The Time of the Hero

by Mario Vargas Llosa

  And now we’ll leave and later they’ll blow the whistle and we’ll fall in and march to the mess hall, one, two, one, two, and we’ll eat surrounded by empty tables and we’ll go out into the empty patio and we’ll go into the empty barracks and someone’ll shout, a contest, and I’ll say, we already had one at the half-breed’s and the Boa won, the Boa always wins, the Boa’s going to win next Saturday too, and they’ll blow taps and we’ll sleep and it’ll be Sunday and then Monday and the ones that got out on pass they’ll come back and we’ll buy cigarettes from them and I’ll pay for them with letters or stories. Alberto and the Slave were stretched out on two neighboring bunks in the deserted barracks. The Boa and the others who were confined to the grounds had just left for “La Perlita.” Alberto was smoking a cigarette butt.

  “It could last till the end of the year,” the Slave said.

  “What could?”

  “This confinement.”

  “What the fuck do you keep talking about it for? Shut up or go to sleep. You’re not the only one who’s confined.”

  “I know, but maybe we won’t get out till the end of the year.”

  “That’s right,” Alberto said. “Unless they find out it was Cava. But how can they find out?”

  “It isn’t fair,” the Slave said. “That peasant goes out on pass every Saturday, without any worries. And we’re stuck in here when he’s the one that’s to blame.”

  “Life is so cruel,” Alberto said. “There ain’t no justice.”

  “But it’s a month today since I got a pass,” the Slave said. “I’ve never been confined this long.”

  “You ought to be getting used to it.”

  “Teresa doesn’t answer me,” the Slave said. “I’ve sent her two letters.”

  “What the shit do you care?” Alberto said. “The world is full of women.”

  “But I like this one. I’m not interested in the others. Can’t you tell?”

  “Of course I can. And it means you’re screwed.”

  “Do you know how I got to know her?”

  “No. How would I know that?”

  “I saw her go by my house every day. I’d watch her from the window and sometimes I’d say hello to her.”

  “Did you jack off thinking about her?”

  “No. I just liked to see her.”

  “How romantic.”

  “One day I went out a little before she came by and I waited for her at the corner.”

  “Did you pinch her?”

  “I went up to her and offered to shake hands.”

  “And what did you tell her?”

  “My name. And I asked her what hers was. And I said, ‘I’m pleased to meet you.’”

  “You’re an imbecile. And what did she say?”

  “She told me her name.”

  “Have you ever kissed her?”

  “No. I haven’t even gone out with her.”

  “You’re a damned liar. Come on, swear you’ve never kissed her.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. I don’t like people to lie to me.”

  “Why should I lie to you? Don’t you think I wanted to kiss her? But I’ve only been with her three or four times, on the corner. I can’t go see her on account of this damned Academy. Probably she’s got somebody else for a boy friend by now.”

  “Who?”

  “How would I know? Somebody. She’s very pretty.”

  “Not so very. I’d’ve said she was sort of ugly.”

  “Well, I think she’s pretty.”

  “You’re a babe in arms. What I like a woman for is to fuck her.”

  “I really think I’m in love with this girl.”

  “Stop, you’re making me weep with emotion.”

  “If she’ll wait for me until I finish my studies, I’ll marry her.”

  “I bet she’ll cheat on you. But never mind, I’ll be a witness for you if you like.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You just look like a guy whose wife’d cheat on him.”

  “Probably she didn’t get my two letters.”

  “Probably.”

  “Why didn’t you want to write to her for me? You’ve written several letters this week.”

  “Because I didn’t feel like it.”

  “What’ve you got against me? What’re you mad about?”

  “This confinement’s got me in a bad mood. Or do you think you’re the only one who’s sick of not getting out?”

  “Why did you come to the Leoncio Prado?”

  Alberto laughed. “To save the family honor.”

  “Can’t you ever be serious?”

  “I’m being serious right now, Slave. My father said I was trampling on the family traditions. So he put me in here to straighten me out.”

  “Why didn’t you just flunk the entrance exams?”

