B004L2LMEG EBOK (3 page)

“Did you take a look at your center of operations yet?” Lieutenant Bacacorzo is filling the glasses again. “General Scavino has sent around an order: no officer in Iquitos can go near that warehouse on the Itaya River, under penalty of thirty days hard labor.”

“Not yet. I’ll go tomorrow, early,” Captain Pantoja drinks, wipes his mouth, holds back a burp. “Because let’s be frank: to do this the way they’re asking, you’d need some experience in the business. Know the night world, have been a little wild.”

“Are you going to the quartermaster’s like that, Panta?” Pochita comes near him, touches the sleeveless shirt, sniffs at the blue pants, the little jockey cap. “What about your uniform?”

“Unfortunately, that’s not my case,” Captain Pantoja grows sad, sketches an embarrassed gesture. “I never was wild. Not even when I was a kid.”

“We can’t get together with the officers’ families?” Mother Leonor flourishes the feather duster, the broom, a bucket, dusts, cleans, scrubs, becomes frightened. “We have to live as if we’re civilians?”

“Just think—when I was a cadet, I chose to stay in school studying on the days when we had leave,” Captain Pantoja is remembering nostalgically. “Grinding away at math, most of all, is what I like best. I never went out to parties. Though maybe it sounds like a story to you, I only learned the easiest dances: the bolero and the waltz.”

“Not even the neighbors can know you’re a captain?” Pochita wipes windows, scrubs floors, paints walls, gets scared.

“So what’s happening to me is awful,” Pantoja looks around distrustfully, speaks into the man’s ear. “How can someone who’s never had any contact with ‘specialists’ like them organize a Special Service, Bacacorzo?”

“A special assignment?” Pochita waxes doors, papers cupboards, hangs paintings. “You’re going to work in the Intelligence Service? Well, now I’m beginning to get all the mystery, Panta.”

“I picture the thousands of soldiers who are waiting, who are counting on me,” Captain Pantoja examines the bottles, gets emotional, dreams. “Who tick off days and think they’re already on their way, they’re going to get here, and my hair stands up on end, Bacacorzo.”

“I don’t give a damn about military secrets,” Mother Leonor puts closets in order, sews curtains, dusts screens, plugs in lamps. “Secrets from your mother? Tell me, tell me.”

“I don’t want to cheat them,” Captain Pantoja is getting upset. “But where am I going to start?”

“If you don’t tell me, you’re going to wind up being sorry,” Pochita makes beds, puts down throw rugs, varnishes furniture, arranges glasses, plates and napkins in the cabinet. “No more little pinches wherever you like, no more nips on the ear. You choose, sonny boy.”

“To start with, Captain”—Lieutenant Bacacorzo cheers him on with a smile and a toast—”if the Special Service doesn’t come to Captain Pantoja, Captain Pantoja must go to them. It’s the simplest way, it seems to me.”

“As a spy, Panta?” Pochita rubs her hands together, looks around the room, mutters how much we’ve improved this pig sty—right, Mother Leonor? “Like in the movies? Oh, sweetheart, how exciting.”

“Take a little stroll this evening through the red-light districts of Iquitos,” Lieutenant Bacacorzo scribbles addresses on the napkin. “The Mau Mau, the 007, The One-Eyed Cat, the Little San Juan. To familiarize yourself with the atmosphere. I’d be happy to go with you, but Scavino’s instructions are final, you know.”

“Where are you going in that outfit?” Mother Leonor answers yes, no one would recognize it, Pochita; we should get a prize. “My God, how dressed up you are. A tie, even. You’re going to roast in this heat. A top-level meeting? At night? How funny that you’re a secret agent, Panta. Yes, I know. Shh, shh—I’ll be quiet.”

“Ask in any of those places for Chino Porfirio,” Lieutenant Bacacorzo folds the napkin and puts it in his pocket. “He’s someone who can help you. He procures ‘washerwomen’ at home. You know what they are, don’t you?”

“For this reason H
E
did not die by drowning, by burning, by hanging or by flogging,” Brother Francisco is moaning and shouting above the sputtering of the torches and the murmuring of the prayers. “For this reason H
E
was nailed to a piece of wood, for this reason H
E
chose the cross. Let him who wants to listen, listen; let him who wants to understand, understand. Sisters! Brothers! Beat your breast three times for me!”

