Horacio Castellanos Moya - Tyrant Memory

“I’m not so sure. They might even think it’s the Devil,” says Jimmy as he puts on his white undershirt.

“You think?”

“Put yourself in their place: a whole ton of weird noises coming from the roof over the prayer room, over the altar.”

Jimmy buttons up his olive-green shirt and starts to put on his boots.

“You’re right,” Clemen says, smiling, now confident again. “They must be scared shitless. But what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to go down and tell them we’re doing some work for the priest, repairs, and that they shouldn’t be afraid.”

“What if there’s someone with them who’s not to be trusted?”

Jimmy stops to think for a few seconds. Then he takes his watch out of his pocket.

“It’s five to six,” he says.

“If you want, let’s both go down, then I can take a leak. But Father Dionisio means what he says, and he made it very clear I wasn’t to go down until he got back.”

“He told me the same thing,” Jimmy says, indecisively.

“We don’t want him to get angry and throw us out.”

“I don’t think he ever would.”

“Because you don’t know him. Let’s wait five more minutes, and if he doesn’t come, we’ll go down.”

Jimmy lies down so he can press his ear against the crack in the wooden floor.

“We’ll wait,” he says, “but if I hear one of the girls about to leave, I’m going to go down and stop her.”

He moves over to the loose floorboard that covers the entrance to the loft.

“Let’s keep quiet, then,” says Clemen in a circumspect tone of voice.

“That’s what I say: keep your mouth shut.”

The light abruptly turns gray, as if the setting sun had been obscured by a cloud or some foliage; a flock of parrots make a racket as they fly over the house.

“Soon we won’t be able to see anything,” Clemen says.

Jimmy reaches for the edges of the board he’ll have to lift in an emergency; he turns and gives Clemen a scornful look, but Clemen doesn’t notice.

“We were left in the dark like this at the radio station,” Clemen continues, “from one minute to the next they cut our electricity and, that was that, the party was over. ”

“Shh.,” Jimmy demands silence.

“I don’t see how they could have forgotten to send troops to take over and defend the power station.”

Jimmy looks at him in disbelief, then anger.

“You participated in planning the coup,” Clemen continues. “There wasn’t anybody with enough sense to think of taking over and defending the power station?”

“Are you going to shut up once and for all?” Jimmy mutters.

“Don’t worry, if the girls haven’t gone out yet they’re not going to, the priest forbids them from going out without permission. They’ll wait and tell him about the noise.”

Clemen sits down and grabs his genitals again.

“That was a major fuckup, but it wasn’t ours, it was yours, the civilians,” Jimmy says. “None of you thought you’d need electricity to keep the station running. ”

“I can’t hold it anymore,” says Clemen, reaching for the empty can. “I’m going to take a leak.”

“You’re a pig.”

“I don’t have time for niceties.”

On his knees and with his back to Jimmy, Clemen has unzipped his pants and is peeing into the can; as the stream starts to flow, he lets out two short farts.

“Sorry.,” he says, looking relieved.

Jimmy shakes his head back and forth in disbelief. Then he puckers up his face in a look of disgust and covers his nose with his palm.

They hear distinctly the front door opening.

Jimmy grabs the edges of the board, ready to lift it; Clemen hurries to pull his pants up.

“I’m here, girls, and so is Doña Chon!” Father Dionisio exclaims in his hoarse voice and his Castilian accent. “Come get the tamales!”

They hear the flip-flops slapping against the floor, a greeting, the priest giving his blessing to Doña Chon, and the door closing.

“Father, Doña Ana brought you some cheese a while ago.”

Clemen and Jimmy remain still and alert, the latter without removing his hand from his nose.

“Which Doña Ana, my child? There are several.”

“From the pharmacy, Father.”

“How nice, because we are going to have two guests for dinner. But how many times have I told you not to open the door to anybody when I’m not here.”

“I’m sorry, Father. ”

“I don’t want it to happen again. Tomorrow I’m going to hear your confession, because the Devil always has his way with you girls.”

Mockingly, Clemen makes an obscene gesture with his right middle finger into a hole made with his left thumb and index finger.

“Father. ”

“Yes?”

The voices sound as if they are right beneath them.

“There are some animals up above. ”

“Where, my child?”

“There, in the roof, Father, in the prayer room. We heard some loud banging.”

“Some rats must have gotten in. We’ll put out some poison. Don’t you worry, my child. Go back to your sister and help her fix dinner. And stay in the back, in the kitchen, until I call you. Don’t disturb me.”

“As you wish, Father.”

The flip-flops walk away. The door to the prayer room has been closed. A moment later they hear a light tapping under the floor of the attic.

“Come down,” the priest says.

Jimmy picks up the board, climbs down through the hole, resting his feet on the wardrobe, then jumping onto the floor; Clemen follows behind him, being very careful; first he places the can on the wardrobe, then jumps down.

“What’s that?” the priest asks, curious.

“I was pissing my pants, Father. Forgive me. I couldn’t hold it any longer. Luckily I found this can.”

Jimmy makes a face of disapproval.

“You have no self-control, Clemen. Take it to the bathroom. Make sure the girls don’t see you from the kitchen.”

Father Dionisio is a tall, hefty, ruddy old man with a gray beard, bulbous nose, and knitted brow.

“Come to my room and I’ll give you some clothes,” he says.

Clemen goes to the bathroom while the other two enter Father Dionisio’s room. The priest opens a wardrobe, takes out a shirt, a pair of trousers, and a pair of shoes, and says to Jimmy:

“We’re about the same height. They’ll be a bit roomy on you, but nothing noticeable. Try on the shoes, those boots of yours stink like the Devil, they’ll scare people away.”

Clemen enters with the empty can.

“You are the same size as the colonel. I brought you two changes of clothes and a pair of shoes,” the priest says, pointing to a brown paper bag on the floor.

Jimmy has already quickly changed his clothes, as if he were getting ready to leave right away; Clemen asks the priest if he brought any cigarettes.

“Look inside the shoes,” the priest says.

Jimmy anxiously asks him what he’s heard about the situation.

“I’ll tell you soon. It’s terrible.”

Clemen has finished getting dressed; he picks some matches up from the priest’s nightstand and lights a cigarette.

“Father, please forgive me,” says Clemen, “but is there any chance for a beer, a shot of something, anything?”

Jimmy turns around and looks at him in astonishment.

“Let’s go to the prayer room. Then I’ll get something for you.”

After closing the door and gesturing to them to have a seat on one of the benches, the priest speaks quietly and in a grave voice: the coup has been completely defeated, most of the rebel officers are in the hands of the dictator, there’s no news of the civilians who took part, the National Guard is patrolling the roads and conducting searches on the least suspicion; everybody is terrified.