Conversation in the Cathedral (63 page)

“I
T’S ABOUT TIME
, Ambrosio,” Ludovico said, “It’s bad enough for a person to get himself all fucked up without having his friends turn their backs on him.”

“Do you think I wouldn’t have come to see you sooner?” Ambrosio said. “I only found out this morning, Ludovico, because I ran into Hipólito on the street.”

“That son of a bitch told you?” Ludovico asked. “But he most likely didn’t tell you everything.”

“What’s with Ludovico, what’s happened?” Ambrosio asked. “He went to Arequipa a month ago and not a peep out of him.”

“He’s all bandaged up from head to toe at the Police Hospital,” Hipólito said. “The Arequipans gave him a beating.”

It was still early in the morning when the man who gave the orders kicked on the door of the shed and shouted let’s be on our way. The stars were still out, the cotton gin wasn’t working yet, it was chilly. Trifulcio stretched his arms on his cot, shouted I’m coming and mentally cursed the mother of the man who gave the orders. He’d slept in his clothes, all he had to put on were his sweater, his coat and his shoes. He went out to the spigot to wet his face, but the wind made him change his mind and he only rinsed out his mouth. He smoothed his curly hair, cleaned the sleep out of his eyes with his fingers. He went back to the shed and Téllez, Urondo and Marínez the foreman were already up, complaining about the early hour. The lights were on in the ranch house and the van was by the door. The kitchen maids gave them some mugs of coffee which they drank surrounded by growling dogs. Don Emilio came out to see them off in slippers and bathrobe: well, boys, behave yourselves there. Don’t worry, Don Emilio, they would behave themselves, senator. Get in, said the man who gave the orders. Téllez sat in front, and in back Trifulcio, Urondo and Martínez the foreman. You wanted the window seat but I got in the other side and beat you to it, Urondo, Trifulcio thought. He didn’t feel well, his body ached. All set? Arequipa, said the man who gave the orders and they started out.

“Dislocations, contusions, body water,” Ludovico said. “When the doctor comes by he gives me a regular lesson in medicine, Ambrosio. These past days have been motherfuckers for me.”

“Just last Sunday Amalia and I were talking about how you didn’t feel much like going to Arequipa,” Ambrosio said.

“I can sleep now at least,” Ludovico said. “During the first days, even my fingernails ached, Ambrosio.”

“But you’re covered, think of it that way,” Ambrosio said. “You were beaten up on duty and they have to reward you.”

“Just who are those Coalition people?” Téllez asked.

“I was on duty and I wasn’t on duty,” Ludovico said. “They sent us and they didn’t send us. You don’t know how whorey the whole thing turned out, Ambrosio.”

“Just be happy to know that they’re a bunch of shitheads.” The man who gave the orders laughed. “And that we’re going to fuck up their rally.”

“I was only asking to find something we could talk about and make the trip a little livelier,” Téllez said. “It’s a big bore.”

Yes, Trifulcio thought, a big bore. He tried to sleep, but the van was bouncing and his head kept hitting the roof and his shoulder the door. He had to ride all hunched over, hanging onto the backrest in front. He should have sat in the middle, by trying to fuck up Urondo he’d fucked himself up. Because Urondo, squeezed in between Trifulcio and
Martínez
the foreman, who cushioned him against the bumps, was snoring away. Trifulcio looked out the window: sand dunes, the black snake of a road getting lost in clouds of dust, the ocean and diving gulls. You’re getting old, he thought, one early-rising morning and your whole body starts to rust.

“A bunch of millionaires who used to lick Odría’s boots and want to test his patience now,” the man who gave the orders said. “That’s the Coalition.”

“Then why does Odría let them hold rallies against him?” Téllez asked. “He’s softened up a lot. In the old days, you make a fuss and it’s the lockup and a good beating. Why not now?”

“Odría held out his hand to them and they crawled all the way up to the elbow,” the man who gave the orders said. “But that’s as far as they got. They’re going to be taught a lesson in Arequipa.”

Lazy bum, Trifulcio thought, looking at Téllez’ shaved neck. What did he know about politics, what did he care about politics? He was asking questions just to ass-kiss. He took out a cigarette and in order to light it he had to lean on Urondo. He opened his eyes in surprise, what, are we there already? How could they be there, they’d just gone through Chala, Urondo.

“It’s the kind of story where I don’t know where to begin, it was all lies,” Ludovico said. “It all came out backwards. Everybody tricked us. Even Don Cayo was tricked.”

