“Did you all get a look at the face? Did you look at the corpse’s face?”
“I don’t know, sir,” said the girl.
“You don’t know? How come? Didn’t you find the body, you and these others?”
“No, sir. They called for me later.”
“Who called for you?”
The girl indicated a woman to her left, identical to the rest, except perhaps a little heartier in the shoulders, a little less grief-worn.
The lieutenant went up to her. “You found the body?”
The woman didn’t answer. Her attention hovered and focused on the doctor’s hands, which were beginning to undress the dead man, feeling around and exploring as they tore at its clothes with the soldier’s help.
“Answer. Did you find it?”
The woman nodded without taking her eyes off the technical, efficient fingers of the doctor. “Yes, sir. Along with the others, sir.” “And you all looked at the face. Could you recognize it?”
She wavered. The doctor had uncovered the man’s torso. Incredibly, on that gashed-out chest, with its torn blue skin, its broken rib cage, you could still see hair, hair abundantly covering the arms and trunk.
“I think that’s enough,” said the doctor. “There’s no need to take the pants off.”
“Take them off,” said the lieutenant.
“It’s not necessary for the preliminary examination.”
“Take them off. It’ll help identify him. You know, in these cases …”
“We didn’t want to,” the woman said suddenly.
“You didn’t want to see his face?”
“No, sir. The other time …”
“Were you the one who discovered the other one too?”
She motioned toward the group.
For a few minutes it was quiet. The lieutenant looked at the doctor’s brisk hands, at the stunned women in their semicircle, as if they were watching a theatrical work or acting in it, motionless, letting the light morning breeze contribute the only other movement, fluttering among those long lethargic skirts, revealing for a second the shape of a thigh, an ankle, some way in.
“And so, Doctor, what do you say? Can you determine the cause of death?”
The doctor didn’t rise or even raise his eyes. He kept poking around. “Without an autopsy it’s hard to make any diagnosis that wouldn’t be provisional, Lieutenant. Water in the lungs, things like that. But he’s been beaten badly enough to have killed him several times over.”
“The river?”
“Not just the river,” said the doctor, digging with his fingers. “Burns, swelling, contusions, broken bones—a disaster. It looks to me like he was given a good beating before they dumped him in. And the deceased was quite hungry, Lieutenant. Take a good look at these ribs, the cheekbones,” and he ran his fingers over these parts as if giving an anatomy lesson.
“I think the river is mainly responsible, Doctor,” the lieutenant gently suggested. “Don’t you think so?”
“I already told you what I think.” The doctor stood up. “But if you think otherwise, I’m no one to oppose your opinion.”
“I think otherwise. And you’re right, you’re no one. You’re simply serving the fatherland’s army for a year because we need you quacks.”
“Without an autopsy, without the necessary instruments …”
“There’s no need for an autopsy.”
“If you say so.”
“As a matter of fact, I do. What about the subject’s identity? Any clues?”
“About fifty years old, more or less. A peasant. Curly dark hair. Color of eyes impossible to tell at this point, but we can assume they were also dark. Skin tanned by the sun, lots of sun, a peasant, look at those hands. A poor man. Quite hungry toward the end, as I said. Anything else?”
“And in his pockets?”
“Nothing.”
The lieutenant moved closer to the body. It was totally unrecognizable. What was needed now was to formalize the identification process. The women should pass alongside the dead man so there’d be no misunderstandings later, no claims, no one asking to bury the body like the first time.
They filed by in silence, kneeling next to the man thrown face-up on the rocks, crossing themselves before and after, praying in some inaudible litany. Then they returned to their places. Only the girl stayed out of this ritual, only she remained off to the side, consumed by something that could have been terror or sadness or a distant disgust for the dead man.
“So no one?” asked the lieutenant.
A woman stepped forward. She was pale and breathed with difficulty. Her hands flew up nervously, like captive birds, gesturing in the air.
“It could be my brother, sir.”
“Your brother?” The lieutenant raised his eyebrows in amazement. “Could it be?”
“They took him away eight months ago, sir. It could be him.”
“But you can’t be sure, right? Or do you recognize him?”
Her hands were wringing like twin shadows smashed together, fusing and denying each other under the sun. “How could I be sure, sir? How could I want this to be my brother?”
“Fine. It’s clear, then. You don’t recognize him. And nobody else recognizes him either. It’s clear as can be.”
“Shall we take it away, Lieutenant?” asked one of the soldiers.
Just then the girl spoke. She hadn’t moved from the spot where the lieutenant had left her.
“It’s my grandfather,” she said.
The lieutenant looked her up and down, undressing her, imagining her laid out in the corpse’s place.
“Your grandfather, you say? And what’s your name?”
“My name is Fidelia, and this is my grandfather, Michael Angelos.”
“And you’ve identified him just like that, Fidelia, from a distance?”
“It isn’t me who says so, sir. It’s my grandma. My grandma Sofia.”
“Your grandma?”
“Yes, sir. My grandma.”
“We know your grandmother all too well, Fidelia. And where might she be now? Would you know that?”
