“Oh, really? Well, it was logical,” Panta enters the Loreto Flower Shop, chooses an orchid, takes it to the cemetery, places it in the Brazilian’s niche. “But she couldn’t have been as happy as you were. You’ve shed twenty years since I gave you the news. The only thing you haven’t done is go sing and dance in the streets.”
“On the other hand, you don’t look at all pleased,” Mother Leonor copies recipes for Amazonian dishes, buys necklaces made of seeds, fish scales, fangs, flowers made from feathers, bows and arrows with multicolored strings. “And I really don’t understand, that, dear. Looks as though it makes you sad to leave that dirty work behind and be a real soldier again.”
“And then the soldiers came and the bums stopped dead in their tracks when they saw him dead on the cross,” Pichuza plays the lottery, catches an illness in her lung, works as a servant, begs for charity in churches. “Judases, Herods, devils. What’ve they done, the idiots, what’ve they done, the idiots, that guy from Horcones who’s a lieutenant now kept saying over and over. The ‘brothers’ didn’t even hear him: they were on their knees praying and praying, with their hands lifted up.”
“It’s not that it makes me sad,” Pantita spends his last night in Iquitos wandering the deserted streets of Iquitos by himself and with his head down. “After all, it’s three years of my life. They gave me a very difficult assignment and I executed it. Despite the difficulties, the lack of understanding, I did good work. I built something that had life, that was growing, that was useful. Now they destroy it with one blow and don’t even thank me.”
“You don’t see how it bothers you? You’ve gotten used to living among prostitutes and outlaws,” Mother Leonor haggles over a shambira hammock, decides to carry it in her hand along with her travel bag and purse. “Instead of being happy about leaving here, you’re bitter.”
“On the other hand, don’t have any illusions,” Panta calls Lieutenant Bacacorzo to say goodbye, gives his old clothing to the blind man on the corner, reserves a taxi to pick them up at noon and take them to the airport. “I doubt very much if they’ll send us anyplace better than Iquitos.”
“I’ll be happy anywhere so long as you don’t have to do the filthy business you did here,” Mother Leonor is counting the hours, the minutes, the seconds until they leave. “Even if it’s to the end of the world, son.”
“O.K., Mama,” Panta goes to bed at dawn but doesn’t shut his eyes, gets up, showers, thinks today I’ll be in Lima, does not feel happy. “I’m going out for a minute to say goodbye to a friend. Want anything?”
“I saw him go out and it looked like a good time, Mother Leonor,” Alicia gives her a letter for Pocha and this little gift for Gladys, accompanies her to the airport, kisses and hugs her. “Shall I take you to the cemetery quick so you can see where that w——-is buried?”
“Yes, Alicia, let’s slip out,” Mother Leonor powders her nose, puts on a hat, trembles with anger at the airport, gets on the plane, is frightened by the takeoff. “And afterward, come with me to St. Augustine’s, to say goodbye to Father José María. You two are the only friends from this place I’m going to have fond memories of.”
“His head had fallen on his heart, his eyes shut, his features had gotten real gaunt and he was very pale,” Rita is taken on by Snotnose, works seven days a week, comes down with the clap twice in one year, changes pimps three times. “The rain had washed the blood from the cross, but the ‘brothers’ had caught that holy water in rags, buckets, dishes, they drank it and were cleansed of their sins.”
“Amidst the rejoicing of some and the tears of others, hated and beloved by a divided citizenry”—Sinchi deepens his voice, uses the roaring of planes as a sound effect in the background—“today at noon the much-discussed Captain Pantoja left for Lima by air. He was accompanied by his mother and the conflicting emotions of the people of Loreto. With the proverbial courtesy of Iquitos, we limit ourselves to wishing him bon voyage and better behavior, Captain!”
“How embarrassing, how embarrassing,” Mother Leonor sees a green sheet, thick clouds, the snowy peaks of the Andes, the sandy beaches along the coast, the ocean, steep cliffs. “All the w——-s of Iquitos at the airport, all of them crying, all of them hugging you. Up until the very last minute this city had to make me mad. My face is still burning. I hope I never see anyone from Iquitos ever again in my life. Listen, just think—we’re about to land.”
