B004QGYWDA EBOK (22 page)

Besides, it wasn’t Skimpy that brought the fleas in. I think she got the fleas from the Academy, that is, from the peasants. One time those bastards Curly and the Jaguar went and put a whole bunch of lice on the poor thing. The Jaguar came back from someplace or other, probably one of the pigsties in the first block on Huatica Street, with some enormous lice on him. He picked them off and had them walking around on the floor of the latrine, they were big as ants, and Curly said, “Why don’t we put them on somebody?” and Skimpy was there watching, that’s the kind of luck she has. So they put them on her. Curly held her by the neck when she started kicking and the Jaguar put them on with both hands. Then they both got excited and the Jaguar shouted, “I’ve still got tons of them, who’ll we initiate?” and Curly shouted, “The Slave!” I went with them. He was asleep. I remember how I grabbed his head and covered his eyes, and Curly held his legs. The Jaguar put the lice in his hair, and I said, “Be careful, damn it, you’re getting them on my sleeves.” If I’d known that what’s happened to the guy was going to happen, I don’t think I’d’ve grabbed his head that time, and I wouldn’t’ve bullied him so much. But I don’t think he had any trouble getting rid of the lice. It was Skimpy they almost ate alive. She lost almost all of her hair and she kept rubbing herself against the walls, she looked like one of those mangy dogs you see in the slums, her whole body was one big sore. It must’ve hurt a lot, she never stopped rubbing herself against the walls, especially the barracks walls because they’re rough cement. Her back looked like the Peruvian flag, red and white, white and red, plaster and blood. So then the Jaguar said, “If we put some pepper on her, she’ll start talking like a human being,” and he told me, “Boa, go swipe some peppers from the kitchen.” I went there and one of the cooks gave me several hot peppers. We ground them up with a stone on the tile floor, and the peasant Cava said, “Faster, faster.” Then the Jaguar said, “Grab her and hold her, I’m going to cure her.” He was right, she almost did talk. She jumped all around and squirmed like a snake and Christ what howls she let out. The noncom Morte was startled by the noise and came in to see what was happening, and when he saw the way Skimpy was jumping around he laughed till he had tears in his eyes and he said, “What crazy bastards, what crazy bastards.” But the funny thing is, it cured her just like that, her hair grew out, I think she even gained a little weight. I’m sure she thought I helped put the pepper on her to cure her, animals aren’t very intelligent and God knows how she got that idea into her head. But from that day on, she followed me around all the time. She’d get between my feet during drill so I could hardly march, and she’d lie under my chair in the mess hall and wag her tail if I threw her some scraps. She’d wait for me outside the door of the classroom building, and when she saw me come out for recess she’d greet me by nuzzling my legs. At night she’d climb up on my bed and try to lap my face. I used to have fun hitting her. She’d go away but she’d always come back again, sizing me up with her eyes, are you going to hit me this time or not, I’ll get a little closer, I’d better move back, are you going to kick me this time, she was really smart. And everybody began making fun of me, they said, “You’re sleeping with her, you animal,” but that was a lie because I still didn’t even have any idea of screwing a dog. At first I got mad at the way she always tagged after me, but sometimes I’d scratch her head, without thinking anything about it, and I found out how much she enjoyed it. She’d get on top of me at night and keep moving around and I couldn’t get to sleep, so I’d put my hand on the back of her neck and scratch her a little. Then she’d keep still. When they heard her moving around, everybody made fun of me, “That’s enough, Boa, leave the poor thing alone, you’re going to strangle her,” come here, you bitch, this is what you want, isn’t it, I’ll scratch your head and your belly. Then she’d lie there as still as stone, but I could feel how she was trembling with happiness, and if I stopped scratching her for even a second she jumped up and even in the darkness I could see she’d opened her mouth and was showing me those white teeth of hers. I don’t know why dogs have such white teeth but they all do, I’ve never seen a dog with a black tooth and I don’t remember hearing of a dog that lost a tooth or that got a cavity and had to have the tooth pulled out. That’s a funny thing about dogs, and another one is, they don’t sleep. I thought it was only Skimpy that didn’t sleep, but later somebody told me all dogs are the same, they stay awake all night. At first it used to make me nervous, it even scared me a little, the moment I opened my eyes I’d see her there looking at me and sometimes I couldn’t get to sleep because I was thinking about how she spent the night beside me without closing her eyes. It’d make anybody nervous to realize he was being spied on, even if it was only by a dog that didn’t understand anything. Though sometimes she seemed to understand.

