“I’m not concerned with the negative things about the Special Service, but the positive ones, Tiger,” General Victoria chooses a table in the open air, sits at the head, loosens his tie, studies the menu attentively. “What’s serious are its fantastic successes. As far as I’m concerned, the problem lies in the fact that, without wanting to or knowing it, we’ve set an infernal machine in motion. López has just traveled through all the jungle garrisons and his report is disturbing.”
“I see myself with the immediate necessity of recruiting ten specialists with all speed,” telegraphs Captain Pantoja. “Not to expand the Service, but to maintain the rate of work achieved up to present.”
“The truth is that Pantoja’s specialists have become the central concern of all the garrisons, encampments and frontier posts,” Colonel López López orders shish kebab and corn on the cob to start with and marinated duck with extra chili for the second course. “I’m not exaggerating in the least, General, sir. Believe me, I could scarcely talk about anything else with the officers, subordinates and soldiers. Even the Ark crimes take second place when it comes to the specialists.”
“The reason is the many patrols and groups for the search and capture of the religious murderers,” Captain Pantoja puts in code. “As my superiors know, those commandos are hidden in the mountains, developing a civilian police action of the first order.”
“The proof’s here in this suitcase, Tiger,” General Victoria decides in favor of the marinated fish and the kidneys with white rice. “Guess what these papers are. Reports on the state of air-land-river defense of our borders with Ecuador, Colombia, Brazil and Bolivia? Cold. Suggestions and plans to improve our own security and attack system in the Amazon? Cold. Studies on communications, logistics, ethnography? Cold, cold.”
“The Special Service took it as its duty to have convoys of specialists travel to these commandos wherever they may be found,” radios Captain Pantoja. “And we’ve achieved just that, thanks to the enthusiastic effort of all the personnel, without exception.”
“Only requests concerning the SSGFRI, General,” concludes Colonel López López. “Honey and nut pastry for dessert, and to drink, Pilsen beer, very cold. All the subordinate officers in the Amazon region have signed memos asking that they be allowed to use the Special Service. Here they are in order: 172 sheets.”
“For this purpose, I have created flying brigades of two or three specialists and that fragmentation of the personnel would have prevented me from continuing to ensure the regular covering of the utilization centers,” telephones Captain Pantoja. “I hope I haven’t overstepped my authority, General.”
“And López López’s poll of the officers is even more unbelievable,” General Victoria pushes with a small piece of bread, accompanies each mouthful with swallows of beer, wipes his forehead with his napkin. “From captains on down, ninety-five percent of the officers also demand specialists. And from captains upward, fifty-five percent. What do you say to that, Tiger?”
“In accordance with the figures Colonel López López has communicated to me concerning his unofficial poll, I must totally modify my minimal plan to increase the SSGFRI, General, sir,” Captain Pantoja winces, scribbles in notebooks, takes amphetamines in order to be at the command post at dawn, sends voluminous registered envelopes. “I beg you to consider the project I sent you null and never received. I am working night and day on a new plan. I hope to send it to you very soon.”
“Because, in addition, I’m sorry to tell you that Pantoja, although he’s crazy, is absolutely right, Tiger,” General Victoria attacks the kidneys energetically, jokes the French are right, if you find the proper rhythm you can eat any number of dishes, eighteen, twenty. “His argument is irrefutable.”
“In view of the potential doubling of the number of users, if we are going to include the subordinate officers and intermediate ranks”—Captain Pantoja discusses with Chuchupe, Freckle and Chino Porfirio, reviews the candidates, fires “washerwomen,” talks to pimps, bribes madames—“I should communicate to you that the minimal plan for regular services, always at a rate below the minimum sexual drive, would require four boats of the Eve’s tonnage, three planes like the Delilah and an operational corps of 272 specialists.”
“If that Service is conceded to noncommissioned officers and soldiers, why not to subordinate officers?” Colonel López López separates the onions, the bones, and finishes the marinated duck in several bites, smiles, watches a woman walk by, winks and exclaims what a knockout. “And if to them, why not to the officers? Everybody raises the question. And honestly, there’s no answer to it.”
