Death in the Andes (21 page)

“Go on, enjoy yourself, tell me about your trials and tribulations, Tomasito,” Lituma urged. “You're lucky; lately I have trouble sleeping because of those damn disappearances.”

“Those two weeks in Lima were my honeymoon,” said his adjutant. “And nothing but one scare after another; every calamity you can think of happened to us. We even thought they were trying to kill us. But the fear added a little spice to our love, and we did it every night, two, even three times in a row. It was wonderful, fantastic, Corporal.”

“Mercedes finally started to love you?”

“At night, I was sure of it. My beautiful Piuran was pure honey in bed. But in the light of day her mood changed. She was always reminding me that I had fucked up her life, that she would never be my wife.”

Two days after they rented the room at Aunt Alicia's in Barrios Altos, Mercedes decided to withdraw her savings from the Banco Popular branch on Plaza de la Victoria where she had her account. She went in alone. Carreño waited for her on the corner and had his shoes shined. She took a long time. When she finally appeared in the doorway of the bank, a short man whose scarred face revealed his black and Indian ancestry dropped the paper he was reading as he leaned against a lamppost, took a few calm steps, and suddenly rushed her. They struggled, and he tried to grab the handbag that Mercedes held on to with both hands as she kicked at him and screamed. Some passersby stopped and watched but did not dare intervene. When Carreño raced over to them, revolver in hand, the thief let her go and ran off as if the devil were after him. They hurried down Manco Capac Avenue and hailed a taxi. Mercedes was more angry than frightened; although the man did not get her money, he had torn her voter's identification.

“And why do you think the guy wasn't just an ordinary thief? Isn't Lima full of muggers?”

“Because of what happened afterward,” said the boy. “This was our first piece of bad luck. There were two more, and they were even worse. I began to see Hog's hand rising from the grave to take his revenge. ‘Don't you feel that the danger is bringing us even closer, sweetheart?' I would say to her.”

“How can you talk about love at a time like this, you little fool.” Mercedes was furious. “Can't you see I've lost the only ID I have? Talk to your godfather once and for all and get him to help us.”

But Carreño's efforts to get in touch with him were useless. He was not permitted to call him at the office, and his home phone was always busy. The operator said it was not out of order, so perhaps it was off the hook intentionally. Iscariote's wife told him that Fats was not back from the jungle yet. And Carreño's mother, whom he asked to go to his room in Rfmac, gave him more bad news.

“The door was kicked in, everything was pulled out and thrown around, my bed was burned and had a pile of shit on it; what a scare for my old lady. Like they were planning to set fire to my room and for some reason didn't and decided to shit on my bed instead,” said Tomás. “Could that be another coincidence, Corporal?”

“The pile of shit proves they were thieves,” replied Lituma. “A lot of them think that if they want to stay out of the slammer, after they clean out a house they have to take a shit in it. Didn't you know that?”

“When I told her about my room, Mercedes began to cry.” Tomasito sighed. “I could feel her trembling in my arms, and I was more in love with her than ever, Corporal. Don't worry, sweetheart, please don't cry.”

“They're after us, they're looking for us,” Mercedes wailed, the tears running down her cheeks. “It can't be a coincidence, first the bank and now your room. It's Hog's men, they're looking for us, they're going to kill us.”

But the vandals and arsonists had not discovered the hiding place, under some bricks behind the toilet, where Carreño kept his dollars.

“Dollars?” Lituma said in surprise. “You had money saved?”

“Believe it or not, almost four thousand dollars. Not from my Civil Guard salary, of course. From the little jobs my godfather gave me to do. Bodyguard for a couple of days, taking a package somewhere, watching a house, simple stuff like that. Every sol I made I changed into dollars over on Ocoña Boulevard and put in my hiding place. Thinking about my future. Now Mercedes was my future.”

“Damn, that godfather of yours is like God, Tomasito. If we ever get out of Naccos alive, introduce me to him, please. I'd like to see a big shot's face before I die. I've only seen them in movies or in the papers.”

“Quit dreaming, this won't get us to the States,” said Mercedes, making calculations.

“I'll get all the money we need, honey. Believe me. I'll get you out of this safe and sound and take you to Miami, you'll see. And when we're there, looking at the skyscrapers and the blue beaches and the latest cars, will you say: ‘Carreñito, I love you with all my heart'?”

“This is no time for jokes. Don't be such an idiot! Can't you see they're looking for us, that they want revenge?”

“At least I made you laugh.” And the boy laughed, too. “I like it when you laugh, you have dimples that make my heart beat faster. As soon as my old lady brings us the money, we'll buy you a dress, okay?”

“You can't fuck for the first time at the age of twenty-three, Tomasito, it's too late,” Lituma philosophized. “Excuse me for saying so. Having a woman is what scrambled your brains and made you softheaded.”

“You never met her, you never held my Mercedes naked in your arms.” Carreño sighed. “I just waited for night to come to be in paradise with my sweetheart.”

“When you say things like that, I have an idea you don't really feel them, that you're kidding around or making a joke,” said Mercedes. “Do you really feel that way?”

“What do I have to do to make you believe me?”

“I don't know, Carreñito. I don't know what to make of it, telling me those things all the time. When you're excited and become so affectionate, that's one thing. But you go on and on, all day.”

“Boy, you sure were crazy about her,” remarked Lituma.

Carreño and his mother arranged to meet at nightfall on the Alameda de los Descalzos. Tomás took Mercedes with him. He had the taxi drop them off across from the Plaza de Acho, and they walked toward the Alameda. They circled the block several times before approaching the church where she was waiting for them. She was small and bent and wore the habit of Our Lord of Miracles. She embraced and kissed her son for a long while in silence, and when he introduced Mercedes, she extended a small, cold hand. They went to a broken bench on the avenue to talk, and sat in near-darkness, since the closest streetlight was shattered. From among her skirts the woman removed a packet wrapped in newspaper containing the dollars he had saved, and handed it to Carreño. She did not ask Mercedes any questions or look at her even once. The boy took out a handful of bills and put them in his mother's pocket, not saying anything. Her face showed neither fear nor surprise.

“Did you hear anything from my godfather?” Tomás asked her.

She nodded. And leaned her head forward slightly to look into his eyes. She spoke in a kind of murmur, in Spanish that was fluent but had a strong mountain accent.

“I went to leave him the message and he came in person to my house,” she said. “He was very worried. I thought he was going to tell me that something bad had happened to you, that they had killed you. He says you should get in touch with him right away.”

“I've been calling him a few times a day, and his home phone is always busy.”

“He doesn't want you to call him at home. You should try his office, before ten, and say it's the Chinaman.”

“That made me feel better,” said the boy. “If he went to see my mother, if he wanted me to call him, he couldn't be that angry with me. But it took me ten more days to get in touch with him. That upset Mercedes, but not me. Because it meant I could go on enjoying our honeymoon. Even with all the worry and the scares we had, I'll never be that happy again, Corporal.”

When they said goodbye to his mother and returned to the pensión in Barrios Altos, Mercedes plagued Carreño with questions:

“How can your mother take all this without even batting an eye? She's not surprised that you're hiding out, that you're with me, that they ransacked your room. Do things like this always happen to you?”

“She knows that life in Peru has its dangers, honey. She may not look very strong, but she's made of iron. She went through hell just to feed me. In Sicuani, in Cuzco, in Lima.”

Carreño was happy to have his money back, and laughed at Mercedes for putting her savings in the bank.

“This country is too dangerous to trust the banks; the best safe is your mattress. You saw what happened, that guy on La Victoria almost left you flat broke. But I'm glad he tore your voter's ID because now you have to depend on me. And to celebrate I'll take you dancing. Will you do some of the steps for me that you did in the show at the Vacilón?”

“How can you think about having a good time with everything that's happening to us!” Mercedes protested in horror. “You're an irresponsible half-wit.”

“I'm just a man in love, sweetheart, and I'm dying to dance with you, cheek to cheek.”

