Free See How Much I Love You by Luis Leante Page B

ashamed before. Sergeant Baquedano, the only regiment NCO who frequented the Oasis, would strut around amongst the waitresses, pinching their backsides and brushing against their breasts. His breath, always reeking of alcohol, gave him away wherever he went. Terrible stories were told about him. He was around forty, and the only things that mattered in his life were the Legion, alcohol and whores. On one occasion,they said, he had shot a recruit in the foot for marching out of step. When one saw him drunk, rubbing his groin against the prostitutes, it was easy to believe the stories. Most soldiers avoided him, but a few loudmouths would laugh at his jokes and follow him everywhere, celebrating his displays of bravado and buying him drinks. Usually they ended up being humiliated by him and were forced to endure his insults like animals. It was the prostitutes who tried hardest to stay out of his way; they knew him all too well. Sergeant Baquedano was the only person in the bar who frightened them. They were perfectly aware that if they faced up to him they might lose their job or end up in a gutter of the Smara road with their throat slit open. Sergeant Baquedano acted as a kind of gangster for Major Panta. Prostitution at the Oasis had to be supervised by Major Panta, but no high-ranking officer would have approved of his visiting a dive like that. Officers never shared whores with the troops. Not even corporals and sergeants. Nevertheless, they could not allow the local mafias to run the show, trafficking women from Spain, Morocco or Mauritania. Major Panta looked after the Regiment’s health and made sure that things ran smoothly. But the major had never seen Baquedano dead drunk, staggering between the tables, cupping his balls with both hands, and slobbering over the breasts of the prostitutes dressed as waitresses.
    Santiago San Román looked away on the two or three occasions when he crossed the sergeant’s gaze. When he saw Baquedano leave, he felt a lot more relaxed, in spite of the racket the troops were making. The music merged with the TV, the thumping of bottles on the marble bar, the shouting at the poker tables, the bingo numbers being called out, and the incredibly loud conversations. Suddenly all the noise dissolved into a second of silence, and the military marches gave way to Las Corsarias, Pepe’s favourite paso doble. When San Román heard the first few bars, he felt as though the ceiling had fallenon his head. Instantly Montse’s image reared up its ugly head. The noise had become inexplicably hostile.
    ‘Another cognac?’ asked Guillermo.
    ‘No, I’d better not. I’ve got indigestion.’
    ‘A beer then.’
    ‘You have one, my stomach aches,’ lied Santiago.
    ‘Is that all you’re drinking tonight? It’s Saturday.’
    Santiago San Román gave his friend a grave look, and Guillermo understood at once. He didn’t reply. He was perfectly familiar with his friend’s bouts of melancholy. They both left the Oasis and stumbled out into the February breeze. They sauntered in silence. The streets looked oddly empty, at least until they reached Plaza de España, where the whole city seemed to have congregated. The noise of the bars spilled out into the street. The Territorial Police patrolled the area on foot and in their vehicles, trying to look inconspicuous. Santiago and Guillermo stopped under the marquee of a cinema. Under the title of Serpico, a colour drawing of Al Pacino jumped out of a poster. Guillermo stood in front of it with his feet apart, imitating, not very well, the posture of a cop from the Bronx. He pushed his cap down to his eyebrows and fastened the strap on his chin. The girls in the queue looked at him and laughed, covering their mouths.
    ‘Stop playing the fool,’ said Santiago reproachfully. ‘Everyone’s looking at you.’
    Guillermo hooked his thumbs on the huge silver buckle of his belt and blew the girls a kiss as they laughed.
    ‘I need you to do me a favour,