Conversation in the Cathedral (66 page)

“He speaks well, don’t you think?” Trifulcio said. “The same with Senator Arévalo, even better than this fellow. He makes people cry. Have you ever heard him speak?”

“A fly couldn’t fit in here and they’re still coming in,” Ludovico said. “I hope that dummy of a boss of yours forgets to give the signal.”

“But this one is better than Dr. Lama,” Trifulcio said. “Just as elegant, but not as hard to understand. You can get everything.”

“What?” Cayo Bermúdez asked. “The counterdemonstration a
complete
failure, Molina?”

“Only two hundred people, Don Cayo,” Molina said. “They gave them too much to drink. I warned Dr. Lama, but you know him. They’d get drunk, they wouldn’t leave the market. Some two hundred at most. What shall we do, Don Cayo?”

“It’s coming back,” Trifulcio said. “Because of those bastards
smoking
. Another round of it, God damn it.”

“He’d have to be crazy to give the signal,” Ludovico said. “Where’s Hipólito? Can you see where my buddy is?”

The tightness, the shouts, the cigarettes had turned the place into a kettle and the faces were glowing with sweat; some had taken off their jackets, loosened their ties, and the whole theater was shouting:
Free-dom
, Le-gal-i-ty. In anguish, Trifulcio thought: again. He closed his eyes, hunched over, took a deep breath. He touched his chest: strong, again very strong. The man in blue had finished speaking, a chant was heard, the one in the bow tie was moving his arms like an orchestra conductor.

“All right, they’ve won,” Cayo Bermúdez said. “Under these
conditions
, it’s best to call the whole thing off, Molina.”

“I’ll try to, but I don’t know if it will be possible, Don Cayo,” Molina said. “The people are inside, I doubt that I can get the counterorder to them in time. I’ll hang up now and call you back, Don Cayo.”

Now a tall, fat man dressed in gray was speaking, and he must have been someone from Arequipa, because they all chanted his name, waved their hands at him. Quick, now, Trifulcio thought, he wasn’t going to be able to make it, why didn’t he do it all out right now? Hunched in his seat, his eyes half open, he was taking his pulse, one-two, one-two. The fat man was raising his arms, waving them, and his voice had grown hoarse.

“I really do feel bad now, yes, sir,” Trifulcio said. “I need more air, sir.”

“I hope he won’t be that dumb, that he won’t give the signal,” Ludovico whispered. “And if he does give it, you and I don’t move. We stay quiet, do you hear, black man?”

“Shut your mouth, you millionaire!” The voice of the man who gave the orders broke out up above. “Don’t try to fool the people! Long live Odría!”

“Good, I was suffocating. And there’s the whistle,” Trifulcio said, standing up. “Long live General Odría!”

“Everybody was flabbergasted, even the one speaking,” Ludovico said. “They were all looking up at the balcony.”

Other shouts of Long live Odría broke out in different parts of the hall, and now the fat man was shrieking provokers, provokers, his face purple with rage, while exclamations, shoves and protests buried his voice and a storm of disorder turned the theater upside down. Everyone had stood up, in the back of the orchestra there was pushing and shoving, insults could be heard, and people were already fighting. Standing up, his chest going up and down, Trifulcio shouted Long live Odría! again. Someone in the row behind grabbed him by the shoulder: provoker! He got free with a jab of his elbow and looked at the man from Lima: now, let’s go. But Ludovico Pantoja was hunched over like a mummy, looking at him with eyes bulging. Trifulcio grabbed him by the lapels, made him get up: move, man.

“What else could I do, they were all mixing it up,” Ludovico said. “The black man took out his chain and drove toward the stage, shoving. I took out my pistol and followed him. With two other guys we managed to get to the first row. There the ones with the armbands were waiting for us.”

Some of the people on stage were running for the exits, others looked at the marshals, who had formed a wall and were waiting, their clubs in the air, for the big black man and the other two who were advancing, waving their chains over their heads. Break them up, Urondo, Trifulcio shouted, break them up, Téllez. He cracked his chain like a bull drover cracking his whip, and the armband man closest to him let go of his club and fell to the floor clutching his face. Get up there, boy, Urondo shouted, and Téllez we’ll hold them off, boy! Trifulcio saw them
attacking
the small group defending the stairs to the stage and, whirling his chain, he attacked too.

“I got separated from my partner and the others,” Ludovico said. “There was a wall of thugs between them and me. They were lighting with about ten men and there were at least five surrounding me. I held them off with my pistol and kept shouting Hipólito, Hipólito. And then the end of the world came, brother.”

The grenades fell from the balcony like a handful of brown stones, bounced with crisp sounds on the seats of the orchestra and the floor of the stage, and immediately spirals of smoke began to rise. In a few seconds the air turned white, hardened, and a thick, burning vapor was mixing in and blotting out the bodies. The shouting grew louder, the sound of rolling bodies, chairs breaking, coughs, and Trifulcio stopped fighting. He felt his arms go limp, the chain fell out of his hands, his legs doubled under and his eyes, in the midst of the burning clouds, managed to make out the figures on stage who were fleeing with handkerchiefs to their mouths, and the guys with the armbands who had come together and, covering their noses, were approaching him as if swimming. He couldn’t get up, he pounded his chest with his fist, opened his mouth as wide as he could. He didn’t feel the blows that started landing on him. Air, like a fish, Tomasa, he still managed to think.

“I was blinded,” Ludovico said. “And the worst thing was the
strangling
, brother. I began shooting wildly. I didn’t realize they were
grenades
, I thought I’d been shot from behind.”

“Tear gas in a closed place, several dead, dozens wounded,” Senator Landa said. “Could you ask for anything more, Fermín? Even though he’s got nine lives, Bermúdez won’t survive this one.”

“I ran out of bullets one-two-three,” Ludovico said. “I couldn’t open my eyes. I felt my head splitting and I fell into a deep sleep. There were so many on top of me, Ambrosio.”

“A few incidents, Don Cayo,” the Prefect said. “It seems they broke up the rally, they did manage that. People are running out of the theater scared to death.”

“The assault guards have started into the theater,” Molina said. “There was shooting inside. No, I still don’t know if anyone’s been killed, Don Cayo.”

“I don’t know how much time passed, but I opened my eyes and the smoke was still there,” Ludovico said. “I felt worse than dead. Bleeding all over, Ambrosio. And that’s when I saw that bastard Hipólito.”

“He was kicking your partner too?” Ambrosio laughed. “I mean, he fooled them. He didn’t turn out as dumb as we thought.”

“Help me, help me,” Ludovico shouted. “Nothing, as if he didn’t know me. He kept on kicking the black man, and all of a sudden the others with him saw me and jumped on top of me. The kicking again, the beating. Then I passed out again, Ambrosio.”

“Have the police clear the streets, Prefect,” Cayo Bermúdez said. “Don’t allow any demonstrations, arrest all the leaders of the Coalition. Have you got the casualty lists yet? Was anyone killed?”

“Like waking up and still seeing the dream,” Ludovico said. “The theater was already almost empty. Everything broken, spattered with blood, my partner in a puddle of it. I can’t even remember if the old man had any face left. And there were guys sprawled out coughing.”

“Yes, a big demonstration on the Plaza de Armas, Don Cayo,” Molina said. “The Prefect is with the Commandant now. I don’t think it would be wise, Don Cayo. There are thousands of people.”

“Have them break it up immediately, you idiot,” Cayo Bermúdez said. “Can’t you see that the thing is going to get bigger after what happened? Put me in touch with the Commandant. Clear the streets immediately, Molina.”

“Then the guards came in and one of them gave me still another kick, seeing me like that,” Ludovico said. “I’m a detective, I’m on the force. Finally I saw Chink Molina’s face. They took me out a side door. Then I passed out again and I didn’t come to until I was in the hospital. By then the whole city was on strike.”

“Things are getting worse, Don Cayo,” Molina said. “They’ve torn up the streets, there are barricades all over the downtown area. The assault guards can’t break up a demonstration like that.”

“The army has to intervene, Don Cayo,” the Prefect said. “But
General
Alvarado says he’ll only call out the troops if the Minister of War orders it.”

“My roommate was one of the senator’s men,” Ludovico said. “A broken leg. He filled me in on what was going on in Arequipa and it shook me up. Boy, was he scared.”

“It’s all right,” Cayo Bermúdez said. “I’m going to get General Llerena to give the order.”

“I’m going to get out of here, the street’s safer than the hospital,” Téllez said. “I don’t want to happen to me what happened to Martínez or the black fellow. I know someone named Urquiza. I’ll ask him to hide me in his house.”

“Nothing’s going to happen, they won’t come in here,” Ludovico said. “Let them have their general strike. The army will open fire on them.”

“But where is the army? It’s nowhere to be seen,” Téllez said. “If they get a notion to lynch us, they can walk right in here and make themselves at home. There isn’t even a guard at the hospital.”

“No one knows we’re here,” Ludovico said. “And even if they did know, they’d think we belonged to the Coalition and were victims.”

“No, because they’d know we weren’t from around here,” Téllez said. “They’d know we were outsiders. Tonight I’m going to Urquiza’s. I can walk in spite of this cast.”

“He was half crazy with fright because two of his buddies had been killed in the theater,” Ludovico said. “They’re asking for the resignation of the Minister of Public Order, he was saying, they’ll come in here and hang us from a lamppost. But what the hell is going on, God damn it?”

“A near revolution is going on,” Molina said. “The people have taken over the streets, Don Cayo. We’ve even had to withdraw the traffic police so they won’t be stoned. Why hasn’t the order come for the army to intervene, Don Cayo?”

“What about them, sir?” Téllez asked. “What have they done with Martínez and the old man?”

“Don’t worry, we’ve already buried them,” Molina said. “You’re Téllez, aren’t you? Your boss has left money at headquarters so you can get back to Ica by bus as soon as you can walk.”

“Why have they buried them here, sir?” Téllez asked. “Martínez has a wife and kids in Ica, Trifulcio has relatives in Chincha. Why didn’t they send them there so their families could bury them? Why here, like dogs? Nobody’s ever going to come and visit them, sir.”

“Hipólito?” Molina asked. “He took his bus to Lima in spite of my orders. I asked him to stay and help and he took off. Yes, I know he didn’t behave well in the theater, Ludovico. But I’m going to make a report to Lozano and screw him.”

“Calm down, Molina,” Cayo Bermúdez said. “Calmly now, with details, piece by piece. What, exactly, is the situation?”

“The situation is that the police are no longer able to restore order, Don Cayo,” the Prefect said. “I’ll say it once more. If the army doesn’t intervene, anything could happen here.”

“The situation?” General Llerena said. “Very simple, Paredes.
Bermúdez
’ imbecility has put us between the sword and the wall. He messed things up and now he wants the army to fix it with a show of force.”

“A show of force?” General Alvarado said. “No, sir, if I call out the troops there’ll be more dead than in 1950. They’ve set up barricades, there are people with weapons and the whole city is on strike. I warn you that a lot of blood will flow.”

“Cayo assures me that it won’t, General,” Major Paredes said. “Only twenty percent are observing the strike. The uproar was unleashed by a small group of agitators hired by the Coalition.”

“A hundred percent are observing the strike, General,” General
Alvarado
said. “The people are lord and master of the streets. They’ve formed a committee made up of lawyers, workers, doctors, students. The Prefect has been insisting that I call out the troops since last night, but I want the decision to come from you.”

“What’s your opinion, Alvarado?” General Llerena said. “In all frankness.”

“As soon as they see the tanks, the rioters will go home, General Llerena,” Cayo Bermúdez said. “It’s madness to go on losing time like this. Every minute that passes makes the agitators stronger and the government loses prestige. Give the order at once.”

“Quite sincerely, I don’t think the army has any business getting its hands dirty for the sake of Mr. Bermúdez, General,” General Alvarado said. “It’s not a question of the President, the army, or the government here. The gentlemen from the Coalition have come to see me and they’ve given me assurances. They promise to calm the people down if Bermúdez resigns.”

“You know the leaders of the Coalition quite well, General Llerena,” Senator Arévalo said. “Bacacorzo, Zavala, López Landa. You can’t think that those gentlemen are tied in with Apristas or Communists, can you?”

“They have the greatest respect for the army and especially for you, General Llerena,” Senator Landa insisted. “All they want is for
Bermúdez
to resign. It’s not the first time Bermúdez has put his foot in it, General, you know that. It’s a good chance to rid the government of an individual who’s doing everybody harm, General.”

“Arequipa is indignant at what happened in the Municipal Theater,” General Alvarado said. “It was a miscalculation on the part of Mr. Bermúdez, General. The leaders of the Coalition have channeled the indignation very well. They put all the blame on Bermúdez, not the government. If you want me to, I’ll call out the troops. But think about it, General. If Bermúdez leaves the cabinet, this will be settled
peacefully
.”