5. Since it is indispensable for reasons of decorum and morality to maintain the maximum discretion regarding the nature of this accounting operation, the deduction for the services of the SSGFRI will appear camouflaged by means of countersigns in the books of the district, encampment or post. For this purpose, the officer or the subordinate officer may use any of the following formulae:
(a) Deduction for cost of uniforms
(b) Deduction for deterioration of arms
(c) Advance for family transfer
(d) Deduction for sports
This Ruling No. 069 will not be posted in the units nor communicated in dispatches or in the orders of the day. The commanding officer or his subordinate in charge will verbally communicate its contents to the soldiers and noncommissioned officers of his unit, instructing them at the same time to maintain the greatest reserve on the subject since it is capable of impugning the reputation or attracting injurious criticism of the military.
[Signed]
COL. EZEQUIEL LÓPEZ LÓPEZ, PA
Chief of Accounting and Finance Section
Approved and distributed:
Gen. Felipe Collazos
Lima, 14 September 1956
Letter from Capt. Avencio P. Rojas, CMC, Chaplain of the Alfonso
Ugarte Cavalry Unit No. 7 of Contamana, to Headquarters of
the Corps of Military Chaplains of Region V (Amazon)
Contamana, 23 November 1956
Commander Godofredo Beltrán Calila, CMC
Iquitos, Loreto
My Commander and Dear Friend:
I am fulfilling my duty in informing you that on two consecutive occasions in the space of the present month my unit has been visited by groups of prostitutes—natives of Iquitos—who came here by boat, were lodged in the barracks and were able to engage in carnal commerce with the troops in full view and with the complete approval of the officers. I understand that on both occasions the corps of prostitutes was led by a deformed and dwarfish individual who, it is said, is known by the alias of Chupo or Pupo in the brothels of Iquitos. I cannot give you more details concerning this event, which I know about only through hearsay, since on both occasions I was ordered away beforehand by Major Zegarra Avalos. The first time, without even taking into consideration that I was still convalescing from the hepatitis that did so much damage to my body, as you know only too well, he sent me to administer the last rites to a supplier of the unit, a fisherman who was supposedly dying, who lives an eight-hour march from here by means of a trail through pestilent quagmires, and whom I found drunk and with an almost petty wound on his arm caused by the bite of a shimbillo monkey. The second time, the major sent me to bless a field tent—a refuge for explorers—fourteen hours upstream on the Huallaga, which was an absolutely absurd mission, as you will comprehend, since never in its entire history has the Army been in the habit of blessing similar installations of such uncertain existence. Both orders were obviously pretexts to prevent my witnessing the conversion of Cavalry Unit No. 7 into a brothel. However, I can assure you that no matter how painful that spectacle would have been for me, it would not have caused me the physical fatigue and psychological frustration that this pair of useless expeditions meant for me.
Once again, I allow myself to beseech you, my dear and respected commander, to be kind enough to support, with all the power of influence that your great prestige has deservedly given you, my request for a transfer to a more tolerable unit where I can execute my mission as a man of God and a shepherd of souls with greater spiritual benefit. At the risk of tiring you, I repeat that there can be no moral fortress or nervous system that bears the unending sneers and constant mockery that I am subject to here, as much from the officers as from the troops. Everyone is apparently convinced that the chaplain is the unit’s entertainment and laughingstock, and not a day goes by that they do not make me the victim of some vile trick: at times as irreverent as discovering a mouse in place of the wafers in the ciborium while I am in the middle of celebrating mass; or being the cause of general mockery because an obscene picture has been stuck to my back without my noticing it; or inviting me to drink beer, which then turns out to be urine; and other, even more humiliating things, offensive and even dangerous to my health. My suspicion that Major Zegarra Avalos himself instigates and stirs up these insults against me has already become a certainty.
I place these facts before you, begging you to be kind enough to indicate to me whether a report about the arrival of the prostitutes should not be sent up to the Command of Region V or if it would be convenient for you to take the matter into your own hands; or if, for the sake of higher interests, it is advisable to maintain devout silence on the subject.
Awaiting your eminent advice and offering prayers for your good health and better spirits, an affectionate salute from your subordinate and friend,
[Signed]
CAPT. AVENCIO P. ROJAS, CMC
Chaplain, Alfonso Ugarte Cavalry Unit. No. 7
Contamana, Military Region V (Amazon)
Letter of Commander Godofredo Beltrán Calila, CMC, Chief
of the Corps of Military Chaplains of Region V (Amazon),
to Captain Avencio P. Rojas, Chaplain of the Alfonso Ugarte
Cavalry Unit No. 7, Contamana
Iquitos, 2 December 1956
Captain Avencio P. Rojas, CMC
Contamana, Loreto
Captain:
Once again I must regret your living in such a forsaken spot as Paita. The female delegations that visited the Alfonso Ugarte Cavalry Unit No. 7 belong to the Special Service for Garrisons, Frontier and Related Installations (SSGFRI), an organization created and administered by the Army and about which you and all the chaplains under my command were informed by me through Circular (CMC) No. 04606. The existence of the SSGFRI does not wholly please the Corps of Military Chaplains and it pleases me even less, but I do not need to remind you that in our institution where the general gives orders, the private does not. Consequently, there is nothing to be done but to close your eyes and to beg God to enlighten our superiors so that they will rectify what, in the light of the Catholic religion and military ethics, can only be considered a grave error.
In regard to the complaints that fill the rest of your letter, I must reprimand you severely. Major Zegarra Avalos is your superior and it is up to him, not you, to judge the usefulness or the uselessness of the missions entrusted to you. Your obligation is to carry them out with the greatest speed and efficiency possible. With respect to the jokes of which you are the object, and which, of course, I deplore, I feel that your lack of character is as much to blame, and perhaps even more so, as the evil instincts of others. Must I remind you that before anyone else, it is incumbent upon you to see that you are treated with the great deference demanded by your dual position as a priest and a soldier? Only once during these past fifteen years in my life as a chaplain has the respect due to me been lacking, and I assure you that the indecent fool must still be rubbing his face. To wear a cassock is not to wear skirts, Captain Rojas, and in the Army we do not tolerate chaplains with womanish inclinations.
I regret that your poorly understood notion of evangelical meekness, or your mere pusillanimity, causes you to preserve the abject image that says we men of the cloth are not full, red-blooded men, capable of imitating Christ, who with a whip attacked the merchants affronting the Temple.
Greater dignity and greater courage, Captain Rojas!
Your friend,
COMMANDER GODOFREDO BELTRAN CALILA
Chief of the CMC, Military Region V (Amazon)
5
“Wake up, Panta!” Pochita is saying. “Pantita, it’s six o’clock already.”
“Has our little cadet moved?” Panta is rubbing his eyes. “Let cadet’s fathel feel belly.”
“Don’t talk like an idiot. What’s gotten into you, imitating the Chinks?” Pochita makes a gesture of annoyance. “No, he hasn’t moved. Touch. Do you feel anything?”
“These c
razy ‘brothers’ have turned into something serious,” Bacacorzo is waving the newspaper. “Did you see what they did in Moronacocha? Enough to make you shoot them, damn it. It’s good the police are going after them with a clean-up campaign.”
“Wake up, little cadet,” Panta glues his ear to Pochita’s navel. “You no heal leveille? What you waiting fol? Wake up, wake up!”
“I don’t like you talking like that. Can’t you see how jumpy I am after what happened to that little boy in Moronacocha?” Pochita resists. “Don’t push on my belly so hard. You’re going to hurt the baby.”
“But, sweetheart, I’m just fooling around,” Panta is stretching his eyes with two fingers. “I’m hooked on the way one of my aides talks. Are you going to get mad over that stuff? C’mon, gimme a little kiss.”
