The War of Don Emmanuel’s Nether Parts (21 page)

Amongst the men, things were not quite as clear. Misael, Pedro the Hunter, Hectoro, and Josef formed, as it were, a leadership cadre. Josef was fundamentally an ideas man; he submitted intelligent suggestions to the others, who usually decided to carry them out. Misael was expert in sorting out the minute details of what needed to be done. Hectoro was excellent at issuing orders charismatically and in such a manner that one could not refuse, and Pedro was the one who planned strategy, and who would also emerge as the tactician when hostilities commenced. Profesor Luis acted as general lieutenant and messenger-boy for all of them, his not being the kind of decisive and wily intelligence required of a warrior. He was also useful for implementing some of Josefs ideas; for example, it was he who worked out how to electrify the barbed wire with power from the same little windmill that had once powered the gramophone, and he also worked out how to dam the Mula so that the Army could not easily cross it.

Behind all of these men, functioning as a sort of
eminence grise
, was Don Emmanuel himself. He did not give any orders or make any decisions, and he did not directly involve himself in the preparations, except for turning a blind eye when his
tractor was borrowed to help in constructing the rampart. All that he did was give his opinion.

When Josef suggested to the others that they should aim to kill only the officers, they all approved immediately.

‘The soldiers are conscripts on National Service,’ said Josef, ‘and they do not want to fight anyway.’

‘They are campesinos like us,’ observed Misael. ‘They are our brothers, so we should not kill them.’

‘I agree,’ said Pedro. ‘No army can fight with no leaders. Without leaders they will not know what to do, and they will go away.’

Only Hectoro had reservations. ‘Maybe you are right, but it will be hard to hold off from firing until one sees an officer. Also nothing puts an unwilling soldier off fighting more than seeing his comrades killed all around him. I know this.’

‘I think we should ask Don Emmanuel,’ said Josef.

They found Don Emmanuel, stark naked as usual, sitting in the river cooling off after work. They stood on the bank, looking down at him, and put Josefs idea to the test.

Don Emmanuel said, ‘Ah,’ thoughtfully, and stroked his immense red beard. Then he shook his head. ‘I think it may be a bad idea.’

The four men were astonished. ‘Why?’ asked Josef.

‘Because,’ replied Don Emmanuel, ‘officers have the smallest balls. If you are to feed the vultures, do it with the largest testicles, out of charity.’

The four looked at each other in even greater astonishment. Misael, realising that Don Emmanuel was beginning the conversation with his usual pleasantries, replied, ‘Then we should shoot you first, as your co jones are largest.’

Don Emmanuel pretended to clutch his genitals protectively. ‘In that case, my friends, I will give you some more reasons. But first, what makes you believe that you can tell which ones are the officers?’

‘It is obvious,’ said Josef. ‘They wear different uniforms. They are lighter green in colour, and they have little soft hats with peaks. They are armed only with a pistol in a black holster,
they have rather white faces, and they speak Spanish very badly. You see them taking charge of everything and giving orders, and they are always chewing.’

‘Chewing?’ said Don Emmanuel. ‘I can assure you that the uniform of the officers is exactly the same as the soldiers’, and they speak Spanish perfectly. These other people are not the officers.’

‘Who are they then?’ asked Pedro. ‘Camp whores?’

‘No,’ replied Don Emmanuel. ‘They are Rangers.’

‘Rangers?’ said Hectoro and Misael simultaneously, an expression of puzzlement on their faces.

‘Rangers are American military advisers. I am told that some of them are CIA but I do not know anything about that. They are mostly Vietnam veterans who are expert in jungle warfare and counter-insurgency. They come here to tell our officers what to do and to look after American interests.’

‘That is even better,’ exclaimed Misael, delightedly. ‘If we kill the Americanos, our officers will not know what to do, and they will go home with the soldiers!’

‘It would be a mistake to kill Americans,’ said Don Emmanuel.

‘But if we kill them the Americans will go home!’ said Hectoro.

‘You do not know Americans,’ replied Don Emmanuel. ‘For one thing they are quite happy to throw their men away in futile causes. Secondly, they always believe they are in the right and that God is personally fighting for them, so they never give up. If you kill one gringo, they will send two in his place, and if you kill them, they will send over a fleet of helicopters. In any case, it is better for you if you do not kill them, for they do you a lot of good.’ Don Emmanuel smiled.

