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From: "Daniel Vian" <danielvian@earthlink.net>
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Subject: {ASSM} Gabriela and the General (MF, FF) Complete Novel by Daniel Vian
Date: Fri, 19 Sep 2003 07:10:08 -0400
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-------------- Enclosure number 1 ----------------
GABRIELA AND THE GENERAL

by Daniel Vian

danielvian#earthlink.net

Copyright (c) 1990 Daniel Vian
All Rights Reserved     



A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR


This novel is a construction of words. The characters, the city,
the country exist only in the minds of the author and the reader.
The General is not this or that general, his uniform is not this
or that uniform, his palace is not this or that palace. The words
are real. The words describe certain things that are real. The
characters in the story are not real.




                       PROLOGUE


First a vertical rectangle of pale blue, an open doorway
looking out at a morning sky, darkness around the blue rectangle,
a dense black beyond the perimeter. Now the shoulder of the poet
appears in the right foreground, his left shoulder, his head, the
silhouetted back of the poet. He moves forward to the open
doorway and his wrists are seen behind his back, one wrist
crossed over the other, the two wrists manacled together with
black handcuffs. Then a view from the front, the poet's tired
face, his white shirt, his dark jacket and dark trousers. He
stands on the top step with his mouth open. Beside the poet is a
young army officer, his right hand on his hip, his left hand
holding the poet's right elbow. On the sidewalk are four
soldiers, each soldier with a machine pistol, nothing in the
street except a mongrel dog sniffing at the base of a lamppost
and beyond that a black van parked at the corner.



Now the officer removes his right hand from his hip. He
looks at the black van and he signals with a wave of his fingers.

The poet says: I'm hungry. I haven't had any breakfast.

The words croak out. His throat is dry and his nose is
clogged like a broken toilet.

Breakfast later, the officer says. We're sorry for the
inconvenience.

No, I expected you, the poet says. But not so early. It's
early, isn't it? It's early in the morning.

The black van arrives at the curb, and the poet is led from
the doorway to the curb and put into the back of the van on a
metal bench. The four soldiers with machine pistols climb in
after the poet and squeeze him into a corner. One of the soldiers
smells like a horse. The grille that connects the back of the van
to the front of the van opens and the officer now shouts from the
front seat: ARE YOU COMFORTABLE?

The soldier who stinks like a horse opens his mouth and
laughs. His yellow teeth seem enormous. The poet closes his eyes.
The motor of the van starts up and the van moves off.



Two minutes later the van stops. The doors open. They take
the poet outside. An alley somewhere. The white peaks of the
cordillera are visible in the background. A smell of rotten
garbage in the alley.

How do you feel? the officer says.

The poet whispers: Where are we?

In paradise, the officer says. But we won't be here long.

The officer brings out of his pocket a roll of wide adhesive
tape. He pulls out a length of tape, tears it off the roll and
returns the roll to his pocket. He now covers the poet's eyes
with the wide adhesive tape. Then he pulls a white cloth out of
another pocket and he ties the white cloth over the tape and
around the poet's head.

I can't see, the poet says.

One of the soldiers makes a sound with his lips. The officer
smiles. He steps back, he turns, he lashes his foot out to kick
the poet in the crotch.

An animal cry comes out of the poet's throat. He doubles
over, his mouth wide open. He hangs there a moment, and then he
collapses to the ground.



They raise him up. Two of the soldiers hold the poet
upright. The officer pats the poet's left cheek. Then they drag
the poet into the van again. The motor starts up and the van
moves off.

One of the soldiers talks to the poet:

What kind of work do you do?

I'm a poet, the poet says.

Listen to me, poet, do you have any money in your pockets?

I don't know, the poet says.

What do you mean you don't know? Don't you know what you
have?

The soldier leans forward and he searches the poet's
pockets. He pulls out a few crumpled banknotes and he passes them
to his companions.

You don't need this money, the soldier says. Whatever you
need will be free.

The other soldiers laugh. One of them pokes the poet with
his machine pistol. The poet laughs. He coughs. The others laugh
again. Everyone laughs. The laughter continues.




            PART ONE: THE WORLD IS AN APPLE


                 1: HIS HEAD FIRST...


His head first, the cap, the nose, the grey moustache. In
the photograph the General is wearing a full dress uniform,
braid, ribbons, medals, a large silver star between the collar
and the first button of his tunic. He wears a peaked cap, braid
on the visor, an elaborate insignia on the front of the cap. The
visor shades his eyes. He wears white gloves, his arms lifted,
the palm of his right hand over the knuckles of his left hand,
the gloves pure white, the whitest of whites, the white of the
purest snow. The color photograph in the northernmost window of
the bookshop has a gilt frame and curved corners. The General's
cheeks are pink. Is he smiling? Is the General smiling?



All events in the square have suddenly come to a full stop,
the automobiles, the pedestrians, the fruit-vendor on the comer
near the bookshop (FRUTAS in red letters on the sign over the
fruit-barrow), the people standing on the traffic island, the
street-sweeper on the far comer where the fish shop is located
(PESCADERIA over each large window), one of his legs lifted, the
long handle of the broom in his right hand, all the men and
machines in the square frozen, motionless, the eyes of everyone
now turned to the figure in the center of the square, the young
man now flat on his back, the fallen motorcycle no more than five
feet from the young man's body, the motorcycle turned over on its
side with its two handlebars pointing southeast to the hotel with
tall windows.



A woman's voice: What is it? That noise. It must be an
accident.



The man and the woman are at one of the tall windows in the
hotel room, the man leaning forward as he pulls the curtain aside
with his left hand. The woman is behind him. apparently seated on
a chair (only the upper part of he} body can be seen), her head
turned as she looks at the window where the curtain has been
pulled back by the man's hand. On the right, supported by a low
table, is a large television set, the screen now showing the
General, the old General speaking to the camera as he sits behind
an antique desk. No sound is heard The General moves his lips, he
speaks, the television is silent.



A street sign is attached to the wall of the building on the
corner at the left side of the square, over one of the windows of
the bookshop (LIBROS in black letters in the window). The street
signs says AVENIDA MELENDEZ (white letters on a dark blue
background, a white border at the edge of the sign).



In the hotel room the woman wears red lipstick and gold
earrings, a dark grey jacket over a white blouse. Her dark brown
hair is pulled back from her face and temples and tied at the
rear by a thin red ribbon. The man is dressed in a dark suit, a
white shirt, and a dark blue tie. The woman says in English:
Henrik, what is it? That noise. It must be an accident.



The automobile that evidently struck the motorcycle is in
the foreground, a squat gray car maybe ten years old with a large
rust spot on the right front fender. Only the right side of the
gray car can be seen. Another car is behind the gray car, a black
and yellow taxi with a single passenger visible on the rear seat.
Only part of the taxi-driver's body can be seen from this angle
through the rear window. The taxi has only the one passenger. The
numbers on the taxi-meter are not legible.



It's a motorcycle, the man says. He's on the ground and he
may be hurt.

I don't want to look, the woman says. I don't want to look
at it.

You're afraid of blood.

Yes, I'm afraid of blood. You know I'm afraid of blood.

There's no blood down there. He's not dying.

I still don't want to look at it.



Three people are now standing beside the gray automobile,
two civilians and a policeman. The policeman holds a small open
folder in his right hand, the folder held up as he reads the
contents (no doubt the car documents). The two men beside him
watch him as he does this. One of the civilians wears a grey
fedora hat, the other man is hatless and without a jacket. The
man who wears the hat is apparently the motorist of the car that
struck the motorcycle. The other man claims to be an eyewitness
to the accident.

 

In the hotel room, the General still appears on the
television screen, his lips moving as he speaks. Now suddenly the
General's voice is heard: WE ARE ONE COUNTRY AND ONE PEOPLE.



The policeman continues to hold the automobile documents in
his right hand, his left hand extended forward toward the gray
car, perhaps touching it or holding something (the hand itself is
not visible). Broken glass can be seen on the ground directly
behind the policeman's right leg.



The woman wears sheer black stockings and black pumps with
high thin heels. She moves to the bed and she sits down with a
magazine in her hands. A red and yellow book lies on the bed on
the woman's right side, part of the cover of the book hidden by a
brown scarf. A GUIDE TO--. (The female population is slightly in
the majority. Demographically, the population is unevenly
distributed. The vast majority is concentrated in the capital and
its suburbs.) The man turns away from the window and he stands
near the bureau in the corner. The woman slowly turns the pages
of the magazine. CREATE SEE-THROUGH LIP FROST. IMAGINE TASTE THIS
GREAT PLUS. MANY LOSE TWICE AS MUCH WEIGHT. The wide bed consists
of two sections pushed together between a single headboard and a
single footboard. On the wall above the headboard is a framed
painting of the Andes, dull blue and gray and dull brown. A large
light fixture hangs from the ceiling in the center of the room,
the light fixture directly over the bedside carpet runner at the
foot of the bed. In the far right comer of the room (near where
the man is standing) is a dressing pouf covered with red and
white striped material, and behind that a dressing table on which
can be seen an assortment of small bottles and jars. Attached to
the wall above the dressing table is a large mirror that now
shows the reflection of the man as he stands near the striped
pouf.



 From the mouth of the General: WE ARE ONE COUNTRY AND ONE
PEOPLE.



Now a doctor in a white jacket is kneeling on the ground
beside the injured motorcyclist. The doctor's left hand is on the
young man's chest. On the ground beside the doctor (on his left
side) is an open first-aid box, the large red cross on the cover
of the box clearly visible. In the foreground the policeman is
still looking at the documents of the gray automobile. Vehicle
serial or identification number. Body style. Year. Make of
vehicle. Model of vehicle. Cylinders. Horsepower. Total weight.
We hereby affirm the information provided is true and correct. On
the corner where the bookshop is located, a woman with a small
child has just approached the edge of the pavement. The child
stands on the woman's right side and the woman holds the child's
left hand with her right hand. In her left hand the woman carries
a white purse. The woman wears a blue and white dress and over
that a dark blue sweater. The child wears a pale pink jacket. To
the left of the child, the fruit-vendor is still standing beside
his two-wheeled fruit-barrow. The fruit-vendor wears a dark cap,
a gray jacket and dark trousers. He appears to be holding a small
orange in his left hand. Behind the fruit-vendor, the windows of
the bookshop can be seen, the large sign in the window LIBROS,
and below that a scattered arrangement of books and magazines.
HORTICULTURA. FOTOGRAFIA l. APRESTO Y ACABADO DE TEXTILES.



I'd like a decent dinner, the woman says. We ought to ask
the man downstairs.

All right.

It's not like Mexico, is it?

No, it's not like Mexico.



Not far from the fruit-vendor and in front of the second
window of the bookshop, a street hawker has now appeared with a
small table on which are displayed an assortment of ball-point
pens, paper clips, rubber bands, a collection of spiral-bound
notebooks of three different sizes. The hawker wears a grey
peaked cap and a dark jacket and dark trousers. He stands with
his arms forward as he holds the edges of the table in front of
him. Directly behind him is the bookshop window, three shelves of
books with covers in various colors, the sign LIBROS in the
window behind glass and directly over the hawker's head. He pulls
back now. He removes his hands from the table and he turns his
head to the left to stare once again at the center of the square
where the motorcyclist is still lying on the ground. Nothing has
moved. The motorcycle still lies on its side five feet away from
the motorcyclist, the policeman and the two civilians are still
standing beside the gray automobile that struck the motorcycle.
The black and yellow taxi behind the gray car has also not moved.
The passenger on the rear seat of the taxi now slides to his left
and he rolls the window down to have a better look at the scene
in the center of the square. Just at that moment the policeman
turns his head to look at the black and yellow taxi, and now the
policeman waves his right arm at the taxi, the arm swinging in a
gesture indicating the taxi has his permission to proceed through
the square on the far side of the fallen motorcycle. This
produces an immediate response from the taxi driver, and the
black and yellow taxi now veers to the left, passes between the
motorcycle and the traffic island, and then crosses the square
into the narrow street where the street-sweeper is once again
pushing his long broom.



The woman in the hotel room has a brown purse in her lap,
and now she opens the purse and she searches inside the purse
with her right hand until she finds what she wants. She brings
out a black tube of lipstick and a small mirror. She puts the
purse on the bed beside her. First she holds the mirror up with
her left hand and she looks at her mouth. She closes her lips and
she opens them again. She runs her tongue over her lower lip and
then from one corner to the other and then along the lower edge
of her upper lip, her pink tongue sliding from side to side and
back again. She turns her head and she looks at the man. But the
man has his eyes on the wall and he ignores her. The woman waits
another moment and then she turns her head back and she looks at
her mouth in the mirror again. Then she puts the mirror down on
top of the brown purse and she takes up the black tube of
lipstick. She pulls the cap off and she turns the bottom part of
the tube until a half-inch cylinder of bright red lipstick
protrudes from the opening. The end of the lipstick is bevelled
to a point. She leaves the upper part of the tube on the bed, and
now she takes up the mirror again in her left hand. In her right
hand she holds the lipstick. Once again she looks at her mouth in
the small mirror. She lifts her right hand and she runs the
angled flat end of the lipstick back and forth over her lower
lip. After three passes, she pulls the cylinder of lipstick away
from her mouth and she presses her lips together. Then she opens
her mouth again and she begins painting the edge of her upper lip
with the point of the lipstick. She carefully follows the curve
of the lip directly under the philtrum. The man is still looking
at the wall. Now he turns from the wall and he looks at the
woman.



 From the mouth of the General: WE ARE ONE COUNTRY AND ONE
PEOPLE.



A man with a briefcase in his left hand is now crossing the
square near the traffic island. He wears a grey hat and a dark
suit. He walks slowly. On the corner near the bookshop, the woman
and the child are no longer standing beside the street lamp. The
fruit-vendor has his hands in his pockets. On the opposite side
of the square near the fish shop, the street-sweeper is standing
still again. He leans on the handle of his broom as be watches
the news vendor on the corner. Trouble in Palmillas. A student
strike in Mocorito. The motorcyclist is now standing on his feet
near his motorcycle. He shakes his fist at the man who leans
against the gray car. The policeman turns his back to the gray
car and he waves his hand at the motorcycle on the ground. The
motorcyclist opens his mouth and begins shouting again. A woman
carrying a shopping bag in her right hand is now crossing the
square toward the fish shop. Two people are standing on the
traffic island, no doubt waiting for the next bus. At the north
end of the square, a bum with glazed eyes leans against a kiosk
as he watches everything.



It's a new shade, the woman says. Don't you like it? It
makes me feel whorish.

You look very respectable

But I don't feel respectable. Come, lie down with me on the
bed.

With our clothes on?

Yes, why not? Pretend we're in Acapulco.

This isn't Acapulco.

Darling, you promised.

He says nothing. He goes to the bed and the woman stands up
to make room for him to lie down. He lies down on the bed on his
back with his head on one of the pillows. He pushes the guidebook
away with his right hand. (The coast has vast unspoiled beaches.
The seaside resorts are open all the year round. The ski resorts
are only one hundred miles from the ocean.) The woman sits down
again on the edge of the bed and she puts her left hand on his
chest. Tell me that you like my lipstick. Yes, I like it.




       2: NOW AT THE SOUTH END OF THE SQUARE...


Now at the south end of the square, Gabriela stands at the
corner where the hotel is located. She stands there a moment
without moving, her black purse held with both hands in front of
her body, her eyes on the motorcyclist, on the doctor, on the
fallen motorcycle, on the policeman and the two civilians beside
the gray car. She wears a light grey coat with black buttons,
black stockings, and black shoes. She has long blonde hair kept
away from her face by a black hairclip on each side. The hair
hangs below her neck in back, and in front some of the hair falls
forward around her chin. Her face is young and without makeup,
only a hint of red lipstick on her lips.



He looks crazy, Gabriela thinks. She stares at the
motorcyclist, at the way he waves his arms as he shouts at the
policeman. He certainly does look crazy. In any case she has a
hatred for motorcycles. Tavio has a motorcycle and she's always
worried that one day the motorcycle will kill him.