“Naturally, if the expansion to officers is considered, my estimates would register new variations, General, sir,” Captain Pantoja visits witch doctors, takes ayahuasca, has hallucinations in which armies of women march across the parade grounds singing “The Mexican Hat Dance,” vomits, works, exults. “I’m making a feasibility study, just in case. We’d have to create a special section, a group of exclusive specialists, of course.”
“Of course,” General Victoria refuses dessert, asks for coffee, takes out a bottle of saccharine, drops in two tablets, drinks the cup down in one gulp, lights a cigarette. “And if the Service is considered indispensable to the troops’ biological and psychological health, it’ll be necessary to increase the number of services each month. Because as you well know, Tiger, exercise builds the muscle. In this case, the demand will always exceed the supply.”
“That’s the way it is, General, sir,” Colonel López López asks for the check, attempts to take out his wallet, hears are you crazy, you’re Tiger’s guests today. “Wanting to plug one hole, we’ve opened up a sieve and the whole quartermaster’s budget’s going to pour through it.”
“And all our soldiers’ energy,” General Scavino is transferred on special assignment to Lima, visits politicians, requests hearings, advises, intrigues, arranges, returns to Iquitos.
“Christ himself couldn’t put a stop to that hunger for specialists that’s been awakened in the jungle, Tiger,” General Victoria opens the car door, gets out first, says it’s a shame not to be able to take a little nap after this lunch, orders back to the ministry. “Or, to be in style, not even the boy martyr. By the way, do you know that the cult has already reached Lima? Yesterday I discovered that my daughter-in-law has a little altar with prayer cards of the boy martyr.”
“We could begin with a corps of ten specialists for officers, General, sir,” Captain Pantoja talks to himself on the street, falls asleep at his desk, fantasizes, terrifies Mother Leonor with his thinness. “We’d recruit them in Lima, of course, to guarantee high quality. Do you like the initials SFO of the SSGFRI? Section For Officers of the Special Service. I’ll send you a detailed draft.”
“Damn it, I think you’re right,” Tiger Collazos enters his office, ponders, opens his mail, bites a fingernail. “This shit’s going too far.”
9
Special edition of the daily newspaper El Oriente
(Iquitos, January 5, 1959), devoted
to the catastrophe in Nauta
* * *
Extraordinary report from the entire editorial staff of El Oriente, under the intellectual guidance of editor in chief Joaquín Andoa, to bring to the readers of Loreto the lively, accurate details of the tragic case of the beautiful Brazilian—from her assault at Nauta to her burial in Iquitos—with all the incidents that have electrified the populace
* * *
Weeping and Surprises Accompany
Remains of Murdered Beauty
Yesterday morning at approximately 11 A.M., the mortal remains of Olga Arellano Rosaura, known to the demimonde as the “Brazilian,” because of her years of residence in the city of Manaos (see her biography, p. 2, cols. 3 & 4), were interred in this city’s historic public cemetery amid scenes of grief and distress from her fellow workers and friends that moved the large crowd. Earlier, an infantry escort from the Vargas Guerra Military Encampment gave the deceased mil
itary honors, in an unusual gesture that did not fail to provoke considerable surprise, even that did not fail to provoke considerable surprise, even among those most saddened by the tragic manner in which this young and misguided Loreto beauty had lost her life, a woman whom Capt. (sic) Pantaleón Pantoja, in his eulogy, called “an unfortunate martyr to the fulfillment of duty and a victim of man’s baseness and villainy” (complete eulogy, p. 3, col. 1).
Knowing that the hapless young woman’s burial was going to be celebrated yesterday morning, many curiosity seekers had congregated near the cemetery, at Alfonso Ugarte and Ramon Castilla streets, since the early hours, blocking the main entrance and the area surrounding the Monument to the Nation’s War Dead. Around 10:30 A.M., those present were able to glimpse the arrival of a truck from the Vargas Guerra Military Encampment, from which descended an escort of twelve soldiers wearing helmets and Sam Browne belts and carrying rifles, under the command of Infantry Lt. Luis Bacacorzo, who posted his men on both sides of the entrance gate to the cemetery. This operation unleashed the curiosity of those present, who were unable to guess the reason for an Army escort at that time and place and under such circumstances. The mystery was to be clarified moments later. In view of the fact that the crowd of curiosity-seekers and the general public completely blocked access to the cemetery, Lt. Bacacorzo ordered the soldiers to clear the gate, which they did immediately.