Mercedes finally gave in, and they went to Memory Lane, on the Paseo de la República. Nobody would see their faces there. It was a dark, romantic place where they played old Gardel tangos and the boleros of Leo Marini, Agustín Lara, and Los Panchos. Tomás and Mercedes drank Cuba libres, and the rum quickly went to Carreño's head. He chattered endlessly about the life they would lead in Miami. He would set up an armored-car business, he would be rich, they would get married and have children. He held Mercedes very close while they danced, and kissed her neck and face passionately.

“As long as you're with me, nothing will happen to you, word of honor. Wait till I talk to my godfather, wait till Iscariote gets back. Life will start to smile on us. It's already smiling on me, thanks to you.”

“Memory Lane is a nice name.” Lituma sighed. “Listening to you makes me nostalgic, Tomasito. A dark place, a few drinks, some romantic music, a nice loving broad dancing real close. Do those things still exist?”

“It was a beautiful night, Corporal, for as long as we were in the club,” said the boy. “And she kissed me, too, on her own. ‘She's falling in love with me,' I thought, and I was full of hope.”

“You got me excited with all that kissing and smooching, Carreñito,” Mercedes said into his ear, nibbling his lobe. “Let's go to bed, come on, it was crazy for us to be out where everybody can see us.”

When they left the club at about three in the morning, they were both tight. But the effects of the Cuba libres disappeared immediately when they saw fire trucks, a police car, and a crowd of people at the corner not far from Señora Alicia's pensión. The neighbors had rushed to the street when they heard the explosion.

“They got out of a van and just put the bomb in front of a wooden house about twenty meters from Aunt Alicia's pensión,” the adjutant explained. “That was the third bad thing that happened to us. Another coincidence, Corporal?”

“Tomasito, I can't believe anything you're saying. I don't buy all this about a bomb. Don't screw around with me: if the dealers wanted to kill you, they would've killed you.”

The explosion shattered the windows in many nearby houses and set fire to the trash in a vacant lot. Señora Alicia, wrapped in a blanket, was in the crowd. She pretended not to know Carreño and Mercedes as they mingled with the onlookers. They waited in the entryway to a block of houses until it grew light. They came back when the patrol cars and fire trucks had gone. Aunt Alicia hurried them inside. Nothing had happened to her house and she did not seem frightened; it did not occur to her that the bomb had anything to do with Carreño. She supposed, as the other neighbors did, that it was an attempt on the life of an official at the Prefecture who lived on the street. The van had stopped in front of his house, and Aunt Alicia, sitting at her window for a breath of fresh air, saw it and could even hear them whispering inside. It drove to the corner, and the men got out and placed the bomb. They were so careless they put it outside a vacant house. Or maybe it wasn't carelessness, maybe they didn't mean to kill anybody but just wanted to send a message to that guy at the Prefecture.

“Mercedes didn't believe the story about the official for a minute,” said Tomasito. “She swore the thing was meant for us. She held up the best she could in front of Aunt Alicia, and then when we were alone she went to pieces.”

“Who else was the bomb for but you and me? Forget all that shit about some official at the Prefecture. We're the ones hiding out, aren't we? And now they caught up with us. And let us know it. And while they're trying to kill us, we're out dancing at Memory Lane. Are you happy now, you damn fool?”

Her voice broke, and she was trembling and wringing her hands so hard that the boy forced them apart, afraid she would do herself harm. He could not calm her. She cried and repeated hysterically that she didn't want them to kill her; she berated him or huddled on the bed, sobbing and tossing from side to side, giving in to despair.

“I thought she would die, that she'd have an attack or something, she was so scared,” said Tomasito. “Nothing scares me, but seeing her like that really threw me. I couldn't do a damn thing, I didn't know what to say to make her stop crying. I had run out of promises. I couldn't think of anything else to swear to, Corporal.”

“What did you do?” Lituma asked.

He went to the tile he had loosened to hide the packet of dollars and, sitting on the edge of the bed, forced Mercedes to take the bills while he kissed her, smoothed her hair, dried her brow with his lips, and said: