The Discreet Hero (11 page)

“It’s just that I got another letter this morning,” Felícito apologized, handing it to her. “I blew up. And then suddenly I wanted to see you. That’s why I’m here, my love. Forgive me for dropping in like this, without letting you know. I hope I haven’t ruined any plans.”

“This is your home, old man.” Mabel smiled at him again. “You can come here whenever you want. You haven’t ruined any plans. I was going to the pharmacy to pick up a few things.”

She took the letter, sat down next to him, and as she read her expression changed to anger. A cloud seemed to dim her eyes.

“In other words, these damn people won’t stop,” she exclaimed very seriously. “What will you do now?”

“I went to the police station but the cops weren’t there. I’ll go back this afternoon. I don’t know what for, those assholes don’t do a thing. They string me along, that’s all they know how to do. String me along with talk.”

“So you came to me for a little pampering.” Mabel lifted his spirits, smiling at him. “Isn’t that right, old man?”

She caressed his face and he grasped her hand and kissed it.

“Let’s go to the bedroom, Mabelita,” he whispered in her ear. “I want you so much, right now.”

“Well, well, I wasn’t expecting that.” She laughed again, exaggerating her surprise. “At this time of day? I don’t recognize you, old man.”

“Well, now you see,” he said, embracing her and kissing her on the neck, inhaling her. “You smell so good, baby. I must be changing my habits, getting younger, hey waddya think.”

They went to the bedroom, undressed, and made love. Felícito was so excited he had an orgasm almost as soon as he entered her. He kept embracing her, caressing her in silence, playing with her hair, kissing her neck and body, biting her nipples, tickling her, touching her.

“How affectionate you are, old man.” Mabel grasped his ears, looking into his eyes, very close to his face. “One of these days you’ll tell me you love me.”

“Haven’t I already told you that a lot of times, you foolish girl?”

“You say it when you’re excited and so it doesn’t mean anything,” Mabel grumbled, joking with him. “But you never say it before or after.”

“Well I’m telling you now when I’m not so excited. I love you very much, Mabelita. You’re the only woman I’ve ever really loved.”

“Do you love me more than Cecilia Barraza?”

“She’s only a dream, a fairy tale,” Felícito said, laughing. “You’re my only love in real life.”

“I’ll take your word for it, old man.” Weak with laughter, she tousled his hair.

They talked for quite a while, lying in bed, and then Felícito got up, washed, and dressed. He went back to Narihualá Transport and attended to matters in the office for a good part of the afternoon. On his way home, he stopped at the police station again. Now the captain and the sergeant were there and received him in the captain’s office. Without saying a word, he handed them the third spider letter. Captain Silva read it aloud, sounding out each word before the attentive gaze of Sergeant Lituma, who listened as he handled a notebook with his plump hands.

“Well, everything’s following its predictable course,” stated Captain Silva when he finished reading. He seemed very satisfied at having foreseen everything that had happened. “They won’t give in, which was to be expected. That perseverance will be their ruin, I’ve already told you that.”

“Then should I be very happy?” Felícito asked sarcastically. “Not satisfied with burning my office, they keep sending me anonymous letters, and now they’re giving me a two-week ultimatum, threatening me with something worse than the fire. I come here and you say that everything’s following its predictable course. The truth is you haven’t made a millimeter’s progress in your investigation, while these motherfuckers do whatever they damn well feel like doing to me.”

“Who says we haven’t made any progress?” Captain Silva protested, gesturing and raising his voice. “We’ve made good progress. For the present we’ve determined that they’re not from any of the three known gangs in Piura that extort money from businessmen. Further, Sergeant Lituma has found something that might be a good clue.”

He said this in a way that made Felícito believe him in spite of his skepticism.

“It’s still too soon to tell you about it. But something is something. You’ll know as soon as we have anything concrete. Believe me, Señor Yanaqué. We’re dedicated to your case, body and soul. We spend more time on it than on all the rest. You’re our first priority.”

Felícito told them his sons were worried and suggested that he hire a bodyguard, and he’d refused. They also suggested he buy a revolver. What did they think?

“I don’t advise it,” Captain Silva answered immediately. “You should carry a pistol only when you’re prepared to use it, and you don’t look to me like someone capable of killing anybody. You’d put yourself in danger for no reason, Señor Yanaqué. Well, you’ll decide. If, in spite of my advice, you want a gun permit, we’ll expedite the application. You should know it takes time. You’ll have to pass a psychological test. Well, sleep on it.”

