B004QGYWDA EBOK (29 page)

“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.”

I should’ve told her and perhaps she’d’ve given me some advice, do you think what I’m going to do’ll make it worse, will they make me the goat? Am I sure, who can be sure? You can’t fool me, you son of a bitch, I can see it in your face, I can promise you’re going to pay for it. But should I? Alberto looked around and was surprised to see the wide, grassy esplanade where the cadets of the Leoncio Prado assembled on the 28th of July for the grand parade. How had he got there? The empty field, the slight chill in the air, the dusk falling on the city like a dark rain, made him think of the Academy. He looked at his watch: he had wandered aimlessly for three hours. I’ll go home, go to bed, call the doctor, take a pill, sleep for a month, forget everything, my name, Teresa, the Academy, be an invalid all my life so as not to remember. He turned and walked back in the direction he had come. He stopped in front of the monument to Jorge Chávez: in the darkness, the compact triangle and its flying figures seemed to be made of tar. A stream of cars filled the avenue, and he waited on the corner with a group of other people. But when the stream halted and the people around him crossed the avenue in front of a wall of bumpers, he stayed where he was, gazing blankly at the red light. If I could start over again and do things differently, that night, for example, I’d ask him where the Jaguar was, he’d say he didn’t know, I’d say okay, so long, and that’d be that, and so what if they stole his jacket, everyone has to take care of himself the best he can, that’s all there is to it, and I wouldn’t be so worried, no problems, just listening to my mother, Albertito, your father’s still the same, running around with those women day and night, those prostitutes, he’s still the same. Then he was at the express stop on 28th of July Avenue and had left the bar behind him. He had only taken a quick look at it as he went by, but he could recall the noise, the glaring lights, the smoke that drifted out into the street. The express arrived, the people who had been waiting got on, and the conductor asked him, “How about you?” And since Alberto stared at him dully, without moving, he shrugged his shoulders and closed the door. Alberto turned and walked along the same stretch of the avenue for the third time. He reached the door of the bar, and this time he entered it. The noise battered him from every direction, and the glare hurt his eyes and made him blink. He managed to get to the bar, squeezing through men who reeked of tobacco and alcohol. He asked for a telephone book. They’re eating him now, little by little. If they started with his eyes, the softest part, they must be down to his neck by now, they’ve already eaten his nose, his ears, they’ve got in under his fingernails like chiggers and they’re devouring the flesh, what a banquet they must be having. I should’ve telephoned before they started eating him, before he was buried, before he died, before. The noise upset him, it kept him from concentrating on the name he was looking for. At last he found it. He picked up the receiver quickly, but when he reached out to dial the number, his finger stopped a fraction of an inch away. There was a harsh buzz in his ear. He glanced toward the bar and saw a white jacket with wrinkled lapels. He dialed the number and listened to it ring: silence, a ring, silence, a ring. He looked around him. Someone at a corner table was making a toast, roaring out a woman’s name. The others held up their glasses and repeated it. The telephone went on ringing. Then a voice said, “Hello.” He was speechless for a moment, he felt as if there were a lump of ice in his throat. The white shadow in front of him moved, came toward him. “I’d like to speak with Lt. Gamboa, please,” Alberto said. “American whisky is shit,” the white jacket said, “English whisky is good whisky.” “Just a moment,” the voice said, “I’ll call him.” The man who had made the toast was now making a speech. “Her name’s Leticia and I’m not ashamed to tell you I’m in love with her. Marriage is a serious business, but I love her and I’m going to marry my half-breed.” “Whisky,” the shadow said. “Scotch. Good whisky. Scotch, English, doesn’t matter. Not American. Scotch or English.” “Hello,” he heard another voice say. He felt himself shivering, and took the receiver a few inches away from his ear. “Hello,” Lt. Gamboa said, “who’s calling?” “I’m off the booze for good. I’ve got to behave myself from now on. Got to earn lots of money to keep my half-breed happy.” “Lt. Gamboa?” Alberto asked. “Montesierpe pisco,” the shadow said, “that’s bad pisco. Motocachi pisco, that’s good pisco.” “Yes, speaking. Who is it?” “So here’s to my half-breed and here’s to my friends.” “A cadet,” Alberto said, “a cadet from the Fifth Year.” “In my personal opinion,” the shadow said, “it’s the best pisco in the world,” but then he qualified his statement: “Or one of the best, gentlemen,
one
of the best. Motocachi.” “Your name,” Gamboa said. “We’ll have ten kids, all of them boys, and I’ll name every one of them after my friends. Not one of them after myself, just after my friends.” “They killed Arana,” Alberto said. “I know who it was. Can I come to your house?” “Your name,” Gamboa said. “Do you want something really special? Give him Motocachi.” “Cadet Alberto Fernández, Sir, first section. Can I come over?” “Yes, right away. 327 Bolognesi Street, Barranco.” Alberto hung up.