“Ahem…I mean hello,” Pantaleón Pantoja blows his nose, sits on the stool, leans on the bar. “Yeah, a beer, please. I just got to Iquitos, I’m taking a look around town. They call this place the Mau Mau? Oh, because of the arrows, the totems. I get it now.”

“Here you go, ice cold,” the bartender serves the beer, dries the glass, points to the dance floor. “Almost nobody’s here ’cause it’s Monday.”

“Uh, I want to find out something…umm, ah”—Pantaleón Pantoja clears his throat—“if it’s possible. Just for the information.”

“Where can you find chicks?” The bartender makes a circle with his thumb and index finger. “Right here, but today they all went to hear Brother Francisco, the saint of the cross. They say he came all the way from Brazil on foot and that he can perform miracles. But look who’s coming in. Hey, Porfirio, over here. I want to introduce you to this gentleman. He’s interested in a little tourist information.”

“Blothels and dames?” Chino Porfirio winks at him, bows, shakes his hand. “Of coulse, mistel. With pleasule; I tell you what’s goin’ on in two minutes. It not goin’ to cost you much mole than a beel. Cheap, light?”

“Glad to meet you,” Pantaleón Pantoja motions him to sit down on the next stool. “Yeah, sure, a beer. Now don’t get the wrong idea—I don’t have any personal interest in this myself, just a technical one.”

“Technical?” The bartender turns up his nose. “You’re no stool pigeon, are you, mister?”

“Blothels, thele ale vely few,” Chino Porfirio holds up three fingers. “Youl health and a good life. Two decent ones and a leally foul one, fol beggals. And thele ale also the wholes that go house to house on theil own. You know, the washerwomen?”

“Oh, really? Very interesting,” Pantaleón Pantoja is urging him on with smiles. “Just curious. I don’t frequent those spots. You got connections? I mean friends, contacts in those places?”

“The Chink’s in his glory when it comes to whores,” the bartender laughs. “They call him the Fu Manchu of Bethlehem, the floating house district, the Venice of the Amazon District. You get down there yet?”

“I done evelythin’ in my life and I no leglet it, mistel,” Chino Porfirio blows off the foam and takes a swig. “I got no money but I sule got expelience. Ticket sellel fol a movie house, pilot on a balge, snake huntel fol expolt.”

“And they kicked you outta all those jobs for bein’ a whoring old asshole, brother,” the bartender lights a cigarette for him. “Tell the man what your mama predicted about you.”

Chino Porfirio sings and recites with horse laughs. “God, my pletty little mothel in holy heaven. Since we only live once, we got to live it up, light? We tly a second cool dlink, mistel?”

“Sure, but…ahhh, hmmm,” blushes Pantaleón Pantoja. “I have a better idea. Why don’t we go someplace else, friend?”

“Mr. Pantoja?” Madame Chuchupe breathes honey. “So very pleased to meet you, and come in, make yourself at home. We treat everyone well here, except for those crooked soldiers who want a discount. Hello, my little Chinese bandit.”

“Mistel Pantoja come flom Lima and he fliend,” Chino Porfirio kisses her on the cheek, pinches her backside. “He going to open a business hele. You know, Chuchupe, luxury selvice. This dwalfs name Fleckle, leal name Juan Chupito Civela, and he mascot of the place, mistel.”

“Better if you said foreman, bartender and bodyguard, motherfucker,” Freckle reaches for bottles, picks up glasses, collects tabs, turns on the record player, herds women onto the dance floor. “Or is this the first time you’ve come to Casa Chuchupe? It won’t be the last, you’ll see. There aren’t many girls because they’ve gone to see Brother Francisco, that guy who put up that big cross next to Lake Morona.”

“I was thele too and thele was lotta people, and the tlinket vendols must be laking it in,” Chino Porfirio delivers his goodbyes. “Fantastic speakel, that blothel. You not understand him vely good, but he stilling up the people.”

“Everything that you nail to wood is an offering, everything that ends up on wood rises and H
E WHO DIED ON THE CROSS
receives it,” chants Brother Francisco monotonously. “The many-colored butterfly that gladdens the morning, the rose that perfumes the air, the bat with little eyes that glow in the dark and even the chigger encrusted under your fingernail. Sisters! Brothers! Erect crosses for me!”