At last Gabriela moves. She pulls her right hand away from
her purse and she holds the purse in her left hand as she crosses
the street to the southwest corner. She passes in the foreground
in front of the gray car, and then behind the gray car she
crosses the street again to the corner where the bookshop is
located.

The fruit-vendor turns to look at Gabriela. The street-
hawker turns to look at Gabriela. They watch her as she continues
past the lamppost. She walks to the entrance to the bookshop, and
there she pushes the door forward and she walks inside.



The bookshop is not crowded. Two people are in the front of
the shop, two more people in the rear of the shop. A young woman
is at the counter in the front where the cash register is
located. Gabriela stands at one of the display tables in the
front of the shop. Once again she holds her purse with both hands
in front of her body. She gazes at the books on the display
table. The books are stacked one on top of the other, some of the
books with a paper band around the cover, the band announcing a
prize, a critic's comment, or simply the name of the author's
last book. Gabriela touches nothing. She does no more than gaze
at the titles of the books. LA OTRA ORILLA. MALATA. EL REGRESSO.
LA COMPANERA. EL CIMMARON. LOS ALBANILES. PAJAROS EXOTICOS. EL
TENIS. EL JUEGO DEL GOLF. Then she raises her left hand and she
looks at the small wristwatch on her left wrist. She drops her
left arm and she holds her purse with two hands again. After
another moment she turns away from the table and she leaves the
bookshop. Outside on the pavement, she turns left and she walks
north until she reaches the entrance to the comer building. She
stops and she looks up at the number over the door. Then she
pushes the door forward and she steps inside the hallway.



Here you are, she thinks. Senora Silva always smiles at her.
You're so pretty, darling. You'll never have any trouble because
you're so pretty. The prettiest girls never have any trouble.



In a room an old man stands in front of a mirror with his
eyes on the image of his face. He wears a dark grey sweater, a
white shirt, a dark tie, and dark trousers. He stands
immobilized, his eyes gazing at his reflection. On the left side
of the mirror is a door that may be the front door of the flat.
Then the old man hears the doorbell ring. His eyes become wider.
He hurries to the far wall to push the button that will open the
door downstairs in the vestibule. After that he goes to the
entrance of another room and he looks at the furniture. The
television set is turned on. The General is speaking, his mouth
moving, his eyes directed at the camera, the medals on his chest
crowded one on top of the other. The old man stares at the
General a moment and then he returns to the front door again.
When the door-knocker sounds on the outside, the old man unlocks
the door and opens it.

Gabriela stands at the threshold with no expression in her
face. She holds her purse in front of her body with both hands
and she says: Senor Vallego?



In the square the motorcycle is now standing again and the
motorcyclist is kneeling beside it with his left hand on the seat
and his right hand touching the rear wheel. The gray car and the
driver of the gray car are no longer visible. The policeman
stands near the motorcycle with his hands on his hips and he says
something to the motorcyclist. The motorcyclist does not respond.
He continues kneeling beside the machine, his left hand on the
seat and his right hand touching the rear wheel. On the traffic
island a man wearing a black leather jacket now pulls a folded
newspaper from his rear pocket and he slides the folded newspaper
under his left arm.



The sitting room has two windows, but the blinds have been
closed and the afternoon light that enters the room is meager.
Between the two windows an elaborate embroidered tapestry hangs
from a brass bar. On the right wall is a large bookcase filled
with books. ln the foreground on the right side is an upholstered
armchair, a floor-lamp on the left side of the armchair and a
large potted plant on this side of the lamp on the edge of the
carpet. Another chair is near the two windows, this chair in
front of a low table that supports a chess board without any
chess pieces.

Gabriela stands at the left, near a small buffet that may
serve as a bar. Beyond the buffet is a long sofa covered with
dark red velvet.

The old man stands near the upholstered armchair and he
looks at her: Mother of God you're a beauty, he says. Do you want
some wine? I have some good wine. Or maybe some tea? Would you
like some tea?

No, I dont think so, Gabriela says. I don't want anything.

That's too bad. A little red wine doesn't hurt, you know. A
small glass is a good thing in the afternoon. Won't you change
your mind?

Gabriela sighs: All right, just a small glass of red wine.



 From the mouth of the General: WE ARE ONE COUNTRY AND ONE
PEOPLE.



The news vendor on the northeast corner of the square has
lifted his right arm and now he begins to shout something across
the square at the traffic island. Then he turns forty degrees to
his left and he shouts again at the motorcyclist and the
policeman. The motorcyclist is still kneeling beside the
motorcycle and he ignores the news vendor. The policeman turns
his head and he looks at the northeast corner. What's the
trouble? What's the trouble in Palmillas? What do they want in
Mocorito?



Gabriela has removed her coat and she stands near the buffet
with a glass of red wine in her right hand. She wears a white
blouse with long sleeves and a high collar, and below that a
black pleated skirt that extends below her knees. She raises the
glass to her lips and she sips the wine. The old man is standing
at the right, a glass of red wine in his right hand, his eyes on
Gabriela and his mouth open.

Mother of God you're beautiful, he says.

Gabriela turns her eyes away and she says: Would you like me
to undress now?



A face on the television screen, a man wearing a military
uniform. This is not the General. This is not the Commander-in
Chief. This is the Vice Commander-in-Chief. His lips move. He
speaks: BENEATH THE GAZE OF THE MOTHER OF GOD, AND WITH THE
SACRED INSPIRATION OF GOD AND COUNTRY, OUR ARMY ACTS WITH A
PROFOUND AND UNDENIABLE SENSE OF JUSTICE TO DEMONSTRATE BEFORE
THE CITIZENRY THE RECOGNITION AND HONOR OWED THE FIRST SOLDIER OF
THE REPUBLIC, OUR COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF, OUR LEADER, OUR NOBLE
GENERAL.



Inside the hotel room the woman says: Sometimes you puzzle
me.

The man is standing again, his clothes in order. The woman
screws out the lipstick and she begins painting her lips.

What do you mean? the man says.

Sometimes I think you don't like it.

That's not true.

You think it's nasty.

No, that's not true.

Well, not me. I don't think it's nasty at all. I think it's
lovely. You don't mind that I think it's lovely, do you?

No.

I'm better at it than your blonde girls.

I don't have any blonde girls.

You had them in Acapulco.

No, I didn't. You just imagined it.

I hope so. I hope I did just imagine it.



Gabriela is naked, squatting with her elbows on the seat of
the upholstered chair, the upper part of her body supported by
her elbows, her feet on the carpet, her legs spread wide apart,
her buttocks raised off the floor just enough to make room for
the old man's head. Only the upper half of the old man's body is
visible. He still wears all his clothes. He lies on his back on
the carpet, his body flat on the floor on the left side of
Gabriela, his shoulders under her left thigh, his face directly
under Gabriela's buttocks, his mouth open and his tongue extended
to push between the lips of Gabriela's blonde-haired sex.
Gabriela's head is bent as she gazes down at the old man's face.
Now Gabriela turns her head and she looks at the window and she
opens her mouth to speak:

Something happened, she says. An accident outside.

The old man ignores her. Now his hands are on Gabriela's
breasts, one hand on each breast, his fingers pulling at her pink
nipples. He still has his tongue between the lips of her sex, and
now Gabriela eases down a bit further to push her sex at his
mouth. She continues to squat with her elbows on the seat of the
upholstered chair, her head bent, her eyes on the old man's face.
He pinches her nipples, but then suddenly his arms are tired and
he drops his hands to hold her buttocks. Gabriela lifts her sex
an inch, and then she pushes down again.



In the hotel room the woman says: Are we ready to leave?

Yes, the man says.

I don't like this dress. There's something about it that I
don't like.

It looks fine.

It's too short, isn't it? The hem ought to be two inches
longer.

No, it's fine.

Nice legs?

Very nice.



Gabriela's eyes are wide open. Her head is bent as she gazes
down at the joining of her sex and the old man's face. Her cheeks
ale flushed, a faint pink lower down and a darker pink on the
cheekbones. She opens her mouth and then she closes it again. Her
lips are wet. Now her tongue appears, the pink tongue sliding
across her lower lip and then vanishing again. The old man
continues to push his tongue inside her sex. His mouth is wide
open, his nose pressing against her clitoris. Gabriela gazes down
at his forehead beyond the curve of her belly, at his white hair,
at the curlicues in the design of the carpet. The old man's mouth
makes a noise. He smacks his lips as he sucks at her sex.
Gabriela's mouth is open again. The glint of sweat is visible on
her temples. She closes her eyes as she feels the old man's
tongue again, his lips pushing against the lips of her sex. Now
her knees move, her thighs opening wider and then moving closer
together again. The carpe.t is old, but the pile of the carpet is
thick under Gabriela's bare feet. She opens and closes her mouth
again. She pushes her sex against the old man's moving tongue.
Now she trembles as he licks her clitoris. She makes a sound in
her throat. She looks down as she moves her hips, her hips
shaking against the old man's face, against his mouth and tongue,
her belly moving, her mouth opening, her sex pushing at the
sucking mouth, at the tongue, at the lips, at the face of the old
man...



In the lobby of the hotel, the man speaks to the desk clerk
in Spanish: Can you recommend a good restaurant for this evening?

The desk clerk nods: Yes, senor. The Maistral is very
popular.

Now the woman speaks to the desk clerk in Spanish: Can you
give us the address? Can you possibly give us the address?



Where is the General now? Where is the General at this
moment? The Plaza Melendez is suddenly quiet, as quiet as the
garden where the General walks, stops, walks again. No, the
General is not alone here. There are six others here and they all
walk with the General, stop with the General, walk again with the
General. On the General's right side is a woman of middle years,
a black dress with long sleeves, white and black shoes, a striped
bow on the bodice of her dress, her head turned toward her left
shoulder as she looks at the General, at his head, at his peaked
officer's cap. On the General's left side is a young man dressed
in a grey business suit and a dark tie, his arms raised so that
his hands touch each other at his waist, at the front of his body
directly over one of the buttons of his jacket. The woman on the
General's right side is smiling. The young man on the General's
left side is smiling. Behind them are four men, two men in
military uniform, another man in a business suit, a fourth man
who wears a white jacket and a black bow tie and who might be a
servant. Behind the group of seven is a grove of trees, fruit
trees, part of an iron fence. The ground is covered with white
gravel. The General walks, lifting his left foot, moving forward,
lifting his right foot, moving forward again...



A suburban housewife in Quintana, carefully dressed hair,
pearl earrings, and a pearl necklace: HERE WE HAVE TWO KINDS OF
PEOPLE. I DON'T KNOW HOW IT IS IN OTHER PLACES. HERE THE PEOPLE
ARE EITHER DIRTY OR CLEAN. IT'S NOT ONLY MONEY, IT'S BREEDING.
IT'S IN THE BLOOD. IF YOU WANT TO KNOW WHO THE GENERAL IS, HE'S
THE SAVIOR OF THE CLEAN PEOPLE.





    3: AT THE BUILDING ENTRANCE JUST NORTH OF THE BOOKSHOP...


At the building entrance just north of the bookshop,
Gabriela now emerges dressed again, her grey coat with black
buttons, her black stockings, and black shoes, her black purse.
She hesitates a moment on the pavement. The sky has turned gray,
a darker gray cloud visible in the north. The street is in
motion, the traffic once again flowing through the square. There
is no sign of the accident now. The motorcycle is gone. A
half-dozen people are waiting on the traffic island for the next
bus. Gabriela turns to her right and she stands facing the
bookshop window. She holds her purse with both hands as she gazes
at the books in the window. HORTICULTURA. FOTOGRAFIA I. APRESTO Y
ACABADO DE TEXTILES. Gabriela walks to the entrance of the
bookshop and she pushes the door forward. She steps inside the
shop. Someone is laughing in the back. Gabriela walks over to one
of the clerks, a young man. She speaks to him and he nods in
reply. He gazes at her face and hair with his dark eyes. Finally
he turns and he leaves her and he goes to the back of the shop.
Gabriela waits at one of the display tables. When she looks
toward the front of the shop, she meets the eyes of the girl at
the cash register. Gabriela looks at the table of books again. LA
OTRA ORILLA. MALATA. EL REGRESSO. LA COMPANERA. EL CIMMARON. LOS
ALBANILES. PAJAROS EXOTICOS. EL TENIS. EL JUEGO DEL GOLF. In a
moment the clerk returns to her. He shakes his head, his hands in
the air, his dark eyes once again gazing at her face. Gabriela
thanks him and she turns away. She leaves the shop and the door
closes behind her.



Tavio was wrong, Gabriela thinks. He said they would have it
and they don't have it. Now it's too late to try another shop.
Too late because of the old man. The way he sucked at her. Well,
you liked it, didn't you? You always like it. Senora Silva says
it's better if you like it. It's better for the man and it's
better for the woman. But I want the book, Gabriela thinks. She
wants the book and she doesn't have it.



The General is at a desk in a room, an opened newspaper in
his two hands. The view is from his left side, his face and body
almost in profile. The entire foreground is in deep shadow. At
the extreme right is a table supporting what appears to be a
porcelain pitcher, the porcelain painted with an arrangement of
red flowers. In the background on the right, behind the table and
behind the General, is a long folded drape on the left side of a
tall window. Then to the left of that, continuing behind the
General, is a mantle shelf upon which are displayed four painted
plates standing in a vertical position, the edges of the plates
on the shelf and the backs against the white wall. Above the
plates is a painting in a gilded frame, the painting itself too
dark to be defined. At the upper left the edge of a large
chandelier is visible, bright lights below, bright lights above
the round frame, the light shining directly on the desk, on the
opened newspaper, on the General's face. He turns a page of the
newspaper. He gazes at the left page. He gazes at the right page.
He turns another page...



Gabriela is on the traffic island. She stands away from the
other people. She holds her black purse in front of her body with
both hands. She stands with her shoes together, her blonde hair
billowing around her face as a strong breeze comes down the
avenue. The sky is still gray, a darker gray now, a sky that
threatens rain. Two grey pigeons appear at the corner of the fish
shop, gliding across the square to one of the window ledges of
the hotel. The people on the traffic island stand motionless. The
nearest person to Gabriela is a fat woman holding a string
shopping bag filled with oranges. One of the men on the traffic
island now turns to look at Gabriela. The man stares at her.
Gabriela does not look,at anyone. Her face is without expression,
her shoes together on the pavement of the traffic island, her
eyes gazing at the windows of the bookshop across the road. Now a
truck passes, large red letters on the side of the truck:
NABISCO. Gabriela continues to hold her purse with both hands. A
church bell begins to ring somewhere. The bell sounds four times
and then it stops. Finally a blue and white bus arrives, SAN
ANTONIO in black letters on the sign above the wide windshield.
Everyone on the traffic island except Gabriela climbs onto the
San Antonio bus. Gabriela continues to stand with her purse in
both hands. The San Antonio bus leaves, rolling south across the
square. In a moment another bus arrives: QUINTANA. Gabriela steps
forward, and when the doors open she climbs onto the bus. The
doors close and only her head is visible through the glass. Then
she turns and now she can be seen through the windows as she
walks up the aisle of the bus. At the middle of the bus, she
finds an empty seat and she sits down. The bus driver releases
the brakes and the bus moves away from the traffic island, across
the square and past the hotel on the corner.



The General is caught in a moment of contemplation. He sits
at his desk with his head bent. He stares at his lap. He remains
motionless. Then he shifts his body. He moves his left arm. He
moves his right arm. He raises his head. He opens his mouth. He
closes his mouth again. He moves one lip against the other, the
lower lip sliding over the upper lip. Then he leans toward the
left side of the desk and he opens the middle drawer. He removes
a book from the drawer and he places the book on the desk in
front of him. Then he closes the drawer and he sits back in the
heavy chair. He stares at the book. The title is visible on the
spine: EL CUERPO HUMANO. The Human Body. Does he want to look at
the book? His mouth opens. He leans forward. He leans back again.
No, let it wait. Not now. Now it's the stomach again. He feels
the boiling in his stomach. That's twice today. Yesterday three
times and today twice. And maybe tomorrow four times. Every day
he counts the boilings. Ask the doctors, he thinks. No, if he
asks the doctors they'll tell him it's cancer. They'll tell him
he has a cancer in his stomach the size of a grapefruit. The hell
with it, let them go to hell. He doesn't trust them anyway. They
want to kill him. They work for his enemies and they want to kill
him. He can see it in their eyes. He can always see it in the
eyes. How do you think he lasted so long? Fifty years in the army
and here he is in the big chair. They didn't expect it, did they?
Two years ago they didn't expect it. The hell with them. He's
going to live until ninety. I'm only seventy and I'll live until
ninety. What a laugh. Until ninety, do you hear? Not a day before
ninety. Sit up straight. If the posture is bad then the organs
are not in the right place. Everything needs to be in the right
place. Everything keeps working, all the pipes, all the guts, the
head the heart and the stomach look the boiling has stopped no
more boiling in the stomach see it's all gone all gone nothing
there no grapefruit sit up straight the hell with them the hell
with all of them...



Gabriela gazes at the passing buildings, the people on the
pavement, the street signs. CAPUCHINOS. CARCEL. CARMEN. CORDERO:
One street after the other. One minute after the other. When will
she die? Maybe at twenty-five. That's old enough to die.
Twenty-five is too old. And now she wonders how old he is. The
old man. Maybe seventy. His white hair. The skin at the corner of
his eyes like dried leather. The way he looked up at her with his
eyes. One thousand pesos to Senora Silva and one thousand pesos
to Gabriela. The way he drank her juices like a thirsty old dog.
She imagines she still feels his nose down there. One thousand
pesos to Senora Silva and one thousand pesos to Gabriela. He's
the fourth one this week, so now she has four thousand pesos more
than last week. The youngest was the man in the Grand Hotel and
he was certainly past sixty. Only the tongue. Senora Silva patted
her cheek and said only the tongue, darling. That's all they want
and it won't harm you. You'll make them very happy, won't you?
They don't want anything else. Does she make them happy? Tavio
would die. If Tavio knew he would certainly die. Or her father.
No, her father would kill her. Her father would make her
disappear like the others disappear. Gabriela has now
disappeared. No one knows what happened to Gabriela. Why did they
take her? No one knows why they took Gabriela.



Where is this? What part of the city is this? It's not
Quintana, is it? No this is the other side of town. Aravaca. Not
Quintana, but Aravaca. The wall is plastered with posters, old
posters, new posters, strips of paper ripped off the wall, strips
of paper stained and torn, the wall underneath lacerated. PLAZA
DE SANTAMARIA HOY LIMES 7 P.M. EL EQUIPO DE LOS PUROS CRIOLLOS.
On the ground at the edge of the wall is a figure, maybe a boy,
maybe a girl, the body wrapped in torn posters. The figure lies
belly down, the face hidden as the forehead rests on the folded
right arm. The left arm is extended on the ground above the head.
A red and black jersey with long sleeves covers the upper part of
the body. The central part of the body is covered by a large
piece of torn poster. The feet are exposed below the calves, two
feet, each foot covered by a black and white sneaker, the laces
untied, the sole of the sneaker on the left foot ripped away in
front to show the sole of the foot itself. A gust of wind
arrives. The paper blows, the paper on the wall, the paper that
covers the figure on the ground, the scraps of paper on the
surrounding pavement. HOY LIMES 7 P.M.





                 4: A SLANTING ROAD...


A slanting road, a quiet residential street, the skyscrapers
of the city in the background, the bus climbing the hill and now
stopping at the corner. The doors of the bus open and Gabriela
steps down onto the pavement. The doors of the bus close and the
bus continues climbing the hill. Gabriela walks. Each large house
on the street has its own wall. She walks past the trees to the
black iron gate of the third house. The sky is a lighter gray
now, the dark clouds in the north no longer visible. Gabriela
pushes the gate open and she steps under the stone arch. She
closes the gate behind her and she walks over a path of flat
stones. The bushes on either side of the path are carefully
trimmed, me two stone benches in front of the house clean and
white Gabriela climbs the steps to the carved oak door and she
opens her purse to find her keys. In a moment she has the heavy
door unlocked. She pushes the door forward and she enters the
hallway of the house. She closes the door behind her and she
stands there a moment in the dim light of the vestibule. A voice:
Gabriela?

Gabriela's mother comes out of one of the rooms at the end
of the hallway. Her dark blonde hair is swept back from her
temples and tied behind in a tight chignon. She wears no makeup,
nothing on her lips, her skin pale in the light of the hallway.
She wears a black silk dress and a large silver cross on a chain
over her bosom. She leans forward to kiss Gabriela's cheek.
You're late, darling. I expected you an hour ago. Gabriela
shrugs: I met a friend in a bookshop. � Anyone I know? No, just a
girl I knew at school.

Now a maid appears. The girl takes Gabriela's coat and
Gabriela turns to look at her image in a mirror that hangs
between two brown paintings.

In the mirror Gabriela's face shows no expression. In the
background is Gabriela's mother, her eyes on Gabriela, on
Gabriela's face in the mirror, on Gabriela's hair.



And here? What is this now? Here the General is on a terrace
somewhere, the cordillera in the background, the white mountains
against a pale blue sky. The General stands with one of his
ministers, a tall man in a brown suit. The General has changed
his uniform. The General's tunic is white, his trousers dark, his
peaked cap a light grey in color. The minister nods. He swings
his hands behind his back, one hand clasping the other as he nods
at the General.

What time, Your Excellency?

The General shrugs: In a few hours. Does he know what he's
doing? Are you sure he knows what he's doing?

Yes, Your Excellency. He's one of our best physicians.

Better than the others?

Yes, I think so.

But you don't know. That's the trouble, isn't it? That's why
I'm sick. These bastards are supposed to take care o me and
they're all idiots.



A mist on the mirror. Steam. The hot dampness of the
bathroom.



Gabriela is in the bathtub. The door is locked and she's
alone, her body submerged in the froth of the bubble bath, a film
of sweat on her temples, her eyes closed as she leans her head
back on the white tiles of the wall behind her. Two large towels
are neatly folded on a wooden chair near the bathtub. A cloud of
steam hangs in the air. Gabriela touches her face with her right
hand. She opens her eyes and she gazes at the tiles of the wall
on the other side of the tub. Her hands move through the mass of
soap bubbles. She touches her breasts, a hand at each breast, her
fingertips rubbing her nipples. The lower half of each breast is
covered by the white blanker of soap bubbles. She lifts her right
leg until her tight foot is out of the water. She rests her calf
on the edge of the tub and she clenches her toes and extends them
and clenches them again. She lifts a large yellow sponge with her
left hand and she passes the sponge over her breasts, under the
water, over her belly, and between her thighs. She stares at the
tiles on the opposite wall as she slides the sponge back and
forth under. the water. Her face is vacant, her eyes without
expression. Then she pulls the sponge away from her body and she
slowly climbs to a standing position in the tub. She takes up the
sponge and once again she washes her breasts and belly and
between her thighs. Water drips and streams from her body into
the foam-filled tub. She lifts her right leg and she rests her
foot on the edge of the tub. She washes her sex again. She passes
the sponge over her belly and between her thighs, over her sex
and under her buttocks and between her buttocks and over her sex
again. The water continues to drip from her body into the foam in
the tub.



On an empty street near the central railroad station, a
large billboard, a girl's face, a smile, a bottle of Pepsi-Cola:
TODO ES MAS SABROSO CON... PEPSI.



Late in the evening Gabriela is at the dinner table with her
family. The two maids glide back and forth in the dining room.
Gabriela sits alone on one side of the table. Her two older
brothers sit on the other side of the table. Her father sits at
the head of the table. Her mother sits at the table opposite her
father. Behind the brothers Eduardo and Raimundo is a large
window now covered by heavy curtains. Behind the father's head is
a large brown painting of Gabriela's paternal great grandmother.
On the right side of the dining room, one of the maids is now
leaning over the long buffet. The maid wears a white apron over a
black dress. The other maid is at the sideboard where the wine
glasses are displayed. The maid removes two wine glasses from the
middle shelf and she returns to stand beside the maid at the
buffet. Eduardo eats his soup with his head bent forward over the
soup plate. Raimundo butters a small piece of bread. Senor Prado
has his large hands folded on the table in front of him. Senora
Prado touches the silver cross on her bosom with her right hand.
Gabriela sits with her hands in her lap and her eyes on the large
soup tureen.

Senora Prado says: Gabriela, you don't eat enough.

I don't like the soup, Gabriela says.

Senor Prado makes a sound in his throat: My children don't
appreciate anything. Downtown they like the soup when they can
get it.

The two brothers chuckle.

Gabriela says: Father, this is not a prison.

The bums always like their soup, Eduardo says.

Senora Prado shakes her head: We won't have any talk of bums
at the table.

It's not the bums, Eduardo says. We're only talking about
the soup.

Senor Prado sighs: In any case, I have nothing to do with
prisons. Do you understand, Gabriela? I have nothing to do with
prisons

Yes, Father.

Senor Prado waves a hand: One must understand the difference
between one thing and another.

Gabriela says nothing. She continues to stare at the large
soup tureen. Her face is blank, her eyes without any expression.



A poster on the wall of a shack in Aravaca, the paper torn
near the top and near the bottom, the poster showing four
figures, a man and a woman and two children, the man wearing a
white shirt and a black bow tie, the man standing behind the
woman who stands behind the two children, the girl child with her
two hands lifted in prayer, the eyes of the quartet gazing at
something with a fixed stare: LA FAMlLlA QUE REZA UNlDA PERMANECE
UNlDA. The family that prays together stays together.



Gabriela is alone in her bedroom. She lies in her bed with a
book in her hands, her face and the book in the light of the lamp
on the nightstand on her left side. One word appears on the cover
of the book: LORCA.

Gabriela's bedroom is a square room with two windows. White
curtains cover the windows, white lace curtains with deep ruffles
along the top and bottom borders. The blanket that covers
Gabriela up to her chest is made of a fine white wool. The old
wooden bed has four posts that maybe at one time supported a
canopy. Gabriela's head rests against a large white pillow, her
blonde hair fanned out on the pillow around her face.

She closes her eyes now. She lies with her eyes closed as
she continues to hold the open book in her hands. Then her eyes
open and she reads again. She pulls her knees up under the
blanket. She holds the book with both hands, her slender fingers
gripping the book on each side. Now she pulls the silk bookmark
from the back of the book and she fixes the bookmark between the
open pages. She closes the book and she turns to the left to
place it on the nightstand beside her black purse. Now she opens
the nightstand drawer and she pulls out a small white leather
case of the kind often used to protect a prayer book. She puts
the case on the bed in front of her. Then she takes up the black
purse and she opens it and she pulls out two 1000-peso banknotes.
She opens the white leather case and she adds one of the
banknotes to the collection of banknotes already inside it. She
replaces the other banknote in the black purse. Then she closes
the white leather case and she returns it to the nightstand
drawer. She closes the drawer. She closes her purse and she
returns the purse to the top of the nightstand. She leans back on
the pillow. She gazes at the foot of the bed a moment. And then
she turns over on her left side and she reaches out with her
right hand to switch the lamp off.

One thousand more, Gabriela thinks. Eduardo is such a fool.
Raimundo is such a fool. Her father is such a fool. Her mother is
a ghost who wants to be married to Christ. One thousand more
pesos in my little case. One thousand more pesos in Gabriela's
little case. Tomorrow she goes to Senora Silva and she gives
Senora Silva the other one thousand. Senora Silva has no husband.
She says she had two husbands and they died. I don't want a
husband, Gabriela thinks. I love Tavio but I don't want a
husband. I don't want a husband but I love Tavio. Does she love
Tavio? Poor Tavio. On Sunday Tavio will take her to Ortigosa and
he'll make love to her. When they go skiing, Tavio always makes
love to her. He kisses her face and he kisses her breasts and he
kisses her belly. Poor Tavio. He knows nothing about the old men.
He knows nothing about what they do. Tavio is too sweet. Tavio is
just a boy. Do you want it now, Gabriela? No, not now. Please not
now, she thinks. She wants to sleep now. Please not now I want to
sleep.



The General sits with nine other people at a large dinner
table. The General is in the foreground at one end of the table.
To his left is a lieutenant general. To his right is a lieutenant
general. Around the far perimeter of the table are major generals
and brigadier generals. In the left fore-ground is part of a
table, a pile of dinner plates, a large black bowl that may
contain a salad. The centerpiece on the table is a round vase
filled with red flowers. The General has turned to his left and
his face is seen in profile, his grey mustache, his jowls. He
speaks to the lieutenant general on his left side: How is your
wife, Humberto? How are the children?

The lieutenant general looks at the General: Fine, Your
Excellency. Everything is fine at home.

Good, that's good. It's good when everything is fine at
home. It's good, isn't it?

Yes, Your Excellency.

Well, it's not bad, the General thinks. We're here, aren't
we? The doctor says the boilings in the stomach are nothing but
indigestion. Too much coffee. No grapefruit growing in the
stomach. Two bottles of pills, one bottle before meals and one
bottle after meals. Too much hard work. Yes, he's right. Listen,
you need to relax. That's important, isn't it? Without relaxation
everything falls apart. You get a broken pipe somewhere and
you're finished. Then what happens here? They bury me and one of
these idiots sits in the big chair. No not yet, my friends, not
for twenty years. They can hang out their tongues for twenty
years, the idiots and their wives. They don't know. They think I
don't know about them. Do you know? Yes I know. I know
everything. They ought to be in the mines. You put them in the
mines a few years and then they don't laugh so much. In the mines
they can screw the donkeys with the other bums. Big fat donkeys.
All the bums and their big fat donkeys. Listen, that's enough.
You need to relax. Don't kill yourself. Don't think too much.
Have a peppermint. Take it easy. Slow down. Peace. Take a deep
breath. Breathe deeply. Breathe again...





        5: LATE MORNING IN THE AVENIDA OLMOS...


Late morning in the Avenida Olmos and today the sun is
shining again. The air is clean and cool and the sky is
everywhere an endless blue. The pavement is crowded with people
passing each other, looking at each other, looking at the windows
of the shops, at the signs, at the buildings. In the road the
cars move forward and stop and move forward again. Two women
dressed in reds and yellows leave a dress shop. Gabriela suddenly
appears at the comer, turning into the Avenida Olmos, dressed in
brown today, a brown coat, brown stockings, brown shoes, a brown
purse. She walks past the two women dressed in reds and yellows.
She walks to the entrance of a building and without hesitation
she pushes the door forward to enter the vestibule. White tiles
on the floor. On the right wall an array of bells and signs and
names. Gabriela does not stop. She pushes the next door forward
and she enters the interior hallway of the building. She begins
climbing the narrow stairs. The stairwell is filled with a smell
of tobacco. She reaches the first landing. She continues climbing
The wooden bannister is scarred, the wooden stairs warped with
age. Gabriela reaches the second landing and she turns right to
walk down the dark hallway to a door. ESTUDIO DELGADO. Two long
scratches run diagonally across the door from the upper right to
the lower left. Gabriela turns the handle and she pushes the door
forward to enter a small vestibule whose walls on the left and
right sides are covered with framed photographs, a collection of
black-and-white photographs of men and women, an occasional
photograph marked with a sprawling signature. The door at the far
end of the vestibule opens and a girl appears. Gabriela! Hello,
Elena. Where were you yesterday? We missed you yesterday. I
couldn't come.

Well, you're here today. Come on, he's going to start soon.

Gabriela passes through the door and Elena follows her,
Elena talking about yesterday and today and yesterday again. A
young man appears down the hall. He smiles at Gabriela. His dark
hair grows in a wild tangle around his head and over his ears.

Do you have a script?

Yes, I do.

Then let's go, he's waiting for us.



In the studio Gabriela sits on the small dais with three
other students. She holds a script in her hands. She reads. Elena
reads. A young man reads. Another girl reads. Gabriela reads. The
maestro Delgado sits in the audience with four other students.
Gabriela reads again. Her blonde hair falls forward around her
chin. Her lips move. She tilts her head to the side. She leans
back. She leans forward again.