‘And why is that?’ asked Hectoro.

‘It is simple,’ replied Don Emmanuel. ‘Although they are fanatics, they are mostly decent men. When they are present, our officers feel ashamed to commit atrocities. Of course, some of them are not decent at all, but a lot of them are. Secondly, they do not speak Spanish very well, no . . .’ he corrected
himself, ‘they speak some Spanish Spanish, but not true Castilian Spanish like you and me. They learn it in academies and when they come here no one understands them and they do not understand anyone either, so their advice is always misconstrued.’ Don Emmanuel laughed. ‘It helps to keep our Army in chaos, and that is good for you. Also, most of the soldiers do not like them because they are gringos, they are rich, and they think they know everything. But they do not know us, and they do not understand us, and all that happens when they stay here is that they get angry and frustrated.’

‘So if we do not shoot the gringos,’ said Josef, ‘we can still shoot the officers?’

‘If you can tell who they are,’ replied Don Emmanuel, ‘but they have a reputation for leading from behind, and in any case, that too would be a mistake.’

‘And I suppose you will tell us why,’ interjected Hectoro, who was becoming impatient.

‘Yes, Hectoro, that too is simple. They are the sons of the oligarchy, that’s why. If you kill them alone, the oligarchy will mobilise every last centavo, every last soldier, every last policeman, and they will use the foulest and most desperate means against you. I advise you simply to wound them, in which case they will have to go home, they are heroes, and everyone is happy. Mama cries with joy over her returning son. If you kill him, she cries for revenge and threatens to withdraw her funds from the Conservative party unless drastic action is taken.’ Don Emmanuel laughed to himself. ‘Now may I make some suggestions?’

‘Go on,’ said Pedro. ‘But do not make any more jokes about testicles. All this is very serious.’

‘I think,’ said Don Emmanuel, ‘that you should find ways of making them miserable. Poison the water in the places where they drink. I have a dead steer I would be glad to lend you if you would like to immerse it in the Mula. Also, I advise you to piss and shit in the Mula as much as possible, below the village of course. Sell them meat and fruit with rat poison in it, just enough to make them vomit a lot. I think you should frighten
them too. Most soldiers are afraid of the dark. I am sure you can think of something. Also I have done a little something for you myself. And I confess it has something to do with testicles.’ His eyes twinkled with amusement. The four men waited.

‘It concerns a pretty little whore in Chiriguana, called Felicidad.’

‘A very fine whore,’ said Hectoro.

‘Indeed. I discovered from the doctor in Chiriguana, at the clinic, that Felicidad has been to Barranquilla and has picked up a fine dose of the clap, and also a little touch of syphilis. I have given her four thousand pesos to wait two weeks before she has the injections, on one condition.’

‘Upon what condition, Don Emmanuel? I hope you are not playing with us!’ exclaimed Hectoro, who was still impatient, and was shifting uncomfortably.

‘Upon the condition that she enter into the Army camp all full of enthusiasm for the conquering heroes, and sleeps with as many officers and gringo advisers as she can manage. I think that within a month most of the officers and gringos will have pretty little chancres on their palomas, and possibly also in their mouths, and they will have pus dripping also from them. Within a month, when they urinate they will feel as though they are pissing broken glass, and I think they will withdraw rapidly to Valledupar to attend the military hospital.’

The four men began to laugh, and Don Emmanuel broke into a happy grin. ‘I thought you would be pleased.’

As they walked back to the village Hectoro said, ‘All the same, it will be difficult to resist the temptation to shoot a gringo.’

‘I think I will shoot just one, for the satisfaction,’ responded Misael.

‘And I will shoot just one officer, in the legs,’ said Pedro.

‘But,’ said Josef, ‘we still have one month at least of the Army, even if Don Emmanuel’s plan works. We have still got one month in which we will have to fight, and that is a very long time. I think we should take the fight to them so that they do not come to the village and destroy our homes and our fields. I think we should attack them first.’

‘I will go,’ said Pedro. ‘I am a hunter. I know many ways to kill and not to be seen, God forgive me for it. I will go to Chiriguana.’

Thoughtfully, Hectoro said, ‘And I too will go to Chiriguana. I must go to the doctor in any case.’

