Mario Llosa: Who Killed Palomino Molero?

“If it’s any help to you, I can tell you that the woman he loved lived near the air base.”

“Near the base?”

“One night we were talking here, Palomino Molero sitting right where you are. He heard that a friend of mine was going to Chiclayo and asked him for a ride to the air base. ‘What are you going to do out there at this time of night?’ I’m going to serenade my girlfriend, Moisés.’ So she must have lived there.”

“But no one lives there. It’s all sand and carob trees,

“Think about it a little, Lituma,” Dumbo said, ears wagging. “Get to work on it.”

“Could be.” Lituma scratched his neck. “All the Air Force people and their families live right near there.”

“Right, where all the Air Force people and their families live,” repeated Lieutenant Silva. “It’s a real lead. Now the son of a bitch won’t be able to say we’re wasting his time.”

But Lituma realized that even though the lieutenant was listening and talking about the meeting they were going to have with the commanding officer of the Air Force base, his body and soul were concentrated on Doña Adriana’s undulations as she swept out the restaurant. Her movements occasionally raised the hem of her skirt over her knees, revealing a thick, well-turned thigh. When she bent down to pick up some garbage, her proud, unfettered breasts showed over the top of her light cotton dress. The officer’s beady eyes didn’t miss her slightest movement and glowed with lust.

Why was it Doña Adriana got Lieutenant Silva all hot and bothered? Lituma couldn’t figure it out. The lieutenant was fair-skinned, young, good-looking, with a little blond mustache. He could have had practically any girl in Talara, but he only chased after Doña Adriana. He’d confessed as much to Lituma, “I’ve got that chubby broad under my skin, goddamnit.” Who could figure it? She was old enough to be his mother, she had a few gray hairs in that tangle on her head, and, last but not least, she bulged all over, especially in the stomach. She was married to Matías, a fisherman who worked nights and slept during the day. They lived behind the restaurant and had several grown children who’d already moved out. Two of their boys worked for the International Petroleum Company.

“If you go on staring at Doña Adriana like that, you’re going to go blind, Lieutenant. At least put on your glasses.”

“You know, she gets better-looking every day,” whispered the lieutenant without taking his eyes off the oscillations of Doña Adriana’s broom. He rubbed his graduation ring against his trousers and added, “I don’t know how she does it, but the fact of the matter is she gets better and sexier every day.”

They’d had a big cup of goat’s milk and sandwiches made with greasy cheese. Now they were waiting for Don Jerónimo and his taxi to take them out to the base, where Colonel Mindreau said he would see them at eight-thirty. They were the only customers in Doña Adriana’s place, which was just a shanty made of bamboo poles, straw mats, and corrugated sheet metal. In one corner stood the camp stove where Doña Adriana cooked for her customers. On the other side of the back wall was the little room where Matías slept after his nights on the high seas.

“You have no idea what great things the lieutenant’s been saying about you while you were sweeping, Doña Adriana,” said Lituma, flashing a honeyed smile. The owner of the restaurant waddled toward him, brandishing her broom. “He says that even though you’re a bit long in the tooth and a few pounds overweight you’re the most tempting woman in Talara.”

“I say it because I mean it.” Lieutenant Silva wore his Don Juan expression. “Besides, it’s true. And Doña Adriana knows it, too.”

“Instead of fooling around like this with a lady who has grown children, the lieutenant ought to be out doing his job. He ought to be hunting down the murderers.”

“And if I find them, what’s my reward?” The lieutenant smacked his lips obscenely. “A night with you? For a reward like that I’ll find them, hog-tie them, and lay them at your feet, I swear.”

“He says it as if he were already slipping under the covers with her.” Lituma had been enjoying the lieutenant’s jokes, but then he remembered the dead kid and the jokes stopped being funny. If that damned Colonel Mindreau cooperated, things would be easier. He had to have information, files, the power to interrogate the base personnel, and if he wanted to help them, they’d find plenty of clues and then catch the sons of bitches. But Colonel Mindreau was so snooty. Why had he turned them down? Because the Air Force guys all thought they were bluebloods. They thought the Guardia Civil was a half-breed outfit they could look down on.

“Let go! Who do you think you are? Let go, or I’ll wake up Matías,” Doña Adriana shrieked, pulling herself free. She had handed Lieutenant Silva a pack of Incas, and he grabbed her hand. “Go feel up your maid, you fresh thing, and leave a woman with children in peace.”

The lieutenant let go of her so he could light his cigarette, and Doña Adriana calmed down. It was always like that: she would get mad at his teasing and his sneaky fingers, but deep down she liked it. “There’s a little whore in all of them.” The thought depressed Lituma.

“That’s all people are talking about in town,” said Doña Adriana. “I was born here, and I’ve never seen anyone get killed that way before. In these parts, people kill each other fair and square, man to man. But crucifying, torturing, that’s new. And you don’t do anything. You should be ashamed.”

“We are doing things, honey,” said Lieutenant Silva. “But Colonel Mindreau isn’t helping us. He won’t let me question Palomino Molero’s buddies. They must know something. We can’t get anywhere, and it’s his fault. But sooner or later the truth will come out.”

“The poor mother. Colonel Mindreau thinks he’s king of the hill; all you have to do is take a look at him when he comes to town with his daughter. Doesn’t say hello to anyone, doesn’t look at anyone. And she’s even worse. What snobs!”

It wasn’t even eight yet and the sun was blazing hot. The restaurant was pierced by luminous spears of light in which motes of dust floated and flies buzzed. There were few people on the street. Lituma could hear the low sound of the breaking waves and the murmur of the water washing back down the beach.

“Matías says the boy had a wonderful voice, that he was an artist,” Doña Adriana said.

“Did Don Matías know Palomino Molero?” asked the lieutenant.

“He heard him sing a couple of times while he was repairing his nets.”

Old Matías Querecotillo and his two assistants were loading nets and bait onto their boat, The Lion of Talara, when suddenly they were distracted by the strumming of a guitar.

The moonlight was so bright they didn’t need a flashlight to see that the group of shadows on the beach were half a dozen airmen having a smoke there among the boats. When the boy began to sing, Matías and his boys abandoned their nets and went over to listen. The boy had a warm voice, with a vibrato that made them weepy and sent a chill up their spines. He sang “Two Souls,” and when he finished they applauded. Matías Querecotillo asked permission to shake the singer’s hand. “You brought the old days back to me,” he congratulated him. “You’ve made me sad.” That’s when he learned that the singer’s name was Palomino Molero, one of the last batch of recruits, from Piura. “You could be singing on Radio Piura, Palomino,” Matías heard one of the airmen say. Since then, Doña Adriana’s husband had seen him several other times, on the same beach, around the boats when they were getting The Lion of Talara ready to sail. Every time, they’d stopped work to listen.