Mario Vargas Llosa - The Discreet Hero

“It’s just that I got another letter this morning,” Felícito apologized, handing it to her. “I blew up. And then suddenly I wanted to see you. That’s why I’m here, my love. Forgive me for dropping in like this, without letting you know. I hope I haven’t ruined any plans.”

“This is your home, old man.” Mabel smiled at him again. “You can come here whenever you want. You haven’t ruined any plans. I was going to the pharmacy to pick up a few things.”

She took the letter, sat down next to him, and as she read her expression changed to anger. A cloud seemed to dim her eyes.

“In other words, these damn people won’t stop,” she exclaimed very seriously. “What will you do now?”

“I went to the police station but the cops weren’t there. I’ll go back this afternoon. I don’t know what for, those assholes don’t do a thing. They string me along, that’s all they know how to do. String me along with talk.”

“So you came to me for a little pampering.” Mabel lifted his spirits, smiling at him. “Isn’t that right, old man?”

She caressed his face and he grasped her hand and kissed it.

“Let’s go to the bedroom, Mabelita,” he whispered in her ear. “I want you so much, right now.”

“Well, well, I wasn’t expecting that.” She laughed again, exaggerating her surprise. “At this time of day? I don’t recognize you, old man.”

“Well, now you see,” he said, embracing her and kissing her on the neck, inhaling her. “You smell so good, baby. I must be changing my habits, getting younger, hey waddya think.”

They went to the bedroom, undressed, and made love. Felícito was so excited he had an orgasm almost as soon as he entered her. He kept embracing her, caressing her in silence, playing with her hair, kissing her neck and body, biting her nipples, tickling her, touching her.

“How affectionate you are, old man.” Mabel grasped his ears, looking into his eyes, very close to his face. “One of these days you’ll tell me you love me.”

“Haven’t I already told you that a lot of times, you foolish girl?”

“You say it when you’re excited and so it doesn’t mean anything,” Mabel grumbled, joking with him. “But you never say it before or after.”

“Well I’m telling you now when I’m not so excited. I love you very much, Mabelita. You’re the only woman I’ve ever really loved.”

“Do you love me more than Cecilia Barraza?”

“She’s only a dream, a fairy tale,” Felícito said, laughing. “You’re my only love in real life.”

“I’ll take your word for it, old man.” Weak with laughter, she tousled his hair.

They talked for quite a while, lying in bed, and then Felícito got up, washed, and dressed. He went back to Narihualá Transport and attended to matters in the office for a good part of the afternoon. On his way home, he stopped at the police station again. Now the captain and the sergeant were there and received him in the captain’s office. Without saying a word, he handed them the third spider letter. Captain Silva read it aloud, sounding out each word before the attentive gaze of Sergeant Lituma, who listened as he handled a notebook with his plump hands.

“Well, everything’s following its predictable course,” stated Captain Silva when he finished reading. He seemed very satisfied at having foreseen everything that had happened. “They won’t give in, which was to be expected. That perseverance will be their ruin, I’ve already told you that.”

“Then should I be very happy?” Felícito asked sarcastically. “Not satisfied with burning my office, they keep sending me anonymous letters, and now they’re giving me a two-week ultimatum, threatening me with something worse than the fire. I come here and you say that everything’s following its predictable course. The truth is you haven’t made a millimeter’s progress in your investigation, while these motherfuckers do whatever they damn well feel like doing to me.”

“Who says we haven’t made any progress?” Captain Silva protested, gesturing and raising his voice. “We’ve made good progress. For the present we’ve determined that they’re not from any of the three known gangs in Piura that extort money from businessmen. Further, Sergeant Lituma has found something that might be a good clue.”

He said this in a way that made Felícito believe him in spite of his skepticism.

“It’s still too soon to tell you about it. But something is something. You’ll know as soon as we have anything concrete. Believe me, Señor Yanaqué. We’re dedicated to your case, body and soul. We spend more time on it than on all the rest. You’re our first priority.”

Felícito told them his sons were worried and suggested that he hire a bodyguard, and he’d refused. They also suggested he buy a revolver. What did they think?

“I don’t advise it,” Captain Silva answered immediately. “You should carry a pistol only when you’re prepared to use it, and you don’t look to me like someone capable of killing anybody. You’d put yourself in danger for no reason, Señor Yanaqué. Well, you’ll decide. If, in spite of my advice, you want a gun permit, we’ll expedite the application. You should know it takes time. You’ll have to pass a psychological test. Well, sleep on it.”

Felícito reached home when it was already dark and in the garden crickets were singing and frogs croaking. He had supper right away: chicken broth, a salad, and some gelatin served to him by Saturnina. As he was going to the living room to watch the news on television, he noticed Gertrudis’s silent, bovine form approaching him. She held a newspaper in her hand.

“The whole city’s talking about the notice you published in El Tiempo ,” said his wife as she sat down in the easy chair next to the one he was in. “Even the priest mentioned it in his sermon at Mass this morning. All of Piura has read it. Except me.”

“I didn’t want to worry you, that’s why I didn’t say anything to you,” Felícito apologized. “But if you have it there, why haven’t you read it?”

He noticed her shifting in the chair, uncomfortable and averting her gaze.

“I’ve forgotten how,” he heard her mumble. “Since I never read because of my eyes, I almost don’t understand what I read now. The letters dance around.”

“You have to go to the optometrist then and have your eyes tested,” he admonished her. “How can you possibly have forgotten how to read? I don’t think that happens to anybody, Gertrudis.”

“Well it’s happening to me,” she said. “Yes, I’ll go have my eyes tested one of these days. Why don’t you read me what you published in El Tiempo ? I asked Saturnina, but she doesn’t know how to read either.”

Gertrudis handed him the paper, and after he put on his glasses, Felícito read:

Dear Spider Extortionists:

Although you’ve burned the offices of Narihualá Transport, a business I created with the honest effort of a lifetime, I’m publicly informing you that I will never pay the amount you demand to give me protection. I’d rather you kill me. You won’t receive one cent from me, because I believe that honest, hardworking, decent people shouldn’t be afraid of crooks and thieves like you but should face you with determination until you’re sent to prison, which is where you belong.

Signed,

Felícito Yanaqué (I don’t have a maternal surname)

The female shape was motionless a long while, ruminating on what she’d just heard. Finally, she murmured, “Then what the priest said in his sermon is true. You’re a brave man, Felícito. May the Captive Lord have mercy on us. If we get out of this, I’ll go to Ayabaca to pray to Him on His feast day, the Twelfth of October.”