Misael looked concerned. ‘You are ill, Hectoro?’

‘Not yet, but I would like to be sure. I had a fine time last week, with Felicidad.’

AURELIO AROSE JUST
before dawn and put on his clothes. He stirred the embers of the previous night’s fire and added to it a little dry grass. When that flared up he added bark and twigs, and very soon the delicious smell of frying cassava was wafting out over the clearing and into the trees. In the woods the animals were stirring, and their calls reminded him with a pang of how Parlanchina had once delighted him with her impersonations. He stood in the doorway of the hut and looked out over to the mound where the girl lay in peace; ‘Good morning, my sweet one,’ he said, and he heard her chattering gaily and saw her striding towards him. ‘Buena’ dia’, Papacito,’ said Parlanchina, and she kissed him on the cheek before she disappeared, her long hair swaying. Before she went into the trees she looked over her shoulder and smiled gently.

Aurelio always saw Parlanchina at this time of the morning, and usually they spoke a few words together. Once she had come to him when he stood by the river waiting to spear a fish; she had touched him on the shoulder and whispered, ‘Tell me your real name.’

Aurelio had turned to see her laughing at him, and he had reached out to her. She touched his fingers to her cheeks, and kissed them, and she had laughed again and said, ‘I know your
real name, now, anyway. But to me you are always Papacito, and I will not say your name in case anyone hears.’

‘Parlanchina . . .’ he had begun to say, but she had touched her finger to his lips and had faded away. It always filled him with the most exquisite sadness when she left him. He had wanted to ask her if the cat was still with her.

Carmen stirred in her hammock. ‘Querido, why are you doing my work? It is for me to make breakfast. You should not change the order of our lives, it brings bad luck.’

Aurelio turned and walked over to her hammock. He looked into her sleepy eyes and laughed ironically. ‘The order of our lives is changed already.’

‘Have you spoken with Gwubba?’ asked Carmen.

‘We have spoken.’

‘Why do I not see her? Why does she not speak with me?’

‘It is always so,’ said Aurelio. ‘A son appears to his mother and a daughter to her father. If we had had a son, he would have come to you and I would have seen nothing. And besides, I am an Indian. Spirits appear naturally to us. To your kind they must be summoned by spells, and the white man refuses to see them anyway.’

Carmen reflected a moment. ‘I am sad that I do not see her. Aurelio?’

‘Carmencita?’

‘How do I find my real name if I have never known it?’

‘You do not need one,’ replied Aurelio. ‘You are not an Indian. Your afterworld is not the same.’

‘And if I want to be with you?’

‘Then,’ said Aurelio, ‘someone must tell you your real name. But I cannot; I do not know it.’

‘Gwubba was not an Indian,’ said Carmen, ‘and she had a real name.’

‘You will have yours, if you want it,’ said Aurelio.

They squatted in the gentle light of the dawn and ate the cassava in silence. Then, without a word, Aurelio stood up and walked off to find the path where Parlanchina had met her brutal death. When he reached the path she was waiting for
him, tall and beautiful, and in her arms she bore the cat. She smiled at her father and put the cat down. It strolled away, its tail waving in the undergrowth. Fondly, Aurelio watched it disappear. ‘Are you coming with me?’ asked Aurelio.

‘No, Papacito. I am staying to watch.’

Aurelio stood on the path a second, gathering his energy and purpose for the long walk into the cordillera, and then he strode off, keeping a sharp eye open for any new mines with their tell-tale triple antennae. He tried mostly to keep to the side of the path.

Four hours later he walked with dignity into the centre of the camp and sat down. The guerrilleros gathered around him, astonished by his effrontery, mesmerised by his exotic appearance, and curious about what he was doing. Aurelio was engaged in dropping coca leaves and snail shells into the neck of his gourd. With the skill of many years of habit he rapidly crushed and pounded them with deft movements of the pestle, and then he stuck the pestle into his mouth and looked up at the men and women who surrounded him, some pointing their weapons. ‘I would speak with the woman who is your leader.’

The warriors looked at each other, surprised.

‘How do you know our leader is a woman?’ demanded Franco. ‘Are you a spy?’

‘I do not know the word,’ replied Aurelio. ‘I have eyes.’