Free Red April by Santiago Roncagliolo Page A

proudly.
    “Really?”
    “Yes, yes. I did some good work. And I have been appointed to supervise the elections.”
    “Congratulations! That deserves a little glass of
chicha.”
    “No thanks. I don't drink.”
    Still, she poured him a glass of sweetish, dark red liquid.
    “You don't have any vices, do you? Your wife must be happy …”
    “I don't have a wife, either.”
    “Ah. Are you going to try the
puca?”
    “It is just … just that I do not have time … but listen … When I get back … in a few days … I think I will be invited to some galas. High command affairs. Important engagements.”
    “And you won't come back anymore?”
    She seemed sad when she said that. The prosecutor was encouraged to see that.
    “On the contrary. I will come back. But I would also like … well …”
    “Yes?”
    “The authorities attend these events with their wives, their spouses.”
    “Of course.”
    “I would like to take you, Edith. If you would not mind.”
    He realized that now he, like Edith, was using the formal
usted
. She laughed.
    “Me? Why me?”
    “Because … because I do not know anyone else in the city …”
    Now she frowned. He tried to rectify his mistake. He had lost the habit of saying certain things, but perhaps he had never said them.
    “… anyone as pretty as you.”
    “Now you're talking foolishness!”
    “It is not foolishness.”
    “Are you going to eat or not?”
    “It will not be possible. I am leaving now. I have to hurry and pack my bag. Will you go with me when I get back? Will you?”
    She turned as red as a chili pepper. She laughed. She seemed tolaugh at everything. And when she laughed, she appeared to shine. On television, the villainess of a soap opera threatened her rival because she was trying to take her man.
    “Yes,” said Edith.
    The prosecutor felt that his day was complete. That his year in Ayacucho was complete. He felt happy as he stood up. Surreptitiously, he left the money for lunch on the table so she could not refuse it. He approached her to say good-bye. She was holding a rag. He opened his arms. Then he lowered them. He did not want to take liberties. He held out his hand. She took it. He said:
    “Thank you. We will see each other soon.”
    She nodded and seemed embarrassed. The prosecutor hurried to his house.
    “Mamacita, I don't have time to explain everything to you, but I'm happy.” He took the underwear he found and put it in an old sports bag. “You'll see how well everything turns out, Mamacita. I'm sure that after this they'll pay me more and I'll buy you new pajamas, you'll see.” He packed ties and shirts and took two jackets and a pair of trousers from their hangers. “And then Edith. You'll meet Edith. You'll like her. Good-bye, Mamacita.”
    He closed the doors and windows and hurried to the terminal. Halfway there he stopped and went back. He found the house keys in the suitcase and went in. He hurried to the back room, took a photograph of his mother when she was very young, posing for the camera in an embroidered dress. He noted carefully that there was no photograph of her smiling with a man who looked as if he came from Lima. He confirmed it. He kissed the photograph, put it in his bag, and went out again.
    There was mass confusion in the terminal. The four o'clock bus was full, and his name did not appear on the reservation list. A woman with four children shouted at him for trying to steal her place. The driver ordered him to get off and stop causing trouble. Finally, after fifteen minutes of arguing, a surly employee ofthe bus line asked him to take the night bus. Prosecutor Chacaltana thought he would have more time to eat with Edith and say good-bye to his mother, and he agreed. Then it occurred to him that if the military people saw him outside the station, they would think he was abandoning his post, and so he sat down to wait seven and a half hours for the departure of the next bus after making certain that this time his name