still at the start of the long, emphatic and solemn carpet that led to the desk.
‘Come closer,’ ordered the colonel, pointing to one of the two upholstered chairs in front of the desk.
Barely rising, he offered a hand which was small and lively, like a mouse. It was accompanied by a faint smell of ripe apples, as if someone had just eaten fruit in the office. The colonel fixed his gaze on Cupido, his blue eyes slightly veiled with that milky white that hints at the onset of cataracts. Around them, on his nose and cheeks, fine thread veins gave the impression that minute red- legged spiders were running under his skin. Yet the colonel appeared to have left behind that age when sudden death is a risk, and to have settled into a state of enduring good health.
‘I must say I don’t understand why you’d like to speak with me,’he said before Cupido had a chance to ask him even one question. ‘I think everything is clear enough. But Marina Olmedo rang me and I don’t have the heart to refuse anything to the daughter of a dead colleague, considering the circumstances.’
‘Do you believe it was suicide?’
‘I do better than believe. One believes when there’s no evidence, but everything indicates that Olmedo died by his own hand.’
‘And yet, he gave no warnings. No one ever heard him mention that possibility. And his character was the opposite of a suicide’s.’
‘Warnings? Character? Do you know how many people commit suicide in the army without giving any warnings? And tell me, what’s a suicide’s character like?’
Cupido was surprised by the hard, terse, almost hostile tone. He searched for an answer that wasn’t too vague, but when he hit on an adjective to define someone who would take his own life he also found the exception; when he tried to circumscribe an age group or a cluster of reasons, he remembered a case that contradicted them.
‘In all my years in the army,’ continued the colonel, ‘I’ve signed several suicide dossiers, and I can assure you they all have the word “unexpected” in them. Olmedo was a well-balanced man, indeed, but he was under a lot of pressure because of his last mission and the responsibility it carried. Marina must have mentioned the report he had written about the base.’
‘Yes, and I’ve read everything the newspapers published. I guess that commission earned him the hatred of a few colleagues.’
‘I don’t know if “hatred” is the right word,’ qualified the colonel.
‘Why not? In his report he recommended the closure of San Marcial. Which would affect the interests of many people. Some people would be made redundant.’
‘Reduce us to unemployment? No … detective,’ he said after a pause, as if he’d tried in vain to remember his name, ‘make no mistake about it. There will never be unemployment in the army. Reforms, changes, recycling, yes. But before the army disappears, man himself will have to disappear, along with his desire to takeover his neighbouring country. The army will always exist,’ he repeated without looking at Cupido.
Although stiff and short, he stood up without any apparent effort, neither sighing nor emitting one of those faint whimpers which usually accompany the movements of people his age, and walked to the large window commanding a panoramic view of the base.
‘No,’ he explained from there, his back turned to Cupido, ‘it wasn’t the disappearance of the army that Olmedo wanted. I think no one will say that he wasn’t a true soldier. And a soldier endeavours to make the army more efficient, not weaker. However, his methods were so daring that some people found them upsetting. I won’t deny it: I myself thought he was acting too precipitously. He wanted to replace things that, at least for now, cannot be replaced.’
‘Such as?’
Castroviejo turned to look at him as if he were a dim pupil, perhaps wondering if an explanation was worth the effort.
‘Armies are designed to kill, even if Olmedo
‘Come closer,’ ordered the colonel, pointing to one of the two upholstered chairs in front of the desk.
Barely rising, he offered a hand which was small and lively, like a mouse. It was accompanied by a faint smell of ripe apples, as if someone had just eaten fruit in the office. The colonel fixed his gaze on Cupido, his blue eyes slightly veiled with that milky white that hints at the onset of cataracts. Around them, on his nose and cheeks, fine thread veins gave the impression that minute red- legged spiders were running under his skin. Yet the colonel appeared to have left behind that age when sudden death is a risk, and to have settled into a state of enduring good health.
‘I must say I don’t understand why you’d like to speak with me,’he said before Cupido had a chance to ask him even one question. ‘I think everything is clear enough. But Marina Olmedo rang me and I don’t have the heart to refuse anything to the daughter of a dead colleague, considering the circumstances.’
‘Do you believe it was suicide?’
‘I do better than believe. One believes when there’s no evidence, but everything indicates that Olmedo died by his own hand.’
‘And yet, he gave no warnings. No one ever heard him mention that possibility. And his character was the opposite of a suicide’s.’
‘Warnings? Character? Do you know how many people commit suicide in the army without giving any warnings? And tell me, what’s a suicide’s character like?’
Cupido was surprised by the hard, terse, almost hostile tone. He searched for an answer that wasn’t too vague, but when he hit on an adjective to define someone who would take his own life he also found the exception; when he tried to circumscribe an age group or a cluster of reasons, he remembered a case that contradicted them.
‘In all my years in the army,’ continued the colonel, ‘I’ve signed several suicide dossiers, and I can assure you they all have the word “unexpected” in them. Olmedo was a well-balanced man, indeed, but he was under a lot of pressure because of his last mission and the responsibility it carried. Marina must have mentioned the report he had written about the base.’
‘Yes, and I’ve read everything the newspapers published. I guess that commission earned him the hatred of a few colleagues.’
‘I don’t know if “hatred” is the right word,’ qualified the colonel.
‘Why not? In his report he recommended the closure of San Marcial. Which would affect the interests of many people. Some people would be made redundant.’
‘Reduce us to unemployment? No … detective,’ he said after a pause, as if he’d tried in vain to remember his name, ‘make no mistake about it. There will never be unemployment in the army. Reforms, changes, recycling, yes. But before the army disappears, man himself will have to disappear, along with his desire to takeover his neighbouring country. The army will always exist,’ he repeated without looking at Cupido.
Although stiff and short, he stood up without any apparent effort, neither sighing nor emitting one of those faint whimpers which usually accompany the movements of people his age, and walked to the large window commanding a panoramic view of the base.
‘No,’ he explained from there, his back turned to Cupido, ‘it wasn’t the disappearance of the army that Olmedo wanted. I think no one will say that he wasn’t a true soldier. And a soldier endeavours to make the army more efficient, not weaker. However, his methods were so daring that some people found them upsetting. I won’t deny it: I myself thought he was acting too precipitously. He wanted to replace things that, at least for now, cannot be replaced.’
‘Such as?’
Castroviejo turned to look at him as if he were a dim pupil, perhaps wondering if an explanation was worth the effort.
‘Armies are designed to kill, even if Olmedo
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