One time many years ago in a park, Gabriela read a poem by
Neruda. Things keep breaking in the home as though impelled by an
unseen willful brute.

Gabriela, what do you want?

I want to be an actress.



At the end the maestro Delgado and the students in the
audience applaud the students on the dais. Gabriela leaves the
dais and she sits down. The students who made the audience now
take the places of the students who were on the dais. Gabriela
looks at the script for the new scene. Was I any good? Tomorrow
the maestro Delgado will talk to Gabriela and tell her. Was I any
good? Am I any good? I want to be good. I want to be a good
actress. I want to be the best actress. My name is Gabriela and I
want to be the best actress. Senora Silva said what do you want
to be, Gabriela? Do you want to have a husband? Do you want to
have a great deal of money? No, I want to be an actress. Senora
Silva smiled. What a fine thing, she said. What a fine thing it
is to be an actress. But not mama. But not mama, Gabriela thinks.
Her mother said what an awful thing it is to be an actress. What
a life of sin it is. What an awful life. So they don't know. The
Prado family does not know that two or three days a week Gabriela
goes to the studio of the maestro Delgado to learn how to be an
actress. They know nothing. They know nothing about Senora Silva
and they know nothing about the maestro Delgado. Gabriela's
father knows nothing. He says the actors are all perverts.
Everyone knows the actors are all perverts. He says we don't need
the perverts. The bums and the perverts will ruin everything. The
bums and the perverts and all the stupid students who think they
know everything. Gabriela, why do you want to be an actress? I
don't know why. Why is the snow on the cordillera white and not
black? I don't know anything. My name is Gabriela and I don't
know anything.



The General is comfortable in the rear of a long white
Mercedes, the car now proceeding along the Avenida Huertas, the
white car, the day car, the car with tinted glass in the rear to
enable a discreet inspection of things No motorcycles, no guards,
only the chauffeur and the General in a white Mercedes without
any special markings. The General likes to look at things. What
good is it to be in command if one is denied a casual look at the
territory? The car proceeds slowly along the Avenida Huertas. The
General sits on the right side and he gazes through the window at
the shops, the pedestrians, the occasional pair of soldiers, the
carabinero who directs traffic with his white gloves, the shops
again, the pedestrians, the women, the pretty girls. The General
presses a button on the arm-rest under the middle finger of his
right hand and the car glides to a stop at the curb, the General
gazing at two teenage girls as they stand outside a music shop.
The girls laugh at something. The General stares at them as they
laugh. Then he presses the button again and the car moves on,
another shop, more pedestrians, another pair of soldiers...



She sits in a cafe now. Gabriela sits with Tavio in a small
cafe in the Avenida Rosa. Someone is shouting at the counter in
the rear. Tavio looks at Gabriela and he shrugs. Gabriela uses
both hands to pull the hair away from her face. Tavio gazes at
Gabriela. He folds his hands on the table.

I waited for you yesterday, Tavio says.

Gabriela shakes her head: I had to go home.

How did it go today? Did you go to the studio?

Yes. I think he liked it.

Delgado?

Yes, Delgado.

You like him, don't you?

Tavio, please...

At another table, a woman opens her red-painted mouth and
she laughs at something. Tavio turns his head to look at the
woman a moment, then he looks at Gabriela again. A cloud of smoke
from someone's cigar drifts over the table.

Gabriela's face: Her eyes are lowered. She stares at the
table and she says nothing. Now she puts her hands on the table
and she begins turning the coffee cup on the white saucer. Her
fingernails are unpainted. Her slender fingers turn the cup
around and around. The waiter passes. He glances at the table and
he walks on. Tavio has pulled out a package of cigarettes, and
now he puts a cigarette in his mouth and he lights the end of it
with a match.

You're smoking again, Gabriela says.

Tavio nods: I need it. I need it because I love you too
much.

Laughter again. The woman at the nearby table is now leaning
against the man beside her.

Gabriela gazes at the window. She watches the people on the
pavement, the traffic passing in the road.

Tavio puffs at his cigarette: Did you hear about the trouble
in Mocorito? We may go there. Some of us are thinking of going
there.

Gabriela stares at him: What for?

To help them. They need help, don't they? They can't do it
without help. Why don't you come with me?

My parents won't allow it.

My God, you're not a child, Gabriela. Would you come with me
if they allowed it?

Yes, I think so.

Tell them you're going to Ortigosa. Tell them something.

No, they won't believe me. And my father will find out.
Anyway, I don't want you to go to Mocorito. It's too dangerous.

Tavio smiles: Maybe I'll be arrested by your father. I'll be
arrested by your father and then I'll be put in a prison.

Tavio, it's not a joke.

Yes, it's a joke. The hell with it, I'm going to Mocorito
tomorrow.

Gabriela looks away. Her hands are trembling. She pulls her
hands off the table and she holds one hand in the other hand in
her lap as she stares at the window again.

Would you leave? Gabriela says.

Tavio looks at her: Leave? Leave where?

Leave here. Would you leave here? Would you go to another
country? Suppose you had the money, would you go to another
country?

He says nothing. He stares at her. Then he says: I don't
know. Maybe I would leave. But I don't know.

I would like to leave, Gabriela says. I would like to go to
New York.

New York? Why? Why do you want to go to New York?

I think people can be happy in New York.

Tavio shrugs: If they don't have any carabineros, then maybe
people can be happy in New York.

Yes, I think I'd like to go there.

You're not going to New York, Tavio says. You're not going
anywhere. You're not going anywhere and I'm not going anywhere.
Except maybe to the cinema tonight. Tonight you can go with me to
the cinema.

No, I can't go.

Why not?

Gabriela turns her eyes away: I can't go.

But tell me why not?

She doesn't answer him. She hopes that in a moment he'll
talk of something else. She could go but she doesn't want to go.
I don't want to go to the cinema tonight. I don't want to go with
Tavio to the cinema. She turns the coffee cup again. Tavio says
nothing and she's thankful for it. What a small pleasure, she
thinks. Why does he want to go to Mocorito? lt's stupid, isn't
it? If he goes to Mocorito they'll arrest him. Sooner or later
they'll arrest him. She knows it. She knows very well that one
day soon they'll arrest Tavio and they'll put him in prison. Or
maybe they'll come in the night or in the morning and they'll
take him away and Tavio will disappear. They'll kill him. Now
inside her head she hears her father's voice: One must understand
the difference between one thing and another.

Come with me to the cinema, Tavio says.

Gabriela rises: No, I can't.

Where are you going now?

Only to the telephone. I'll be back in a few minutes.

She leaves the table and she walks between the other tables.
The men turn their heads to look at her. She walks to the side of
the small bar where the telephone is located. She puts the coin
inside the box and she dials the telephone. She holds the
receiver against her left ear. After a few moments her lips move.
She talks. One of the waiters is looking at her. She ignores him.
When she finishes the telephone call, she hangs the receiver on
the hook and she returns to Tavio.

Tavio looks at her as she sits down opposite him: Then I
won't see you tonight.

If you don't go to Mocorito, I'll see you tomorrow at three
o'clock.

Where?

In Mirabel. I'll meet you at the Rienzi in Mirabel.



On a billboard near the Avenida Boria: Two girls, one girl
sitting, the other girl standing beside her, each girl holding a
bottle of beer in her right hand, both girls smiling, the teeth
white, the eyes happy. Above the head of the seated girl:
PILSENER... LA CERVEZA DE TRADICION.



He's back in the palace now. The General walks down the long
hall on the second floor of the Presidential Palace. Two aides
walk behind him, each man wearing the uniform of an army colonel.
Maybe one day it's one of them, the General thinks. Maybe one day
one of them will plant a bomb in the Mercedes. Yes, why not? Blow
up the white Mercedes, blow his balls off while he sits downtown
looking at the girls on the boulevards. You can't stop the
bastards. What the hell, it can't be stopped. You want to stop
that, you need to shoot the whole army. Then if the whole army is
shot, who do you have to shoot at the bums? Who shoots the bums
when you don't have the army? They could shoot me now. They could
shoot me in the back now and that's the end of it. No, they won't
shoot me in the back, they know better. Not these two. Not
colonels. The colonels haven't learned how to piss yet. It's not
the colonels, it's the generals you need to watch. You need to
watch them. Watch out. One day it's a general. And if it's not a
general it's a grapefruit growing in the stomach. Ha ha. You're
crazy, Tino. You're too crazy. You need to relax. What do you
want today ? I don't know what I want. Think about it. Think
about what you want...



On the wall of a warehouse near the river, large letters in
black paint, three lines surrounded by a black painted border: LA
MILICADA ASESINO HOY UN COMPANERO. The militia today assassinated
a comrade.



In the hotel room, the woman says: Henrik?

The man looks at her: Yes?

Don't you find the soldiers frightening?

They won't bother us.

They still frighten me. I don't know how the people stand
it. All those machine guns everywhere.

Machine pistols.

Whatever they are.

They're used to it.

Do you like the women? Aren't the women beautiful?

Yes.

I think you've lost interest in me. You have, haven't you?
It's different now.

You're imagining things.

No, I'm not. If you want to know, I expected it. After
all...

Let's not talk about it.

You need a diversion.

We'll visit the mountains.

No, I mean a girl. You need a girl, don't you? A pretty girl
with dark eyes. Or maybe a blonde. They have blondes here, too,
don't they?

You're not serious.

Yes, I am.

No, you're not serious.

The woman laughs: But I am, darling. You'll see. I'm
serious, you know. I'm quite serious.





              6: NOW GABRIELA IS ALONE...


Now Gabriela is alone in a taxi. I don't want him to die,
she thinks. Will he die like the others? I don't want Tavio to
die. Tavio is too young to die. And the others? Are the others
too young to die? I don't care about the others, I care about
Tavio. Yes you do care. Yes you do care. Yes she does care about
the others. Yes she does care about the others. She looks at the
signs in the street, the shop windows, the pedestrians on the
pavement, two carabineros standing outside a bank. What did the
General say yesterday? WE ARE ONE COUNTRY AND ONE PEOPLE. My name
is Gabriela Prado and I belong to one country and one people.
Next summer I want to go to the beach with Tavio again. No, next
summer she'll be in New York and Tavio might be in prison. If she
buys the ticket for him, he won't leave with her. She knows he
won't leave with her. It's not the money. By next summer she
might have the money for both of them, but he still won't leave
with her. No, it's not the money, not for Tavio. For Tavio it's
something else. And for me, what is it? What will I find in New
York? What will I find on the other side of the world? What will
I find on the moon? Are there any old men on the moon? Does
Senora Silva have a sister on the moon? Maybe in New York the old
men will pay more money. It's always the money, Gabriela thinks.
Without the money you can't breathe. Senora Silva says if I save
the money, maybe someday I'll be rich. But I won't be rich when
I'll be in New York. She'll be in New York without Tavio, without
anyone. How is it possible, Gabriela? What will they do? Raimundo
and Eduardo will come to New York to find her. The two idiots who
are my brothers will come to New York to find me. Then I won't
tell anyone where I am. Ell have nothing in New York. She'll have
nothing in New York except what she has in her head and between
her legs. Up here and down there. It's not the same, is it? One
must know the difference. One must know the difference between
one thing and another



Gabriela climbs out of the taxi in a narrow street near the
Plaza de la Constitucion. She closes her coat against the cool
air. There is no sun here. The street is too narrow and the old
buildings are too high. She knocks on the door of a large house
made of red brick and brown wood. The heavy door opens and an old
woman wearing a white apron stands on the threshold with her eyes
on Gabriela.

Yes? the old woman says.

The eyes are suspicious. The woman does not smile. Gabriela
gives her name and the woman's face does not change. But she
opens the door to Gabriela, holds the door wide open as Gabriela
enters the large house.

Paintings in the hall. A terrazzo floor, a gilded credenza,
a large triple mirror. Gabriela looks at her face in the mirror.

Senor Barra is in his study, the old woman says.



He has white hair. He wears an embroidered silk jacket and
black wool trousers. He comes out from behind a carved desk and
he takes Gabriela's hand.

A vision of beauty, Senor Barra says.

Gabriela looks at the furniture, the carpets, the small
statues in glass cases, the large statues on the tables, on the
floor, in the four corners of the square room. Two tall windows
overlook a garden. Senor Barra orders tea and the old woman
vanishes. He talks about his collections. He smokes a long thin
cigar. He looks at Gabriela. He looks at her legs as she sits in
front of him in a large chair with her knees together and her
purse in her lap. Now the old woman reappears with a tray, a
teapot, two teacups. The old woman vanishes again and Senor Barra
pours the tea for Gabriela and himself. Gabriela looks at the
statue again, at the tall figurine near Senor Barra's left elbow,
a naked girl made of marble, her arms uplifted, her hands holding
a small vase.

Senor Barra looks at Gabriela: A vision of beauty, he says.
A true vision of beauty.



The General has the book in his lap. EL CUERPO HUMANO. He
sits in the big chair with the book in his lap and his head bent
as he looks at it. There are four main layers in the wall of the
digestive tube. The mouth, or oral cavity, is the first portion
of the digestive tube. The tongue is an accessory organ. The
picture shows a frontal view of a man with his head turned toward
his right shoulder. The interior organs are visible, the parotid
gland, the sublingual gland, the submandibular gland, the
pharynx, the esophagus, the stomach, the duodenum, the jejunum,
the ascending colon, the transverse colon, the descending colon,
the sigmoid colon, the rectum. All the guts, the General thinks.
Inside the shell are all the guts. A long tube from the mouth to
the rectum, from one hole to the other. Two big holes like a
woman. What's the difference? How do they know all this? They
strip the skin off and they look inside They look at the guts and
they find out where everything is. What do you think? If you
shoot from the front it's no problem because the bullet comes out
the back and nothing much gets blown out. If you shoot from the
back the bullet comes out the front and it blows out the guts. So
it's always better to get it from the front. Listen, you can tell
that to the boys. What have I got now? Two lieutenant generals,
eight major generals, forty brigadier generals, that's too many
fucking generals, I don't care what they say it's too many, you
might as well make every private a general, it's too much, it's
too much, isn't it? It's too much...



Gabriela sits on a narrow upholstered bench. She wears only
a white chemise, the left shoulder-strap down on her left arm so
that the upper part of her left breast is revealed. She sits with
each hand on the seat of the bench, her thighs wide apart, the
chemise pulled back to show the lower part of her belly, the
joining of her thighs, the blonde hair that covers her sex.
Behind her is a large painting of a 19th century gentleman, a man
with dark eyes, a narrow head, a wing collar, and a black tie. To
the right of Gabriela is the brown molding at the edge of a
doorway. The bench is high enough so that only her toes touch the
carpet.

You're perfect, Senor Barra says. You're quite perfect.



She has the book now. Before coming here she bought the book
in a bookshop. It's not a large book. It's only a small book
about New York. She has the book in her purse. Nueva York. How do
they call it, New York or New York City? The City of New York in
the United States of America. On the east coast of the North
American continent, New York is bathed by the Atlantic Ocean. The
total population of New York City is 7,454,000 inhabitants. I
want to go there, Gabriela thinks. I want to go to New York. In
New York she'll be the famous actress Gabriela Prado. She'll send
a photograph back to maestro Delgado and he'll put the photograph
with the others in the vestibule of the studio. Gabriela Prado is
now in New York. Gabriela Prado is now a famous actress in New
York. She was one of my best pupils and you must think of her as
an inspiration to work harder. Gabriela Prado is known to
everyone in New York. Gabriela Prado is rich and famous and loved
by everyone in the City of New York beside the Atlantic Ocean.



Senor Barra's bedroom. The carved headboard of the bed shows
a bearded face in the dark wood, curlicues, flowers and leaves,
the headboard in the shape of an arc against the white wall. On
each side of the bed is a nightstand, on each nightstand a
porcelain lamp with a yellow shade. On the nightstand on the left
side of the bed is a large ashtray and a white telephone. Against
the wall on the right is a small pedestal supporting the carved
and painted figure of a monk wearing a long brocaded robe. The
monk's head is tonsured, the crown of hair dark against the
painted pink skin. The only picture in the room is directly above
the ornate headboard, a large oil painting of a woman and an
infant, the child held in the crook of the woman's left arm, the
woman serene as she gazes into the space of the room at the left
side of the bed.



