The Feast of the Goat - Mario Vargas Llosa [107]
These were temptations he usually resisted. His friends often made fun of him, in particular Antonio de la Maza, who, after Tavito’s murder, had turned to the wild life, because Turk refused to join them on their all-night visits to brothels, or to the houses where the madams had young girls rumored to be virgins. True, sometimes he succumbed. And then the bitterness lasted many days. For some time he had held Trujillo responsible when he gave in to these temptations. It was the fault of the Beast that so many Dominicans turned to whores, drinking binges, and other dissipations in order to ease their anguish at leading a life without a shred of liberty or dignity, in a country where human life was worth nothing. Trujillo had been one of Satan’s most effective allies.
“That’s him!” roared Antonio de la Maza.
And Amadito and Tony Imbert:
“It’s him! That’s him!”
“Pull out, damn it!”
Antonio Imbert already had, and the Chevrolet that had been parked facing Ciudad Trujillo whirled around, tires screeching—Salvador thought of a police movie—and headed for San Cristóbal, following Trujillo’s car along the dark, deserted highway. Was it him? Salvador didn’t see, but his companions seemed so certain it had to be him that it had to be him. His heart pounded in his chest. Antonio and Amadito lowered the windows, and as Imbert, who leaned over the wheel like a rider making his horse jump, accelerated, the wind was so strong that Salvador could barely keep his eyes open. He protected them with his free hand—the other was holding the revolver—as their distance from the red taillights gradually diminished.
“Are you sure it’s the Goat’s Chevrolet, Amadito?” he shouted.
“I’m sure, I’m sure,” the lieutenant cried. “I recognized the driver, Zacarías de la Cruz. Didn’t I tell you he would come?”
“Step on it, damn it,” Antonio de la Maza repeated for the third or fourth time. He had put his head, and the sawed-off barrel of his carbine, out the window.
“You were right, Amadito,” Salvador heard himself shout. “He came, and without an escort, just like you said.”
The lieutenant held his rifle in both hands. He leaned to one side, his back was turned, and with his finger on the trigger, he rested the butt of the M-1 on his shoulder. “Thank you, God, in the name of your Dominican children,” Salvador prayed.
Antonio de la Maza’s Chevrolet Biscayne raced along the highway, gaining on the light blue Chevrolet Bel Air that Amadito García Guerrero had described to them so many times. Turk identified the official black-and-white license plate, number 0–1823, and the cloth curtains on the windows. It was, yes, it was, the car the Chief used to go to his Mahogany House in San Cristóbal. Salvador had been having a recurrent nightmare about the Chevrolet Biscayne that Tony Imbert was driving. In it, they were driving just as they were now, under a moonlit, star-filled sky, and suddenly this brand-new car, specially prepared for pursuit, began to decelerate, to go more slowly, until, with all of them cursing, it stopped dead. And Salvador watched the Benefactor’s automobile disappear into the darkness.
The Chevrolet Bel Air continued to speed—it must have been going more than a hundred kilometers an hour—and was clearly outlined in the high beams that Imbert turned on. Salvador had heard in detail the story of this vehicle ever since, following Lieutenant García Guerrero’s proposal, they had agreed to ambush Trujillo on his weekly drive to San Cristóbal. It was evident that their success would depend on a fast car. Antonio de la Maza had a passion for cars. At Santo Domingo Motors they were not surprised that someone whose job near the Haitian border required him to drive hundreds of kilometers a week would want a special automobile. They recommended a Chevrolet Biscayne and ordered it for him from the United States. It had arrived in Ciudad Trujillo three months ago. Salvador remembered the day they took it out for a test drive, and how they laughed when they read in the brochure that this car was identical to the ones used by the New York police