“I’m scared our little cadet’s dead,” Pochita is kneading her belly. “He didn’t move last night, he hasn’t moved this morning. Something’s wrong with him, Panta.”
“Mrs. Pantoja, I’ve never seen such a normal pregnancy,” Dr. Arizmendi soothes her. “Everything’s going fine, don’t worry. The only thing, take care of your nerves. And for that, you already know: try not to think or talk about the tragedy in Moronacocha.”
“Enough. Time to lise and do exelcises, Mistel Pantoja,” Panta jumps out of bed. “Uppy! Uppy!”
“I hate you. Drop dead. Why don’t you ever try to please me?” Pochita throws a pillow at him. “Panta, don’t talk like a Chink.”
“I’m just happy, girl, everything’s going well,” Panta is opening and closing his arms, squatting and jumping up. “I never thought I’d get ahead with the mission the Army gave me. And in just six months I’ve come so far I’m even surprised myself.”
“At first it bothered you to be a spy. You had nightmares and you cried and shouted in your sleep,” Pochita sticks out her tongue. “But now I see you love the Intelligence Service.”
“Sure I know about that mess,” Captain Pantoja agrees. “Just imagine, Bacacorzo, my poor mother got to see that sight. Of course, it made her faint, and she’s spent three days in the clinic under medical treatment, with her nerves shot to pieces.”
“Didn’t you have to leave at six-thirty, son?” Mother Leonor pokes her head in. “Your breakfast’s already on the table.”
“I take showel in jiffy, Mama,” Panta is flexing, shadow-boxing, jumping rope. “Good molning, Mothel Leonol.”
“What’s wrong with your husband that he’s acting like this?” Mother Leonor is astonished. “You and me with our hearts in our mouths with all that’s happened in this city and he’s happier than a lark.”
“The seclet is the Blazilian,” Chino Porfirio is whispering. “I sweal to you, Chuchupe. He meet her last night at Aladdin Pandulo’s and she knocked him cockeyed. I no pletend, he went closs-eyed with admilation. This time he fell, Chuchupe.”
“Is she still as pretty or is she a little run-down?” asks Chuchupe. “I haven’t seen her since before she went to Manaos. She didn’t call herself the Brazilian then, just Olguita.”
“Knockout of a pletty chick and besides hel eyes, tits, legs and all hel life looked like flom a stole window, she splouted a tellific ass,” Chino Porfirio whistles, paws the air. “They say two guys died ’cause of hel.”
“And what about the student, Mama?” Freckle is wrinkling his nose. “The police chief’s son, the guy who hanged himself in Moronacocha. He also committed suicide over her.”
“No, that was an accident,” Chuchupe moves his hand away from his nose and gives him a handkerchief. “The kid had already gotten over her. He was coming back again to Casa Chuchupe and chasing our best girls.”
“But in bed he made them all call themselves Olguita,” Freckle blows his nose and hands back the handkerchief. “Don’t you remember how we laughed when we spied on him, Mama? He was kneeling and kissing their feet, imagining they were her. He killed himself for love, I’m sure of it.”
“I know why you doubtful, icy lady,” Chino Porfirio is pounding his chest. “’Cause you lack what Chupón and I have too much of: healt.”
“Poor thing, I really sympathize with you, Mother Leonor,” Pochita shudders. “If I, who only know of the crime from hearing and reading about it, have nightmares and wake up thinking they’re crucifying the little cadet, why shouldn’t you be half crazy, having seen the child with your own eyes. God, Mother Leonor, I just talk about it and I get goose bumps, I’m telling you.”
“Look at Olguita, she’s spent her whole life causing trouble,” Chuchupe philosophizes. “And she just gets back from Manaos and they catch her working right in the middle of the evening show at the Bolognesi movie house with a police lieutenant. The things she must’ve done in Brazil!”
“Loud and brassy, just the way I like ’em,” Freckle is biting his lips. “Really stacked, here and there, tall as a willow, and she even seems intelligent.”
“Want me to drown you in the river, you louse?” Chuchupe shoves him.