Gabriela is naked on the bed. She is seen now from the foot
of the bed on the left side as she leans forward with her
shoulders and head on a pillow, her knees folded and planted on
the bedspread, the lower part of her body raised and exposed, her
thighs, her buttocks, the deep groove between her buttocks, the
blonde hair of her sex, the tendrils of blonde hair between the
buttocks above the sex. Her knees are wide apart on the
bedspread. She lies with the right side of her face on the
pillow, her right hand not visible, her left arm folded, her left
hand on the pillow near her face, the tip of her left thumb
pushed between her lips, her eyes closed, her blonde hair pulled
aside so that all of the left side of her face is visible.



Senor Barra now appears at the foot of the bed. He is still
dressed. He climbs onto the bed and he kneels behind Gabriela. He
reaches out with both hands and he touches her buttocks, his
palms on her buttocks, his fingers splayed out on the white
flesh, the hands not moving, then moving at last, sliding over
the globes, each hand sliding outward and then inward again. He
mutters something, the words indistinct. Then he leans forward
and he pushes his face against the groove between the two
buttocks, the front of his face now hidden between the two
globes, his eyes closed, his hands grasping the flesh on either
side of his face as he pushes his face forward.



Gabriela makes an indistinct sound. Her eyes are still
closed. She still has the tip of her left thumb inside her mouth.
She remains motionless, fixed, immobilized as Senor Barra's face
continues to press between her buttocks.



Nothing changes. Now there is silence. The two figures are
frozen, the positions fixed on the bed, the naked girl, the
dressed man, the girl kneeling, the man kneeling behind her, the
man bent forward as he pushes his face between the girl's
upturned buttocks.



Then a noise, a faint sucking sound. Then silence again.



HOY! HOY! This is directly outside the Biblioteca Nacional,
on the north side where the long wall has a ledge two feet off
the ground, a shelf, a long stone bench that runs from the
foreground into the distance along the street. One automobile is
approaching, then behind it a small truck, the sign in front in
large black letters: PUBLICIDAD SSS. In the foreground on the
right, seated on the shelf, on the stone bench, is a man with
wild hair, a moustache, a tangled beard, a soiled shirt and
trousers, a jacket draped over his right arm, his feet bare, the
soles of his bare feet on the cement of the pavement. He turns
his head. He stares at the spectator. His eyes have no pupils.






      7: NOW THE NOISE OF A CROWDED RESTAURANT...


Now the noise of a crowded restaurant and Gabriela is
sitting with Ramona Senza. They sit opposite each other at a
small table next to one of the large windows. Ramona has dark
hair and dark eyes. She wears a red silk scarf the same color as
the red of her painted lips.

Well, what's happening? Ramona says. What's happening with
you and Tavio?

Gabriela shrugs: Nothing. Everything is the same.

I don't believe it. You must be planning to get married.

I tell you nothing is happening. Everything is the same.

Gabriela turns her head to look at the restaurant, at the
crowded tables. Some of the people are obviously foreigners. She
hears the foreign words as they talk, the laughter.

Don't cut your hair, Ramona says.

Gabriela looks at her: Why not?

Because it's too beautiful. If you cut your hair, I'll cry.

Gabriela smiles: All right.

Delgado thinks you're the best.

Did he say that?

No, he didn't say it. But I know it.

I'll find out tomorrow.

Maybe next year you'll have a big part in one of his plays.

Maybe I won't be here next year. Maybe I'll be in New york.

New York?

I'm thinking of going to New York.

You're joking.

No, I'm not joking. I'm really thinking about it.

Ramona sighs: I'd rather go to Paris. Maybe I'll go in
January. I'm trying to convince my father. I'll go to Paris for a
whole month and spend a great deal of his money. Won't that be
fun?

Gabriela rises. She leaves Ramona and she navigates between
the tables to the ladies room. Is it better to go to Paris or to
New York?



The General's face: He smiles. He tilts his head toward his
right shoulder. Then the view changes and the General is seen
with a group in a large hall. He wears his white uniform.
Everyone's face is turned toward the General. The room has two
elaborate chandeliers, tall windows, a series of dull brown
paintings on the far wall. The General now turns to one of the
men and he extends his hand. The man wears a morning coat and
striped trousers. He extends his hand toward the General's hand.
The two hands meet. The eyes meet. They nod. The General smiles
again...



When Gabriela comes out of the stall in the ladies room, she
hears a female voice, the words in English: Oh damn!

A woman is at one of the mirrors, a woman with brown hair
and red lips and gold earrings. She turns and she looks at
Gabriela. She smiles and she speaks in Spanish: I broke a
fingernail.

Gabriela expresses her sympathy. The woman smiles again. She
looks at Gabriela, her eyes on Gabriela's face, on Gabriela's
hair.

You're very beautiful, the woman says. You're hair is
exquisite. I haven't seen many girls here with hair like yours.
It's rare, isn't it?

Gabriela shrugs: I don't think so. Are you a tourist?

The woman nods: I'm travelling with my husband. We'll be
staying here awhile, I think. We've just arrived, but we'll be
staying awhile.

Gabriela looks at the woman's red fingernails. Yes, one of
the fingernails is broken, the forefinger of the left hand. Their
eyes meet in the mirror. Gabriela looks at the gold earrings, the
two gold bracelets on the woman's left wrist. And the woman's red
lips. The lips are a bright red, the paint glistening on the full
lower lip.

The woman looks at her makeup in the mirror. She talks. She
says she and her husband are from New York. She says they've been
living in Mexico nearly three years. She talks about Gabriela's
hair again. Gabriela looks at the woman's eyes in the mirror.

New York?

Yes, the woman says. Have you ever been there?

Gabriela shakes her head: No.

What's your name? the woman says.

Gabriela.

And mine is Marie. Maybe we'll see each other again. The
world is a small place, isn't it?



The world is an apple, the General thinks. He raises his
glass to the Ambassador of France. The world is an old apple. How
is it in France? How are things in the middle of the night? Do
they have bums in France? Do they have cancer in France?



Gabriela walks between the tables again as she returns to
Ramona.

I ordered more coffee, Ramona says.

Gabriela still smells the perfume of the woman from New
York. She looks at Ramona, at Ramona's earrings. Ramona has dark
eyes. Gabriela turns her head and she looks at the windows, at
the street, at the pedestrians. Then Gabriela turns to look at
the restaurant again and suddenly she sees the woman from New
York at a table near the far wall. My name is Marie, the woman
said. She has gold earrings. She sits with a man wearing a dark
jacket. We have a house in Mexico, the woman said. The waiter
passes Gabriela's table. A man nearby is smoking a cigar.
Gabriela looks at the woman from New York again, and now both the
woman and her husband are looking at Gabriela. How far is it to
New York?

Do you want more coffee? Ramona says.

No, I don't think so.

How far is it to New York? Gabriela thinks. Maybe it's crazy
to think of going there. Maybe she won't have enough money to go
to New York. Well, where will she go? If not to New York, then
where will she go?

At the table near the far wall, the woman and the man now
rise. They put their coats on and they begin walking between the
tables, walking toward the front door of the restaurant, walking
toward Gabriela's table. Gabriela watches them. She meets the
woman's eyes. The man and the woman stop when they reach
Gabriela's table, and the woman smiles down at Gabriela.

Hello again, the woman says in Spanish. I'd like you to meet
my husband Henrik.

Gabriela looks at the gold bracelets on the woman's left
wrist. Then she looks up at the man.

Hello, the man says. Hello, Gabriela.



They walk on now. The man and the woman from New York walk
on. They leave the restaurant. Gabriela watches them through the
window. She watches as they climb into a taxi.

Who are they? Ramona says.

I met her in the ladies room. They're from New York.

She's the older one, isn't she? Either that or he just looks
much younger.

I don't care, Gabriela says.

But she's still beautiful, Ramona says. She may be the older
one, but she's still beautiful.



Later that evening Gabriela is at home with her family
again. She sits at the dinner table with her mother and her
father and her two brothers. Senora Prado wears a white blouse
with a high collar. She wears her cross outside the collar, the
large silver cross dangling over her bosom. The two brothers sit
beside each other, both brothers wearing identical flannel
jackets, both brothers eating soup. Gabriela sits opposite her
brothers with a small broiled fish on a plate in front of her.
Senor Prado breaks another piece of bread with his large hands.

I work too hard, Senor Prado says. I worked very hard today.
No time to rest. All this trouble in Mocorito. The damn students.
It's the Church. It's the Church behind the students. The
priests. What do they want? Does anyone know what they want?

Senora Prado stops eating: Julio, don't blame the church.

They ought to shoot all the priests.

Julio, please...

Well, what do you think? Where do you think all this trouble
is coming from? I had forty today. They sent me forty students
and they want everything finished in one day.

You can send them home, Senora Prado says.

I can't send them home. They need to be questioned. These
people always need to be questioned.

Eduardo makes a sound with his nose: They need to be
tickled. They need to be tickled, don't they, Papa?

That's enough, Senora Prado says. That's more than enough.

Gabriela thinks of Tavio. Will Tavio go to Mocorito? Will
Tavio be arrested? Will Tavio be tickled?



In the Hotel Melendez, Henrik makes a vague sound. Only the
lower part of his body can be seen as he lies on the bed with his
head on the pillow. The front of his trousers is open and his
penis extends out of the slit like a large pink sausage. Marie
lies on the bed with her head in Henrik's lap and her red lips
closed over the very tip of his organ. She holds the base of his
penis with her right hand, her wrist twisted as she curls her
fingers around its thickness. She lies on Henrik's lap with the
right side of her head on his left thigh and her left forearm
between her chest and his lap. The red lipstick covers his glans
and part of the shaft behind the glans. Marie pushes her head
forward to take more of his glans in her mouth. She closes her
lips behind the rim of the glans and then she pulls back again.
She sucks at the tip. She extends her tongue out of her mouth and
she rolls her tongue around and around the bloated knob. Then
once again her mouth closes over the bulb, her lips making a wet
sound as she pushes forward to take half the length of his thick
penis. Henrik groans. He strokes the back of Marie's neck with
his left hand. Marie slides her mouth backward. She squeezes the
base of his penis as she sucks his glans again. Then she pulls
her mouth away from the knob and she smacks her lips and she
says: Is it good, darling?

Henrik groans again.

Don't come yet, Marie says. You don't want to come now, do
you, darling? My God, what an erection this is. It's marvelous.
It's absolutely marvelous. What are you thinking of? Are you
thinking of something now? Are you thinking of that blonde girl
we met today? Wasn't she lovely? Yes, you're thinking of that
girl, aren't you, darling? That girl Gabriela. The blonde girl
Gabriela. You can't fool me. I can tell, can't I? It's the girl,
isn't it, darling?

Marie rubs the tip of Henrik's penis back and forth across
her lips. Then she takes the glans again. She has the glans in
her mouth again. She holds the bulb with her lips, the forefinger
and thumb of her left hand forming a ring around the shaft of the
penis. The ring moves. She pushes the foreskin forward until the
collar of skin touches her lips. Then she pulls back again.
Forward and back. Forward and back. The pace quickens, the
forefinger and thumb sliding forward and back over the shaft of
the penis. Henrik makes a noise in his throat as he begins to
ejaculate. Marie keeps the glans in her mouth, her lips in a
fixed ring behind the bulb, the ring of thumb and forefinger
continuing to slide forward and back, forward and back, a faster
pace, her fingers sliding forward and back, her mouth sucking at
the spurting penis.

And then the sucking is finished and Marie releases his
glans. She licks at it with her tongue. She kisses the tip and
she licks it again.

Feel better? she says. Don't you feel better now?



In a room in the Ministry of National Defense, an old man
wearing a blindfold is in the foreground sitting in a chair with
his hands handcuffed behind his back. The left side of his face
is bruised, a dark red blotch on his left temple, a large purple
welt covering most of his left cheek down to his chin. He sits on
the edge of the chair, leaning forward, his two feet on the
ground, his mouth hanging open. Beyond the old man are two
carabineros, one officer behind a table, his left hand resting on
an open file of papers, his fingers holding a pair of horn-rimmed
eyeglasses, the other officer younger, dark hair, his arms
folded, his eyes looking away to the left. On the far wall in the
background is a large photograph of the General, his peaked cap,
his round face, his grey moustache. The officer with the open
file moves his right arm, folds it, rests his bent hand on his
waist. Where's the coffee? the officer says. Where's the idiot
with the coffee.



Now in a large dining room, a long table under a high
ceiling, the General sits with his family. His cheeks are pink.
He wears the white uniform again, a gold star, gold braid, his
hair combed straight back from his pink temples. One of the large
chandeliers hangs directly over the dining table, the pointed
light bulbs arranged in a series of concentric curves, arcs,
incomplete circles on four sides, then a small pyramid at the
foot of the chain that attaches the chandelier to the ceiling.
The servants move around the table, two maids, a wine steward.
The General's wife Constancia sits on his right, a woman of an
uncertain age. Is she past sixty? She has black hair. The
General's daughter Adela sits on his left, past thirty, a vague
face, her fingernails painted a blood-red color. The General's
son-in-law Hugo sits to the left of Adela, a man with a round
face and soft hands.

The General's wife speaks: Tino?

The General looks at her: Yes?

Did you remember? The General stares at her. He nods: Yes, I
remembered. When? In three months.

The General's wife smiles. She looks at her daughter and
son-in-law: They start building the new palace in three months.
See, I told you.

Adela smiles: Papa, that's wonderful!

One of the servants appears. A shadow passes over the corner
of the table at the left of the General.

Marble in the halls, the General's wife says.

Italian marble, the General says.

Not too dark?

No, not too dark.

The General's wife smiles. She looks at her daughter and
son-in-law: See, I told you.





 8: IN THE AFTERNOON GABRIELA IS IN THE CAFE RIENZI...


In the afternoon Gabriela is in the Cafe Rienzi in Mirabel.
The room is filled with students, boys with blue jackets, girls
with dark eyes and red lips. Gabriela sits alone at a table near
the entrance. She drinks coffee. She stares across the room at a
large painting on the wall, black and red smeared across a white
canvas, an abstraction, a storm, an outrage. She runs her fingers
through the spilled salt on the table. She waits. She waits for
Tavio. Where is Tavio? Gabriela looks at the faces of the
students who enter the cafe. Tavio is not among them. Tavio does
not come through the door. Did Tavio go to Mocorito? Gabriela
opens the book she has on the table in front of her, the
guidebook to New York. The best season to visit New York is
certainly the fall. The bus routes in the city number more than
200. The subway system is the most popular means of
transportation. It's a dream, Gabriela thinks. I'm dreaming. I'll
never go to New York. Why did Tavio go to Mocorito? The police
have trucks with water hoses. The police hit the students with
clubs. Do I love Tavio? Does she love Tavio? She feels a great
despair again. She closes the book and she stares at the coffee
cup. Her lips are dry. She thinks of Tavio. She thinks of Tavio's
eyes. She hears laughter from the back of the cafe. Here the
students are happy. In Mocorito the students are screaming. Tavio
will not come today. Tavio is in Mocorito. You wait for nothing,
Gabriela thinks. Tavio will not come and you wait for nothing.
Tavio is in Mocorito and you wait for nothing.



Senora Silva has dark hair and red lips and she wears a
necklace of pearls over a blue dress. She stands near a small
piano in a room in the Avenida Espartero. Gabriela sits on the
sofa and she gazes at the rings on Senora Silva's fingers. She's
here to give Senora Silva the money she owes her. Senora Silva
counts the money now. She counts the banknotes with her fingers.
She looks at Gabriela. She counts the banknotes again. Gabriela
turns her eyes away and she looks at the small paintings on the
walls, the gilt mirrors, the candlesticks on the shelf near the
piano.

Tell me about Senor Barra, Senora Silva says. Did you have
any trouble with him?

Gabriela shakes her head: No, I had no trouble.

He's an old hypocrite. He makes trouble sometimes.

I had no trouble, Gabriela says.

Senora Silva looks at her: You can earn more money than you
do now. You can earn much more, you know. Don't you want to? It's
not so bad. The other girls don't complain.

Gabriela shakes her head: I don't want to do the other
things.

You dislike doing them?

I don't want to do them. Not for money.

Senora Silva rolls her eyes. You're not a virgin, are you? I
know you're not a virgin. Why don't you think about it? It means
more money for you. Will you think about it?

Gabriela shrugs: Yes.

Good, Senora Silva says. I'll have something for you on
Monday. If you telephone me Monday morning, I'll give you the
address. If he wants two girls, will you go?

Two girls?

Yes. This one likes two girls. You don't have to do anything
but what you already do now. He's an old goat like the others.
They're all old goats, aren't they? The world is filled with old
goats.



On the bus, Gabriela thinks about Senora Silva. She wants to
make more money, Gabriela thinks. She wants me to do more than I
do. It's not so bad, she says. But in the beginning she said it
didn't matter. Now she says it's not so bad and she wants me to
do more. Gabriela thinks of her mother. Senora Silva is almost as
old as Gabriela's mother. She tries to imagine her mother in
Senora Silva's house, her mother standing beside the piano with
the money in her hands. No, her mother would rather have her
cross in her hands. Senora Silva has the money in her hands and
Senora Prado has the cross in her hands. And in my hands? What do
I have in my hands?



Gabriela is now in the Cafe Rienzi in Mirabel again. She
hopes Tavio will be there. She searches for him in the crowd. She
walks between the tables searching for Tavio. But Tavio is not
there. When Gabriela reaches the kitchen, she turns and she walks
to the front of the cafe again. Then she sees Rafael Monzon.
Rafael knows Tavio, doesn't he?

Hello, Rafael.

He looks up at her: Ah, the blonde one. Sit down, Gabriela.
This is Teresa.

Hello, Teresa says.

Gabriela looks at Rafael: Have you seen Tavio? I think he
went to Mocorito. Has he come back yet? Have you seen him?

Sit down, Rafael says.

Gabriela sits down beside him: Have you seen him?

Rafael leans toward her and he speaks in a low voice:
Mocorito was very bad.

Were you there?

Yes, I was there.

And Tavio? Was Tavio there?

Tavio was arrested, Rafael says. Tavio and many of the
others.

Tavio?

Yes, they arrested Tavio.

Where is he now?

Rafael shrugs: I don't know. They arrested them and they
brought them back here in trucks. I don't know where anyone is.
Tavio and Miguel and Roberto. No one knows.

Gabriela makes a sound in her throat.

It's not good, Rafael says.



Gabriela goes to the Avenida Vigo. She feels nothing now.
Her mind is numb. She thinks only of Tavio. She arrives at the
Ministry of National Defense building and she walks quickly
between the huge columns. The guards at the door look at her. She
passes through the door and she goes directly to the desk in the
lobby.

I want to see my father.

The officer at the desk looks up at her: Your father?

Senor Tomas Prado.

He raises an eyebrow: Your card, please.

Gabriela shows him her identity card. He looks at it. He
studies it. He looks at her face. He looks at the card again.
Finally he waves his right hand at one of the carabineros
standing in the hall.

Take her to Senor Prado's office. Room 6 on the second
floor.



Gabriela's father is puzzled. He comes out from behind his
large desk.

What a surprise, he says. You haven't been here since you
were a little girl.

On the wall to the left of the desk is a large photograph of
the General.

I need something, Gabriela says.

Through the window she can see the trees and beyond the
trees the palace where the General lives.

What is it? Senor Prado says. What is it that's so important
to make you come here? Are you in trouble?

He places his large hands on her shoulders.

Someone I know has been arrested, Gabriela says. Can you
find out where he is? Can you find out how he is?

Senor Prado pulls his hands away: Arrested? Who is it? Why
was he arrested?

He was arrested in Mocorito. His name is Octavio Campos.

Senor Prado returns to his desk and he looks at Gabriela:
What was he doing in Mocorito?

I don't know. What's the difference? Can't you find out
where he is?

Who is he? Who is he to you?

He's only a boy. He's a boy I know and he's been arrested.
He's a friend.

Senor Prado suddenly shouts at her: A friend? That's what
you have for friends? These bums that went on strike in Mocorito?

I only want to know where he is.

Senor Prado shouts again: Get out. Go home. Go home now.
I'll talk to you at home.



The General has a table napkin pressed against his mouth,
the white cloth covering the lower half of his face. He sits
between two lieutenant generals, the table in front of them
cluttered with plates, glasses, ashtrays, a salt shaker, a silver
bowl containing paper-wrapped sugar cubes. The lieutenant general
on the General's left side turns a spoon with the fingers of his
right hand.

Palmillas is a problem, the lieutenant general says. What do
you want to do in Palmillas?

The General pulls the table napkin away from his mouth: What
do you think? What the hell do you think?



This is the face of a miner. He wears a metal helmet with a
narrow brim, a bracket attached to the front of the helmet to
hold the miner's lamp. Below the brim of the helmet are the
miner's eyes, his nose, his mouth, and his chin. A small scar is
visible under his right cheekbone. The mines in the north produce
copper, nitrate, iron, coal, gold, and silver.



I don't care what it costs, Marie says.

It's an expensive apartment, Henrik says.

Darling, I don't care.

Well, it's your money, isn't it?

Yes, it's my money. You don't like that, do you? You've
never liked it.

Henrik turns away. His eyes are fixed on the window of the
hotel room.

That's not true, he says.

You didn't mind it in Mexico, did you?

No.

And what about New York? Did you mind it in New York?

New York is different.

You hate me, don't you? I can tell you hate me.

I don't hate you.

The money means we can do things together. You shouldn't
hate me for it.

I don't hate you.

We ought to enjoy it.

Let's not talk about it.

Sometimes I feel it. I feel you hate me.

No.

Are you annoyed?

No.

Darling, it's only money.





          PART TWO: WE'RE FRIENDS, AREN'T WE?



               9: GABRIELA SITS ALONE...


Gabriela sits alone in a cafe near the opera house. She
feels numb again. She pays no attention to the noise around her.
She stares at the coffee cup on the table in front of her. Don't
go crazy, she thinks. I need to pray that I don't go crazy. Where
is he? Where is Tavio? She feels the despair in her stomach. Will
they put him in prison? Will they put Tavio in prison? Or maybe
they'll kill him. I hate my father, Gabriela thinks. How awful it
is to hate one's father. The hate consumes her. She feels the
hate in her belly alongside the despair.

A man's voice: Aren't you feeling well?

An old man sits down next to Gabriela. He wears a dark shirt
and a white silk handkerchief in the breast pocket of his grey
jacket.

Aren't you feeling well? You look so sad.

Gabriela looks at him. She looks at his old eyes.

I'm fine, she says. Thank you.

He tilts his head: No, you're not fine. You're too sad. Will
you have some wine with me?

She agrees. Why not? She doesn't care one way or the other.
She's grateful for the attention. Maybe it's bad to be alone now.
She hears him talking. He says something about his granddaughter.
Yes, Gabriela is young enough to be his granddaughter. The wine
arrives, red wine in a carafe. He wears fine clothes. He says
she's a beautiful girl. He says his name is Hector. And you? he
says. Gabriela, she says.

She thinks of Tavio. She thinks of her father. She looks at
Hector's eyes.



Hector talks. He tells an amusing story about the man who
owns the cafe. When he points out the owner of the cafe to
Gabriela, she sees that the owner of the cafe resembles her
father. No, it's madness. He does not resemble her father. Hector
is talking again. Now Gabriela learns that Hector works at the
Ministry of National Defense. Hector is an important man in the
Ministry of National Defense. Does he know her father? Gabriela
will not tell him her father's name. Instead she tells Hector
about Tavio. Her friend has been arrested and she has no idea
where he is.

That's very sad, Hector says.

I want to cry, Gabriela says.

No, don't cry. You're too pretty to cry.

I want to know where he is.

Maybe I can help. Maybe I can find out where he is now.

Is it possible? Gabriela says.

I can telephone to the ministry. Yes, I can do that for you.
Come to my house and I'll telephone to the ministry. Yes, I can
do it. What a pity that your friend has been arrested. But we'll
find out where he is, won't we?



The General speaks on television again. He sits behind his
antique desk, both hands on the desk, his face pink, his lips
working as he forms the words: NOTHING WILL CHANGE. WE ARE
COMMITTED TO OUR PROGRAM OF PEACE AND PROSPERITY. WE MOVE FORWARD
INTO THE FUTURE WITH FULL CONFIDENCE.



Gabriela now stands in a large room with a white terrazzo
floor. Over the fireplace is a ribbed mantle shelf and over that
a mirror with an ornate curlicued gilt frame. Two green sofas
face each other in front of the fireplace, on each sofa an
arrangement of pink and red silk-covered pillows. The old man
Hector sits in the foreground, only part of his body visible, a
black telephone receiver at his left ear, his lips moving, his
eyes on Gabriela.



She sees part of her face in the mirror over the fireplace.
She turns her head to look at the windows, the heavy curtains.
Then she looks at the mirror again. Will he find out where Tavio
is? She feels lost. This room is so large. She can't hear his
voice. She wants to hear his voice but she can't hear it. She
thinks of her father again. Does Hector look like her father? No,
Hector's hair is grey and her father's hair is black. Her
father's hair is black and her mother's hair is blonde. My
mother's grandfather was an Englishman. Yes, it's true. My name
is Gabriela and one of my great-grandfathers was an Englishman
from a place called Bristol. Hector wants something, doesn't he?
She knows that Hector wants something from her. She can see the
way he looks at her. She doesn't care. Nothing is certain, is it?
Nothing has any certainty.



Hector puts the telephone down and he nods: Your friend
Octavio Campos is in the detention center in Valldemosa.

Gabriela stares at him: Valldemosa?:

Do you know where it is? It's twenty kilometers north of the
city.

Can I visit him?

Hector shakes his head: I don't think so. Not in Valldemosa.
Maybe if they move him to one of the prisons in the city, you
might get permission to visit him.

Then what can I do to help him?

I don't know. I can give you the names of some people to
see. It's not easy. But let's have some wine first It's better to
relax a bit, isn't it? Maybe we can think of something. You don't
have to leave now, do you?



This is now another corner of the large living room A window
is seen in the left background, the square of the window framed
by dark red curtains. On the wall at the right is a small
painting of a street scene, and to the left of that a white lamp
attached to the wall. Hector is seated in an upholstered armchair
and Gabriela is sitting on his lap. She has her right arm around
his neck, her right hand resting on his right shoulder. Hector's
left arm is around her waist, the fingers of his left hand
visible below Gabriela's left elbow. Hector's right arm is
folded, his right hand holding the right lapel of his jacket.
Gabriela has her legs crossed. She looks over Hector's shoulder
at the window a moment, and then she looks at his face again. Now
Hector's right hand moves. The hand moves from the right lapel of
his jacket and it drops down to cover Gabriela's left knee.



What does he want? she thinks. He wants what the others
want. She feels his hand on her knee. She thinks of Tavio. Poor
Tavio. Now he's in Valldemosa. Tavio is in Valldemosa. Oh, she
knows of that place Valldemosa. Her father has spoken of that
place Valldemosa. They don't come back, do they? From Valldemosa
they don't come back. Tavio will never come back if he stays in
Valldemosa. Hector's fingers are squeezing her knee, the flesh
above her knee. She could ask him for money. Why don't you ask
him for money, Gabriela? Would he be surprised? No, it's not
possible. For the sake of Tavio, it's not possible. Hector is not
like the others. Or maybe Hector is like the others and she
doesn't care. For the sake of Tavio, she doesn't care. For the
sake of Tavio, she won't prevent it.



I won't do everything, she says.

The hand on her knee stops moving. Hector looks at her.

Why not? he says.

Because I don't like it. You won't force me, will you?

No, I won't force you.

You can suck me if you want. I don't mind that. If you like
that, you can suck me.

He makes a vague sound. His hand slides under her dress and
over her knee. Gabriela watches his face as he strokes her thigh.



Over the large bed is an arch of quarry stone, and under
that two ecclesiastical plaques fixed to the wall, the plaques
abutting against each other, carvings of figures in deep relief,
two monks, a donkey, a small figure in the right plaque that may
be a nun tending a child. On the right side of the bed is a small
bookcase. On the left side of the bed is a vase filled with large
red and white flowers. At the foot of the bed is an enormous
wooden chest with brass fittings. Gabriela lies across the width
of the bed, naked, on her back, her legs raised, Hector's face
between her thighs, Hector's mouth pressed against her sex.
Hector is half-dressed, naked below his waist, his knees on the
carpet, his buttocks white, his legs white, his face hidden
between Gabriela's thighs.



She feels his tongue. She thinks of the others. She thinks
of Tavio. She thinks of her father. her mother, her brothers. Her
two brothers. She wonders if Eduardo or Raimundo have ever done
this to a girl. She can't imagine it. No, don't think of them.
Think of this, think of his tongue. She doesn't want to look at
it. She looks at the ceiling instead. She looks at the white
ceiling. Like a white sky. The ceiling is like a white sky. She
lies on a desert somewhere under a white sky.



 From the mouth of the General: NOTHING WILL CHANGE. WE MOVE
FORWARD INTO THE FUTURE WITH FULL CONFIDENCE...



Hector is on the bed now. He lies on the bed beside her, his
body turned so that his mouth is once again pressed against her
sex. He lies on her left side. Her left leg is raised and his
head is under her left thigh. He searches for one of her hands
now. He takes her left hand in his right hand and he brings her
left hand to his penis as he continues to suck her sex. She
doesn't mind it. She fondles his testicles. She closes her hand
around his soft penis. She begins stroking the penis with her
fingers. The member stiffens and grows as she continues to stroke
it. Then he makes a noise. She feels the wetness in her hand. She
thinks of Tavio as she continues to move her fingers. Tavio in
Valldemosa. Tavio in Valldemosa. The wetness in her hand.
Hector's tongue. Hector groaning. Tavio in Valldemosa.



Aravaca again. A small boy in an open doorway. The interior
behind him is a dense black. The cement facing of the house has
been ripped away to show the wooden slats underneath. The boy is
barefoot. He stands in the center of the doorway with his arms
extended to hold the frame of the doorway on each side. He wears
a white teeshirt and tom trousers. A large drawing has been
printed on the teeshirt, a standing male figure, hands on hips, a
cape, a black mask over the upper part of the face. The letters
over the head of the figure are clearly visible: BATMAN.



It's not possible, the General thinks. He stands at his desk
with his eyes on the plans for the new palace. The fools have
done the drawing in black ink. It's a curse. He knows it's a
curse. He grinds his teeth. He closes his eyes. He opens his eyes
again and he looks down at the drawing. Be reasonable, he thinks.
That's the way they do it. They do it in black ink. It means
nothing. Be reasonable, Tino. He extends his hands to the large
drawing, his fingers touching the corners, the edges. He looks
beyond his desk to the room, the closed door. He looks at the
plans again. The grounds around the new palace are shown in light
green. Yes, that's nice. And above the roof of the palace is a
flag. The guard posts around the palace are clearly visible. Let
them try to force this place and they'll have a fight on their
hands. Rockets and machine guns. They won't get in so easily,
will they? How many rooms? He doesn't remember any more. Let the
women worry about the rooms. Near the right side of the palace is
the swimming pool, the tennis courts, the conservatory. The
General presses his lips together. What you need is a good plan
for the guns. Maybe something on the roof, too. Why not on the
roof? All Constancia thinks about is the marble. I'm the one who
has to think about the guns. Let them look at it. I don't care
about the eyes. Yes, a big house. It's time for the big house. He
stands motionless. He imagines the new palace. He imagines he
hears bugles. Something different. Enormous paintings in the
corridors. Maybe a special uniform. They'll have something to
talk about, won't they? Give the bastards something to talk
about. Now the bugles again. Good. That's it. Bugles at the door.
Bugles when the door opens...





