B004QGYWDA EBOK (41 page)

But the thought of the Academy still awoke that inevitable feeling of revulsion and gloom which made his heart contract like the mimosa. Now, however, those states of utter misery were much more ephemeral, like a speck of dust in his eye: a few minutes later he was feeling fine again. Two months earlier, if he remembered the Leoncio Prado he felt nothing but disgust, confusion, and despondency for the rest of the day. Now he could remember many of the events as if they had been episodes in a motion picture, and for days at a time he could avoid thinking of the Slave.

He crossed Petit Thouars Avenue, stopped in front of the second house, and whistled. The front garden overflowed with blossoms and the damp lawn shone in the sunlight. A girl’s voice said, “I’ll be right down!” He could not see anyone: Marcela must have called from the stairs. Would she ask him in? Alberto intended to suggest that they take a stroll until it was ten o’clock. They would walk toward the streetcar tracks, under the trees that lined the avenue. Perhaps he would be able to kiss her. Then Marcela appeared at the far side of the garden; she was dressed in slacks and a loose blouse with garnet and black stripes. She came toward him with a smile, and he thought, How lovely she is. Her dark eyes and hair contrasted with her white, white skin.

“Hello,” Marcela said. “You’re early.”

“If you want, I’ll go away,” he said. He felt very much in command of himself. At the beginning, especially in the days after the party at which he had asked Marcela to be his girl friend, he felt somewhat timid in that world of his boyhood, after the three-year parenthesis in which he had been separated from everything that was pleasant and good. He always felt sure of himself now: he could keep up a steady stream of jokes, and consider himself an equal among equals, or even, at times, a bit superior.

“Stupid,” she said.

“Do you want to take a walk? Pluto isn’t coming till ten.”

“Yes, let’s,” Marcela said. She raised a finger to her temple. What was the meaning of that gesture? “My folks are still asleep. They went to a party last night, in Ancón. It was awfully late when they got home. And I came back from the park before nine o’clock.”

When they were a few yards away from the house, Alberto clasped her hand. “Have you noticed the sun?” he asked her. “It’s perfect for the beach.”

“I’ve got to tell you something,” Marcela said. Alberto looked at her: she was smiling at him, impertinently, maliciously, charmingly. He thought, She’s absolutely lovely.

“What is it?”

“I saw your sweetheart last night.”

Was this a joke of some sort? He had still not adjusted completely to the group: sometimes there was an allusion which everyone from the neighborhood caught but which left him ignorant, blind, lost. And how could he retaliate? Not with the kind of jokes they had cracked in the barracks, certainly. In his mind’s eye he saw the Jaguar and the Boa spitting on the Slave while he was asleep.

“Who?” he asked in a cautious voice.

“Teresa,” Marcela said. “The girl that lives in Lince.”

He had forgotten about the heat, but suddenly he was aware of its aggressive, powerful, crushing strength. He felt that it was suffocating him.

“Teresa, you said?”

Marcela laughed. “Why do you think I asked you where she lives?” There was a note of triumph in her voice: she was proud of her accomplishment. “Pluto took me there in his car, after we left the park.”

“To her house?” Alberto stammered.

“Yes,” Marcela said. Her dark eyes were flashing. “Do you know what I did? I knocked on the door and she answered it herself. I asked her if this was where Señora Grellot lived. Do you know who the señora is? My nextdoor neighbor!” She paused for a moment. “So I got a good look at Teresa.”

He smiled as best he could, and murmured, “You’re crazy.” But once again he felt uneasy and even humiliated.

“Tell me the truth,” Marcela said. Her voice was still sweet, but still mischievous. “Were you really in love with that girl?”

“No,” Alberto said. “Of course not. It was just that I was in the Academy.”

“She’s ugly!” Marcela said. “She’s an ugly little nobody!”

Alberto still felt confused, but he was also gratified. Marcela’s crazy about me, he thought. She’s as jealous as anything.

“You know I only love you,” he said. “I’ve never loved anybody else the way I love you.”

Marcela squeezed his hand. He stopped, reached out his arm, and pulled her toward him; but she resisted, turning her head from side to side to make sure no one was watching. There was no one in sight. Alberto merely brushed her lips with his. They went on walking.

“What did she tell you?” Alberto asked.

“Her?” Marcela laughed an elegant little laugh. “Nothing. She told me Señora Somebody-or-Other lived there. It was a peculiar name, I can’t remember it. Pluto almost died laughing. He began to make remarks from the car and she shut the door. That’s all. You haven’t gone back to see her?”

“No,” Alberto said. “Of course not.”

“Tell me, did you take her to the Salazar Park?”

“I didn’t even have time. I only saw her a few weekends, at her house or in Lima. I never took her to Miraflores.”

“And why did you break up with her?”

It was unexpected. Alberto opened his mouth but no words came out. How could he explain to Marcela what he could not wholly explain to himself? Teresa was a part of those three years at the Military Academy, one of those corpses it was best not to revive.

“Bah,” he said. “When I got out of the Academy I realized I didn’t care for her. I didn’t go back to see her.”

They had reached the streetcar line. They walked down Reducto Avenue. He put his arm around her shoulder, and under his hand he could feel her warm, smooth skin, which he touched only lightly and carefully, as if it were fragile. Why had he told Marcela about Teresa? Everybody in the neighborhood talked about their girl friends and boy friends, and Marcela herself used to date a boy from San Isidro; therefore he had not wanted them to think he was a beginner. The fact that he had graduated from the Leoncio Prado Academy gave him a certain prestige in the neighborhood: they regarded him as a prodigal son, a person who returned to his home after living through grand adventures. What would have happened if he had not run across the neighborhood boys and girls that afternoon, there on the corner of Diego Ferré?

“A ghost!” Pluto said. “Yes, sir, a ghost!”

Babe embraced him, Helena smiled at him, Tico introduced him to the ones he had never met, Molly said, “We haven’t seen him for three years, he forgot all about us,” and Emilio called him a snob and patted him on the shoulder affectionately.

“A ghost,” Pluto repeated. “Aren’t you afraid of him?”

Alberto was wearing civilian clothes. His uniform was on a chair in his room, although his cap had fallen on the floor. His mother was out, the empty house bored him, he wanted to smoke, he had only been free for two hours and he was disconcerted by the infinite possibilities for spending his time that had opened up in front of him. I’ll buy some cigarettes, he thought, and then I’ll go see Teresa. But after he had gone out and bought cigarettes, he did not get on the express; instead, he wandered for a long while through the streets of Miraflores like a tourist or a tramp. Larco Avenue, the Malecones, the Diagonal, the Salazar Park, and suddenly he came across Babe, Pluto, Helena, a great ring of smiling faces that welcomed him back.

“You returned just in time,” Molly said. “We need another man, we’re going to Chosica in a few days. Now we’re all set, eight couples.”

They stayed there talking until nightfall, and arranged to go to the beach in a group on the following day. After he said good-by to them, Alberto went home, walking slowly, absorbed with new concerns. Marcela—Marcela who? he had never seen her before, she lived on Primavera Avenue, she was new in Miraflores—had asked him, “But you’ll be sure to come, won’t you?” His bathing trunks were old and faded, he would have to persuade his mother to buy him a new pair the first thing in the morning, so he could wear them on the Herradura beach.

“Isn’t that something?” Pluto said. “A flesh-and-blood ghost!”

(“That’s right,” Lt. Huarina said. “But go and see the captain, on the double.”

They can’t do anything to me now, Alberto thought. They’ve already given us our grades. I’ll tell him what he is to his face. But instead of doing so, he came to attention and saluted respectfully. The captain smiled at him, examining his dress uniform. It’s the last time I’ll put it on, Alberto thought. But he was not completely overjoyed by the thought of leaving the Academy forever.

“That’s fine,” the captain said. “Just wipe the dust off your shoes, then go to the colonel’s office right away.”

He climbed the stairs with a foreboding of disaster. The civilian asked him his name, then hastened to open the door for him. The colonel was sitting at his desk. Once again, Alberto was impressed by the glossiness of the floor, the walls, the furniture. Even the colonel’s skin and hair seemed to have been waxed.

“Come in, come in, Cadet,” the colonel said.