During the exchange of words, the girl was moving slowly and calmly toward the body. When she was by its side she sat down on a veined rock, her brown legs pressed together, and shaking out her hair, she took hold of one of the dead man’s hard broken hands. Then she looked at the lieutenant with the full clarity of her eyes.
“She’s with the captain again, sir. She went to ask permission to bury her husband the way he deserves.”
iii
Toward nightfall, the captain, accompanied by and conversing with his orderly, will direct his steps toward the town church. By that time the heat will have eased a bit, a rustling blend of sounds will be rising from the alleyways, various neighbors will be coming out for a little fresh air. Even so, the captain will feel the heaviness of his feet, the years of fatigue collected in his thighs and his shoulders and back as he arrives to knock on the door of the priest’s house. The priest himself will open the door.
“Good evening, Captain,” he’ll say in a somber and serious voice, unsurprised. “Come in, please.”
You have to be careful with that one, Gheorghakis had advised him as soon as they were alone. He tends to protect antisocial elements, although he’d never admit it in public. And he’s so well respected for his simplicity and poverty … We’d be crazy to pit ourselves against him. He has to be made to cooperate.
Gheorghakis wouldn’t suggest that the captain cultivate his friendship, wouldn’t go that far. Men of action have little to do with his sort. But every so often it wouldn’t be a bad idea … attend mass in his church instead of with the chaplain of the regiment. These goddamned public relations …
But since then the captain had scarcely exchanged two or three sentences with Father Gabriel in passing or when they found themselves together in some house or on some street corner.
To the lieutenant, the visit had seemed unwise, a sign of weakness. That same
afternoon he’d said so, just like that.
“My instructions are clear, Lieutenant,” the captain replied. “To avoid incidents when possible. If we can straighten this problem out in the new spirit of national reconciliation. What’ll you have?”
“Whiskey and water with plenty of ice, thank you, Captain.”
“I want to see if this Father Gabriel is disposed to calm things down a little, that’s all,” the captain added, picking out the largest cubes and dropping them in the glass. “It’s not that I lack the experience in this sort of thing. After all, I’ve just been in command of a regiment in a place where—”
“We all know what you’re capable of, Captain. I’d never allow myself to doubt your resolution.”
When the captain turned to examine the face that spoke these words, he found not the slightest hint of ridicule, no trace of anything suspicious. Now was the moment to keep quiet, to accept the unexpected praise. It was the moment to let his actions speak for themselves, proclaim the toughness of which he was no doubt capable. But he surprised himself by saying, “If Gheorghakis himself were here today, he’d be grinning at some dumb shopkeeper, going out to talk with the peasants to see if the harvests are due on time, inspecting the jails to see if they’ve been washed down twice a week.” The lieutenant took his glass, tinkling the ice appreciatively. In this town, out in the middle of nowhere, it was a real luxury. The sound rang deliciously in the hot, thick air. But he made no comment, leaned neither for nor against this vision of a paternal, benevolent Gheorghakis.
The captain chewed back his desire to ask whether they still called Gheorghakis “the beast”—that’s what they called him at the academy. And him, what would they call him? What sort of nickname did soldiers and subordinates whisper from regiment to regiment? Would he ever know?
“Perhaps, Captain, before making any decision, or in any case before visiting the priest, you should ascertain all the details first.” The lieutenant nodded in the sergeant’s direction. “I think we should hear the sergeant’s report.…”
But the captain will go to see the priest anyway. He’ll be disgusted by the smell of old clothes, closed rooms, cheap food cooking, dusty books. That mild face too, of the man inviting him to have a seat, those cheeks excessively soft and pink, those fleshy lips, those hands so patient and vulnerable. He’ll have a sudden crazy urge to slug that face, a lonesome, howling urge rising out of his guts ready to erupt and smash such a meek, peaceful face. What a pleasure it would be to finish things off once and for all.
“And to what do I owe the honor of this visit?” the priest will say, as the captain eases himself into the best seat in the house.
“I’m a man of few words, Father Gabriel,” the captain will begin, “so I won’t take much of your time.”
The response will be obvious. The other has all the time the captain may need, there’s no need to hurry.
“Father Gabriel. You know, and I know, that Longa is not the natural place to have a military post of this size. We know what accounts for such a situation: its proximity to these mountains”—and, inevitably, the captain will wave his hand toward the outside, although by this time darkness blocks the view of that steep nearby range, and there’s an increasing sensation that everything inside here is even darker than out there, that the windows haven’t been washed in a long time, that the only light is from this candelabrum on the table between the two—“these very mountains, where a center of subversion has been created which it hasn’t been possible to eliminate without a more prolonged and direct course of action. It’s my desire, and I assume yours and that of the whole population, to see the situation quickly changed, so that I, and the soldiers in my command, may leave this place as soon as possible.”