“It was just a joke to get you mad, Mama,” Freckle jumps up, kisses her, lets out a laugh. “I’ve got a soft spot only for you. As for the others, I look at them with professional eyes.”
“And Mr. Pantoja has already hired her?” asks Chuchupe. “How nice it would be to see him finally fall into a woman’s trap: men in love always go soft. He’s too straight. It’s just what he needs.”
“He want to, but no have money,” Chino Porfirio is yawning. “Ohhh, I tiled. Only thing I no like about Selvice is this getting up at dawn. Hele come the gils, Chupón.”
“I should have realized as soon as I got out of the taxi,” Mother Leonor is grinding her teeth. “But I didn’t, Pochita, in spite of the fact that I noticed how the Ark was fuller than other times and everyone was—I don’t know—half hysterical. They were praying, crying out, there were sparks in the air. And to top it all off, that thunder and lightning.”
“Good morning, happy and cheerful specialists,” Freckle is singing. “Come on, you’re going to line up for me, to have your medical examination. First come, first served, and no fighting. Like in the barracks, just the way Pan-Pan likes.”
“What eyes flom a lough night, Pichuza,” Chino Porfirio pinches her cheek. “We see the Selvice not nuff fol you.”
“If you keep working on your own, you’re never going to last here,” Chuchupe warns. “You’ve heard it a thousand times from Pan-Pan.”
“Being a specialist and a whore—excuse the expression—is incompatible,” Pantoja decrees. “You are civilian functionaries of the Army and not traffickers in sex.”
“But I haven’t done anything, Chuchupe,” Pichuza shows her fingernails to Porfirio, slaps her backside and stands her ground. “My face is so bad ’cause I’ve got the flu and I’m up all night.”
“Let’s not talk about that, Mother Leonor.” Pochita is embracing her, “The doctor has ordered you not to think about that boy, and the same thing for me, remember. My God, the poor child. Are you sure he was already dead when you saw him? Or was he still suffering?”
“I swore I wouldn’t go through the medical exam again and I’m not going to, Freckle,” Knockers puts her fists on her hips. “That male nurse is a smart aleck. He’s never going to lay his hands on me again.”
“Then I’ll lay mine on you,” shouts Freckle. “Have you read that security poster? Read it, read—what the hell does it say?”
“‘Orders are to be obeyed without question or complaint,’” reads Chuchupe.
“You not lead this othel one?” Chino Porfirio shouts. “It hanging hele fol mole than month.”
“‘An order can be contested only after it has been carried out,’” reads Chuchupe.
“I haven’t read them because I don’t know how to read,” Knockers laughs. “And I’m proud of it.”
“Knockers is right, Chuchupe,” Peludita steps forward. “That guy’s a bully. The medical exam is his brainstorm for taking advantage of us. With his line about looking for infections, he sti
cks his hand in up to our tonsils.”
“The last time I had to give him a slap,” Coca is scratching her back. “He took a bite out of me, right here, just where I get those cramps you know all about.”
“Line up, line up, and no complaints—the nurse also has feelings,” Chuchupe gives slaps and smiles, prodding them. “Don’t be ingrates. What more do you want from the Service that has you examined and always keeps you healthy.”
“Line up and get moving, specialists!” orders Freckle. “Pan-Pan wants the convoys ready for departure by the time he gets here.”
“Yes, I think he already was. Aren’t they saying they nailed him up when the downpour had just begun?” Mother Leonor’s voice is trembling. “At least, when I saw him he wasn’t moving or crying. And remember, I saw him from very, very close up.”
“Did you transmit my request to General Scavino?” Captain Pantoja aims at a heron basking in the sun on the branch of a tree, shoots and misses. “He agrees to see me?”
“He’s expecting you at ten in the morning at headquarters,” Lieutenant Bacacorzo watches the bird frenetically flapping away over the trees. “But he agreed grudgingly. You know the Special Service has never been able to count on his approval.”
Captain Pantoja and the Special Service Page 10