The War Of The End Of The World - Mario Vargas Llosa [148]
And their suspicions are confirmed by Colonel Moreira César, with whom they are able to speak that same night, after the prisoners have been executed. Before the execution, which takes place under the tamarinds, an officer reads the order of the day that spells out that the Republic is obliged to defend itself against those who, out of cupidity, fanaticism, ignorance, or deliberate deception, rise up against it and serve the appetites of a retrograde caste whose interest it is to keep Brazil in a backward state the better to exploit it. Do the townspeople understand this message? The correspondents intuit that these words, proclaimed in a thundering voice by the town crier, are taken by the silent creatures being held back by the guards as mere sound and fury. Once the execution is over and the townspeople are allowed to approach those whose throats have been slit, the journalists accompany the commanding officer of the Seventh Regiment to the dwelling where he will spend the night. The nearsighted reporter from the Jornal de Notícias arranges matters, as usual, so that he may be at his side as he receives the press.
“Was it necessary to turn all of Monte Santo against you with those interrogations?” he asks the colonel.
“They’re already enemies, the entire populace is a party to the conspiracy,” Moreira César replies. “Pajeú, the cangaceiro, has passed through here recently, with about fifty men. They were feted and given provisions. Do you correspondents see what I mean? Subversion has sunk deep roots among these wretched people, thanks to ground already fertilized by religious fanaticism.”
He does not appear to be alarmed. Oil lamps, candles, bonfires are burning everywhere, and in the dark shadows patrols of the regiment are prowling about like specters.
“To execute all the accomplices, it would have been necessary to slit the throats of every last person in Monte Santo.” Moreira César has reached a small house where Colonel Tamarindo, Major Cunha Matos, and a group of officers are awaiting him. He dismisses the correspondents with a wave of his hand, turns to a lieutenant, and abruptly changes the subject: “How many animals are left?”
“Between fifteen and eighteen, sir.”
“We’ll offer the troops a feast before the enemy poisons the poor beasts. Tell Febrônio to have them all killed once and for all.” The officer leaves on the run and Moreira César turns to his other junior officers. “After tomorrow, we’ll have to tighten our belts.”
He disappears into the rude dwelling and the correspondents head for the mess hut. There they drink coffee, smoke, exchange impressions, and hear the litanies that are drifting down from the chapels on the mountainside where the townspeople are holding a wake for the two dead men. Later on, they watch as the meat is distributed, see the soldiers dig into this splendid repast with gusto, and hear them begin to play guitars and sing, their spirits lifted. Although the journalists also eat the meat and drink cane brandy, they do not share the euphoria that has taken possession of the soldiers as they celebrate what they believe to be imminent victory. A little while later, Captain Olímpio de Castro comes to ask them if they plan to stay in Monte Santo or go on to Canudos. Those who go on will find it difficult to make their way back, for there will not be another intermediate