Felícito reached home when it was already dark and in the garden crickets were singing and frogs croaking. He had supper right away: chicken broth, a salad, and some gelatin served to him by Saturnina. As he was going to the living room to watch the news on television, he noticed Gertrudis’s silent, bovine form approaching him. She held a newspaper in her hand.

“The whole city’s talking about the notice you published in
El Tiempo
,” said his wife as she sat down in the easy chair next to the one he was in. “Even the priest mentioned it in his sermon at Mass this morning. All of Piura has read it. Except me.”

“I didn’t want to worry you, that’s why I didn’t say anything to you,” Felícito apologized. “But if you have it there, why haven’t you read it?”

He noticed her shifting in the chair, uncomfortable and averting her gaze.

“I’ve forgotten how,” he heard her mumble. “Since I never read because of my eyes, I almost don’t understand what I read now. The letters dance around.”

“You have to go to the optometrist then and have your eyes tested,” he admonished her. “How can you possibly have forgotten how to read? I don’t think that happens to anybody, Gertrudis.”

“Well it’s happening to me,” she said. “Yes, I’ll go have my eyes tested one of these days. Why don’t you read me what you published in
El Tiempo
? I asked Saturnina, but she doesn’t know how to read either.”

Gertrudis handed him the paper, and after he put on his glasses, Felícito read:

Dear Spider Extortionists:

Although you’ve burned the offices of Narihualá Transport, a business I created with the honest effort of a lifetime, I’m publicly informing you that I will never pay the amount you demand to give me protection. I’d rather you kill me. You won’t receive one cent from me, because I believe that honest, hardworking, decent people shouldn’t be afraid of crooks and thieves like you but should face you with determination until you’re sent to prison, which is where you belong.

Signed,

Felícito Yanaqué (I don’t have a maternal surname)

The female shape was motionless a long while, ruminating on what she’d just heard. Finally, she murmured, “Then what the priest said in his sermon is true. You’re a brave man, Felícito. May the Captive Lord have mercy on us. If we get out of this, I’ll go to Ayabaca to pray to Him on His feast day, the Twelfth of October.”

VI

“There won’t be any story tonight, Rigoberto,” said Lucrecia when they lay down and turned off the light. His wife’s voice was tinged with anxiety.

“I’m not in the mood tonight for fantasies either, my love.”

“Did you finally hear from them?”

Rigoberto said he had. Seven days had gone by since Ismael and Armida’s marriage, and he and Lucrecia had been worried the entire week, waiting for the hyenas’ reaction to what had occurred. But each day passed and brought nothing. Until two days ago, when Ismael’s lawyer, Dr. Claudio Arnillas, called Rigoberto to warn him. The twins had learned that the civil ceremony had taken place in the Chorrillos town hall and consequently knew he was one of the witnesses. He should be prepared, they’d be calling him any time now.

They did, after a few hours.

“Miki and Escobita asked to see me and I had to agree, what else could I do,” he added. “It’ll be tomorrow. I didn’t tell you right away so as not to ruin your day, Lucrecia. The problem finally caught up with us. I hope to get out of this with no broken bones, at least.”

“Do you know something, Rigoberto? I don’t care that much about them, we already knew this was going to happen. We were expecting it, weren’t we? We’ll just have to swallow the unpleasantness, there’s nothing else to do.” His wife changed the subject. “For the moment, I don’t give a damn about Ismael’s marriage and the tantrums of a couple of parasites. What worries me more, what keeps me awake, is Fonchito.”

“That little brat again?” Rigoberto said in alarm. “Have the appearances returned?”

“They never went away, baby,” Lucrecia reminded him, her voice breaking. “I think what’s happening is that the boy doesn’t trust us and doesn’t talk to us anymore. That’s what upsets me most. Don’t you see how the poor kid is? Sad, absentminded, withdrawn. He used to tell us everything, but now I’m afraid he keeps things to himself. And maybe that’s why misery is eating him alive. Haven’t you noticed it? You’ve been so focused on the hyenas, you haven’t even seen how your own son has changed these past few months. If we don’t do something soon, anything could happen to him and we’d regret it for the rest of our lives. Can’t you see that?”

