing like that. “Open your lockers and then take one step forward. Anybody who puts his hand inside is done for,” as if we were magicians to hide a bottle right under the lieutenant’s nose. Then they got a big bag and went away with everything they found, we were all silent and I went and lay down on my bunk. Skimpy wasn’t around, it was chow-time and she must’ve gone to the kitchen to look for scraps. Too bad she wasn’t with me so I could scratch her head, that’s restful, it calms me down, I think of her as a girl. It must be something like that when you’re married. Say I come home tired out, and my woman sits down beside me, very quiet and comfortable, and I don’t say anything at first, I fondle her, I scratch her, I tickle her and she laughs, I pinch her
and she squeals, I tease her, I play with her lips, I make curls in her hair with my fingers, I hold her nose and let go when she’s gasping, I rub my hands on her neck, her tits, her shoulders, her back, her ass, her legs, her belly, then I kiss her and tell her she’s my little half-breed, my little whore. Suddenly somebody yelled, “You guys are to blame!” I yelled back, “What do you mean by you guys?” “The Jaguar and you others,” Arróspide said. I jumped up and headed for him but they stopped me before I got there. “I said you guys, you guys.” He was shouting as if he’d gone crazy, the spit ran down his chin and he didn’t even notice. “Let go of me,” I told them, “I’m not afraid of him, I’ll beat the shit out of him once and for all.” But they kept holding me back so I’d calm down, “It’s better not to fight right now,” Vallano said, “not with things like they are, we’ve got to stick together, it’s going to be bad for all of us.” “Arróspide,” I said, “you’re the worst fairy I’ve ever seen, the minute things get rough you start in blaming your own buddies.” “You’re a liar,” Arróspide said, “I’m with all of you against the officers, if I can help anybody I’ll do it. But the Jaguar and you and Curly are to blame for what’s happened, because you played dirty. There’s something we don’t know about yet. It’s quite a coincidence, they hardly got the Jaguar in the guardhouse when Gamboa knew what was in our lockers.” I didn’t know what to say, and Curly sided with the rest. They all said, “That’s right, the Jaguar’s the squealer,” and, “We’ll get revenge,” things like that. Then the whistle blew for going to the mess hall, and I think it was the first time in the Academy I could hardly eat anything, because the food stuck in my throat.