El Electricista had a big metal grille, well-earthed. When it was not in use for interrogation the officers used to put a table-top on it and use it for eating their meals. El Electricista was very fond of his metal grille, and he called it ‘Susana’. In fact all the torturers not only became very fond of their implements, but they had also got very fond of their jobs, which they performed with exemplary zeal and efficiency.
Hardly any of them ever went home any more for fear of missing something. They left their shifts late, and resumed them early, sometimes not sleeping for twenty-four hours at a time. They ate at the school, bolting their meals, and they slept on the premises, oblivious to the screams and hysterical weeping and the loud music they played twenty-four hours a day to try and drown it. They had become obsessives, compulsives, addicts.
El Electricista was to get the first opportunity to do his patriotic duty with Regina. He tore the clothes off her body and thought that something was wrong; he turned her over and found the bullet wound at the base of her spine. Asado came in and said, ‘So what? Pretty isn’t she?’ and he searched through her belongings so that he could pin her identity card to the ‘Case Terminated’ form. Regina returned fully to consciousness whilst he was looking, and found that she could not move her legs. She looked about her, wondering where she was, realising she was naked and that two men were looking at her identity card.
‘It isn’t her,’ said Asado, a feeling of panic rising in his stomach.
‘So?’ replied El Electricista, ‘We can have some fun with her anyway.’
‘No we can’t,’ said Asado. ‘She’s foreign. Look at that address. She’s got a rich daddy. He might be important, too. He might be an ambassador. I’m afraid this means trouble.’ He turned to Regina. ‘Who is your father, and what does he do?’
‘Please can I have my clothes?’ she said.
‘Oh, I am sorry,’ said Asado, becoming gentlemanly. ‘It was necessary for us to remove them in order to examine you. You have been wounded.’
‘I can’t move my legs,’ she said.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll take care of you,’ said Asado, and he went to fetch a blanket for her. El Electricista went with him. ‘For God’s sake,’ he said, ‘let’s just get rid of her. How will anyone know? We’ll give her a free-fall.’
‘Wait, and we’ll see,’ said Asado. They returned with the blanket. ‘Now tell us about who you are, and about your family. For the Medical Record.’
When he had been told, Asado telephoned the Army Internal Security Service, and gave his code-name. He found out that Olsen and his daughter were definitely classified as ‘untouchable’. Asado thought he had better do as El Electricista had suggested, but something, perhaps his instinct for self-preservation, suggested he should do what any sensible military man would have done in the same circumstances. He passed the problem on to the commanding officer of the Intelligence Service. He arrived very rapidly and took Regina away to the confidential wing of the Military Hospital. They removed the bullet and her life was saved, but she would always be paralysed in the legs. She was passed back to Asado, and he was told to look after her whilst the hierarchy decided what to do. The trouble was that they could not decide; they were caught between the embarrassment of letting her go, to the public outcry about brutality and the demands for explanations from the Norwegian ambassador, and getting rid of her, which could have been even more embarrassing if anyone had witnessed her abduction. Which they had.
Esmeralda’s neighbour told Esmeralda, and Esmeralda telephoned Mr Olsen. He acted with extraordinary speed and decisiveness. He telephoned a friend of his, a very correct and honourable General in the National Army, Esteban Correra, who commanded the Armoured Brigades.
Together they went to the police headquarters and demanded to see the Chief of City Police. A surly overweight policeman knocked on the Police Chiefs door and entered. He came back out and said, ‘He’s busy, he can’t see you now.’ General Correra got out his identity card and handed it to the policeman. ‘Show this,’ he said, ‘to the Chief, and tell him that if he is not out here in twenty-five seconds I will have him arrested and shot.’
The Police Chief was out of his room in five seconds, beaming with concern and helpfulness. What he told General Correra was something that shook him to the core and enraged him.
‘General,’ he said, spreading his hands helplessly, ‘we have forty or fifty new people in here perhaps every day, not including the ones who have been coming for months. They wave writs of habeas corpus at us, but we can’t help them, because we don’t have these missing people, and we don’t know where they are. There are just too many cases for us to investigate them, and so we have to ignore them. I’m surprised, General, that you have come to us anyway.’