Alberto was still uneasy. What was hidden behind that benevolent tone, that friendly look? The colonel congratulated him on his grades. “You see?” he told him. “A little extra effort pays big dividends. Your academic record is very good.” Alberto listened to these praises in a motionless silence: he was waiting. “In the army,” the colonel said, “justice always triumphs sooner or later. It’s something inherent in the military system, as you’ve had opportunity to observe for yourself. Just consider, Cadet Fernández: you were on the verge of ruining your life, of soiling an honorable name, an illustrious family tradition. But the army gave you a last opportunity to mend your ways. I don’t regret having placed so much confidence in you. Let me shake your hand, Cadet,” The colonel’s hand was as soft and flabby as a sponge. “You’ve turned over a new leaf,” the colonel went on. “A new leaf. That’s why I sent for you. Tell me, what are your plans for the future?” Alberto told him he was going to become an engineer. “Good,” the colonel said. “That’s very good. Our country has a great need for technicians. You’re taking the right path, it’s a most useful profession. I wish you the best of luck.” Alberto smiled timidly and said, “I don’t know how to thank you, Sir. I’m very grateful to you.” “You can leave now,” the colonel said. “Ah, but don’t forget to join the Alumni Association. It’s important for the cadets to maintain their ties with the Academy. We’re all one great big family.” The colonel stood up and accompanied him to the door, but then he remembered something else. “I forgot,” he said, waving his hand in the air. “There’s one more small detail.” Alberto stiffened to attention.

“Do you recall certain pages you wrote? You know what I’m referring to. A very unpleasant business.”

Alberto lowered his eyes and mumbled, “Yes, Sir.”

“I’ve kept my word,” the colonel said. “I always keep my word. There isn’t a single blot on your record. I destroyed those documents.”

Alberto thanked him effusively, saluted again, and left, while the colonel smiled at him from the doorway of his office.)

“A ghost,” Pluto kept saying. “Alive and kicking.”

“That’s enough,” Babe said. “We’re all glad that Alberto’s here. But give us a chance to talk.”

“Yes,” Molly said. “We’ve got to make plans for the outing.”

“Correct,” Emilio said. “Right now.”

“An outing with a ghost,” Pluto said. “That’s really something!”

Alberto walked home, absorbed, perturbed. The dying winter was saying farewell to Miraflores with a sudden fog that reached the tops of the trees along Larco Avenue, weakening the glow of the street lights. It spread everywhere, enfolding and dissolving objects, persons, memories: the faces of Arana and the Jaguar, the barracks, the confinements, all lost actuality, and instead a forgotten group of boys and girls returned in his memory, he talked with those dream images on the little square of grass at the corner of Diego Ferré, and nothing seemed to have changed, their words and gestures were familiar, life seemed pleasant and harmonious, time passed smoothly and evenly, and was as sweet and exciting as the dark eyes of that unknown girl who joked with him so cordially, a small, gentle girl with black hair and a soft voice. No one was surprised to see him there again, a grown-up now. They were all grown-ups now, living in a larger world, but the atmosphere had not changed and Alberto recognized the topics and concerns of those earlier days: sports, parties, the movies, the beaches, love affairs, well-bred humor, refined malice. His room was in darkness, and as he lay on the bed, he dreamed with his eyes open. It had only taken a few seconds for the world he had abandoned to open its doors and receive him again without question, as if the place he once occupied among them had been jealously guarded for him during those three years. He had regained his future.

“And you didn’t feel ashamed?” Marcela asked.

“Of what?”

“Of being seen with her in public?”

He could feel the blood rushing to his face. How could he explain that he had never felt ashamed, that on the contrary he had felt proud to be seen with Teresa? How could he explain that actually the one thing he felt ashamed of during that period was not to be from Lince like Teresa, that at the Leoncio Prado it was a humiliating disadvantage to be from Miraflores?

“No,” he said, “I didn’t feel ashamed.”

“Then you must have been in love with her,” Marcela said. “I hate you.”

He squeezed her with his hand; the girl’s hip touched his, and at that brief contact Alberto felt a sudden rush of desire. He stopped walking.

“No,” she said. “Not here, Alberto.”

But she yielded to him and he was able to give her a long kiss on the mouth. When they parted, Marcela’s face was rapturous and her eyes were shining.

“What about your parents?” she asked.

“My parents?”

“What did they think of her?”

“They didn’t know about her.”

They were in the Ricardo Palma Park. They walked through the middle of it, in the mottled shadows that the tall trees cast on the walks. There were a few other people strolling in the park, and a flower seller under an awning. Alberto took his arm from Marcela’s shoulder and clasped her hand. In the distance, a long line of cars was entering Larco Avenue. They’re going to the beach, Alberto thought.