“I see that very well.” Rigoberto turned over beneath the sheets. “It’s just that I don’t know what else we can do. If you know, tell me and we’ll do it. I don’t know what’s left. We’ve taken him to the best psychologist in Lima, I’ve spoken to his teachers, every day I try to talk to him and win back his trust. Tell me what else you want me to do and I’ll do it. I’m as worried about Fonchito as you are, Lucrecia. Do you think I don’t care about my son?”

“I know, I know,” she agreed. “It’s occurred to me that maybe, well, I don’t know, don’t laugh, I’m so confused by what’s happening to him that, well, you know, it’s an idea, just a foolish idea.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking and we’ll do it, Lucrecia. Whatever it is I’ll do it, I swear.”

“Why don’t you talk to your friend Father O’Donovan? Well, don’t laugh, I don’t know.”

“You want me to go and talk to a priest about this?” Rigoberto was surprised. He gave a little laugh. “Why? So he can exorcise Fonchito? Have you taken the joke about the devil seriously?”

It had all started several months earlier, perhaps a year ago, in the most trivial way. At lunch one weekend, Fonchito, in an offhand manner, as if it weren’t at all important, suddenly told his father and stepmother about his first encounter with that individual.

“I know what your name is,” the man said, smiling at him affably from the next table. “Your name is Luzbel.”

The boy sat looking at him in surprise, not knowing what to say. He was drinking an Inca Kola from the bottle, his school knapsack on his lap, and only now had he noticed the man’s presence in the secluded little café in Barranco Park, not far from his house. The man had silvery temples, smiling eyes, and was extremely thin, dressed modestly but very properly. He wore a purple and white argyle pullover under his gray jacket. He was sipping a small cup of coffee.

“I’ve absolutely forbidden you to talk to strangers, Fonchito,” Don Rigoberto reminded him. “Have you forgotten already?”

“My name’s Alfonso, not Luzbel,” he replied. “My friends call me Foncho.”

“Your papa’s saying this for your own good, honey,” his stepmother intervened. “You never know who could be one of those men who meddle with boys at the school gates.”

“They’re drug dealers, or kidnappers, or pedophiles. So you just be careful.”

“Well you ought to be named Luzbel.” The gentleman smiled. His slow, educated voice pronounced each word as precisely as a grammar teacher. His long, bony face looked recently shaved. He had long fingers with trimmed nails.

“I swear he seemed like a very proper person, Papa.”

“Do you know what ‘Luzbel’ means?”

Fonchito shook his head.

“‘Luzbel,’ that’s what he said to you?” Don Rigoberto became concerned. “Did you say ‘Luzbel’?”

“The one who carries the light, the bearer of light,” the man explained calmly.

“He talked like he was moving in slow motion, Papa.”

“It’s a way of saying you’re a very handsome young man. When you grow up, all the girls in Lima will be crazy about you. Didn’t they teach you who Luzbel was in school?”

“I can see it coming, I can imagine very well what he wanted,” Rigoberto murmured, giving him his full attention now.

Fonchito shook his head again.

“I knew I had to leave right away. I remember very clearly how often you told me I should never talk to strangers like that man who wanted to teach me what that name meant, Papa,” he explained, gesturing. “But … but, I tell you, there was something in him, his manners, the way he spoke, that made me think he wasn’t a bad man. Besides, he made me curious. At Markham I don’t remember them ever telling us about Luzbel.”

“He was the most beautiful of the archangels, the favorite of God on high.” He wasn’t joking, he spoke very seriously, the hint of a benevolent smile on his carefully shaved face; he pointed a finger at the sky. “But Luzbel, since he knew he was so beautiful, became vain and committed the sin of pride. He even felt equal to God. Imagine. Then God punished him, and from being the angel of light, he became the prince of darkness. That’s how it all began. History, the appearance of time and evil, human life.”

“He didn’t seem like a priest, Papa, or one of those Evangelical missionaries who give away religious magazines door to door. I asked him: ‘Are you a priest, señor?’ ‘No, no, me a priest, Fonchito, whatever gave you that idea?’ And he started to laugh.”

“It was irresponsible of you to talk to him, he probably followed you here,” Doña Lucrecia scolded him, caressing his forehead. “Never again, never again. Promise me, honey.”