“You can say that again,” Ambrosio said. “If anybody caught it with that business in Arequipa, it was him. He lost his ministry and he had to leave Peru.”

“Your boss must be happy over what’s happened, right?” Ludovico said.

“Naturally. Don Fermín more than anyone else,” Ambrosio said. “He didn’t want to screw Odría as much as he did Don Cayo. He had to hide out for a few days, he thought they were going to arrest him.”

The van entered Camaná around seven o’clock. It was beginning to get dark and there weren’t many people on the streets. The man who gave the orders drove them directly to a restaurant. They got out, stretched. Trifulcio felt cramps and chills. The man who gave the orders took the menu, ordered beer and said I’m going to do some checking. What’s the matter with you, Trifulcio thought, none of the others here is as tired as you are. Téllez, Urondo and Martínez the foreman were eating and cracking jokes. He wasn’t hungry, only thirsty. He drank down a glass of beer without taking a breath and thought of Tomasa and Chincha. Are we going to spend the night here? Téllez asked, and Urondo wondered if there was a whorehouse in Camaná. There must be, Martínez the foreman said, one thing there’s no shortage of anywhere are whorehouses and churches. Finally they asked him what’s wrong, Trifulcio. Nothing, I’ve got a touch of a cold. What you’ve got is you’re getting old, Urondo said. Trifulcio laughed but he hated him inside. While they were having dessert the man who gave the orders came back, in a bad mood: what kind of a mess was that, who could understand that mix-up.

“No mess at all,” the Subprefect said. “Secretary Bermúdez explained it to me quite clearly on the telephone.”

“A truck will be coming through with Senator Arévalo’s people,
Subprefect
,” Cayo Bermúdez said. “Take care of them, please give them anything they may need.”

“But Mr. Lozano only asked Don Emilio for four or five,” the man who gave the orders said. “What truck is he talking about? Has the Minister gone crazy?”

“Five people to break up a demonstration?” the Subprefect asked. “Somebody’s crazy, but not Mr. Bermúdez. He told me a truck, twenty or thirty people. I set up beds for forty just in case.”

“I tried to talk to Don Emilio, but he’s not at the ranch anymore, he left for Lima,” the man who gave the orders said. “And with Mr. Lozano, but he’s not at Headquarters. God damn it.”

“Don’t worry, the five of us are enough and more than enough.” Téllez laughed. “Have a beer, sir.”

“Can’t you get some reinforcements?” asked the man who gave the orders.

“No hope,” the Subprefect said. “The people of Camaná are a lazy bunch. The whole Restoration Party here is me.”

“Well, let’s see how we can get out of this mess,” the man who gave the orders said. “No whorehouses, no drinking. Get some sleep. We’ve got to be fresh for tomorrow.”

The Subprefect had set up lodgings for them at the police station and as soon as they got there Trifulcio flopped down on his cot and wrapped himself up in his blanket. Quiet and covered up, he felt better. Téllez, Urondo and Martínez the foreman had sneaked in a bottle and were passing it from bed to bed, chatting. He was listening to them: if they’d asked for a whole truckload the thing must be rough, Urondo was saying. Bah, Senator Arévalo told them an easy job, boys, and he hasn’t tricked us yet, Martínez the foreman said. Besides, if something went wrong, that’s what they had cops for, said Téllez. Sixty, sixty-five? Trifulcio was thinking, I wonder how old I am now.

“It started going bad for me the minute we got on the plane here,” Ludovico said. “It was so rough that I got sick and puked all over Hipólito. I was a mess when I got to Arequipa. It took a few drinks of pisco to get me back in shape.”

“When the newspapers wrote about what went on in the theater, that people were killed, good Lord, I thought,” Ambrosio said. “But your name wasn’t on the list of victims.”

“They sent us to the slaughter knowing all about it,” Ludovico said. “When I hear the word theater, I begin to feel the punches. And the feeling of being strangled, Ambrosio, that terrible feeling of being
strangled
.”

“They were able to raise a row like that,” Ambrosio said, “because the whole city rose up against the government, right, Ludovico?”

“Yes,” Senator Landa said. “Grenades were thrown in the theater and people were killed. Bermúdez is all washed up, Fermín.”

“If Lozano wanted a truck, why did he tell Don Emilio four or five are enough,” the man who gave the orders cursed for the tenth time. “And where are Lozano and Don Emilio, why is it impossible to get anyone on the phone?”