  “On account of a girl. She was just stringing me along, you know what I mean? I got into this pigpen on account of a girl and my family.”

  “Were you in love with the girl?”

  “I liked her.”

  “Was she pretty?”

  “Yes.”

  “What was her name? What happened?”

  “Helena. And nothing happened. Besides, I don’t like to talk about my personal affairs.”

  “But I tell you all about mine.”

  “That’s because you like to. Don’t tell me a thing if you don’t want to.”

  “Have you got any cigarettes?”

  “No. Let’s go get some.”

  “I haven’t got a centavo.”

  “I’ve got two soles. Get up and we’ll go to Paulino’s.”

  “I’m fed up with ‘la Perlita.’ The Boa and the half-breed make me sick to my stomach.”

  “Okay, stay here, then. I’m going to go.”

  Alberto stood up. The Slave watched him put on his cap and tighten his tie.

  “Want me to tell you something?” the Slave said. “I know you’re going to make fun of me, but that’s all right.”

  “What is it?”

  “You’re the only friend I’ve got. Before this I didn’t have any friends at all, just acquaintances. I mean outside. In here I didn’t even have acquaintances. You’re the only person I like to be with.”

  “That sounds like the way a fairy says he’s in love with somebody.”

  The Slave smiled. “You’re an animal,” he said. “But you’re a good guy.”

  Alberto left. At the doorway, he said, “If I get hold of some cigarettes I’ll bring you one.”

  The patio was damp. It had rained while they were talking in the barracks, but Alberto had not noticed. Far off, he could see a cadet sitting among the weeds. Was it the same one who was the lookout the Saturday before? And now I’ll go in to Paulino’s, and we’ll have a contest and the Boa’ll win and there’ll be that smell and then we’ll leave and go through the empty patio into the barracks and someone’ll say, a contest, and I’ll say, we were at the half-breed’s and the Boa won, he’ll win next Saturday too, and they’ll blow taps and we’ll sleep and Sunday’ll come and Monday and how many weeks?

  6

  He could bear the loneliness and the humiliation that he had known since he was a child and that only wounded his spirit. What was horrible was this imprisonment, this vast exterior solitude that he had not chosen, that had been imposed on him like a strait jacket. He was standing in front of the lieutenant’s door, but he had still not raised his hand to knock. Nevertheless, he knew he was going to do it; he had delayed three weeks in making up his mind, but now he was neither troubled nor afraid. It was his hand that was betraying him: it hung at his side, motionless, limp, dead. It was not the first time. At the Salesian Academy they called him a sissy; he was so timid that everything frightened him. The other boys surrounded him during recess and shouted, “Go on, sissy, cry!” He backed up until his shoulders were against the wall. Their faces were close to his, their voices were loud, their mouths were like fierce muzzles ready to
snap at him. He started to cry. One day he told himself, I’ve got to do something. In the middle of a class he challenged the bravest boy in the Year to a fight. By now, he had forgotten his name and his face, even his way of fighting. When they squared off in the empty lot, surrounded by a circle of eager spectators, he was not afraid that time either, was not even excited: all he felt was a complete discouragement and resignation. His body would not return or dodge the blows. He had to wait until the other was tired of hitting him. It was to punish and transform this cowardly body of his that he had forced himself to enter the Leoncio Prado and to put up with those twenty-four long months. Now he had lost hope. He would never be like the Jaguar, who dominated others through violence, nor even like Alberto, who was quick-witted and could put on an act so that the others would not victimize him. As for himself, they had known at once what he was like: defenseless, weak, a slave. Freedom was the only thing he wanted now, to handle his loneliness in his own way, to take her to see a movie, to be alone with her somewhere, anywhere. He raised his hand and knocked on the door three times.

  Had Lt. Huarina been asleep? His swollen eyes looked like two enormous wounds in his round face. His hair was disheveled and he seemed to be looking at him through a mist.

  “I’d like to talk with you, Lieutenant.”

