The Time of the Hero

  When the soldier saw Gamboa approaching, he stood up and fished out the key to open the cell door. But the lieutenant took the key out of his hand and said, “Go away, leave me alone with the cadet.” He waited while the soldier walked out onto the soccer field in the direction of the classroom building. Then he opened the door. The cell was in almost total darkness: night was falling and the only window seemed a mere slit. At first he could not see anyone, and had the sudden idea that the cadet had escaped. Then he discovered him stretched out on the cot. He walked over to him, and saw that his eyes were closed, that he was asleep. The lieutenant studied his motionless features, trying to remember him, but it was useless: he confused his face with others, although it was vaguely familiar, not because of any particular feature but because it looked prematurely adult, with clenched jaws, a solemn frown, a cleft chin. When the soldiers and cadets were in the presence of a superior they put on a stern expression, but this cadet did not know he was there. Also, his face was different. Most of the cadets had dark skin and angular features, but what Gamboa saw was a white face and almost blond hair and lashes. He reached out a hand and grasped the Jaguar’s shoulder. He was surprised at himself, because the gesture had lacked energy, he had touched him gently as if waking up a comrade. He felt the Jaguar’s body contract under his hand, and his arm was pushed away by the violence with which the Jaguar sat up. But then he heard the click of heels: he had been recognized, and all was normal again.

  “Sit down,” Gamboa said. “We’ve got lots to talk about.”

  The Jaguar sat down. The lieutenant could see his eyes now in the darkness: they were not large, but they were brilliant and penetrating. The cadet did not move or speak, but there was something in his rigidity and silence that annoyed Gamboa.

  “Why did you enroll in the Military Academy?”

  There was no reply. The Jaguar’s hands were gripped on the edge of the cot. His expression did not change: it was still calm and serious.

  “They sent you here against your will, right?”

  “Why, Lieutenant?”

  His voice was exactly like his eyes. The words were not disrespectful, and he pronounced them slowly, almost with a touch of sensuality, but the tone of his voice suggested a hidden arrogance.

  “Because I want to know,” Gamboa said. “Why did you enroll in the Academy?”

  “I wanted to be an army officer.”

  “‘Wanted’?” Gamboa asked. “Have you changed your mind?”

  Gamboa was uncertain. He knew that when an officer asked a cadet what his plans were, he always said that he wanted to be an officer in the army. But he also knew that only a handful ever appeared for the entrance exams at the Military School in Chorrillos.

  “I’m still not sure, Sir,” the Jaguar said. “Perhaps I’ll try to get into the Air Force School.”

  There was a brief pause, during which they looked each other in the eyes, as if waiting for the other to say something.

  Then Gamboa asked him harshly, “You know why you’re in prison, don’t you?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “Really? You don’t know the reasons?”

  “I haven’t done a thing,” the Jaguar said.

  “Your locker was enough,” Gamboa said. “Cigarettes. Two bottles of pisco. A set of skeleton keys. Isn’t that enough?”

  The lieutenant watched him closely, but it was no use: the Jaguar remained motionless and silent. He seemed neither surprised nor frightened.

  “We’ll skip the cigarettes,” Gamboa added. “They’d only make you lose one pass. But the liquor’s something else. The cadets can get drunk outside, in the bars, in their own homes. But they’re not permitted to drink a single drop of alcohol inside the Academy.” He paused. “And the dice? The first section is a gambling den. And the skeleton keys? Do you know what they mean? They mean stealing. How many lockers have you opened? When was the last time you stole from your comrades?”

  “Me?” Gamboa was disconcerted for a moment, and the Jaguar gave him an ironic look. Then, without lowering his eyes, he repeated: “Me?”

  “Yes,” Gamboa said. He felt as if he could not control his anger. “Who the shit else?”

  “Everybody,” the Jaguar said. “The whole Academy.”

  “That’s a lie,” Gamboa said. “You’re a coward.”

  “I’m not a coward,” the Jaguar said. “You’re mistaken, Lieutenant.”

  “And a crook,” Gamboa added. “And a drunkard. And a gambler. But above all, a coward. Do you know what I’d like to do if we were civilians?”

  “Would you like to hit me?” the Jaguar asked.

  “No,” Gamboa said. “I’d grab you by the ear and take you to the reformatory. That’s where your parents should’ve sent you. You’ve screwed yourself now. Do you remember three years ago? I ordered the Circle to break up, to stop playing bandits. Do you remember what I told you that night?”

  “No,” the Jaguar said. “I don’t remember.”

  “Yes you do,” Gamboa said. “But it doesn’t matter. You think you’re pretty wise, don’t you? Well, in the army the wise guys get what’s coming to them sooner or later. You’ve got away with all this for three years. But now your time’s up.”

  “Why? I haven’t done a thing,” the Jaguar said.

  “The Circle,” Gamboa said. “Thefts of exams. Thefts of clothing. Disrespect for your superiors. Bullying the cadets in the Third. Do you know what you are? You’re a juvenile delinquent.”

  “That’s not true,” the Jaguar said. “I haven’t done a thing. I’ve just done what the others do.”

  “All right, who?” Gamboa asked. “Who else has stolen exams?”

  “Everybody,” the Jaguar said. “Some guys didn’t have to steal them, because they had enough money to buy them. But everybody was mixed up in it.”

  “Names,” Gamboa said. “Give me some names. Which cadets in the first section?”

  “Are they going to expel me?”

  “Yes. And it might be even worse than expulsion.”

  “I see,” the Jaguar said, with no change in his voice. “Everybody in the first section has bought exams.”

  “Oh?” Gamboa said. “Including Cadet Arana?”

  “What, Sir?”

  “I said Arana. Cadet Ricardo Arana.”

  “No,” the Jaguar said. “I don’t think he ever bought any. He was a teacher’s pet. But all the others did.”

  “Why did you kill Arana?” Gamboa asked. “Answer me. Everybody knows you did it. Why?”

  “What’s the matter with you?” the Jaguar asked. He had only blinked once.

  “Answer my question.”

  “Are you a real man?” the Jaguar asked. He had stood up, and his voice shook. “If you are, take off your insignias. I’m not afraid of you.”

  Gamboa reached out, as quick as lightning, and grasped the collar of his shirt, and in the same movement he pushed him up against the wall with his other hand. Before the Jaguar began choking, Gamboa felt a blow on his shoulder: the Jaguar, trying to hit him in the face, had grazed his elbow and the punch had gone astray.

  The lieutenant released him and took a step backward. “I could kill you,” he said. “I’d be within my rights. I’m your superior and you tried to hit me. But the court-martial’s going to take care of you.”

  “Take off your insignias,” the Jaguar said. “Maybe you’re stronger than I am, but I’m not afraid of you.”

  “Why did you kill Arana?” Gamboa repeated. “Stop acting crazy and answer me.”

  “I haven’t killed anybody. Why do you say that? Do you think I’m a murderer? Why would I want to kill the Slave?”

  “Somebody’s accused you,” Gamboa said. “You’re done for.”

  “Who?” The Jaguar’s eyes were glowing like lamps.

  “Don’t you see?” Gamboa asked. “You’re admitting it.”

  “Who said that?” the Jaguar demanded. “He’s the one I am going to kill.”

  “From behin
d,” Gamboa said. “Arana was ahead of you, twenty yards away. You shot him like a coward. Do you know the punishment for that?”

  “I haven’t killed anybody. I swear I haven’t, Lieutenant.”

  “We’ll see,” Gamboa said. “It’d be better for you to confess the whole thing.”

  “I haven’t got anything to confess!” the Jaguar shouted. “It’s true about the exams and the stealing. But I’m not the only one. Everybody did it. Except for the assholes that paid others to steal for them. But I haven’t killed anybody.”

  “You’ll find out,” Gamboa said. “He’ll say it to your face.”

  The next day, I got home at nine in the morning. My mother was sitting in the doorway. She didn’t move when she saw me coming. I told her, “I stayed with my friend in Chucuito.” She didn’t say anything. She just gave me a strange look, with a little bit of fear in it, as if she thought I was going to do something to her. Her eyes wandered up and down my body and I felt very uncomfortable. I had a headache and my throat was dry, but I didn’t dare go to sleep in front of my mother. I didn’t know what to do, I glanced through my notebooks and textbooks, that wasn’t any good, then I started rummaging through a chest, and she was standing behind me all the time, watching me. I turned around and said, “What’s the matter, why do you keep looking at me?” She said, “You’re hopeless. I wish you were dead.” And she went out the front door. She sat for a long time on the steps, her elbows on her knees, her face in her hands. I could see her from the window of my room, I could see the rips and mends in her blouse, the wrinkles on her neck, her tangled hair. I went out to her, very slowly, and said, “If you’re angry about something, I hope you’ll forgive me.” She looked at me again. Her face was wrinkled too, and there were white hairs sticking out of her nostrils. “You’d do better to ask God to forgive you,” she said. “But it wouldn’t be worth the trouble. You’re damned to Hell already.” “Do you want me to promise you something?” I asked her. She said, “Why? You’re damned, I told you. I can see it in your face. The best thing you could do is go in and sleep off your drunk.”

  I didn’t lie down, I wasn’t sleepy any more. After a while I left the house and went to the beach at Chucuito. When I got to the wall I could see two of the boys who’d been there the day before. They were stretched out on the rocks, smoking cigarettes, with their heads on their bundled clothes. There were lots of kids on the beach. Some of them were at the edge of the water, throwing flat stones so they’d skip across the surface. A little later, Teresa and her friends arrived. They went over to the boys and shook hands with them. They got undressed and sat in a circle, and that same boy was next to Teresa the whole while, as if I hadn’t done a thing to him. Finally they went into the water. Teresa shrieked, “It’s cold! I’m freezing to death!” and the boy scooped up water with his hands and started wetting her. She screeched even louder but she didn’t get mad. Then they went further out. Teresa swam better than he did, as smooth and easy as a fish, he did a lot of splashing but he kept going under. In a little while they came out again and sat down on the rocks. Teresa stretched out and the boy made a pillow for her out of his clothes, he sat beside her, turned half way around so he could see her whole body. All I could see was Tere’s arms raised up to the sun, but I could see his skinny back, and the way his ribs stuck out, and his crooked legs. They went back into the water at about noon. He made believe he was a fairy and when she splashed him he screamed. Then they swam some more, and Teresa pretended she was drowning. He dove under and she began waving her arms and shouting, “Help, help!” but you could tell it was only in fun. Suddenly he bobbed up like a cork, with his hair plastered down on his face, and let out a Tarzan yell. I could hear them laughing, they laughed so loud. When they came out of the water again, I was waiting for them next to their piles of clothing. I don’t know where Teresa’s friends and the other boy were, I didn’t pay any attention to them. It was as if everybody’d disappeared. They came near, and Teresa saw me first. The boy was behind her, acting crazy. Her expression didn’t change, she didn’t look any happier or sadder than she was before. And she didn’t offer to shake hands, she just said, “Hello. Were you on the beach too?” When she said that, the boy suddenly noticed me and recognized me. He stopped dead, backed up, picked up a stone and aimed at me. “Do you know him?” Teresa asked the boy, laughing, and she said, “He’s my neighbor.” “He thinks he’s quite a killer,” the boy said, “but I’m going to smash his face in so he won’t play that game any more.” I judged the distance wrong, or rather I forgot I was up on the rocks. I jumped, my feet sank into the sand, and I didn’t get half way, I fell down about a yard from him, and then the boy came up and threw the stone square in my face. It was as if the sun broke into my head, everything was white and I seemed to be floating. I don’t think it lasted very long. When I opened my eyes, Teresa was looking terrified and the boy was standing there with his mouth open. He was stupid, if he’d used his advantage he could’ve trampled on me all he wanted, but my face was bleeding and he just stood still, trying to see how bad I was hurt, and I lunged at him, jumping over Teresa. He wasn’t any good in a real fight, I could tell it the minute I got him down, he was weak as a rag and didn’t try to hit me. We didn’t roll over even once, I stayed on top of him and kept punching him in the face and he just covered his face with his hands. I picked up a handful of pebbles and started scrubbing his head and forehead with them, and when he lifted his hands I got them into his eyes and mouth. They didn’t separate us until the cop came. He grabbed me by the shirt and yanked, and I could feel something rip. He gave me a slap in the face and that’s when I hit him in the chest with a stone. “You son of a bitch, I’ll murder you,” he said. He lifted me up like a feather and gave me half a dozen good whacks. Then he said, “Look what you’ve done, you bully.” The boy was still lying on the sand, whining. Some women and some other people were trying to comfort him. The women were all furious at me, they said to the cop, “He’s wrecked the boy’s face, he’s a savage, take him to the reformatory.” I didn’t care a thing about what the women said, but just then I saw Teresa. Her face was flushed and she was looking at me with sheer hatred in her eyes. “You’re wicked,” she said, “you’re brutal.” And I told her, “It’s your fault, for being such a whore.” The cop banged me in the mouth and shouted, “Don’t insult this girl, you little thug!” She looked at me very astonished and I turned around and the cop said, “Stop, where do you think you’re going?” I began to kick him and punch him until he dragged me off the beach. At the police station, the lieutenant told the cop, “Give him a good whipping and let him go. We’ll have him back pretty soon for something big. He’s headed for the pen, you can tell it from his face.” The cop took me into a patio, took off his leather belt, and started to whip me with it. I ran away from him and the other cops almost died laughing when they saw how he lumbered around and couldn’t catch me. Then he dropped the belt and trapped me in a corner. The other cops came over and said, “Let him go. You can’t punch a little kid.” I left the station and didn’t go back home. I went to live with Skinny Higueras.