There’s too much understanding in the priest’s eyes. He’ll be taking in not just the words but their subterranean emotion. The captain will feel another sudden urge, this time to assure him that what he’s saying is absolutely true, for months the only thing most of them have wanted is to go back home, he hasn’t seen his family in so long he can’t remember the faces of his children whose place has been taken by a photo he never shows anyone, as soon as possible is the plain truth. But why should Father Gabriel have any reason to believe what the lieutenant wouldn’t understand. And anyway, one’s sentiments don’t count in such matters. So it’s better just to continue. “That’s the reason for my being here, and for the transfer of Captain Gheorghakis. I’ve come to initiate a process of normalization whose end result should be our departure before long.”
“And Captain Gheorghakis?”
“He’s carrying out an identical mission in another part of the country.”
“Ah,” the priest will say.
The captain will ignore this. His eyes will be fixed on the Christ that’s moving and shaking in the dancing light of the candle flames. Then: “I assume you agree with me that this is best for everyone, not only for the region but the province and the country as well.”
“Captain, whatever brings peace back to us,” the priest will say, “can count on my most definite support.”
“I’m glad you feel that way. Perhaps you can help us.”
The priest does nothing more than fold his hands and nod his head, once. Whatever he might do, within his humble abilities.
“It’s about that woman, Sofia Angelos. I don’t know if you’re aware of her recent … her recent …”
“Activities?”
“Yes, let’s put it that way. Her recent activities.”
Because what that old woman had done was go camp with her whole family beside the newest body, the body she’d claimed as her husband’s. She was not the sort to stay quiet, trying to win the authorities over with a false obsequiousness. She meant business.…
The captain had finished mixing his own drink and, sitting down on the edge of his desk, had signaled to the sergeant. “All the details? … Let’s see that report, Sergeant.”
“With your permission, Lieutenant.”
The lieutenant had raised his glass, as if saying cheers and, at the same time, go ahead, Sergeant, proceed.
“When I arrived to carry out your orders, Captain, that is, to take the body and give it a Christian burial, I found them at the site. It’s a fairly large family. Some eleven persons in all. In addition, the lady had brought five goats of hers to the spot. And two dogs.”
“What you might call a family picnic,” the captain commented, winking at the lieutenant, who raised his glass again, this time without bringing it to his lips.
“Yes, sir. Under some nearby trees they’ve improvised a table with a little tablecloth. It’s actually some big rocks, and they had some fruit cooling in the river. They seemed to be preparing a fire, apparently for soup, Captain.”
“Do they plan on spending the night? The whole night? Without men?”
“When I explained my mission to them in a deferential and respectful manner, as were my orders, the lady advised me that she wouldn’t permit anyone but herself to bury her husband, that they had done it to her father against her wishes, but now her will would be done. She said neither she nor her family would move from the spot until the authorities granted her what she called her legitimate right.”
The captain passed his drink from one hand to the other, then briefly sipped at it without taking his eyes off the florid face of the sergeant.
“And the family, are they all women?”
“No, Captain. Of the ten or eleven, two are boys. One about fourteen, maybe fifteen, and another smaller one, only about a year old, maybe a little more, it’s hard to tell.”
“A boy about fourteen, maybe fifteen,” repeated the lieutenant, speaking for the first time in a long while. “The man of the family, eh?”
“You know him, Lieutenant?”
“Not yet, Captain, not yet. But he must be the oldest grandson of this nice lady. The cousin, perhaps the brother of the girl I told you about.”
“Fidelia,” said the sergeant.
“Fidelia,” grinned the lieutenant.
“And who else is wandering around out there? What other persons have joined the group?”
“Without exactly forming part of the group, Captain, near it but not exactly part of it, one finds, at a certain distance, a few women. It’s my impression that they come in rotation. There’s always one or another, washing clothes, as far as I can figure. It’s an impression, that’s all.”
“Three, four women from other families, taking turns. So we’re well organized.”
The captain got up from the table and finished off his drink. He gestured toward the orderly, who had stayed by the door all this time, as if he had his mind on something else or wasn’t there at all. “And you, what do you think of this?”
The orderly answered at once, with a surprising fluency. “If you’ll permit me, Captain, the situation is getting touchy. That woman is a professional agitator. The people around here are like animals when things get this way. All they think about is how to stir things up. They’re not happy unless they’re squabbling and fighting. And this lady’s more of a troublemaker than the rest. It’s just like the other body. She hadn’t even seen it and she was already declaring to the four winds that it was her husband. Which is impossible, first of all because Michael Angelos isn’t dead, second because nobody could ever positively identify a body in that state, and third because, in this case, as in the other, the ages just don’t match up.”
“Captain!”
The captain saw the rage rising in the lieutenant’s face and raised a hand. “Easy, easy, let’s have another little whiskey and take things slow.”
“Captain,” the lieutenant said again, “I think it’s a conspiracy. I’m convinced that what we’re faced with is a conspiracy.”
And those words of the lieutenant’s, detached from their rage and urgency, those same words will be the ones the captain will use later, at nightfall, in the priest’s house.…
“Activities?” the captain will say. “I suppose they could be called that. To us what’s happening seems a bit more serious, Father Gabriel. We prefer to call things by their name. We prefer to say that we find ourselves facing a conspiracy.”
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