B004L2LMEG EBOK (22 page)

“Damn it, as if his Service didn’t already mean a big enough expenditure for the quartermaster’s,” Colonel López López receives the telegram, reads it, shakes it. “Know what Pantoja is coming to us for now, General? To study the possibility of giving the specialists a risk bonus when they’re out on convoy. It turns out they’re afraid of the fanatics.”

“But you get twice the percentage they do and that makes up the difference. I’ve proved it to you, I’ve made an estimate for you,” Pantaleón Pantoja goes up on deck, sees Ciruca and Sandra putting cream on their faces, Freckle sleeping in a rocking chair. “How tired I am, how fast my heart’s beating. Did you lose the table I made for you? Besides, have you forgotten that each month I give you fifteen percent of my wages to up your earnings?”

“I know that, Panta,” the Brazilian rests her arms on the prow, looks at the trees on the shore, the dirty water, the wake of foam, the pink clouds. “But your salary is a big nothing. Don’t get mad, it’s the truth. And on the other hand, with that mania of yours, all the others hate me. I don’t have even one friend among the girls. Even Chuchupe calls me the Captain’s Pet the minute my back’s turned.”

“You are and it’s the great shame of my life,” Pantoja walks on deck, asks will we arrive in Iquitos early? Hears Subofficer Rodríguez say of course. “Don’t complain so much, it isn’t fair. I should be the one whining. Because of you I’ve broken a rule I’d respected ever since I came of age.”

“See? You’ve begun,” the Brazilian smiles at Peludita listening to the radio under an awning on the deck, at a sailor rolling a few butts. “Why aren’t you more frank and instead of talking about principles, realize you’re jealous of those ten little soldiers in Lagunas.”

“Do you think they’d decrease? Not at all, Tiger; they’d spread like a forest fire,” General Scavino dresses like a civilian, roves among the people, reeks of onion and incense, sees the spluttering of the candles, smells the stench of the offerings. “You don’t know what the anniversary of the boy martyr was like. A procession such as they’ve never seen in Iquitos before. The banks along the Moronacocha packed like sardines. And the lagoon the same way. There wasn’t room for a launch or a boat.”

“I had never failed to do my duty, curse my lot,” Pantaleón Pantoja says hi to Knockers and Rita playing cards in the sunlight, leans back on a lifeboat, watches the sun set on the horizon. “I had always been the correct type, the fair type. Before you came into the picture, not even this bloodsucker scene had made me break my system.”

“If you tell me you want to insult me over the ten soldiers, I’ll put up with it,” the Brazilian looks at her watch, makes a face, says it stopped again, winds it. “But if you keep on talking about your system you can go eat shit and I’m going down to the cabin to take a nap.”

“This work and you have been the ruin of me,” Pantaleón Pantoja suddenly gets upset, does not respond to the salute of the sailor talking to Pichuza, scrutinizes the river, the darkening sky. “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have lost my wife, my little daughter.”

“How tiresome you are, Panta,” the Brazilian takes him by the arm, leads him to the bunk, hands him some sandwiches, a Coca-Cola, peels him an orange, throws the rinds into the river, turns on the light. “Now comes the crying for your wife and daughter? Every time you busy yourself with me, you repent so much there’s no putting up with you. Don’t be such a fool, sonny.”

“I need them, I miss them a lot,” Panta eats, drinks, puts on his pajamas, goes to bed, his voice cracks. “The house is so empty without Pocha and without little Gladys. I’m not used to it.”

“Come here, honey, c’mere, don’t be a crybaby,” the Brazilian keeps her slip on, lies down next to Panta, turns off the light, opens her arms. “The only thing wrong with you is you’re jealous of those soldiers. Get comfy. Here, let me scratch your head.”

“There was even a rumor that Brother Francisco was going to appear in person,” General Scavino watches the apostles in white, the faithful kneeling with their arms outstretched, the invalids, the blind, the lepers, the dwarfs, the dying who surround the cross. “Better he didn’t. He was going to put us in a fix. It was impossible to order him arrested in front of twenty thousand people ready to die for him. Where the hell is he? No, there’re no signs of him.”

“Boat is cladle, I Pochita, you Gladys,” the Brazilian sings, rocks, looks at the moon crossing the porthole and silvering the end of the bed. “What pletty baby. I sclatch yol head. I give you kisses. You want suck on titty?”

“Now it’s on your head, right there. Ach, it flew away,” Lieutenant Bacacorzo pushes the door to the Amazon Museum and Aquarium and lets Captain Pantoja go in front of him. “Did it bite you? I think it was a wasp.”