  In the world of the officers, Lt. Huarina was like himself in the world of the cadets: a misfit. He was small and weak, his voice when he gave commands made everyone laugh, the noncoms were contemptuous of him and handed him their reports without coming to attention. His company was the worst organized, Capt. Garrido reprimanded him in public, and the cadets drew caricatures of him on the walls, showing him in knee pants, masturbating. It was said that he owned a small store in Los Barrios Altos where his wife sold candy and cookies. Why had he attended the Military School?

  “What is it?”

  “Can’t I come in? It’s something important, Sir.”

  “If you want to talk with me you’ll have to go through the proper channels.”

  The cadets were not the only ones who imitated Lt. Gamboa, because Huarina assumed the same strict attitude when referring to the regulations. But with those delicate hands and that ridiculous mustache—a little black smudge under his nose-how could he deceive anyone?

  “I don’t want the others to know, Lieutenant. It’s really serious.”

  The lieutenant stepped aside and he went in. The bed was rumpled, and the Slave thought that a cell in a monastery would be something like this: bare, mournful, a little sinister. There was an ash tray on the floor near the bed. It was full of cigarette butts, and one of them was still smoldering.

  “What is it?” Huarina repeated.

  “It’s about the pane of glass.”

  “Name and section,” Huarina said quickly.

  “Cadet Ricardo Arana, Fifth Year, first section.”

  “What about the glass?”

  His tongue was the coward now, it refused to move, it was dry, it felt like a rough stone. Was he afraid? The Circle had always been hostile toward him. And after the Jaguar, Cava was the worst: he took away his cigarettes and his money, and once he had urinated on him while he was sleeping. To a certain extent he felt justified, because everyone in the Academy respected revenge. But still, something deep in his heart was accusing him. I’m not just betraying the Circle, he thought, I’m betraying the whole Year, all of the cadets.

  “Well, go ahead,” Huarina said crossly. “Or did you just come in to get a look at me? Don’t you know me yet?”

  “It was Cava,” the Slave said. He lowered his eyes. “Can I have a pass this Saturday?”

  “What?” the lieutenant said. Huarina had not understood, he could still invent something and get out of it.

  “It was Cava that broke the glass,” he said. “He stole the chemistry exam. I saw him going to the classroom building. Will the confinement be lifted?”

  “No,” the lieutenant said. “We’ll see about that later. First, repeat what you just said.”

  Huarina’s face had grown rounder and there were creases in his cheeks near the corners of his lips, which had opened and were trembling a little. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction. The Slave felt calm. The Academy, the pass, the future no longer meant anything. He told himself that Lt. Huarina did not look grateful. That was natural, after all, because he lived in a different world. Perhaps he even despised him.

  “Write it down,” Huarina said. “Right now. Here’s a pencil and paper.”

  “What do you want me to write, Lieutenant?”

  “I’ll dictate it. ‘I saw Cadet’—what’s his name?—‘Cava, such-and-such section’—now the date and the time—‘approaching the classroom building for the purpose of taking illegal possession of the chemistry exam.’ Write clearly. “I make this statement at the request of Lt. Remigio Huarina, who discovered the perpetrator of the theft and also my participation…’”

  “But Lieutenant, I didn’t…”

  “‘…my involuntary participation in the affair as a witness.’ Sign it. Then print your name in block letters. Big ones.”

  “I didn’t see him steal it,” the Slave said. “I just saw him going toward the classrooms. I haven’t had a pass for four weeks, Lieutenant.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything. Don’t be afraid.”

  “I’m not afraid!” the Slave shouted, and the officer raised his eyes, astonished. “I haven’t had a pass for four weeks, Lieutenant. This Saturday it’ll be five.”

  Huarina nodded. “Sign this paper,” he said. “I’ll give you a pass so you can go out today after class. Come back in at eleven.”

  The Slave signed it. The lieutenant read the paper again, his eyes dancing in their sockets. He moved his lips as he read it.

  “What’ll they do to him?” the Slave asked. It was a stupid question and he knew it, but he had to say something. The lieutenant was carefully holding the paper with the tips of his fingers to keep from wrinkling it.