They’d left Camaná while it was still dark, without any breakfast, and the man who gave the orders did nothing but grumble. You spent all night trying to phone and you’re dying from lack of sleep, Trifulcio thought. He hadn’t been able to sleep either. It got colder as the van climbed up into the mountains. Trifulcio nodded at times and listened to Téllez, Urondo and Martínez the foreman as they passed cigarettes around. You’ve grown old, he thought, you’re going to die one of these days. They arrived in Arequipa at ten o’clock. The man who gave the orders took them to a house where there was a sign with red letters: Restoration Party. The door was closed. Knocking, ringing the bell, nobody opened. On the narrow street people were going into shops, the sun didn’t warm anything, newsboys were hawking papers. The air was very clean, the sky looked very high. Finally a boy in bare feet came to open up, yawning. Why were party headquarters closed, the man who gave the orders scolded him, it was ten o’clock already. The boy looked at him with surprise: they were always closed, they only opened them on Thursday nights when Dr. Lama and the other gentlemen came. Why did they call Arequipa the white city, when none of the houses were white? Trifulcio was thinking. They went in. Desks with no papers on them, old chairs, pictures of Odría, posters, Long Live the Revolution of Restoration, Health, Education, Work, Odría Is the Nation. The man who gave the orders ran to the telephone: what happened, where were the people, why wasn’t there anyone to meet us. Téllez, Urondo and Martínez the foreman were hungry: could they go out and get some breakfast, sir? Be back in ten minutes, the man who gave the orders said. He gave them ten soles and they left in the van. They found a café with small tables and white cloths, they ordered coffee and sandwiches. Look, Urondo said, Everybody to the Municipal Theater Tonight, All with the Coalition, they’d done their little publicity job. Will I get mountain sickness? Trifulcio wondered. He was breathing and it was as if the air wasn’t entering his body.

“Arequipa’s nice, clean,” Ludovico said. “Women on the street who aren’t too bad. Apple-cheeked, of course.”

“What did Hipólito do to you?” Ambrosio asked. “He didn’t say anything to me. Just it was bad for us, brother, and he took off.”

“He feels guilty because he acted like a fairy,” Ludovico said. “What a coward of a guy, Ambrosio.”

“And to think I might have been there, Ludovico,” Ambrosio said. “It was lucky Don Fermín didn’t go.”

“Do you know who we found as the big boss at the post in Arequipa?” Ludovico asked. “Molina.”

“Chink Molina?” Ambrosio asked. “Wasn’t he in Chiclayo?”

“Do you remember the way he used to put on with those of us who weren’t on the regular list?” Ludovico said. “He’s a different person now. He received us as if we were old buddies.”

“Welcome, colleagues, come in,” Molina said. “Did the others stay on the square flirting with the girls of Arequipa?”

“What others?” Hipólito said. “Only Ludovico and I have come.”

“What do you mean what others,” Molina said. “The twenty-five others Mr. Lozano promised me.”

“Oh yes, I heard him say that people were probably coming from Puno and Cuzco,” Ludovico said. “Haven’t they got here?”

“I just spoke to Cuzco, and Cabrejitos didn’t say anything about it,” Molina said. “I don’t understand. Besides, there’s not much time. The Coalition rally is at seven o’clock.”

“The tricks, the lies, Ambrosio,” Ludovico said. “The confusion, the fairying around.”

“I see now, it’s an ambush,” Don Fermín said. “Bermúdez has been waiting for the Coalition to grow and now he wants to pounce on them. But why did he pick Arequipa, Don Emilio?”

“Because it would be good for publicity,” Don Emilio Arévalo said. “Odría’s revolution had its start in Arequipa, Fermín.”

“He wants to show the country that Arequipa is an Odría town,” Senator Landa said. “The people of Arequipa stop the Coalition from holding a rally. The opposition looks ridiculous and the Restoration Party has a clear path in the ’56 elections.”

“He’s going to send twenty-five plainclothes cops from Lima,” Don Emilio Arévalo said. “And he’s asked me for a truckload of peasants who are good in a fight,”

“He’s prepared his bomb with great care,” Senator Landa said. “But this time it won’t be like Espina’s time. This time the bomb is going to blow up in his face.”

“Molina tried to talk to Mr. Lozano and he’d disappeared,” Ludovico said. “And Don Cayo too. His secretary answered, he’s not here, not here.”

“Send you reinforcements, Chink?” Cabrejitos said. “You must be dreaming. Nobody told me anything and even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. My people are up to their necks in work.”

“Chink Molina was tearing his hair,” Ludovico said.