“What a long face, but you can’t be
so
serious if you’re running around with this Chinaman,” Chuchupe cleans off a table with her arm, pulls up chairs, loosens up. “Let’s see, Freckle, a bottle of beer and three glasses. The first round’s on the house.”

“Know what a
chuchupe
is?” Chino Porfirio is whistling, showing the tip of his tongue. “Most poisonous snake in Amazon. You can imagine things this woman says about people to get nickname like that.”

“Be quiet, you bum,” Chuchupe shuts him up, sets out the glasses, smiles. “To your health, Mr. Pantoja. Welcome to Iquitos.”

“Poisonous tongue,” Chino Porfirio points to the Chinese decorations on the walls, the scarred mirror, the red screens, the dancing fringes of the mottled armchair. “Just that she good fliend and this house, though it seen its yeals, is best in Iquitos.”

“Take a look at what’s left of the goods, if nothing else,” Freckle is pointing: little half-breeds, whites, Japanese, even an albino. “It took a good eye on Chuchupe’s part to choose her women, mister.”

“Good music, makes you wanna dance,” Chino Porfirio gets up, grabs the arm of a woman, drags her to the dance floor, dances. “A
pemisito
to shake up youl bones. C’me hele, fatty. C’me hele.”

“Can I buy you another beer, Madame Chuchupe?” Pantaleón Pantoja coaxes an uneasy smile and whispers, “I’d like to ask you for a few facts, if it’s no trouble.”

“What a friendly devil that Chino is. He never has any money but how he livens up an evening,” Chuchupe folds a piece of paper, throws it at Porfirio’s head, hits the target. “I don’t know what they see in him. They’re all dying for him. Look at him going nuts.”

“Matters related to your—you know—to your business,” insists Pantaleón Pantoja.

“Sure, happy to,” Chuchupe gets serious, agrees, autopsies him with her stare. “Though I didn’t think you came to talk about business but for something else, Mr. Pantoja.”

“My head is killing me,” Pantita curls up, covers himself with the sheets. “My body is falling to pieces, I got the shivers.”

“Why wouldn’t it kill you, why wouldn’t you have, and what’s more, it makes me glad,” Pochita taps her heels. “You went to bed around four and you came in falling-down drunk, you idiot.”

“You’ve vomited three times,” Mother Leonor goes back and forth between kettles, washbasins and towels. “You’ve left the room stinking, son.”

“You’re going to explain what all this means, Panta,” Pochita approaches the bed, eyes blazing.

“I already told you, sweetheart—it’s got to do with work,” complains Pantita from between the pillows. “You know only too well I don’t drink, how I hate keeping late hours. It’s torture for me to do those things, dear.”

“You mean to tell me you’re going to go on doing them?” Pochita grimaces, screws up her face. “Going to bed at dawn, getting drunk? Oh, no you’re not, Panta—I promise you you’re not.”

“Come on, don’t fight,” Mother Leonor is carefully balancing the glass, the pitcher, the tray. “Come, child, put on these cold towels and take this Alka-Seltzer. Quick, with the little bubbles.”

“It’s my work, it’s the assignment they’ve given me,” Pantita despairs, fades, loses his voice. “I hate all this—you’ve got to believe me. But I can’t tell you anything. Don’t make me talk; it’d be very bad for my career. Have faith in me, Pocha.”

“You’ve been with women,” Pochita breaks out sobbing. “Men don’t get drunk until dawn without women. I’m sure you were, Panta.”

“Pocha, Pochita, my head is splitting, my back is hurting me,” Pantita places a cloth on his forehead, reaches under the bed, pulls out a chamber pot, spits saliva and bile. “Don’t cry. You make me feel like a criminal and I’m not, I swear to you I’m not.”

“Close your eyes and open your yap,” Mother Leonor holds out a steaming cup, puckers her mouth. “And now this little cup of very hot coffee, my little boy.”