“A little lowel, a little slowel,” Pantita changes mood, becomes childish, relaxes, mellows, gets comfortable. “On my backy, on necky, on eal. Stay light thele, baby.”

“Ahhh, I killed it,” Lieutenant Bacacorzo slaps the tank of the marine cow or
manatí
. “Not a wasp—a horsefly. They’re dangerous; people say they carry leprosy.”

“I must have acidic blood because insects never bite me,” Captain Pantoja walks past the crazy dolphin, the white dolphin, the red dolphin, stops in front of the carpenter ant, reads “is nocturnal, very dangerous, in one night it can destroy a small farm, they move in hundreds of thousands, when adult they sprout wings and become potbellied.” “On the other hand, my poor mother, it’s terrible, she walks out on the street and they eat her alive.”

“Do you know these ants here eat toast with salt and bananas?” Lieutenant Bacacorzo passes his finger over the crest of a dissected iguana, over the multicolored feathers of a toucan. “You have to take care of yourself, you’re very thin. You must’ve lost at least twenty pounds these past few months. What’s wrong, Captain? Work? Worries?”

“A little of both,” Captain Pantoja bends and tries vainly to catch sight of the eyes of the great, jumping and venomous black widow spider. “When everybody tells me, it must be true. I’m going to put myself on a diet to fatten up, to regain the lost pounds.”

“I regret it very much, Tiger, but I’ve had to order the troops to assist the police in capturing the fanatics,” General Scavino receives petitions, complaints, accusations, investigates, vacillates, consults, makes a decision, informs. “Four people crucified in six months is too much. These crazy people are changing the Amazon into uncivilized territory and the time has come to use an iron hand.”

“You’re not taking advantage of your bachelorhood,” Lieutenant Bacacorzo grasps the magnifying glass, enlarges the
huayranga
wasp, the bell wasp and the
shiro-shiro
wasp. “Instead of being happy and satisfied with the freedom you’ve regained, you go around gloomier than a bat.”

“It’s just that bachelorhood isn’t much good to me,” Captain Pantoja goes ahead to the big-cat section and rubs up against the stuffed black tiger, the
otorongo
or prince of the jungle, the ocelot, the puma and the spotted wildcat. “I know most men get fed up with the monotony of family life after a while and would give anything to get rid of their wives. That wouldn’t have been the case with me. Truth is, it hurt me when Pocha left. And especially taking away my little girl.”

“No need to say it hurt you; it shows in your face,” “Young chameleons live in trees, larger ones in the water,” Lieutenant Bacacorzo hears. “Well, such is life, Captain. Had any news from your wife?”

“Yes, she writes me every week. She’s living with her sister Chichi back there in Chiclayo,” Captain Pantoja counts the snakes, the river boa or mother of the waters, the black boa, the
mantona
, the
sachamama
or mother of the jungle. “I’m not annoyed with Pocha, I understand her very well. My assignment turned out to be very irritating to her. No decent woman would have put up with it. What’re you laughing at? It’s no joke, Bacacorzo.”

“Excuse me, but it
is
funny,” Lieutenant Bacacorzo lights a cigarette, blows the smoke between the bars of the
paucar’s
cage, reads: “It imitates the song of the other birds and laughs and cries like children.” “You’re so picky, so strict when it comes to moral questions. And with the worst reputation that can be imagined. Here in Iquitos they all think you’re some terrible escaped criminal.”

“Why wasn’t she right to leave, ma’am—don’t shut your eyes,” Alicia hands the skein of wool to Mother Leonor, makes a ball, begins to knit. “Mothers put their daughters under lock and key when they see your Pantita passing by, they cross themselves and give him the horns. Realize it once and for all and pity Pocha instead.”

“You think I don’t know it?” Captain Pantoja entertains himself feeding the exotic fish, seeing iridescent neon tetras phosphoresce. “The Army gave me a bad deal when they entrusted this work to me.”

“No one would guess you regret it, seeing you work in the Special Service with so much drive,” Lieutenant Bacacorzo observes the blue tetra, the scaly window-washers and the carnivorous piranha. “Yes, I know—your sense of duty.”

“The first two patrols have returned, General,” Colonel Peter Casahuanqui receives the men from the expedition at the door of the barracks, congratulates them, invites them to have a beer, silences the shouting prisoners, orders them locked up in the guardhouse. “They’ve got half a dozen fanatics, one of them with tertian fever. They were part of the crucifixion of that old lady in Dos de Mayo. Do I keep them here, hand them over to the police, dispatch them to Iquitos?”

“Listen, you still haven’t told me why you made an appointment with me in this museum, Bacacorzo,” Captain Pantoja measures the
paiche
with his eye, the largest known fresh water fish in the world.

“To give you the bad news in the midst of ophidians and arachnids,” Lieutenant Bacacorzo glances indifferently at the eel, the manta ray, at the turtles or water tortoises. “Scavino wants to see you urgently. He’s expecting you at command headquarters at ten. Be careful, I’m warning you he’s fuming.”

“Only the impotent, the eunuchs, the asexual can pretend that”
—The Voice of Sinchi
rises and falls among arpeggios, declaims, becomes furious—“the brave defenders of the Homeland, who sacrifice themselves by serving there on our complicated borders, live in spinsterish chastity.”

“He’s always fuming, at least with me,” Captain Pantoja goes out on the embankment, looks at the water sparkling under the murderous sun, the motorboats and rafts coming into the port of Bethlehem. “Do you know what the tantrum is about this time?”

“About Sinchi’s damned broadcast yesterday,” General Scavino does not respond to his salute, does not ask him to sit down, puts on a tape and turns on the recorder. “The scoundrel didn’t do anything but talk about you; he devoted the thirty minutes of his program to you. Seem like such a small thing to you, Pantoja?”

“Must our valiant soldiers resort to debilitating onanism?”
The Voice of Sinchi
questions, dances to the beat of the waltz “La Contamanina,” waits for a reply, asks again, “Return to infantile self-gratification?”

“
The Voice of Sinchi?
” Captain Pantoja hears the recorder crackle, stammer, go dead, sees General Scavino shake it, hit it, try all the buttons. “Are you sure, General, sir? He attacked me again?”

“He defended you, he defended you again,” General Scavino finds that the plug has come loose, mutters what a fool, connects the machine again. “And it’s a thousand times worse than if he attacked you. Don’t you see? This makes the Army look ridiculous and slings mud at it at the same time.”

“Yes, I’ve followed them to the letter, General, sir,” Colonel Máximo Dávila confers with the second lieutenant in charge of the quartermaster unit, reviews the provisions storehouse, draws up menus with the mess sergeant. “Only a serious problem of provisioning has come up: there are fifty detained fanatics and if I feed them, I’ll have to ration the troops. I don’t know what to do, General.”

“I’ve categorically forbidden him to even mention me,” Captain Pantoja sees a little yellow light go on, the reels turn, hears metallic sounds, echoes, becomes furious. “I’m at a loss for words. I promise you that—”

“Shut up and listen,” General Scavino orders, folds his arms, crosses his legs, looks at the tape recorder with hatred. “It’s enough to make you vomit.”

“The highest government officials ought to decorate Mr. Pantaleón Pantoja with the Order of the Sun,”
The Voice of Sinchi
bursts forth, sparkles between Lux the Soap That Perfumes, Coca-Cola the Pause That Refreshes and Pepsodent Smiles, dramatizes and demands. “For the praiseworthy labor he carries out in procuring the satisfaction of the intimate necessities of the guardians of Peru.”

“My wife heard it, and my daughters had to give her smelling salts,” General Scavino turns the tape recorder off, crosses the room with his hands behind his back. “He’s turning us into the laughingstock of all Iquitos with his hot-air harangues. Didn’t I order you to take steps so
The Voice of Sinchi
wouldn’t talk about the Special Service anymore?”

“The only way to plug up that person’s mouth is to shoot him or pay him off,” Pantaleón Pantoja listens to the radio, sees the specialists arranging their suitcases for going on board, Chuchupe getting on the
Delilah
. “Putting me in charge of it would make a mess; there’s no other way out than greasing his palm with some cash. Go tell him to get here, Freckle, however long it takes.”

“You mean you allocate part of the Special Service’s budget to bribing journalists?” General Scavino looks him up and down, spreads his nostrils, wrinkles his forehead, shows his incisors. “Very interesting, Captain.”

“I’ve got the people who crucified Subofficer Miranda here on ice,” Colonel Augusto Valdés pulverizes the patrols, doubles the hours of duty, cancels leaves and passes, extenuates, infuriates his men. “Yes, he’s identified most of them. Only with so much mobilization of my people after the Brothers of the Ark, I’ve got an unprotected border. I know there’s no danger, but if some enemy wanted to attack, they’d push us back to Iquitos in a minute, General, sir.”