“Excuse me for bothering you again, miss,” Captain Pantoja takes a taxi to the hotel, has his uniform pressed, appears at headquarters of Administration, Supply and Logistics of the Army, sits in a chair for three hours, slouches. “Are you sure I should keep on waiting? My appointment was for six and it’s nine P.M. Perhaps there was some mix-up?”
“No mix-up, Captain,” the young lady stops polishing her nails. “They’re meeting there and have ordered you to wait. A little patience; they’ll call you soon. Can I offer you another photo-novel by Corín Tellado?”
“No, thanks a lot,” Captain Pantoja pages through all the magazines, reads all the newspapers, consults his watch a thousand times, is hot, cold, thirsty, feverish, hungry. “The truth is I can’t read; I’m a little nervous.”
“Well, it’s not for nothing,” the woman is making eyes at him. “What they’re deciding in there is your future. I hope they don’t give you a harsh punishment, Captain.”
“Thanks, but it isn’t just that,” Captain Pantoja blushes, remembers the party where he met Pochita, the years of courtship, the arch of sabers his classmates made for him on the day of his wedding. “I’m thinking about my wife and little girl. They must have arrived a while ago, from Chiclayo. I haven’t seen them in ages.”
“Exactly, Colonel, sir,” Lieutenant Santana crosses and recrosses the jungle, arrives at Indiana, is speechless, telephones his superiors. “Dead for a couple of days and rotting like cream of wheat. A sight to make anybody’s hair stand on end. Do I let the fanatics carry him away? Bury him here? He’s not in a condition to be transported anywhere. He’s been here two or three days and the stench makes you vomit.”
“It wouldn’t bother you to give me your autograph again?” the young lady hands him a book bound in leather, a fountain pen, smiles admiringly at him. “I forgot about my cousin Charo; she collects celebrities too.”
“Very happy to. If I’ve given three, what’s a fourth?” Captain Pantoja writes With my respectful greetings to Charo and signs. “But I’m telling you, you’re wrong, I’m no celebrity. Only singers give autographs.”
“You’re more famous than any performer, with the things you’ve done, ha ha,” she takes out lipstick, makes herself up using the desk’s glass top for a mirror. Nobody’d believe it, Captain, with the serious face you’ve got.”
“Could you let me use the telephone for a moment?” Captain Pantoja looks at his watch once again, goes toward the window, sees the lampposts, the houses outlined by the mist, has a foreboding of the dampness out in the street. “I’d like to call the hotel.”
“Give me the number and I’ll dial it for you,” she pushes a button and turns the dial. “Who do you want to speak to? Your mother?”
“It’s me, Mama,” Captain Pantoja grabs the receiver, talks in a very low voice, looks at the woman out of the corner of his eye. “No, they still haven’t seen me. Did Pocha and the baby arrive? How’s my little girl?”
“Is it true the soldiers cleared the field up to the cross with their rifle butts?” Knockers works in Bethelem, in Nanay, opens her own house on the highway to San Juan, has hordes of clients, prospers, saves. “That they chopped it down with an ax? And threw Brother Francisco, cross and all, into the river for the piranhas to eat? Tell me, Chameleon—stop praying. What’d you see?”
“Hello? Panta?” Pocha modulates her voice like a tropical singer, looks at her mother-in-law smiling happily, at little Gladys walled in by toys. “Sweetheart, how are you. Oh, Mother Leonor, I’m so thrilled, I don’t know what to say to him. Gladys is right besid
e me. She’s so pretty, Panta, you’ll see her. I’m telling you, every day she looks more and more like you, Panta.”
“Pocha, how are you, honey?” Panta feels his heart beating, thinks I love her, she’s my wife, we’ll never be separated. “A kiss to the baby and another big one for you. I’m dying to see you. I couldn’t make it to the airport; forgive me.”
“I know you’re at the ministry; your mother explained it to me,” Pochita croons, sheds a few tears, exchanges the smiles of partners in crime with Mother Leonor. “It doesn’t matter that you weren’t, silly. What have they told you, dear, what are they going to do with you?”
“Don’t know, we’ll see, I’m still on tenterhooks,” Panta sees shadows through the panes, regains his impatience, his fear. “Once I get out, I’ll fly over there. I have to hang up, Pocha, the door’s opening.”
“Come in, Captain Pantoja,” Colonel López López does not shake his hand, does not salute him, turns his back on him, orders.
“Good evening, Colonel,” Captain Pantoja enters, bites his lip, clicks his heels, salutes. “Good evening, General. Good evening, General.”
“We thought you couldn’t kill a fly and it turned out you were a downright wheeler-dealer,” Tiger Collazos shakes his head behind a curtain of smoke. “Do you know why you had to wait so long? We’ll explain it to you right now. Do you know who just left through that door? Tell him, Colonel.”
“The Secretary of War and the Chief of Staff,” Colonel López López’s eyes throw off sparks.
“To take the remains into Iquitos was impossible because they were already stinking and Santana and his men could have caught one helluva infection,” Colonel Máximo Dávila gives the report his approval, travels to Iquitos by motorboat, has an interview with General Scavino, buys a suckling pig on his return to the garrison. “And besides, the crazy people were going to follow him, the burial was going to be monstrous. I think the river was the most sensible. I don’t know what you think, General.”
“Can you guess why they came?” General Victoria growls, dissolves a tablet in a glass of water, drinks, turns his nose up at it. “To rebuke the Service for the scandal at Iquitos.”
“To scold us as if we were new recruits, Captain, with all our gray hairs, to yell at us.” Tiger Collazos twirls his mustache, lights a cigarette with the butt of the previous one. “It’s not the first time we’ve had the pleasure of receiving those gentlemen here. How many times, Colonel, have they bothered to come here to box our ears?”
“It’s the fourth time that the Secretary of War and the Chief of Staff have honored us with a visit,” Colonel López López throws cigarette butts from the ashtray into the wastepaper basket.
“And each time they appear in this office they bring us a present of a new packet of newspapers, Captain,” General Victoria digs in his ears, his nose, with a blue handkerchief. “In which your praises are being sung, naturally.”
“These days Captain Pantoja is one of the most popular men in Peru,” Tiger Collazos grabs a clipping, points to the headline ARMY CAPTAIN PRAISES PROSTITUTION: PAYS TRIBUTE TO WHORE OF LORETO. “Where do you think this rag comes from? From Tumbes; how does that grab you?”
“It’s the most widely read speech in the history of this country, no doubt about it,” General Victoria turns over the newspapers on his desk, shuffles and scatters them. “The people are reciting paragraphs by heart, they make jokes about it on the street. They’re even talking about you abroad.”
“At last, at last, the two nightmares of the Amazon ended once and for all,” General Scavino unbuttons his fly. “Pantoja silenced, the prophet dead, the specialists up in smoke, the Ark dissolving. This will be the peaceful country of the good old days once again. A little affection as a prize, Peludita.”
“I very much regret having caused inconveniences to my superiors with my initiative, General, sir,” Captain Pantoja does not turn a hair, does not blink, holds his breath, looks fixedly at the photograph of the President of the Republic. “That was not my intention, not in the least. I made an incorrect evaluation of the pros and cons. I recognize my responsibility. I’ll accept the punishment you give me for that mistake.”
“The big problem is there’s no punishment serious enough for the monstrosity you felt like committing there in Iquitos,” Tiger Collazos crosses his arms on his chest. “You did so much damage to the Army with that scandal, not even shooting you would be a revenge enough.”
“I’ve turned the matter over and over in my mind and each time I’m more mixed up, Pantoja,” General Victoria holds his face in his hands, looks at him maliciously, with surprise, envy, jealousy. “Be honest, tell us the truth. Why did you do such a stupid thing? Were you crazy with grief over your girlfriend’s death?”
“I swear to God that my feelings for that specialist absolutely did not influence my decision, General, sir,” Captain Pantoja stands rigid, does not move his lips, counts six, eight, twelve decorations on the Supreme Commander’s tunic. “What I have written in the report is the strictest truth: taking that initiative, I thought I was serving the Army.”
“Giving military honors to a whore, calling her a heroine, thanking her for her service rendered to the armed forces,” Tiger Collazos vomits out mouthfuls of smoke, coughs, looks at his cigarette with hatred, mutters I’m killing myself. “Don’t defend us, buddy. With another favor like that one, you’d ruin us for good.”
“I was in a hurry, retreating instead of fighting the last battle,” Father Beltrán lays his head back in the hammock, looks at the sky and sighs. “I admit I miss the camps, the guards, the stripes. These past months I’ve dreamed every day about swords, about the reveille trumpet. I’m trying to get my uniform back and it looks like it might be arranged. Don’t forget my balls, Peludita.”
“My collaborators were profoundly affected by the death of that specialist,” Captain Pantoja shifts his eyes one millimeter, makes out the map of Peru, the great green blot of the jungle. “My objective was to raise their morale, encourage them, thinking about the future. I couldn’t guess that the Special Service was going to be shut down. Precisely now, when it was functioning better than ever.”
“Didn’t you think that Service could exist only in the most absolute secrecy?” General Victoria paces around the room, yawns, scratches his head, hears church bells, says it’s very late. “You were warned time and time again that the first condition of your work was secrecy.”
“The existence and functions of the Special Service were known by everyone in Iquitos, much before my initiative,” Captain Pantoja keeps his feet together, his hands glued to his body, his head motionless, tries to locate Iquitos on the wall map, thinks it’s that black dot. “Very much in spite of me. I took every precaution to avoid it. But in such a small city it was impossible. At the end of a few months, word had gotten around.”
“Was that a reason to convert rumors into an apocalyptic truth?” Colonel López López opens the door, suggests you can leave when you want, Anita, I’ll lock up. “If you wanted to give a speech, why didn’t you do it in your own name and dressed as a civilian?”
“So you all miss him a lot? Me too, we were good friends, the poor guy must be freezing to death,” Lieutenant Bacacorzo lies face up. “But at least they didn’t kick him out of the Army; he’d of died of sorrow. Yes, like that today. Hands on your hips, head thrown back, and keep on moving, Coca.”
“On account of a mistaken evaluation of the consequences, Colonel, sir,” Captain Pantoja does not not move his head, does not look out of the corner of his eye, thinks how far away all that seems. “I was tormented by the idea that what happened at Nauta would cause desertion from the Service. And it was more and more difficult to recruit specialists, at least good ones. I wanted to keep them, revive their confidence and love for the institution. I very much regret having committed that error in judgment.”
“Your error has cost us a week of tantrums and bad nights,” Tiger Collazos lights a new cigarette, pu
ffs, expels smoke from his mouth and nose, has mussed hair, red and tired eyes. “Is it true that all the candidates for the Special Service passed through your hands on a personal basis?”
“It was part of the entrance examination, General, sir,” Captain Pantoja blushes, becomes speechless, chokes, stutters, digs his nails, bites his tongue. “To verify aptitudes. I couldn’t trust my collaborators. I had uncovered favoritism, bribes.”
“I don’t know how you didn’t wind up with tuberculosis,” Tiger Collazos holds in laughter, laughs, becomes serious, laughs again, his eyes filled with tears. “I still haven’t found out if you’re an angelic prick or the world’s biggest cynic.”
“With the Special Service gone, the Ark gone, there’s no one left to defend and nobody else coughs up half what they did,” Sinchi slaps his belly, turns, turns again, clucks his tongue. “There’s a general conspiracy to make me die of hunger. That’s the reason I’m not responding to you; it’s not your lack of charm, Penelope, sweetie.”
“Let’s put an end to the matter once and for all,” General Victoria bangs the table. “Is it true you refuse to request your discharge?”
“I categorically refuse, General, sir,” Captain Pantoja regains his energy. “The Army is my whole life.”
“We were giving you an easy out,” General Victoria opens a portfolio, hands Captain Pantoja a typed sheet, waits for him to read it, keeps it. “Because we could submit you to the disciplinary board and you can already guess the sentence: dishonorable discharge, expulsion.”
“We’ve decided not to do it, because there’s been enough scandal and because of your personal background,” Tiger Collazos smokes, coughs, goes to the window, opens it, spits into the street. “If you prefer to stay in the Army, O.K. You realize that with the report we’ve added to your service file, it’s going to be a long time before you get any new stripes.”
Captain Pantoja and the Special Service Page 27