Felícito told them his sons were worried and suggested that he hire a bodyguard, and he’d refused. They also suggested he buy a revolver. What did they think?
“I don’t advise it,” Captain Silva answered immediately. “You should carry a pistol only when you’re prepared to use it, and you don’t look to me like someone capable of killing anybody. You’d put yourself in danger for no reason, Señor Yanaqué. Well, you’ll decide. If, in spite of my advice, you want a gun permit, we’ll expedite the application. You should know it takes time. You’ll have to pass a psychological test. Well, sleep on it.”
Felícito reached home when it was already dark and in the garden crickets were singing and frogs croaking. He had supper right away: chicken broth, a salad, and some gelatin served to him by Saturnina. As he was going to the living room to watch the news on television, he noticed Gertrudis’s silent, bovine form approaching him. She held a newspaper in her hand.
“The whole city’s talking about the notice you published in El Tiempo,” said his wife as she sat down in the easy chair next to the one he was in. “Even the priest mentioned it in his sermon at Mass this morning. All of Piura has read it. Except me.”
“I didn’t want to worry you, that’s why I didn’t say anything to you,” Felícito apologized. “But if you have it there, why haven’t you read it?”
He noticed her shifting in the chair, uncomfortable and averting her gaze.
“I’ve forgotten how,” he heard her mumble. “Since I never read because of my eyes, I almost don’t understand what I read now. The letters dance around.”
“You have to go to the optometrist then and have your eyes tested,” he admonished her. “How can you possibly have forgotten how to read? I don’t think that happens to anybody, Gertrudis.”
“Well it’s happening to me,” she said. “Yes, I’ll go have my eyes tested one of these days. Why don’t you read me what you published in El Tiempo? I asked Saturnina, but she doesn’t know how to read either.”
Gertrudis handed him the paper, and after he put on his glasses, Felícito read:
Dear Spider Extortionists:
Although you’ve burned the offices of Narihualá Transport, a business I created with the honest effort of a lifetime, I’m publicly informing you that I will never pay the amount you demand to give me protection. I’d rather you kill me. You won’t receive one cent from me, because I believe that honest, hardworking, decent people shouldn’t be afraid of crooks and thieves like you but should face you with determination until you’re sent to prison, which is where you belong.
Signed,
Felícito Yanaqué (I don’t have a maternal surname)
The female shape was motionless a long while, ruminating on what she’d just heard. Finally, she murmured, “Then what the priest said in his sermon is true. You’re a brave man, Felícito. May the Captive Lord have mercy on us. If we get out of this, I’ll go to Ayabaca to pray to Him on His feast day, the Twelfth of October.”
VI
“There won’t be any story tonight, Rigoberto,” said Lucrecia when they lay down and turned off the light. His wife’s voice was tinged with anxiety.
“I’m not in the mood tonight for fantasies either, my love.”
“Did you finally hear from them?”
Rigoberto said he had. Seven days had gone by since Ismael and Armida’s marriage, and he and Lucrecia had been worried the entire week, waiting for the hyenas’ reaction to what had occurred. But each day passed and brought nothing. Until two days ago, when Ismael’s lawyer, Dr. Claudio Arnillas, called Rigoberto to warn him. The twins had learned that the civil ceremony had taken place in the Chorrillos town hall and consequently knew he was one of the witnesses. He should be prepared, they’d be calling him any time now.
They did, after a few hours.
“Miki and Escobita asked to see me and I had to agree, what else could I do,” he added. “It’ll be tomorrow. I didn’t tell you right away so as not to ruin your day, Lucrecia. The problem finally caught up with us. I hope to get out of this with no broken bones, at least.”
“Do you know something, Rigoberto? I don’t care that much about them, we already knew this was going to happen. We were expecting it, weren’t we? We’ll just have to swallow the unpleasantness, there’s nothing else to do.” His wife changed the subject. “For the moment, I don’t give a damn about Ismael’s marriage and the tantrums of a couple of parasites. What worries me more, what keeps me awake, is Fonchito.”
“That little brat again?” Rigoberto said in alarm. “Have the appearances returned?”
“They never went away, baby,” Lucrecia reminded him, her voice breaking. “I think what’s happening is that the boy doesn’t trust us and doesn’t talk to us anymore. That’s what upsets me most. Don’t you see how the poor kid is? Sad, absentminded, withdrawn. He used to tell us everything, but now I’m afraid he keeps things to himself. And maybe that’s why misery is eating him alive. Haven’t you noticed it? You’ve been so focused on the hyenas, you haven’t even seen how your own son has changed these past few months. If we don’t do something soon, anything could happen to him and we’d regret it for the rest of our lives. Can’t you see that?”
“I see that very well.” Rigoberto turned over beneath the sheets. “It’s just that I don’t know what else we can do. If you know, tell me and we’ll do it. I don’t know what’s left. We’ve taken him to the best psychologist in Lima, I’ve spoken to his teachers, every day I try to talk to him and win back his trust. Tell me what else you want me to do and I’ll do it. I’m as worried about Fonchito as you are, Lucrecia. Do you think I don’t care about my son?”
“I know, I know,” she agreed. “It’s occurred to me that maybe, well, I don’t know, don’t laugh, I’m so confused by what’s happening to him that, well, you know, it’s an idea, just a foolish idea.”
“Tell me what you’re thinking and we’ll do it, Lucrecia. Whatever it is I’ll do it, I swear.”
“Why don’t you talk to your friend Father O’Donovan? Well, don’t laugh, I don’t know.”
“You want me to go and talk to a priest about this?” Rigoberto was surprised. He gave a little laugh. “Why? So he can exorcise Fonchito? Have you taken the joke about the devil seriously?”
It had all started several months earlier, perhaps a year ago, in the most trivial way. At lunch one weekend, Fonchito, in an offhand manner, as if it weren’t at all important, suddenly told his father and stepmother about his first encounter with that individual.
“I know what your name is,” the man said, smiling at him affably from the next table. “Your name is Luzbel.”
The boy sat looking at him in surprise, not knowing what to say. He was drinking an Inca Kola from the bottle, his school knapsack on his lap, and only now had he noticed the man’s presence in the secluded little café in Barranco Park, not far from his house. The man had silvery temples, smiling eyes, and was extremely thin, dressed modestly but very properly. He wore a purple and white argyle pullover under his gray jacket. He was sipping a small cup of coffee.
“I’ve absolutely forbidden you to talk to strangers, Fonchito,” Don Rigoberto reminded him. “Have you forgotten already?”
“My name’s Alfonso, not Luzbel,” he replied. “My friends call me Foncho.”
“Your papa’s saying this for your own good, honey,” his stepmother intervened. “You never know who could be one of those men who meddle with boys at the school gates.”
“They’re drug dealers, or kidnappers, or pedophiles. So you just be careful.”