The Feast of the Goat - Mario Vargas Llosa [155]
“I didn’t realize until now that it hurt,” replied the lieutenant.
In the euphoria of what had happened, he had hardly paid attention to his foot. But now, the pain was there, along with a fiery tingling that went up to his knee. The doctor bandaged the wound, gave him an injection, and handed him a vial of pills to take every four hours.
“Do you have somewhere to go?” Imbert asked while he was being treated.
Amadito thought immediately of his Aunt Meca. She was one of his eleven great-aunts, the one who had pampered him most since he had been a little boy. The old woman lived alone, in a wooden house filled with flowerpots, on Avenida San Martín, not far from Independencia Park.
“The first place they’ll look for us will be with our relatives,” Tony warned. “A close friend would be better.”
“All my friends are in the military, brother. Staunch Trujillistas.”
He could not understand why Imbert looked so worried and pessimistic. Pupo Román would show up and they would put the Plan in effect, he was sure about that. And anyway, with the death of Trujillo, the regime would collapse like a house of cards.
“I think I can help you, son,” Dr. Durán Barreras intervened. “The mechanic who fixes my station wagon has a little farm he wants to rent. Near the Ozama extension. Shall I talk to him?”
He did, and it turned out to be surprisingly easy. The mechanic was named Antonio (Toño) Sánchez, and in spite of the hour he came to the house as soon as the doctor called. They told him the truth. “Damn, tonight I’ll get drunk!” he exclaimed. It was an honor to let them have his place. The lieutenant would be safe, there were no close neighbors. He would take him in his jeep and make sure he had food.
“How can I ever repay you, Doc?” Amadito asked Durán Barreras.
“By taking care of yourself, son,” and the doctor shook his hand, looking at him with compassion. “I wouldn’t want to be in your skin if they catch you.”
“That won’t happen, Doc.”
He had used up his ammunition, but Imbert had a good supply and gave him a handful of bullets. The lieutenant loaded his .45 and made his farewells by stating:
“Now I feel safer.”
“See you soon, Amadito.” Tony embraced him. “Your friendship is one of the good things that’s happened to me.”
When they left for the Ozama extension in Toño Sánchez’s jeep, the city had changed. They passed a couple of Beetles filled with caliés, and as they were crossing Radhamés Bridge they saw a truck pull up, carrying guards, who jumped out and set up a roadblock.
“They know the Goat is dead,” said Amadito. “I wish I could have seen their faces when they found out they had lost their Chief.”
“Nobody’s going to believe it until they see and smell the body,” the mechanic remarked. “Shit, this’ll be a different country without Trujillo!”
The farm was a crude building in the middle of ten hectares of uncultivated land. The house was practically unfurnished: a cot with a mattress, a few broken chairs, and a demijohn of distilled water. “Tomorrow I’ll bring you something to eat,” Toño Sánchez promised. “Don’t worry. Nobody will come here.”
The house had no electricity. Amadito took off his shoes and lay down, fully dressed, on the cot. The sound of Toño Sánchez’s jeep grew fainter until it disappeared. He was tired, and his heel and ankle hurt, but he felt a great serenity. With Trujillo dead, a great burden had been lifted from him. The guilt that had been gnawing at his soul ever since he was forced to kill that poor man—Luisa Gil’s brother, my God!—would start to fade away now, he was sure. He would become the person he used to be, a man who could look in the mirror and not feel disgust with the face he saw reflected there. Ah, shit, if he could finish off Abbes García and Colonel Roberto Figueroa Carrión too, nothing else would matter. He would die in peace. He curled up, changed position several times, trying to get comfortable, but couldn’t fall asleep. He heard noises in the dark, scurrying sounds. At dawn the excitement and pain eased, and he managed to sleep a few hours. He woke