Aunt Julia and the Scriptwriter - Mario Vargas Llosa [43]
“Well, they ought to send him back to his own country, then,” Arévalo growled.
“And how the devil do you find out what country he’s from?” Lituma said, raising his voice. “You heard the lieutenant. They tried at headquarters in Lima to talk to him in all languages: English, French, Italian even. But he doesn’t talk languages: he’s a savage.”
“In other words, you approve of our having to take him out someplace and shoot him because he’s a savage,” Apple Dumpling Arévalo muttered angrily.
“I’m not saying I approve,” Lituma murmured. “I’m just repeating what the lieutenant said the higher-ups said. Don’t be an ass.”
They started down the Avenida Contralmirante Mora just as the bells of Nuestra Señora del Carmen de la Legua struck twelve, a lugubrious tolling to Lituma’s ear. He strode along resolutely, looking straight ahead, but every so often, despite himself, his head turned to his left and he stole a quick glance at the black. He saw him, for the space of a second, walking through the feeble cone of light at the foot of a lamppost, and each time he looked exactly the same: still stolidly moving his jaw up and down, striding along in step with the two of them, without the slightest sign of anxiety. The only thing in this world that seems to matter to him is chewing, Lituma thought. And a moment later: He’s a man condemned to death who doesn’t know he is. And almost immediately thereafter: There’s no doubt about it, he’s a savage.
And at that point he heard Arévalo say: “Even so, why don’t our superiors just let him go free to get along as best he can?” he groused. “Just let him be another bum, along with all the others there are in Lima. One more, one less—what the hell would it matter?”
“You heard the lieutenant,” Lituma answered. “The Guardia Civil can’t encourage the breaking of the law. And if you let this character loose in the middle of the city, the only way he can survive is to steal. Or else he’ll just die like a dog. We’re really doing him a favor. He’ll kick off in a second if we shoot him. That’s better than dying slowly, inch by inch, from hunger, cold, loneliness, sadness.”
But Lituma could feel that what he was saying wasn’t at all convincing, and on hearing his own voice he had the sensation that he was listening to another person speaking.
“Be that as it may, let me say just one thing,” he heard Apple Dumpling protest. “I don’t like this job at all, and you played a dirty trick on me when you picked me.”
“Listen, do you think I like it?” Lituma murmured. “And don’t you think my superiors played a dirty trick on me by picking me?”
They walked past the Naval Arsenal just as a siren blew, and as they crossed the vacant lot along the dry dock, a dog came out of the shadows and barked at them. They walked along in silence, hearing their boots clatter on the sidewalk, the sound of the sea only a short distance away, feeling in their nostrils the damp salty air.
“Gypsies camped out on this vacant lot last year,” Apple Dumpling burst out all of a sudden, his voice breaking. “They put up tents and gave a circus show. They told fortunes and did magic tricks. But the mayor made us chase them out because they didn’t have a city license.”
Lituma didn’t answer. He suddenly felt sorry, not only for the black, but for Apple Dumpling and the gypsies as well.
“And are we going to leave his dead body lying there on the beach for the pelicans to peck to bits?” Apple Dumpling almost sobbed.
“We’re going to leave it at the garbage dump so the city sanitation trucks will find it, take it to the morgue, and give it to the med school for students to autopsy,” Lituma said angrily. “You heard the instructions, Arévalo; don’t make me repeat them.”
“I heard them, but I can’t get used to the idea that we have to kill him like this, in cold blood,” Apple Dumpling said a few moments later. “And you can’t get used to it either, no matter how hard you try. I can tell by