  10: IN THE AFTERNOON IN THE PARK OF ST. FRANCIS...


In the afternoon in the Park of St. Francis, Gabriela walks
with Rafael past one bench after another. All the benches are
empty, nothing but empty benches in the park, old newspapers in
the trashbins, a small grey dog running from tree to tree with
his nose to the ground.

Maybe they won't keep them, Rafael says. Maybe tomorrow or
the day after they'll be free.

He wears an old jacket, the collar now turned up against the
wind. Gabriela walks with her head down, her blonde hair blown
behind her face.

You know it's not true, she says.

Maybe it is true.

No, it's not true. I asked my father and he said it won't
happen.

Maybe your father can do something.

He won't do anything. Not my father.

It's better to be a bird, Rafael says as he looks at a small
bird that now flies away from a tree. A bird can fly, Rafael
says.

What happens to the people in Valldemosa? Gabriela says.

Nothing good, Rafael says.

I hate the carabineros.

Your father is a carabinero.

Then I hate my father.

All right, that's the house.

Where?

Over there on the corner. The red one. Do you see it?

That's Tavio's house.



The red house. The red house is Tavio's house. The house is
surrounded by an old wall. The black iron gate is closed, but the
gate is not locked. Rafael pushes the gate open and they enter
the small courtyard.

Gabriela looks at the house. How strange that this is
Tavio's house and yet she's never seen it before. Does his family
know that she exists? Does her family know that Tavio exists? The
windows are shuttered. Gabriela has a sudden feeling that no one
is in the house. Rafael walks up to the front door and he pushes
the white bell button on the right side.

No one is home, Gabriela says.

I don't know, Rafael says.

Gabriela turns and she looks at the other houses. Is anyone
watching them? Are the neighbors spying? Do the neighbors know
that Tavio Campos has been arrested ? Gabriela feels an emptiness
inside. She feels the emptiness again. The Campos house is
shuttered, locked, the family away. No sign of anyone in the
house. No sign of anything.

The wind is blowing again. Rafael turns and he looks at
Gabriela. He says nothing. She can see the fear in his eyes.



The General confronts the anatomy of the stomach. He holds
the book in his hands, his head bent as he stares at the page.
The stomach lies in the upper part of the abdominal cavity, in
the epigastric and left hypochondriac regions. The stomach is a
pouch-like structure that serves as a reservoir for food during
the early stages of digestion. When the stomach is empty, the
mucous membrane lining is thrown into folds called rugae.



The maestro Delgado is unhappy. Where was he arrested?
Delgado says.

In Mocorito, Gabriela says. Three days ago in Mocorito.

Delgado sighs. He folds his hands in his lap. Gabriela looks
at the piles of books and manuscripts in the small room next to
the studio. She feels cold. She feels the emptiness again. Why
doesn't someone help Tavio?

You need to be careful now, Delgado says. You mustn't do
anything rash.

Gabriela leans forward: But I want to see him. I want to
help him.

If there's any way to help him, his family will help him.
And if they allow anyone to see him, it will be only his family .

Gabriela wants to cry. She says nothing.

It's a dangerous time, Delgado says. You need to be careful.
Everyone needs to be careful now. The situation will change.
Everything passes, doesn't it? It's a question of patience. Have
patience and everything will pass.



In the street she thinks of New York again. The skyline. The
Waldorf-Astoria. The Broadway. No, think of Tavio. You must think
of Tavio now. What will Senora Silva say? Will she say everything
passes? What will my mother say? Will she say everything passes?
Are you desperate, Gabriela? She feels despair again, more than
ever now, more than ever before. Where is he now? Where is Tavio
now? Is he in a room in Valldemosa? Yes, my father is a
carabinero. She doesn't want to think of it. She doesn't want to
think of her father, her father in his office, his desk, the
photograph of the General. Everything passes, Delgado says. It's
a question of patience. Have patience and everything will pass.



On the corner, she waits for the bus to Quintana. When the
bus arrives, she steps onto it like an automaton. She does not
want to look at anything. She holds her head down. She pays the
fare and she ignores the bus driver. She finds a seat and she
sits down. He'll die for nothing, she thinks. Tavio will die for
nothing. Will anyone take pleasure in his death? What do they
want? What do they want with a boy like Tavio? If they want to
kill young men, they ought to kill her brothers. Yes, her
brothers. You have no love, Gabriela. No, I have no love. Not for
Eduardo. Not for Raimundo. Not for my father. No, not for them.
And her mother? Her mother is hypnotized and it doesn't matter.
And Tavio? Do you love Tavio? Yes, I love Tavio. No, I don't know
if I love Tavio. How does one know? He's a boy, isn't he?
Gabriela is a woman and Tavio is a boy. Tavio is only a boy and I
don't want them to kill him. I want to see him. I want to see
Tavio. I want to see Tavio's eyes again.



The General likes a nap in the afternoon. He lies down on
the bed in his private quarters. He closes his eyes and he folds
his hands together on his chest. Like a corpse, he thinks. You
lie here like a corpse. Go to sleep. Don't think about anything.
But he thinks about the stomach again. He thinks about blood.
What happens when the grapefruit grows in the stomach? Does it
bleed? Yes, of course it bleeds. The grapefruit bleeds in the
stomach. The blood runs down the stomach into the duodenum. Like
a faucet. Like a red waterfall. I'm bleeding inside. Mother of
God, I'm bleeding to death inside...



On Sunday, Gabriela is in church with her family, her
father, her mother, her two brothers, and one aunt. She sits
between her Aunt Rosa and Eduardo with her eyes on the priest. He
that leadeth into captivity shall go into captivity. He that
killeth with the sword must be killed with the sword. Here is the
patience and the faith of the saints. Her father is grumbling.
Senor Prado is grumbling. Gabriela hears the grumbling of her
father as they listen to the priest. What does my mother think?
What do my brothers think? Her father grumbles as he listens to
the words. My Tavio. Dear Tavio. I kiss the hands of Christ. I
kiss the feet of Christ. Let the Christ do something for Tavio in
Valldemosa.





        11: SENORA SILVA WEARS A BLUE DRESS...


Senora Silva wears a blue dress with dark red piping around
the collar and around the cuffs. She wears blue teardrop
earrings, the blue of the dress and the blue of the earrings
precisely matching the blue eyeshadow that colors her upper
eyelids. She sits on the right, only the upper half of her body
visible, her head turned so that more is seen of the left side of
her face than the right side of her face. Behind her, supported
by a white pedestal, is a yellow vase filled with large red
flowers. Her left arm is lifted, her left hand holding a small
white doll whose head is now pointing to the left, to the sofa
where Gabriela is seated.

What's his name? Senora Silva says.

Gabriela looks at her: Tavio.

And where was he arrested?

In Mocorito at the student strike.

Senora Silva shakes her head. She puts the doll down on top
of the piano and she touches her left earring with the fingers of
her left hand.

That's not good, darling. The carabineros don't like them.
They don't like the students and they like them even less when
they make trouble.

Senora Silva wets her lips now. She presses her red lips
together and then she opens them again.

Gabriela rocks her body on the sofa; I don't want him to go
to prison.

Maybe if he goes to prison he'll be lucky.

Please don't say that.

Do you love him?

Gabriela clenches her hands on her knees: Yes, I think so.

Then you should have stopped him from going to the strike in
Mocorito. That's playing with death, isn't it? Ah well, it's
already done.

I want to help him.

Senora Silva leans her thin body against the piano: Maybe
it's not too late.

Gabriela looks up. She can smell Senora Silva's perfume.

Do you think so? What can I do? I want so much to help him.

Once again, Senora Silva presses her lips together and then
opens them: You need a plan, darling. You need a plan, don't you?

Gabriela watches Senora Silva as she picks up the small doll
again, as she turns the doll with her fingers.

What can I do? Gabriela says.

You can bribe someone. Do you have any money?

Yes.

How much?

I have 40,000 pesos.

That's not very much, is it?

That's all I have.

All right, I'll send you to someone. It's dangerous, you
know. It's truly dangerous.



She has the name and the address on a small piece of paper.
She rides in a taxi to the carabinero barracks in the Plaza
Sorrenos. Maybe they'll arrest me, Gabriela thinks. Maybe they'll
arrest her and send her to Valldemosa to be with Tavio. No, you
have the mind of an idiot! Your father is one of them and if they
arrest you they'll release you immediately. I don't want to be
here, I want to be in New York. I want to be an actress in New
York. How stupid it is to be riding in a taxi to the barracks of
the carabineros. Senora Silva is completely stupid. It's
hopeless. There's no way to help Tavio, is there? There's no way
at all.



She leans forward to tell the taxi driver to stop and turn
around. But she says nothing. She hangs forward and she says
nothing. After another moment she leans back again. She closes
her eyes and she says nothing.



The General speaks to the camera again. This time he wears a
brown uniform: WE HAVE GIVEN OURSELVES A NEW LEGAL ORDER FOR THE
PURPOSE OF MAKING THIS COUNTRY A NATION WORTHY OF MANKIND.



And now a small office somewhere in the barracks in the
Plaza Sorrenos. The man with Gabriela is Captain Lorenzo. Only
the upper parts of their bodies can be seen. The captain stands
behind Gabriela, leaning against her, his chin touching her ear,
only the left side of his face visible, Gabriela gazing to the
right, her face empty, her eyes with a glaze of emptiness. Behind
them, on the far wall, part of a portrait of the General is
visible, the old man, his grey moustache, his pink face, the
collar of his uniform.

You smell fresh, Lorenzo says. These days too many girls
don't wash. They stink. It's enough to turn your stomach.

The view changes and now more of their bodies are seen.
Gabriela holds her purse with both hands. Lorenzo has his arms
around Gabriela's waist as he leans against her. He wears the
brown uniform of the carabineros, a dark brown leather belt with
a pistol at his left hip, dark brown boots polished to a high
gloss.

His hands move. He slides his hands to the upper part of
Gabriela's dress, each hand covering the mound of a breast, his
fingers splayed out, curling, squeezing, relaxing again.

Then his right hand is pulled away, the hand sliding between
their bodies. As he pulls his hips backward, it's apparent that
his right hand is now fondling Gabriela's buttocks.

Let me see the money, he says.

Gabriela pulls away from him. She opens her purse. She pulls
out the sheaf of banknotes. She turns to face Lorenzo again and
she hands the money to him.

He counts the banknotes one by one. When he's finished, he
looks at her: Is this all you have? It's not enough.

I don't have any more.

No more money? That's too bad. What about something else?
What about what's between your legs? If you're any good at it,
we'll say the bill is paid. That's fair, isn't it? It's only
because I like your hair. Otherwise I'd throw you out of here.



He has her on his desk. Gabriela is seen from her left side,
Lorenzo from his right side. Gabriela lies on Lorenzo's desk, her
buttocks and the small of her back on the edge of the desk and
the upper part of her body supported by her elbows. Her dress is
rolled up at her waist, her underwear stripped away so that below
the waist she's naked. She holds onto the edge of the desk with
her left hand. Her right hand is not visible. Lorenzo holds her
thighs in his arms, her legs dangling behind him, the front of
his trousers open, his penis protruding from the slit to make
contact with her sex. She cranes her neck as she looks at it. She
gazes at her belly, at the entrance of his organ. He pushes
forward. The front of his trousers now presses against her
buttocks, the penis hidden, buried in Gabriela's sex. Then he
pulls back, his member appearing again. Forward and back. Forward
and back. Gabriela makes a sound. Lorenzo grunts as he pushes
forward again. He mutters something. He pulls back, he pushes
forward. He mutters again. He curses. He fixes his eyes on her
belly as he begins ejaculating. She whimpers as the thrusting
continues. She closes her eyes. She whimpers again.



He throws a towel at her: Clean the desk, he says. Clean up
the mess on the desk. How do you know the Silva woman? You're a
whore, aren't you? I can tell you're a whore.



 From the mouth of the General: WE ARE ONE COUNTRY AND ONE
PEOPLE.



When she rides the bus to Mirabel, Gabriela thinks of Tavio
again. No, it's for Tavio. If he helps Tavio, I don't mind it. I
want him to help Tavio. She has no money now. All the money in
the white case is gone, all the money given to Captain Lorenzo.
Forget New York, she thinks. You have no money now. Tavio was
right. She's not going anywhere. She's here and not there. They
have Tavio in Valldemosa and she's not going anywhere. Maybe she
gave the money to Lorenzo for nothing. Gabriela, you need to hope
for something. Never mind what Senora Silva says. You need to
hope for something. My mother has the cross. She holds the cross
in her hands and she hopes for God. I have nothing. I have
nothing in my hands. My hands are empty and I have nothing.



In the Cafe Rienzi, Gabriela searches the crowd for a
friend. She tells herself to forget about Captain Lorenzo. It's
not important. A few minutes on his desk while he grunted like an
animal. It's not important, she thinks. Forget about Lorenzo.
Forget about his eyes. She walks through the crowd. She walks
between the tables.

Then suddenly she sees the American woman.



Marie, Gabriela thinks. She remembers the woman's voice. The
woman said her name is Marie and she said her husband's name is
Henrik.



The American woman is with her husband again. They sit
against the wall in the Cafe Rienzi, and in a moment they both
notice Gabriela and they wave at her. Gabriela approaches the
table.

Hello, Marie says. How nice to see you again. Won't you sit
with us?



This is a girl child in Aravaca, three years old, dark hair,
dark eyes, a black dress with white ruffles at the cuffs. She
stands barefooted on the pavement. Behind her is a display of
magazines for sale, the magazines arranged on cardboard boxes
that rest on the pavement. The girl leans against a large metal
icebox, the lid of the icebox fixed in an open position. On the
side of the icebox facing the spectator, painted in large black
letters against the white background: PEPSI. The girl remains
motionless. She leans against the icebox. She says nothing.






           12: ON ONE OF THE WHITE WALLS...


On one of the white walls of the large living room is an
abstract painting, fiery reds and yellows over a scumbled sienna
background. On the right a wide balcony can be seen through the
sliding glass doors, the city beyond the balcony, the snow-capped
mountains of the cordillera, a blue sky.

We'll have some wine, Marie says. Henrik, darling, bring the
white wine, will you?

Gabriela stands near the mantle, her eyes on a photograph of
Marie and Henrik on a beach somewhere.

You do want white wine, don't you? Marie says.

Yes, Gabriela says.

We were lucky to find this place. It's a lovely view, isn't
it?

A sudden sound of hard rock music. Henrik lowers the volume.

What do you do? Marie says. Are you a student?

I'm studying to be an actress, Gabriela says.

An actress? How marvelous. Did you hear that, Henrik?
Gabriela is studying to be an actress.

Good for you, Henrik says... He brings the bottle of wine
and three glasses on a tray.

You're pretty enough, Marie says.



Forget about Lorenzo, Gabriela thinks. She's aware of their
eyes, the way they look at her. What would they say if they knew
everything about her, if they knew about Senora Silva and the old
men? What would they say? I have no money now. Gabriela has no
money. Tavio is in Valldemosa and Gabriela has no money. All the
money is gone, all the money that would take her to New York. She
sits on the sofa and she looks at Marie as Marie talks. Marie has
pretty legs, slender ankles, sheer nylon stockings, expensive
shoes. Henrik says nothing. He sits with the wine glass in his
right hand and his left hand on the arm of the chair. He has bony
hands, long fingers. Gabriela is aware of his eyes on her legs.
She uncrosses her legs and she sits with her knees together.



We have friends in New York in the theater, Marie says. We
love the theater. Henrik, what was the last play we saw in New
York? Wasn't it something about a room?

*The Changing Room*, Henrik says.

That's right, *The Changing Room*. What an interesting name.
Don't you think it's interesting?