S S G F R I

Dispatch Number One

The undersigned, Capt. (Quartermaster) Pantaleón Pantoja, Peruvian Army, commissioned to organize and put into operation a Special Service for Garrisons, Frontier and Related Installations (SSGFRI) for the entire Amazon region, respectfully presents himself to Gen. Felipe Collazos, Chief of Administration, Supply and Logistics of the Army, salutes him and reports:

1. (a) That as soon as he arrived in Iquitos, he presented himself to the Command of Region V (Amazon) in order to greet Gen. Roger Scavino, commander in chief, who, after receiving him in a friendly and cordial way, proceeded to communicate to him some of the measures taken for putting into operation in the most efficacious manner possible the mission that has been entrusted to him—namely, that in the interests of protecting the good name of the military, it is advisable that the undersigned never appear in person at headquarters or in the barracks of this city, that he not dress in uniform, that he not reside in military housing, that he not fraternize with the officers of the base, which is to say that he should act at all times as a civilian, because the persons and areas that he will have to frequent (the society of brothels, slums) are not appropriate as anticipated acquaintances for a captain of the armed forces. (b) That he must act strictly in accordance with these arrangements, despite the distress that may result from the effect of his having to conceal his position as an officer in our country’s Army, of which he is very proud, and that he must keep himself apart from his companions in arms, whom he considers his brothers, despite the delicate family situation that this creates for him, since he is also obliged to maintain with his mother and with his own wife the most absolute secrecy; and, consequently, that he must nearly always fail to tell the truth for the sake of family harmony and the proper fulfillment of his assignment. (c) That he accept these sacrifices, conscious of the undeferable nature of the operation his superiors have entrusted to him and of the interests of our soldiers who serve the Nation in the most remote regions of the jungle.

2. (a) That he has already taken possession of the site located on the banks of the Itaya River assigned by headquarters of Region V as a command post and quartermaster’s depot (for recruitment/provisioning) for the Special Service. (b) That the soldiers detailed to the Service answering to the names of Sinforoso Caiguas and Palomino Rioalto have already been placed under his command and have been chosen by their superiors and according to strict standards for their virtues of outstanding conduct, tractability and a certain indifference toward persons of the opposite sex, since, in contrast, the type of work they will perform and the peculiarities of the environment in which they will be placed would be likely to arouse temptations in them and cause subsequent problems for the Service. The undersigned wants to make clear that the site where the command post and quartermaster’s depot are located possesses the best qualities: first of all, size and proximity to means of transportation (the Itaya River); second, protection from accidental discovery since the city is located quite far away and the closest inhabited spot, the Garote rice mill, is situated on the opposite shore. (There is no bridge.) On the other hand, it enjoys good topographical possibilities for the installation of a small dock, so that after the Special Service has established its circulatory system, all shipping and receiving can be carried out under the direct supervision of the command post.

3. (a) That during the first week, the undersigned had to concentrate all his time and efforts on cleaning and improving the premises, a semi-quadrilateral 1,323 meters square (a quarter of whose surface is roofed over with corrugated tin), enclosed by thin wooden partitions and having two large doors, one opening on the trail to Iquitos and one on the river. The area of the roofed section is 327 meters square and is paved; it consists of two floors, the higher one being only a wooden platform with a railing that leads to a little fire stairway. On this floor the undersigned has installed his command post, private office, files and records. In the lower part—which can be observed at all times from the command post—hammocks for Sinforoso Caiguas and Palomino Rioalto have been hung, and a crudely constructed toilet has been installed. The unroofed part of this site is a large unsurfaced yard that still has some trees in it.