Alberto turned around and walked down the stairs. A middle-aged man was coming up them. His face was haggard and his eyes were filled with anxiety.

“Señor,” Alberto said.

The man had already passed him. He stopped and turned to look at him.

“Excuse me,” Alberto said, “but are you a relative of Cadet Ricardo Arana?”

The man looked at him closely, as if attempting to place him. “I’m his father,” he said. “Why?”

Alberto walked back up a couple of steps. Their eyes were on the same level. Arana’s father was still peering at him intently. There were dark circles under his eyes, revealing his worry and his lack of sleep.

“Can you tell me how Arana is?” Alberto asked.

“I can’t see him,” the man said in a hoarse voice. “They won’t let anybody in. Not even his own parents. They haven’t got any right to do that. Are you a friend of his?”

“We’re in the same section,” Alberto said. “They wouldn’t let me in either.”

The man nodded. He seemed completely crushed. He had not shaved for several days, his shirt collar was wrinkled and soiled, and his tie had slipped to one side. The knot in his tie was ridiculously small.

“I could only catch a glimpse of him,” he said. “From the doorway. They shouldn’t do that to us.”

“How is he?” Alberto asked. “What did the doctor tell you?”

The man raised his hand and ran the back of it across his lips. “I don’t know,” he said. “They’ve operated on him twice. His mother’s almost crazy. I can’t figure out how it could happen. And just when he was going to graduate. Only God can save him now. His mother’s praying in the chapel. The doctor says he might let us see him tonight.”

“He’ll be okay,” Alberto said. “The Academy’s doctors are the best there are, Señor.”

“Yes,” the man said, “yes, I know. The captain tells us the chances are very good. He’s a very friendly sort of person. I think his name is Garrido. He even brought us the colonel’s very best wishes.” He brushed his mouth with his hand again, then fished in his pockets and brought out a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to Alberto, who refused it with a thank you. Then he fished in his pockets again but could not find any matches.

“Wait a minute,” Alberto said, “I’ll go get you a light.”

“I’ll go with you,” the man said. “I don’t have to sit here two days in a row with nobody to talk to. I’m a nervous wreck. I hope to God it all comes out all right.”

They left the infirmary. There was a soldier on guard in the little room near the entrance. He looked surprised when he saw Alberto, and leaned forward in his chair, but then decided not to say anything. Outside, it was dark by now. Alberto led the way across the open field in the direction of “La Perlita.” They could see the lights in the distant barracks. There was no sound whatsoever.

“Were you with him when it happened?” the man asked.

“Yes,” Alberto said. “But not close to him. I was at the other end of the line. It was the captain who found him. While we were climbing the hill.”

“It isn’t fair,” the man said. “It isn’t a just punishment. We’re decent people. We go to Mass every Sunday. We’ve never done anything wrong. His mother spends all her time working for her charities. Why did God punish us like this?”

“We feel pretty bad in the section,” Alberto said. “All of us.” After a long pause, he added, “We think a lot of him. He’s a real buddy.”

“I know,” the man said. “He’s all right. But only on account of me. I’ve had to be pretty strict with him now and then. For his own good, you know. It hasn’t been easy to make a man out of him. He’s my only son. Everything I do is for him, for his future. Won’t you tell me something about him? I mean, here at the Academy. Ricardo doesn’t talk very much. He never tells us anything. But sometimes I don’t think he’s been happy.”

“Well…it’s kind of rough,” Alberto said. “You have to get used to it. Nobody’s happy at the start.”

“But it did him good,” the man said, almost passionately. “It did him good, it changed him, it made a man out of him. Nobody can say it didn’t! Nobody!” Then, in a calmer voice, “You don’t know what he was like when he was little. But the Academy gave him some guts, gave him a spine. And anyway, if he wanted to quit he just had to tell me. I asked him to go to the Academy and he agreed. It isn’t my fault. I just did what I thought was best. For him, I mean.”

“It’s all right, Señor,” Alberto said. “Don’t get upset. He’s going to get better.”

“His mother thinks I’m to blame,” the man said, ignoring what Alberto told him. “That’s a woman for you. They aren’t fair, they don’t understand. But I’ve got a clear conscience, absolutely clear. I wanted him to be a man. A somebody. Do you think I was wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Alberto said, confused. “I mean, no. But the main thing is for Arana to get better.”

“I’m all nerves,” the man said. “Don’t mind what I say. Sometimes I lose control.”

They arrived at “La Perlita.” Paulino was behind the counter, his head resting on his hand. He looked at Alberto as if he were seeing him for the first time.

“A box of matches,” Alberto said.

Paulino glanced suspiciously at Arana’s father. “I’m all out,” he said.

“Not for me,” Alberto said. “For the señor.”

Without a word, Paulino reached under the counter and brought out a box of matches. The man had to use three of them to light his cigarette. In the brief flashes, Alberto could see how his hands were trembling.

“A cup of coffee,” the man said. He turned to Alberto. “What would you like?”

“I haven’t got any coffee,” Paulino said in a bored voice. “There’s cola if you want.”

“All right,” the man said. “A cola. Anything.”

He had forgotten that calm morning: it was sunless, but there was no rain. He got off the Lima-San Miguel streetcar at the stop near the Brazil movie theater. It was where he always got off. He preferred to walk those ten unnecessary blocks, even in the rain, to increase the distance that separated him from the inevitable meeting. It was the last time he would make the trip: exams had ended the week before, they had just handed out the grades, the school was dead and would not come to life again for three months. His schoolmates were happy at the thought of the vacation, but he felt afraid. The school was his only refuge. The summer would drown him in a dangerous inertia, at the mercy of his parents.

Instead of turning onto Salaverry Avenue, he continued along Brazil Avenue to the park. He sat down on a bench, thrust his hands into his pockets, hunched over a little and remained there motionless. He felt old. His life was monotonous, without any incentives, a heavy burden. In class, his schoolmates cut up the moment the teacher turned his back. They played practical jokes, threw spitballs, grinned at each other. He studied them, very serious and uncomfortable. Why couldn’t he be like them, live without worries, make friends, have relatives who cared about him? He closed his eyes and sat there for a long time, thinking about Chiclayo, about his Aunt Adelina, about the happy impatience with which he had waited for the coming of summer when he was little. Then he stood up and headed for his house with lagging steps.

A block before he got there, his heart turned over: the blue car was parked in front of the house. Had he lost track of the time? He asked a passing stranger what time it was. It was only eleven o’clock. His father never came home before one. He walked faster. As he reached the doorway he could hear his parents’ voices. They were arguing. I’ll tell them a streetcar got derailed, he thought as he rang the doorbell, I’ll say I had to walk from Old Magdalena.

His father opened the door for him. He was smiling, and there was not the least sign of anger in his eyes. To his amazement, his father gave him a cordial slap on the arm and said, almost joyfully, “Ah, so you’re here at last. Your mother and I were just talking about you. Come in, come in.”

He felt calmer then and his face immediately broke into that stupid, helpless, impersonal smile that constituted his best defense. His mother was in the living room. She embraced him tenderly and he felt ill at ease: her effusiveness could change his father’s good humor. During the last few months he had been forced to act as a judge or witness in the family squabbles. It was humiliating, horrible. He had to answer yes to all the belligerent questions his father hurled at him, although they were made up of grave accusations against his mother: waste, carelessness, incompetence, whoring. What would he have to testify about this time?

“Look,” his father said amiably. “On the table. There’s something I brought for you.”

He turned his eyes. The cover of the pamphlet showed the blurred front of a large building, and below it there was a sentence in capital letters: “The Leoncio Prado Academy is not just a gateway to a military career.” He picked it up and began to glance through it with a stunned expression on his face. It had pictures of soccer fields, a gleaming swimming pool, a mess hall, and some empty barracks, all of them clean and orderly. The center spread was a color photograph showing a formation of perfect ranks marching past a reviewing stand.

“Doesn’t it look great?” his father asked. His voice was still cordial, but he knew that voice so well by now that he could detect the slight change of tone in it, a change that suggested a warning.