  “Have you spoken to Lieutenant Gamboa about this?” For a moment the animation vanished from his smooth, round face, and he waited for the Slave’s answer with a look of alarm. It would have been simple to spoil Huarina’s happiness, to wreck his triumph. He only had to say yes.

  “No, Lieutenant. Not to anybody.”

  “Good. Don’t say a word,” the lieutenant said. “Wait for my instructions. Come see me after class, in dress uniform. I’ll take you past the guards.”

  “Yes, Lieutenant.” The Slave hesitated before adding: “I wouldn’t want the other cadets to know that I…”

  “A man has to accept the responsibility for his actions,” Huarina said in a stern voice. “That’s the first thing they teach you in the army.”

  “Yes, Lieutenant. But if they found out I reported him…”

  “I know,” Huarina said, reading the statement for the fourth time. “They’d butcher you. But you don’t have to worry. The officers’ meetings are always secret.”

  Maybe they’ll expel me too, the Slave thought. He left Huarina’s quarters. He was positive that no one had seen him, because after lunch the cadets stretched out on their bunks or on the grass in the stadium. He could see the vicuña out in the open field: slender, motionless, sniffing the breeze. It must be very unhappy, he thought. He was surprised: he ought to be feeling elated or terrified, some physical reaction should be reminding him of what he had just done. He used to believe that after a murderer had committed his crime he went about in a daze as if he had been hypnotized. But his only feeling was of indifference. He thought, I’ll have six hours outside. I’ll go and see her but I can’t tell her anything about what’s happened. If only there were somebody he could talk to, somebody who would understand or at least listen to him! How could he trust Alberto? He had refused to write to Teresa for him, and during the last few days he was angry at him all the time when they were alone—because he defended him when there were others around—as if he had some grievance against him. I ca
n’t trust anybody, he thought. Why are they all against me?

  His hands trembled slightly, but that was the only reaction his body made when he pushed open the door to the barracks and saw Cava standing by his locker. If he sees me he’ll know I’ve just screwed him, he thought.

  “What’s the matter?” Alberto asked.

  “Nothing. Why?”

  “You’re white as a sheet. Go over to the infirmary, they’ll take you in for sure.”

  “I’m all right.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Alberto said. “What more do you want when you’re confined? I wish I could look half that pale. You eat better in the infirmary and you can get some rest.”

  “But you lose your pass,” the Slave said.

  “What pass? We’re going to be in here a long time. Though there’s a rumor everybody might get a pass next Sunday. It’s the colonel’s birthday. That’s what they say, anyway. What are you laughing about?”

  “Nothing.”

  How could Alberto talk so calmly about their confinement? How could he get used to the idea of not getting out?

  “Unless you want to jump over the wall,” Alberto said. “But it’s easier from the infirmary. There isn’t any supervision at night. You have to let yourself down on the Costanera side and you can slip through the bars like nothing.”

  “They don’t jump over the wall very much now,” the Slave said. “Ever since they started the patrol.”

  “It was easier before,” Alberto said. “But a lot of them still do it. That half-breed Urioste went out Monday and came back at four in the morning.”

  After all, why not go to the infirmary? Why go outside? Doctor, I’ve got spots in front of my eyes, I’ve got a headache, I’ve got palpitations, I have cold sweats, I’m a coward. Whenever they were confined the cadets tried to get admitted to the infirmary. You could spend the whole day in your pajamas, doing nothing, and there was always plenty of food. But the Academy doctor and the attendants were becoming stricter. A fever was no longer enough: they knew that if you put banana peels on your forehead for a couple of hours, your temperature would go up to about 102. And gonorrhea was out ever since they discovered the trick Curly and the Jaguar used: they had shown up at the infirmary with their penises smeared with condensed milk. The Jaguar also invented the breath-holding trick. You held your breath until there were tears in your eyes, several times in a row, just before you were examined, and your heart sped up and began to pound like a drum. The attendant would say, “Admitted with symptoms of tachycardia.”