At 10:45 A.M., the deluxe hearse from Iquitos’ principal funeral home, Modus Vivendi, appeared, coming down Alfonso Ugarte Street completely covered with wreaths and followed by a large number of taxis and private vehicles. Only moments before, the funeral cortege, which advanced very slowly, had left the area of the Itaya River called the Special Service—commonly known as “Pantiland”—where an all-night wake for the ill-fated Olga Arellano Rosaura had been held. An impressive silence immediately spread through the area and the crowd spontaneously made way so the cortege could reach the cemetery entrance. A large number of people—one hundred, according to observers’ estimates—accompanied the unfortunate Olga to her final resting place, many of them—especially her fellow workers, the specialists and “washerwomen” of Iquitos—dressed in black and showing signs of grief. Notable among the members of the funeral cortege were the women employed by the institution of ill repute on the Itaya River, who understandably expressed the greatest suffering, shedding hot tears under their veils and black mantillas. An emotional and dramatic note was struck by the fact that among the specialists present in the first row were the five women who, along with the deceased “Brazilian,” had undergone the grave events at Nauta in which she lost her life, including Luisa Cánepa (a.k.a. “Knockers”), who, as our readers know, suffered wounds and rather serious contusions at the hands of her assailants during the sorrowful affair (see p. 4 for a detailed summary of the ambush at Nauta and its bloody outcome). But the greatest surprise for the citizens gathered at the funeral was to see descending from the funeral hearse, dressed in the uniform of a captain in the Peruvian Army, the promoter and head of the so-called Special Service, the well-known and little esteemed Mr. Pantaleón Pantoja, whose position as an officer in the Army had been realized by no one until now—at least as far as this paper knows. Naturally, this revelation gave rise to varying comments among the public.
As the coffin was being lowered from the hearse, it became apparent that it had the cross shape, customary for dead members of the Brotherhood of the Ark. This discovery must have surprised many people, since the suspicion exists that members of this religious sect were responsible for the death of the “Brazilian”—a conjecture that has been energetically denied by the high priest of the Ark (see “Epistle to the Good Concerning the Wicked” by Brother Francisco, which we publish on p. 3, cols. 3 & 4). The coffin was lowered from the hearse and carried into the cemetery on the shoulders of Capt. Pantoja and his collaborators in the unpopular Special Service, all of whom were dressed in strict mourning: Porfirio Wong, known as the “Chink” in the district of Bethlehem; First Subofficer Carlos Rodríguez Saravia, PN (who was commanding the boat Eve when the assault at Nauta occurred); Subofficer Alonso Pantinoya, PAF (a.k.a. “Crazy”), famous ex-aerial acrobatic ace; the recruits Sinforoso Caiguas and Palomino Rioalto; and the male nurse Virgilio Pacaya. The sashes of the coffin, whose top displayed an elegant and solitary orchid, were carried by the well-known Leonor Curinchila (a.k.a. “Chuchupe”), and various disciples of that center of wrongdoing on the Itaya River, such as Sandra, Viruca, Pichuza, Peludita and others, as well as the popular Juan Rivera (a.k.a. “Freckle”), who exhibited bandages and other indications of the numerous wounds he received while attempting with typical Loreto bravery to rebuff the aggression at Nauta. The coffin sashes were also held by two women of a certain age and humble origin, in conspicuous mourning, who refused to give their names or indicate what their relation to the deceased was, but whom rumor charges with being relatives of Olga Arellano Rosaura, who preferred to conceal their identity due to the uncommendable activities to which the young crucified woman had devoted her life.
The cortege was barely lined up in the manner we have described when at a signal from Capt. Pantoja, Luis Bacacorzo, in a martial voice, ordered the soldiers in his escort to “Present Arms!” which they instantly did with flair and elegance. Thus, on the shoulders of her colleagues and friends and between a double row of rifles rendering her homage, the unfortunate “Brazilian,” who lost her life a short distance from where our river-sea originates, made her entrance into the public cemetery of Iquitos. The coffin was borne to the small podium, next to the Monument to the Nation’s War Dead, where a plaque greets the visitor with this somber apostrophe: ENTER, PRAY, LOOK LOVINGLY AT THIS MANSION: IT MAY BE YOUR FINAL RESTING PLACE. Father Godofredo Beltrán Calila, ex-Army chaplain, now priest in charge of the Iquitos cemetery, was there, giving indications of inexplicable bad humor and annoyance, which were criticized by the crowd. The priest celebrated the funeral litany with exaggerated speed, gave no sermon whatsoever, as had been expected of him, and left the area without waiting for the conclusion of the ceremony. With the religious service over, Capt. Pantaleón Pantoja installed himself before the coffin of the unfortunate Olga Arellano Rosaura and gave the oration we reprint elsewhere in this newspaper (see p. 3, col. 1). This address brought the funeral to its climax of delicate feeling and tender emotion, with Capt. Pantoja interrupted at various moments in his speech by his own sobs, which were chorused, like sad echoes, by those of his aforementioned collaborators and the many harlots in attendance.
Immediately afterward, the coffin was again raised upon the shoulders of the same people who had carried it into the cemetery, while the others, the majority of whom were specialists and “washerwomen,” took turns bearing the sashes. In this manner the cortege passed through the cemetery until it reached the southern end, where, in the Pavilion of St. Thomas, section 17, upper niche, the remains of the departed will repose. The placing of the coffin and the installation of the tablet (which reads simply, in gold letters, Olga Arellano Rosaura, Called the Brazilian (1936–1959): Her Disconsolate Companions) gave cause for new outpourings of sentiment and suffering over her bloody departure, many women having broken into inconsolable sobbing. The cortege disbanded after an Our Father and a Hail Mary for the eternal well-being of the defunct woman of Loreto were said. Those in attendance began to disperse toward their respective homes when a gentle rain began to fall, as if the heavens had suddenly wanted to take part in the mourning. It was twelve noon.
Eulogy by Capt. Pantaleón Pantoja
At Burial of Beautiful Olga Arellano
Specialist Crucified at Nauta
* * *
Considering it of interest to our readers because of its heart-rending sincerity and startling disclosures, we print below the funeral oration delivered at the burial of the murdered Olga Arellano Rosaura (a.k.a. the “Brazilian”) by her friend and employer, the renowned Pantaleón Pantoja, who, to the public’s surprise, since yesterday,
has turned out to be a captain in the Quartermaster Unit of the Peruvian Army.
* * *
Lamented Olga Arellano Rosaura, our beloved and well-remembered Brazilian, as all of us who knew you or worked together with you in our daily business affectionately called you:
We have worn our noble uniform of an officer in the Peruvian Army in order to come and accompany you to what will be your last dwelling place on this earth because, with our head held high and with a full sense of our responsibility, it was our duty to proclaim in the eyes of the world that you had fallen as a valiant soldier in the service of your country, our beloved Peru. We have come here to demonstrate without shame and with pride that we were your friends and superiors and that we felt very honored to share with you the task that destiny had provided us, which was to serve, in a manner that was not at all easy, but rather filled with difficulties and with sacrifices (as you, our respected friend, have experienced in your flesh), our countrymen and our nation. You are an unfortunate martyr to the fulfillment of duty, a victim of the baseness and the villainy of certain men. Goaded by the demon alcohol, the lowest instincts of lasciviousness or the most satanic fanaticism, the cowards who posted themselves at the Cacique Cocama Bend, on the outskirts of Nauta, in order to piratically board our river transport Eve by means of despicable deceit and vile lies and then with bestial brutality to satisfy their crude desires, did not know that with generous exclusivity you had consecrated that beauty of yours to the courageous soldiers of Peru.
Lamented Olga Arellano Rosaura, our well-remembered Brazilian: these soldiers, your soldiers, do not forget you. Right now, in the most untamed corners of our Amazon, in the streams where the anopheles mosquito is the monarch and the master, in the most distant forest clearings, there where the Peruvian Army has presented itself to demonstrate and defend our sovereignty, and there where you did not hesitate to go, never worrying about the insects, the diseases, the discomfort, but bringing the gift of your beauty and your free and contagious joy to the guardians of Peru, there are men who remember you with tears in their eyes, their chests filled with anger toward your sadistic murderers. They will never forget your kindness, your charming deviltry, and that way you had of sharing with them the rigors of military life, which, thanks to you, were always made more pleasant and tolerable for our noncommissioned officers and soldiers.
Captain Pantoja and the Special Service Page 22