‘Why?’ said the General. ‘Obviously one goes to the police in cases of kidnapping.’
‘I’m surprised you have come to us,’ said the Chief of City Police, ‘because it seems that everyone except you knows that it is the Armed Forces who are doing the kidnapping.’
General Correra was stunned. ‘Impossible!’ he said. The Chief of City Police took him by the arm and told him confidentially, out of Olsen’s hearing, ‘I know personally, and in my professional capacity, all the heads of the Security Services in this country, and I can assure you that it is undoubtedly the Armed Forces. This information is top secret, and is strictly for you alone. Between you and me, you should go and see General Ramirez to get this sorted out.’
General Correra turned to Olsen, ‘Go home and leave this with me. I have someone to see.’
General Correra was a fine brave man who never hesitated to do the right thing. He was very tall and fit, very dignified, and very intolerant of evil-doing. He was known to be politically a ‘moderate’ which in military terms means a potential subversive, and to the general public means a conservative.
He went to see General Ramirez, demanding a full internal military investigation of the abductions. He even said that as long as he, Correra, was in charge of the Tank Brigades, there would still be someone left to uphold the honour of the Army. General Ramirez told him that he was already aware of the situation and was inaugurating steps to deal with it. He told Correra that he was already aware of the Olsen case, that the girl was being released immediately and that the officers who had illegally abducted her would be court-martialled. He congratulated Correra on his prompt actions and his integrity, and said, ‘The Army needs more men like you, General.’
After Correra had left, General Ramirez made a telephone call, and General Correra was not seen again for a week, when his tortured and bullet-ridden body turned up on the same municipal garbage tip as had the radical lawyer’s.
General Ramirez wept openly at Correra’s funeral as he delivered the eulogy, and made a telling speech against the terrorism that had now claimed another spotless victim. The speech was reported in full by the national press, which had developed better instincts for survival than had the decent and ingenuous General Correra.
But Olsen refused to give in to despair. He had heard the City Police Chiefs first remark that it was the Armed Forces who were doing the kidnapping, and he went to the Norwegian Ambassador. The Ambassador already knew about the abductions; like the Mexican Embassy, the Swedish Embassy, and the United States Embassy, he had been inundated with requests for help and asylum from people desperate for help, none of them until now Norwegian citizens. The supplicants told him that only two major embassies were never helpful, the British and the Soviet, for opaque reasons of their own, possibly not unconnected with import deals which they did not wish to imperil.
The Norwegian Ambassador went to see the President, having previously made unanswered representations through his own Foreign Office, as well as his embassy.
When he entered the President’s office he saw that the President’s wife was sitting on his knee. The President had found her, during one of his exiles, in a strip-club in Panama, where she had worked as an ‘actress’.
She was forty years younger than he, and was very pretty in a rather distasteful way. The ex-manager of the strip-club, one day to be President himself, was now the Foreign Secretary, and had published numerous books on the occult at the expense of his own ministry. In his own opinion this was justified because the books were dictated to him by none other than the Archangel Gabriel. The two bouncers, or rather, doormen, of the club were now respectively the Minister for Agriculture and the Minister for Public Health.
The President’s wife was feeding him with Turkish Delight, his particular favourite. ‘Come on now, Daddykins,’ she was saying, ‘I won’t give you any more until you’ve signed this eeny-weeny bit of paper for your ’ickle playgirl.’
‘I can’t, sweetykins,’ he said, ‘it costs too much.’
She pouted and wiggled on his lap. ‘No more Turky-Wurky Delight!’ she said, placing a piece against his lips and withdrawing it as he opened his mouth to receive it.
‘Oh, all right then,’ he said, patting her richly-sequinned backside. ‘Just for you, my little pussycat.’ He leaned over the paper and appended his signature in his shaky hand. Cooing, his wife leapt off his lap and kissed him on the forehead, leaving thereon in bright scarlet the imprint of her lips. She took the paper and minced out of the room, glancing seductively at the Ambassador as she left.
