Horacio Castellanos Moya - Tyrant Memory

“You weren’t there.”

“But the consul told me, and he was. Falling down drunk and shitting himself he was so afraid, begging them to give him asylum. There you have your great military leader,” Clemen says disdainfully. “Don’t start on me with your sermons right now.”

“It wasn’t like that in the air force. ”

“The coup failed because that spineless sissy was afraid to order the tanks to attack police headquarters. If they had, there’d be a whole different ball game right now.”

Clemen lies back down on his mat.

“Things aren’t that simple,” Jimmy mumbles, moodily.

“Damn right, you gotta have balls.”

“I thought the same thing when I was in communication with the First Infantry Regiment, and I pressed General Marroquín to begin the armored attack on police headquarters, then he told me there were important political prisoners in the basement, friends of ours, people from good families, who might get killed, so he didn’t give the order.”

“Bullshit. They should have attacked right away, without giving them a chance to react.”

“Who knows. If your father had been there in the basement, you’d be singing a different tune,” Jimmy says; he picks up his folded shirt and places it under his head to use as a pillow, then settles in as if to go to sleep.

“That Marroquín is Tito Calvo’s half brother, and he’s buddies with that motherfucker, your general. I don’t know how they could have ever considered putting that pair of clowns in charge of the coup.”

“That wasn’t the idea,” Jimmy explains, then turns on his mat, his back to Clemen. “The idea was that Colonel Aguilar would command the coup, but things turned out differently. Let me sleep for a while, wake me up when the priest arrives. ”

“I don’t think you’ll be able to sleep.”

“If you shut up I will.”

Clemen lies on his back, gazing blankly up at the tiny skylight; it’s a dirty pane of glass, about four square inches, surrounded by roof tiles, through which an increasingly faint light filters into the room.

“Good thing we have this skylight,” he says.

Jimmy breathes heavily and rhythmically with his eyes closed, as if he were sleeping.

“I hope the priest lets us sleep down below. It’ll be horrible here,” Clemen insists.

Some bells ring nearby.

“Is it five thirty or a quarter to six?” he asks. “I wasn’t paying attention. Jimmy. ”

“Leave me alone.,” Jimmy says, without moving or opening his eyes. “You’re a real pain in the ass. ”

“Don’t be so pigheaded, you’re not going to be able to sleep. Anyway, the priest will be back any minute now.”

“He told me he’d try to get here by six,” Jimmy explains. “You slept off your hangover all nice and cozy at the American consul’s house, so you’re pleasantly rested. But I spent the night out in the open, don’t forget. ”

“What? Weren’t you at the Novoa’s house by the lake?”

Jimmy sits up, rubs his eyes, and looks at Clemen with irritation.

“The worst part is that you’re a deaf pain in the ass. I never said I slept at the Novoa’s; I told you that Lieutenant Peña and I managed to break through the blockade of enemy troops and escape from the Ilopango Airbase in the late afternoon, then we walked for three hours through the coffee fields to the lake, then hid out near the Novoa’s vacation home until very late at night, always on guard to make sure that nobody took us by surprise, that nobody would even know we were there. Only then did I go to the caretaker’s, whom I’ve known for years, and asked him not to make any noise or tell anybody we were there, and to help us cross the lake. We left in a canoe at three in the morning. Now you understand why I haven’t slept?”

“Nice guy, that caretaker. Hope he doesn’t rat on you. ”

“It won’t matter now.”

“What if they find the canoe?”

“What stupid things you think of. Is that why you woke me up?”

“I have a feeling I know that Cayetano Peña. ”

“He’s brave, that lieutenant, determined, without him I wouldn’t have been able to get through the blockade. I got out of the canoe in Candelaria and walked for two hours toward Cojutepeque; he kept going all the way to the other side of the lake, where he has a friend, near San Miguel Tepezontes.”

“I hope he made it.,” Clemen says and gets up again, bent over, his neck pressing against the perpendicular ceiling. “And I hope that goddamn priest gets here, my bladder’s about to explode.”

“That ‘goddamn priest’ is the person who’s saving our necks. Maybe you could learn to show a little more respect.”

“Don’t start giving me one of your sermons,” Clemen says, pressing his hand against his genitals. “I’ve known Father Dionisio for as long as I can remember.”

Jimmy has lain back down on his mat; he takes the folded shirt out from under his head and puts it over his face, covering his eyes.

“What I don’t understand is what the hell you, a cavalry captain, were doing at Ilopango Airbase, instead of leading your troops against the barracks where your general was taking cover. That’s why things turned out the way they did, everything was badly organized, you people did everything ass backwards.”

Jimmy doesn’t move.

“Be thankful I’m exhausted,” Jimmy mumbles. “If not I’d smack you for being such an ass. The air force doesn’t have its own troops, and we went to protect the airbase, it’s as simple as that.”

Clemen has sat down, his knees bent; his legs are moving around restlessly.

“Maybe there’s a can somewhere I can piss in,” he says, looking around.

“What a pig. You’ll stink the place up. Don’t you realize there’s no circulation in here.”

“This is no joke. I can’t hold it any longer,” Clemen says as he crawls over to the corner where the junk is.

“Keep your voice down, they’re going to hear us,” Jimmy urges.

Clemen rummages anxiously around through the broken furniture, the rusty pieces of iron, the moldy clothes.

“Don’t make so much noise.”

“Fuck you, stop giving me orders. All you military bastards know how to do is give orders.”

“Stop making so much noise, you dimwit. You’re putting us in danger,” Jimmy insists, still lying down, not moving, his folded shirt covering his eyes.

“Look what I found!” Clemen exclaims with excitement, lifting up an empty paint can.

“What is it?” Jimmy asks without budging.

“A can I can piss in.,” Clemen says as he returns to his mat.

“That’s disgusting, you’re not going to. ”

Suddenly, a pile of junk falls to the ground with a loud crash.

Jimmy jumps up; his head hits the ceiling.

“Moron!” he spits out between clenched teeth, furious, and starts to come at him threateningly.

“It was an accident.,” Clemen says apologetically with a whine, lifting his hands to protect himself.

At that very instant, in the midst of that tense silence, they very clearly hear someone’s footsteps running from the back of the house.

“We’ve been discovered,” Jimmy mumbles, still furious, sitting down on his mat. “Let’s see how you explain your stupidity to the priest.”

Clemen brings his fists to his temples and rubs them, pressing hard, his face twisted in pain and his eyes closed, as if his head were about to explode.

“I don’t even have to pee anymore,” he says as he pushes the can away and lies down on the mat.

“What are we going to do?” Jimmy wonders out loud, now looking worried.

“What?”

“What if the girl got frightened and has decided to go out and tell someone?”

“I don’t think they’d go out without the priest’s permission.”