go.”
Eléspuru, as if he were thinking of something else, poured himself more coffee. He looked at the prosecutor. Chacaltana decided to say everything once and for all, make a last-ditch stand, the way heroes did:
“There is something else, Señor. Last night … a terrorist outbreak was verified in the zone.”
Eléspuru seemed to pay attention for the first time. Now he looked at the commander, who smiled with certainty.
“An outbreak. Don't exaggerate, Señor Prosecutor. We know there are a few clowns around here who set off fireworks, but they're harmless.”
“But the fact …”
“Did they kill anyone?”
“No, Señor.”
“Did they hurt anyone? Did they occupy any houses?”
“No, Señor.”
“Threats? Disappearances? Damage to private property?”
“No, Señor!”
“Were you afraid?”
He had not expected that question. In his mind, he had not wanted to formulate that word. He hated that word. He found himself obliged to acknowledge mentally that nothing serious had occurred last night.
“A little, Señor.”
The commander laughed louder. Eléspuru smiled as well.
“Don't worry, Señor Prosecutor. We'll leave a patrol here for any eventuality. Don't let yourself be intimidated. We sent you because you're a brave man. There may be a subversive or two left, but essentially we've gotten rid of them.”
Eléspuru looked at his watch and signaled to the commander, who stood up.
“It's time to bring this meeting to an end. We'll see each other in Ayacucho.”
The prosecutor shook the hand that the commander offered him. It was a hard hand that squeezed his as if it were going to break it. Looking into his eyes, the commander said:
“Tomorrow is a very important day, Chacaltana. Don't betray our trust. That won't be good for you.”
“Yes, Señor. I am sorry, Señor.”
Eléspuru said good-bye with a gesture, not offering his hand or letting his voice be heard. When they went out, Johnatan Cahuide said:
“Now you're really fucked, brother.”
They spent the rest of the morning making final preparations for the elections the next day and arranging the material in the school. At noon they went to have lunch at Cahuide's house. As they were eating a corn and pork stew, the prosecutor asked:
“How were you appointed to the position in the National Office?”
“I was head of the president's campaign in the region. Then they called me for this job.”
Head of the campaign. Yet Cahuide was so sincere that the prosecutor did not even want to hold the regulations in one hand and remind him of his duties. “Cahuide, do you realize that you are a huge walking electoral irregularity? You should be proscribed.”
“Are you going to proscribe me?”
No. He was not going to proscribe him. In the past twenty-four hours, the things that needed to be proscribed had grown dim.
“I will not do anything to you, Cahuide. And I could not. I am not here to avoid fraud, am I?”
“I'm not going to commit any fraud. And I know these thingsaren't seen very often, Chacaltana. But no one has organized anything. There's no need.”
“There's no need?”
Johnatan Cahuide offered him more stew. He served himself as well.
“Félix, eight years ago, if I went out they would kill me. Not now. The damn terrorists killed my mother, they killed my brother, they took away my sister so the damn soldiers could kill her afterward. Since the president took office, they haven't killed me or anybody else in my family. You want me to vote for somebody else? I don't understand. Why?”
Why? Chacaltana thought that the question did not appear in the manuals, the brochures, or the regulations. He himself had never formulated it. He thought that one should believe in order to build a better country. The person who asks does not believe, he doubts. One does not get very far with doubts. Doubting is easy. Like killing.
The two men sat in silence, thinking, until they heard the sound of motors and shouts in the
Eléspuru, as if he were thinking of something else, poured himself more coffee. He looked at the prosecutor. Chacaltana decided to say everything once and for all, make a last-ditch stand, the way heroes did:
“There is something else, Señor. Last night … a terrorist outbreak was verified in the zone.”
Eléspuru seemed to pay attention for the first time. Now he looked at the commander, who smiled with certainty.
“An outbreak. Don't exaggerate, Señor Prosecutor. We know there are a few clowns around here who set off fireworks, but they're harmless.”
“But the fact …”
“Did they kill anyone?”
“No, Señor.”
“Did they hurt anyone? Did they occupy any houses?”
“No, Señor.”
“Threats? Disappearances? Damage to private property?”
“No, Señor!”
“Were you afraid?”
He had not expected that question. In his mind, he had not wanted to formulate that word. He hated that word. He found himself obliged to acknowledge mentally that nothing serious had occurred last night.
“A little, Señor.”
The commander laughed louder. Eléspuru smiled as well.
“Don't worry, Señor Prosecutor. We'll leave a patrol here for any eventuality. Don't let yourself be intimidated. We sent you because you're a brave man. There may be a subversive or two left, but essentially we've gotten rid of them.”
Eléspuru looked at his watch and signaled to the commander, who stood up.
“It's time to bring this meeting to an end. We'll see each other in Ayacucho.”
The prosecutor shook the hand that the commander offered him. It was a hard hand that squeezed his as if it were going to break it. Looking into his eyes, the commander said:
“Tomorrow is a very important day, Chacaltana. Don't betray our trust. That won't be good for you.”
“Yes, Señor. I am sorry, Señor.”
Eléspuru said good-bye with a gesture, not offering his hand or letting his voice be heard. When they went out, Johnatan Cahuide said:
“Now you're really fucked, brother.”
They spent the rest of the morning making final preparations for the elections the next day and arranging the material in the school. At noon they went to have lunch at Cahuide's house. As they were eating a corn and pork stew, the prosecutor asked:
“How were you appointed to the position in the National Office?”
“I was head of the president's campaign in the region. Then they called me for this job.”
Head of the campaign. Yet Cahuide was so sincere that the prosecutor did not even want to hold the regulations in one hand and remind him of his duties. “Cahuide, do you realize that you are a huge walking electoral irregularity? You should be proscribed.”
“Are you going to proscribe me?”
No. He was not going to proscribe him. In the past twenty-four hours, the things that needed to be proscribed had grown dim.
“I will not do anything to you, Cahuide. And I could not. I am not here to avoid fraud, am I?”
“I'm not going to commit any fraud. And I know these thingsaren't seen very often, Chacaltana. But no one has organized anything. There's no need.”
“There's no need?”
Johnatan Cahuide offered him more stew. He served himself as well.
“Félix, eight years ago, if I went out they would kill me. Not now. The damn terrorists killed my mother, they killed my brother, they took away my sister so the damn soldiers could kill her afterward. Since the president took office, they haven't killed me or anybody else in my family. You want me to vote for somebody else? I don't understand. Why?”
Why? Chacaltana thought that the question did not appear in the manuals, the brochures, or the regulations. He himself had never formulated it. He thought that one should believe in order to build a better country. The person who asks does not believe, he doubts. One does not get very far with doubts. Doubting is easy. Like killing.
The two men sat in silence, thinking, until they heard the sound of motors and shouts in the
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