The President looked at the Ambassador helplessly and said, ‘My wife,’ as though it were some sort of explanation. ‘Now what can I do for you?’
The Ambassador put his case to the President, who listened impassively as he chewed his way through the box of Turkish Delight. When the Ambassador had finished, the President said, ‘My dear Ambassador. I have heard exactly the same things from you as I have heard from six other ambassadors in the last month, and I have to say that I know nothing about it, nothing at all. I have interviewed General Ramirez, Admiral Fleta, and Air Chief Marshal Sanchis, and all the heads of all our security services, and they are all as mystified by these occurrences as I am. We are all of the opinion that it is part of a Zionist plot to destabilise the country in preparation for an Israeli invasion of our southern states.’
The Norwegian Ambassador was incredulous. ‘I beg you to be serious, Your Excellency,’ he said.
‘Oh,’ said the President, ‘I can assure you that I am serious. We have definite evidence from the Naval Internal Intelligence Agency and the Air Force Internal Security Agency; I have their reports in my desk.’
The Ambassador was tempted to indulge in ridicule. Instead he said, ‘Your Excellency, I cannot believe that a man of your political experience and intelligence could possibly take such reports seriously. They are just too absurd and too impossible. In your position I would have the men who submitted those reports committed to an asylum for the insane.’
The President smiled and shook his head. ‘Ambassador, I must tell you that I am party to information on this subject that you are not, and I have taken it so seriously that I have already authorised the detention of certain Jews and Zionists whom the Security Services know are certainly involved.’
The Ambassador became angry. ‘Your Excellency, this proves only that you have Nazis in your security services!’
It was the President’s turn to become angry. ‘Ambassador, may I remind you that it is possible to abuse diplomatic privilege?’
The Ambassador stood up and said very firmly, ‘Your Excellency, if there are pogroms in this country, no civilised nation on earth will have anything to do with you! May I remind you, just for an example, that it is Norway which is constructing your entire hydroelectric programme? I have to say to you also, Your Excellency, that my government expects instant results in the search for Regina Olsen! The Army have her, Mr President, as is obvious from recent events. I suggest you start with them.’
The President closed his eyes and sighed wearily. ‘Ambassador, I will do all I can, but I must tell you that a man in my position has to tread carefully with the Army. I think you are fully aware of that.’
‘Yes, Your Excellency, I am aware of that, but as Norwegian Ambassador I am charged with the care of Norwegian citizens. You will be aware of that.’
The President opened a drawer of his desk and took out a revolver. He held it in the palm of his hand and pondered its weight. He showed it to the Ambassador. ‘I have only one of these,’ he said. ‘The Army has thousands.’
When he left, angry and frustrated, the Norwegian Ambassador decided not to tell the uxurious old President that he still had lipstick on his forehead.
30
* * *
THE RETURN OF MARIA, AND THE RETURN OF THE SOLDIERS
WORK IN THE Governor’s office almost came to a halt as General Fuerte’s absence became more prolonged. Without his guiding hand the staff lost all sense of purpose and direction, and the secretaries filed their nails, did embroidery under their desks, discussed their romances, and played charades. Capitan Rojas, Fuerte’s ADC, found to his chagrin and humiliation that none of the staff would do as he said or take his tirades seriously; they would pat him on the head, make soothing noises as though to a child, and offer him lemon juice sweetened with chancaca. He became at first infuriated and bitter, and then lapsed into depression and apathy which was broken only by his desperate pleas to the Brigadier to locate the General.
‘The trouble is,’ said the Brigadier, ‘that he granted leave to himself, and did not fill in the forms. No one knows where he went or what he was doing or for how long he intended to stay. I have no positive proof he has disappeared!’
The Brigadier was nervous all the same because he had heard on the military grapevine about all the senior officers who had disappeared, and had also heard some hints as to why it had been happening. He was understandably anxious not to cause his own disappearance by starting an investigation, and was tempted to list the case as a desertion, since he had heard from Capitan Rojas that the General had gone off with his donkey, and was disguised as a peon. He decided to do nothing, apart from taking over the civilian administration himself pending the General’s return.
One morning Capitan Rojas, flushed and breathless from running up the stairs, burst through the door of the Brigadier’s office, saluted, and said, ‘Sir, Maria has returned, but without the General!’
‘Maria?’ asked the Brigadier. ‘And who is she?’
‘General Fuerte’s burra,’ said the Capitan. ‘She came down the Chiriguana road before my very eyes, and went into her quarters.’
‘The General’s donkey,’ mused the Brigadier. ‘How strange. Is she well and unharmed?’
‘Yes,’ replied Rojas. ‘Except that she is covered with the dust of travel and is plainly pregnant.’
The Brigadier opened a drawer and drew out a report form which he filled in carefully, questioning the Capitan for details. ‘Chiriguana,’ he said, ‘is a hotbed of revolution. I think we can safely assume that General Fuerte is dead at the hands of the terrorists. I shall advise General Ramirez of my opinion and await his instructions. In the interim, kindly breathe not a word of this to anyone.’
‘No, Sir, and what shall I do with Maria?’
The Brigadier looked up at him and raised his eyebrows quizzically, ‘Look after her yourself, Capitan.’
The Capitan saluted and left. He returned to the stable and found Maria lying on her side; on the straw were afterbirths and four little black bundles of fur. Maria heaved herself to her feet and began to lick her progeny clean. The Capitan watched, his military mind unable to believe the evidence of his senses, as the unusually large black kittens began to mew piteously for milk. Then he realised that here was an emergency, because the kittens could not reach Maria’s teats, since kittens suckle lying down and donkeys give suck standing up. Relieved to find himself at last with a problem that could be easily solved by quick decision and firm action, he strode off to the shops and returned with a baby’s bottle. Kneeling carefully so as not to soil the knees of his uniform he tentatively began to milk Maria. She snorted and pushed
him sideways. He made comforting noises and imitated the clicking noises that the General used to make, and Maria let down her milk. With scrupulous fairmindedness he fed the kittens an equal amount and was charmed by their closed eyes, their helplessness, their stubby little tails, their pathetic mewing, and their big silky ears. He felt that he could not in all conscience leave them to Maria to care for on her own, and he moved his camp-bed into the stable so that he could feed them every two hours day and night. He became so besotted with his little charges that the girls in the office began to refer to him as Capitan Papagato, and had to go down to the stable to deliver him his lemon juice sweetened with chancaca and any documents which he had to sign. His previous apathy and depression gave way to a seraphic contentment, and when later the black cats grew to the size of pumas he went everywhere with them padding at his side like dogs. They demolished his quarters with their frolics and wrestling matches, and Capitan Rojas had a quadruple bed made so that there was room for all of them to sleep. He applied to change his name by deed-poll to Papagato and thereafter went proudly by the name originally imputed to him in ridicule. His authority over the girls became absolute because of their irrational terror of the huge yellow-eyed cats, and the other girls in Valledupar became fascinated by his mysterious rapport with them. Capitan Papagato ordered an extra portion to be attached to his enormous bed, and believed that no man had ever been so blessed by fortune.
Figueras was less blessed; after the three months of his cure from common gonorrhoea and Barranquilla syphilis he and his brigade were ordered back into the field and told that specific and spectacular results were expected. Nervously and more slowly than proper military caution merited, the column of lorries headed back towards the scene of their previous defeats and camped as inconspicuously as possible on the savannah three kilometres from Chiriguana. The patrols that Figueras felt obliged to send out returned with no information except that the local population seemed to be convulsed with unabatable laughter, and that the whole area was swarming with cats. ‘I know that already,’ said Figueras. ‘They are constantly under my feet, and their damnable purring prevents sleep.’
The War of Don Emmanuel's Nether Parts Page 26