(b) That a week for the preparation of the site might seem excessive—symptomatic of a lack of discipline or laziness—but the truth is that the location was not in usable condition and was, excusing myself for using the word, filthy, for the reasons stated here: due to the fact that the Army had abandoned it, this depot had come to be used for miscellaneous and illegal practices. Hence it had been taken possession of by some followers of an individual of foreign origin, Brother Francisco, founder of a new religion and a supposed performer of miracles, who travels the Brazilian, Colombian, Ecuadorian and Peruvian Amazon region on foot and by raft, erecting crosses in the towns he passes through and having himself crucified, in order to preach in that preposterous pose, in either the Portuguese, Spanish or Indian languages. He is in the habit of announcing catastrophes and he exhorts his devoted followers (who are countless—despite the hostility that the Catholic Church and the Protestants profess toward him—due to the individual’s charisma, which is, without doubt, very great, since his preaching has a great effect not only on simple and uncultured people, but also on educated persons, as has unfortunately taken place, for example, with the undersigned’s own mother) to divest themselves of their material goods and to build wooden crosses and offer sacrifices for the time when the end of the world will come, which he promises will be very soon. Here in Iquitos, where Brother Francisco has spent the past few days, there are numerous “arks” (that is what they call the temples of the sect created by this individual, in whom, if headquarters deems it appropriate, the Intelligence Service should perhaps take an interest), and a group of “brothers” and “sisters,” as they call each other, had converted this depot into an “ark.” They had installed a cross for their unsanitary and cruel ceremonies, which consist of crucifying all sorts of animals in order to have the victims’ blood bathe the addicts kneeling at the foot of the cross. Consequently, the undersigned found countless carcasses of monkeys, dogs, wildcats and even parrots and herons on the premises, as well as grease spots and bloodstains all over and, undoubtedly, swarms of infectious germs. On the day on which the undersigned occupied the premises he had to call in the police in order to dislodge the Brothers of the Ark, just as they were preparing to nail up a lizard, which was confiscated and handed over to the Military Storehouse for Region V.

(c) That previously, this unlucky site had been used by a sorcerer or witch doctor, Master Poncio, who the “brothers” expelled by force, and who celebrated nighttime ceremonies here by preparing a concoction of
ayahuasca
stems, which, it seems, cures illnesses and provokes hallucinations, but also, unfortunately, immediate physical disorders, such as an excess of saliva, overflowing of urine and massive diarrhea, excretions that, along with the dead bodies of the animals later sacrificed and the many turkey buzzards and predatory animals attracted here by the leavings and the carcasses, had turned this place into a veritable hell for your eyes and nose. The undersigned had Sinforoso Caiguas and Palomino Rioalto procure shovels, rakes, brooms and buckets (see receipts 1, 2 and 3) so that, working diligently under his supervision, they could burn the garbage, wash down the floor and walls and disinfect everything with creosote. Later it was necessary to insert poison and plug up holes as well as to spread traps to halt the invasion of rodents, so abundant and brazen that, although it sounds like an exaggeration, they came out and walked contemptuously before the undersigned’s eyes and even bumped into his feet. The whitewashing and painting of the walls was attended to, which persistently called attention to the shameful writings and drawings (the spot must have concealed illicit lovemaking as well) and the little crosses of the “brothers” that show through. At the same time, it has been necessary to acquire in the Bethlehem Market, at bargain prices, some office furniture such as a desk, chair, table and filing cabinet for the command post (receipts 4, 5, 6 and 7).

(d) That in regard to the open ground (where many objects such as tin cans and broken-down engines can still be seen, which were left behind by the Army from the time when it used the site as a depot and which the Special Service has not wanted to destroy while awaiting further orders), it has been swept up and duly cleaned. (Even a dead snake was found, under a pile of branches.) The undersigned has the honor of reporting that in one week—by imposing details of ten and even twelve hours, of course—he has succeeded with all of the above actions in converting the indescribable dung heap that was turned over to him into a habitable site: simple but orderly, clean and even pleasant, such as befits all branches of our Army—even clandestine ones, as in the present case.

4. (a) That once the site was prepared, the undersigned proceeded to draw up various maps and charts to demark with the greatest exactitude the potential number of users, the area that SSGFRI will cover and the routes its convoys will follow. (b) That the following figures summarize the preliminary topographical evaluation: the Special Service will cover an area of approximately 400,000 square kilometers, which includes 8 garrisons, 26 posts and 45 encampments as potential utilization centers, toward which the primary means of communication from the command post and logistics center are the aerial and river routes (see map number 1), although in some exceptional cases transportation can be effected by land (in the vicinity of Iquitos, Yurimaguas, Contamana and Pucallpa). (c) That in order to determine the potential number of users of the Special Service, he was allowed to send (with the authorization of the commander in chief of Region V) the following questionnaire of his own devising to all the Garrisons, Frontier and Related Installations, so that it could be administered by the company leaders or, in their absence, by the group commander:

4. Having established the preceding tabulation, attempt to determine among the same group of
unmarried men with marital capability
under your command, by means of the same technique of indirect soundings, seemingly casual questions, etc., how much time the subject calculates or positively knows the marital service will last in his case (from the preliminaries to its full conclusion), according to the same maximum/minimum scheme: