Santiago Roncagliolo - Red April

The kind of man who dies with no survivors, thought Chacaltana. He asked himself who would smooth his sheets after he died.

“Will it be necessary to travel, Señor?”

“You'll see, Chacaltana. The elections are on Sunday and we need qualified personnel committed to the defense of democracy. Do you understand?”

He did not understand anything.

“Yes, Señor.”

“In the villages that will be visited by reporters we'll need electoral prosecutors we can trust.”

Chacaltana reviewed mentally the electoral laws and the statutes of the Ministry of Justice. He found a contradiction.

“Commander, the electoral prosecutors do not belong to the Ministry of Justice. They are functionaries of the National Election Board or the National Office of Electoral Processes …”

“Yes, of course. But we don't want to get involved in titles and words. That's for the politicians. After all, a prosecutor is a prosecutor, Chacaltana, for whatever his country requires of him. And you are perfectly qualified.”

“It is a great honor … I do not know if I have time to take the corresponding training course or prepare myself … Besides, I have to speak to my superiors …”

“We have confidence in your ability, Chacaltana, forget about training courses. I'll attend to all the details: you can take a paid leave for granted, and don't worry about bureaucratic obstacles. The high command of the armed forces will take care of all the paperwork.”

The commander took out another file. Inside was a signed accreditation as an electoral prosecutor with Chacaltana's photograph, some money for travel expenses, bus tickets, a booklet on electoral legislation, and other papers. Chacaltana felt like a privileged individual.

“It is an honor that you have thought of me to …”

“You absolutely deserve it, Prosecutor Chacaltana.”

“Where will you send me, and when?”

“To Yawarmayo. Your bus leaves in two hours.”

“That soon?”

“The nation has no time to lose, Señor Prosecutor. And the elections are on Sunday. Any questions?”

“No, Señor.”

“You can leave, then. I hope this is the start of a promising career, Chacaltana.”

“Thank you, Señor.”

He left the building with a quiver of emotion in his jaw. For the first time in many years he felt euphoria. He wiped the perspiration from his brow with his handkerchief. At last, his work was being recognized. He felt he had to share his success with someone before he took the bus. Almost unconsciously, he found himself at El Huamanguino. He greeted the waitress with a big smile.

“I bought some mate for you. And today there's a spicy puca,” she greeted him in return.

“I did not come in for lunch. I …”

“The tables are for eating lunch. If you don't have lunch, you can't sit down.”

“Bring me one, then.”

He waited the prescribed length of time, longing to speak. A soap opera was playing on television, and a woman was weeping copiously for her man. This time, on the plate Edith served him, there were cracklings, a pig's foot, and warm potatoes.

“I am being sent on a trip,” Chacaltana said proudly.

“Really?”

“Yes, yes. I did some good work. And I have been appointed to supervise the elections.”

“Congratulations! That deserves a little glass of chicha.”

“No thanks. I don't drink.”

Still, she poured him a glass of sweetish, dark red liquid.

“You don't have any vices, do you? Your wife must be happy …”

“I don't have a wife, either.”

“Ah. Are you going to try the puca?”

“It is just … just that I do not have time … but listen … When I get back … in a few days … I think I will be invited to some galas. High command affairs. Important engagements.”

“And you won't come back anymore?”

She seemed sad when she said that. The prosecutor was encouraged to see that.

“On the contrary. I will come back. But I would also like … well …”

“Yes?”

“The authorities attend these events with their wives, their spouses.”

“Of course.”

“I would like to take you, Edith. If you would not mind.”

He realized that now he, like Edith, was using the formal usted . She laughed.

“Me? Why me?”

“Because … because I do not know anyone else in the city …”

Now she frowned. He tried to rectify his mistake. He had lost the habit of saying certain things, but perhaps he had never said them.

“… anyone as pretty as you.”

“Now you're talking foolishness!”

“It is not foolishness.”

“Are you going to eat or not?”

“It will not be possible. I am leaving now. I have to hurry and pack my bag. Will you go with me when I get back? Will you?”

She turned as red as a chili pepper. She laughed. She seemed to laugh at everything. And when she laughed, she appeared to shine. On television, the villainess of a soap opera threatened her rival because she was trying to take her man.

“Yes,” said Edith.

The prosecutor felt that his day was complete. That his year in Ayacucho was complete. He felt happy as he stood up. Surreptitiously, he left the money for lunch on the table so she could not refuse it. He approached her to say good-bye. She was holding a rag. He opened his arms. Then he lowered them. He did not want to take liberties. He held out his hand. She took it. He said:

“Thank you. We will see each other soon.”

She nodded and seemed embarrassed. The prosecutor hurried to his house.

“Mamacita, I don't have time to explain everything to you, but I'm happy.” He took the underwear he found and put it in an old sports bag. “You'll see how well everything turns out, Mamacita. I'm sure that after this they'll pay me more and I'll buy you new pajamas, you'll see.” He packed ties and shirts and took two jackets and a pair of trousers from their hangers. “And then Edith. You'll meet Edith. You'll like her. Good-bye, Mamacita.”

He closed the doors and windows and hurried to the terminal. Halfway there he stopped and went back. He found the house keys in the suitcase and went in. He hurried to the back room, took a photograph of his mother when she was very young, posing for the camera in an embroidered dress. He noted carefully that there was no photograph of her smiling with a man who looked as if he came from Lima. He confirmed it. He kissed the photograph, put it in his bag, and went out again.

There was mass confusion in the terminal. The four o'clock bus was full, and his name did not appear on the reservation list. A woman with four children shouted at him for trying to steal her place. The driver ordered him to get off and stop causing trouble. Finally, after fifteen minutes of arguing, a surly employee of the bus line asked him to take the night bus. Prosecutor Chacaltana thought he would have more time to eat with Edith and say good-bye to his mother, and he agreed. Then it occurred to him that if the military people saw him outside the station, they would think he was abandoning his post, and so he sat down to wait seven and a half hours for the departure of the next bus after making certain that this time his name was on the reservation list. He used the time to review the electoral laws and the regulations for observers.

That night, his bus left only fifteen minutes late. Another sign that Ayacucho was moving with a firm step toward the future. Yawarmayo was seven hours to the northeast, toward Ceja de Selva. Although the darkness did not allow him to see anything through the window, the prosecutor made the trip guessing at the unpaved roads the bus was rattling along, the flat-top hills that surrounded the city, and then the progressive change of the countryside from dry sierra to the wild green of the mountains. From time to time he dozed off and was awakened by the jolting of the bus over some pothole. A moment came when he did not know if he was asleep or awake, if his happiness was real or dreamed.