Who Killed Palomino Molero: - By Mario Vargas Llosa Page 0,1
come to Piura on his day off; a truck driver from the I.P.C. brought him that morning and was going back to Talara at midnight. Whenever he came to Piura, Lituma went on the town with his cousins, José and Mono León, and with Josefino, a friend from the Gallinacera neighborhood. Lituma and the León brothers were from La Mangachería, but the long-standing rivalry between the two neighborhoods meant nothing to the four friends. They were so close they’d written their own theme song and called themselves the Unstoppables.
“Figure this one out and they’ll make you a general, Lituma,” wisecracked Mono.
“It’s going to be tough. Nobody knows anything, nobody saw anything, and the worst part is that the authorities won’t lift a finger to help.”
“Wait a minute, aren’t you the authorities over in Talara?” asked Josefino, genuinely surprised.
“Lieutenant Silva and I are the police authority. The authority I’m talking about is the Air Force. That skinny kid was in the Air Force, so if they don’t help us, who the fuck will?”
Lituma blew the foam off his beer and took a swallow, opening his mouth like a crocodile. “Motherfuckers. If you guys had seen what they did to the kid, you wouldn’t be grinning your way down to the whorehouse like this. You’d understand why I can’t think about anything else.”
“We do understand,” said Josefino. “But talking about a corpse all the time is boring. Why don’t you forget about the guy, Lituma? He’s dead.”
“That’s what you get for becoming a cop,” said José. “Work is a disease. Besides, you’re no good at that stuff. A cop should have a heart made of stone, because he has to be a motherfucker sometimes. And you’re so damn sentimental.”
“It’s true, I am. I just can’t stop thinking about that skinny kid. I have nightmares, I think someone’s pulling off my balls the way they did to him. His balls were hanging down to his knees, smashed as flat as a pair of fried eggs.”
“Did you touch them?” Mono asked, laughing.
“Talk about eggs and balls, did Lieutenant Silva screw that fat woman yet?” José asked.
“We’ve been on pins and needles ever since you told us about it,” added Josefino. “Did he screw her or not?”
“At the rate he’s going, he’ll never screw her.”
José got up from the table. “Okay, let’s go to the movies. Before midnight the whorehouse is like a funeral parlor. They’re showing a cowboy film at the Variety with Rosita Quintana. The cop’s treating, of course.”
“Me? I don’t even have the dough for this beer. You’ll let me pay later, won’t you, Chunguita?”
“Maybe your mama will let you pay later,” answered La Chunga, looking bored.
“I figured you’d say something like that. I just wanted to screw around.”
“Go screw around with your mama.”
“Two points for La Chunga; zero for Lituma,” Mono announced. “La Chunga wins.”
“Don’t get steamed, Chunguita. Here’s what I owe you. And lay off my mom: she’s dead and buried over in Simbilá.”
La Chunga, a tall, sour woman of uncertain age, snatched up the money, counted it, and gave back the change as the Unstoppables were leaving.
“One question, Chunguita. Didn’t anyone ever crack a bottle over your head for being such a wise guy?”
“Since when have you been so curious,” she replied, not deigning to look at him.
“Someday someone’s going to give you a lesson in good manners.”
“I’ll bet it won’t be you,” said La Chunga, yawning.
The four Unstoppables walked along the sandy path that led to the main road, passed the Piura blueblood club, and headed toward Grau’s monument. It was a warm night, quiet and starry. The mixed smells of carob trees, goats, birdshit, and deep frying filled the air. Lituma, unable to erase from his mind the picture of the impaled and bloody Palomino Molero, wondered if he’d be sorry he’d become a cop instead of living the free and easy life of the Unstoppables. No, he wouldn’t be sorry. Even though work was a bitch, he ate every day, and his life was free of uncertainties. José, Mono, and Josefino were whistling a waltz in counterpoint, and Lituma was trying to imagine the lulling tones and the “captivating melodies” of the kid’s boleros. At the entrance to the Variety, he said goodbye to his cousins and Josefino. He lied to them, saying the truck driver from the International was going back to Talara earlier than usual and that he didn’t want to miss his ride. They tried to shake him down for some cash, but