Gabriela feels the despair again. She thinks of her father,
his office, the photograph of the General on the wall. Lorenzo
called her a whore. But that's what you are, aren't you? One of
Senora Silva's girls. One of the girls she sends to the old men.
Will Lorenzo do something for Tavio? My God, how she hates her
father. And if she hates her father, how can she not hate her
mother? Her mother is her father's woman, isn't she? Don't think
of it. If you think of it you'll go mad. Think of something
pleasant. Think of New York. Think of the pleasure in New York.
They have friends in the theater in New York. We love the
theater, Marie says. And Henrik's eyes. Is he looking at you,
Gabriela? He still looks at her. He still looks at her legs.



They drive her home. They have a rented Fiat, a white Fiat
with brown leather upholstery. Marie insisted. Gabriela said she
doesn't mind the bus, but Marie insisted. Gabriela gives Henrik
directions as he drives. She sits in the front passenger seat and
Marie sits in the rear. Marie talks about New York again, the
theater in New York. She talks about their house in Mexico.

We're selling it, Marie says. We're going back to New York
for good this time. Henrik is down here to write a book and after
that we'll be back in New York again

Thank God, Henrik says.

But I'll miss Mexico, Marie says. Of course I'll miss it.

Maybe someday I'll go, Gabriela says. Maybe someday I'll go
to New York.

Why not soon? Marie says. It's a marvelous idea, you know.
There's everything in New York. It's the center of the world,
isn't it?



Alone in her room, Gabriela looks at herself in the mirror.
She studies her face, her eyes, her mouth. Then she goes to the
nightstand beside the bed and she picks up the guidebook to New
York. She sits on the bed and she begins turning the pages. The
best season to visit New York is certainly the fall. Taxis are
identifiable by their yellow color. In New York you will find
every sort of night life. There's everything, Marie said. It's
the center of the world, isn't it? What do the Andersens do in
New York? What kind of books does Henrik write? Gabriela imagines
she smells Marie's perfume again. Then suddenly the smell of
Marie is gone and she has the smell of Lorenzo in her mind, his
grunting, the wet shaft of his penis as it slid in and out of her
sex. She could see the white froth gathering on the cylinder of
his organ. Oh Tavio. Poor Tavio in Valldemosa. I can't stay here,
Gabriela thinks. She can't stay in this house any longer. She
needs a place of her own. She'll borrow money from Senora Silva
and she'll find a room somewhere. Her mother will cry. Her father
will be in a rage. Her two brothers will continue sucking their
soup at the dinner table. If I don't leave, then I'll die. Or is
it that she's already dead? What she needs is money. She needs
enough money to bring her to life again. They have money, don't
they? The Andersens have a great deal of money. They have a house
in Mexico and an apartment in New York. They have an apartment in
the center of the world. They have friends in the theater. They
have each other. And Gabriela has nothing. Gabriela lives in a
cage. Gabriela has Tavio, but Tavio is now in Valldemosa.
Gabriela has Senora Silva. Gabriela has the old men that suck her
sex. Gabriela has her father and her mother and her two brothers
and this room with one window and this guidebook to the place
that's the center of the world.

She closes the book and she puts it back on the nightstand.
She sits on the bed with her eyes on the window.



The General rides in the rear of a black Mercedes. This one
is the black car, the night car. The General now wears civilian
clothes, a dark grey suit, a white shirt, a dark blue tie. A
businessman. He might be a businessman riding along the boulevard
behind his chauffeur. The panel between the front of the car and
the rear of the car is opaque and the chauffeur can see nothing
of the General. The boulevard is crowded. The General sits on the
right side and he peers through the window at the lights, at the
windows of the shops, at the pedestrians as they stroll on the
pavement, men, women, girls, more girls, now another stretch of
the boulevard and the dresses are shorter, tighter in the rear,
the shoes with high heels. The General pushes the white button
under the middle finger of his right hand. The car slows down,
pulls over to the curb and stops. The General gazes at the women
that stroll by, at a girl standing between two shop windows, a
tall girl wearing a short red dress and black stockings. The
General opens the door on his side of the car. The girl stares at
the open door a moment, and then she walks forward and she climbs
inside, laughing as she crawls over the General's legs to sit on
his left side. The General pulls the door closed. He pushes the
white button again and the car moves away from the curb to join
the stream of traffic.



What do you think? Marie says. She's lovely, isn't she? Yes,
Henrik says.

She has the most exquisite hair. Oh, I love her, I do love
her. I didn't know there were blondes like that here.

It's the Germans. The Germans and the English. Many of them
settled here a hundred years ago.

And her face. She's a beauty, isn't she?

Yes.

Kiss me. Kiss me, darling.



It's an electric current, the General thinks. She has it in
her mouth and he can feel the electric current flowing between
her face and his belly. She kneels on the floor in front of him,
between his legs, her left hand holding the base of his organ and
her right hand holding his testicles. Like a witch with long
hair, she grips the end of his organ with her mouth while she
sucks it. His trousers are pulled down enough to expose his
belly. Her lips are stretched. Her eyes are closed. He can see
her closed eyes each time they pass a street lamp. She moves her
mouth. Her head moves down, and then up, and then down again. How
many times does she do it in one night? How old is she? What does
she look like naked? He never sees them naked any more. Now it's
only this, the sugar-stick in the mouth, the electric current
flowing into his belly, through his guts and up to his stomach to
kill the beginning of the grape-fruit. Maybe one day they'll pay
one of these girls to kill him. No, don't be a fool, they don't
need a girl, they can do it with a bomb. What do you think? Or
shoot him in his bed, blow a hole in his head and announce a
suicide. The old man killed himself because he was depressed. The
old man killed himself because he thought he had a grapefruit
growing in his stomach. Look at the way she sucks it. Like an
angel with a sugar-stick, the red mouth sliding up and down, the
stick big in the mouth now. Red paint on her fingernails. Yes
yes. The electric current again. Listen, they can go to hell I'm
not dead yet. This one is not dead yet. They can go to hell this
one is not dead yet. Not today not now not yet not yet...






                 13: TAVIO IS DEAD...


Tavio is dead. The military authorities in Valldemosa say he
was transferred alive into the hands of the carabineros. The
carabineros in Valldemosa say he was released alive and given two
hundred pesos to pay for his transportation home. They have
Tavio's signature affirming that he was released in good health
and that he received into his hands two hundred pesos for
transportation. They have no idea what he did after he received
the money. Are they responsible for everything? In any case,
Tavio's body was found floating in the river south of Valldemosa.
His throat was cut from ear to ear and he was quite dead. The
official statement declares the deceased ''murdered by person or
persons unknown pending further inquiries."



Gabriela cries. She locks herself inside her room and she
cries on the bed. In the evening she refuses to go to the dinner
table. Her mother pleads with Gabriela, but Gabriela refuses. Her
father comes to Gabriela's room and he pounds on the door until
Gabriela opens it. He shouts at her: What did you expect? What
did you expect would happen?

Gabriela sobs: They killed him.

He killed himself, Senor Prado says. They all kill
themselves. The bums and perverts and stupid subversives, they
all kill themselves. It's God's punishment, isn't it? They kill
themselves and they rot in hell.



A woman's voice, a shrill sound: WE DON'T NEED THEM, DO WE?
WHAT DO THEY WANT? WHAT DO THEY WANT FROM US?



Gabriela goes with Rafael to the house of Tavio's married
sister Olga. The coffin is there, Tavio's body in the coffin, the
coffin closed, Tavio's face unseen, Tavio finished, Tavio gone.
His mother wears a black veil. His father wears a black arm band
on his left sleeve. The house is filled with relatives, flowers,
whispers.



It's all the same, Gabriela thinks. If you die at twenty or
die at eighty, it's the same box, the same people, the same
whispering. Tavio is dead and everyone else is alive. My brothers
are alive. What do you want? Do you want to die, too? She sits in
a chair and she stares at the coffin. She wants to cry again. No,
you mustn't. You mustn't cry. It's not proper for a whore to cry
in this room. Gabriela, you're crazy. How many times did Tavio
make love to her? How many times did she have him inside her?
Five, six, seven times? So a piece of her dies with Tavio. So a
piece of her is dead with Tavio. When the flesh is joined, the
joining is permanent. I don't want it, she thinks. I don't want
to cry. I want to be an actress. She wants to pretend that it's
not Tavio in that box. Tavio did not go to Mocorito. Tavio was
not arrested and taken to Valldemosa. My father is not a
carabinero. These flowers are not the flowers of Tavio's death.



A carabinero in uniform, his white helmet, his mouth: THE
BEST WAY IS THE ETHER IN THE BALLS. YOU INJECT THE ETHER IN THE
BALLS AND THEY TALK VERY FAST. ONE TWO THREE AND THEY TALK
WITHOUT STOPPING.



I'm going away, Rafael says.

Where? Where will you go?

I don't know. Maybe to Lima. Maybe someplace else.

Be careful.

Tavio loved you.



She hears the words at night, in the dark of her bedroom.
Tavio loved you Tavio loved you Tavio loved you. Tavio is gone.
The tears are gone. How long will it be before the words are
gone?



 From the carabinero again, his white helmet, his mouth: WHAT
I DON'T LIKE IS THE PARROT'S PERCH. YOU GET THE HANDCUFFS ON THE
WRISTS OVER THE ANKLES SO YOU'VE GOT THEM IN A CROUCH. THEN YOU
SLIDE A POLE BETWEEN THE ELBOWS AND THE KNEES AND YOU HANG THEM
UPSIDE DOWN. YOU CAN USE ELECTRICITY ON THE BALLS OR YOU CAN
SQUIRT WATER IN THE MOUTH AND NOSE. IT'S CRAZY. IT TAKES TOO DAMN
LONG. MAYBE IT'S OKAY WHEN IT'S A GIRL BECAUSE YOU CAN STICK IT
TO HER IF SHE'S NOT HANGING TOO HIGH. YOU ROCK THEM BACK AND
FORTH LIKE A CHURCH BELL.



Now it's Wednesday afternoon and Gabriela is sitting with
Marie in a restaurant. Marie is happy. She moves her red lips.
They have lunch on the table in front of them. Gabriela wonders
if she ought to paint her fingernails red like Marie's
fingernails. Bright red. Like Marie's bright red fingernails. The
restaurant is expensive, but Marie insisted and said she would
pay for it. She has such white teeth. She talks about herself and
Henrik. Gabriela thinks of Tavio again. She remembers Tavio's
eyes, the way his eyes never moved when he looked at her.

I lost my friend, Gabriela says.

Marie looks at her: What?

A boy I know. He was arrested and killed by the police.

Oh how awful, Marie says. But what did he do? Why did they
arrest him?



 From the mouth of the carabinero: LISTEN, WE DO THIS FOR THE
NAMES. IF WE DON'T HAVE THE NAMES, HOW CAN WE DO ANYTHING? THEY
GIVE YOU ONE NAME AND THEY KNOW TWENTY. YOU DO A LITTLE MORE AND
YOU GET MORE NAMES. IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT YOU HOLD YOUR NOSE.



Alone on the bus, Gabriela gazes at the windows of the
houses as the bus takes her home. She thinks of Marie and Henrik.
She thinks of New York. Marie says that Henrik is always happy in
New York. Tomorrow, Gabriela thinks. Tomorrow she'll go to Senora
Silva and tell her she wants to earn more money. Senora Silva
will smile, won't she? Yes, darling, you're very pretty and
you're going to earn a great deal of money for both of us. Isn't
that nice? It doesn't hurt, you know? Money never hurts anyone,
does it?



At home Gabriela's father is angry again. He grinds his
teeth. He shouts at Gabriela in the dining room.

I had his file brought to me. He was a troublemaker, a bum.
I don't care what happened to him.

They killed him, Gabriela says.

He was killed by robbers, some other bums like himself.

The carabineros killed him and threw him into the river.

Senor Prado pounds the table: Do you have any more friends
like that one?

I hate him, Gabriela thinks. I hate my father and I hate
myself.



A sign in the Avenida San Vicente: REPUESTOS ELECTRONICOS
RADIO-TV SERVICIO DE REPARACIONES. And then below that another
sign: U.S. INVESTMENT BANK INC.






         14: GABRIELA APPEARS BETWEEN THEM...


Gabriela appears between them, between Marie on her right
and Henrik on her left. The two women are standing while Henrik
is apparently seated on something, a chair or a stool or the arm
of a sofa. They have their bodies facing the spectator, but
nothing can be seen below the waists of the two women or the
chest of Henrik. As he sits on Gabriela's left, his head is
turned toward her so that his face is seen in profile from his
left side. He appears to be staring at Marie who stands on the
other side of Gabriela. Marie has her left arm folded, her left
hand supporting her chin as she bends her head to look at Henrik.
Gabriela stands between them, her hands not visible, her head
tilted slightly toward her left shoulder as she looks down at
Henrik's face. Marie wears a dress with an elaborate floral
pattern, reds and blues and patches of white. Gabriela wears a
cream-colored blouse with a large bow at the lowest part of the
neckline. Henrik is dressed in a jacket, a white shirt, and dark
tie.

Outside the window of the Andersen living room, the sky is
turning dark, the mountains no longer visible, the lights of the
city appearing now as the evening closes in on the valley.

What she wants is a good time, Marie says. She needs to
forget. When someone dies like that, it's always better to think
of something else.

Henrik looks at Gabriela: Is that what you want?

Gabriela moves her head so that she faces center again: I
don't know. Yes, I suppose so.



She sits between them in the rear of the taxi. Gabriela
thinks of her mother, her mother's eyes, her mother holding the
silver cross with both hands. Where are we going? Gabriela
thinks. She doesn't remember. Marie mentioned a place, but now
Gabriela no longer remembers it. She feels the emptiness in her
belly again. She watches the lights, the traffic, the young
people on the pavement. She suddenly thinks of the carabinero
Lorenzo. No, don't think of him, don't think of that. Don't be a
fool, Gabriela. My name is Gabriela Prado and I don't want to be
a fool. So she thinks of her father again. His large hands. Oh
god.



A sudden blast of music, colored lights, the interior of a
crowded disco. The dancers are seen through a haze of blue-grey
smoke, weaving bodies, arms moving like tentacles. the eyes of
the dancers empty, staring at nothing as the movement continues.

Gabriela dances with both Henrik and Marie. She faces them,
arms and legs moving to the rhythms of the music, her blonde hair
flowing around her face, her eyes on Marie, on Henrik, on the
smoke, on the other dancers, on a boy who stares at her, on Marie
again...



They drink pisco sours at the bar. Gabriela feels the
alcohol in her blood. I'm getting drunk, she thinks. Yes, it's
what she needs. She feels the warmth in her belly now. She likes
it. She smiles when Marie laughs. I'm happy, Gabriela thinks.
It's better to be happy, isn't it? Marie and Henrik seem happy,
too. Henrik's face appears red as the lights flash by them.

Let's try another place, Marie says. Let's try something
sexy.



The taxi driver suggests a club in the Avenida Bulnes. Once
again Gabriela sits in the rear of the taxi between Marie and
Henrik.

Marie taps one of Gabriela's knees: Are you happy, darling'?

Yes, Gabriela says.

That's what I like to hear. Don't you like to hear that,
Henrik?

Yes, Henrik says.

It's no good to be sad, Marie says. It's never any good to
be sad.



The name of the club is Mon Bijou. When they arrive inside
they find a striptease in progress, a tall girl with dark hair
and long legs slowly removing her clothing piece by piece as
three musicians play their instruments in the background.

A thin man with a moustache leads them to a table near the
stage.

This is more like it, Marie says. Oh, I do like this.

The room is crowded, all the eyes turned to the small stage
where the dark-haired girl has now removed everything except her
bright red underwear and her red shoes and black stockings and
red garters. The girl parades around the stage for the amusement
of the audience. The music continues, the electric guitar, the
bass, the drums behind the girl on the stage. Now the red
brassiere is removed and her breasts are free. Her nipples are
rouged, each nipple standing out from the globe of its breast
like a reddish-brown jewel. She walks again. Her breasts sway as
she moves around the small stage. Her legs are strong, the
muscles rippling in her thighs and calves. The heels of her red
shoes are high enough so that she seems perched on her toes.
She's lovely, Marie says. Isn't she lovely?

The girl's panties unhook at each side. She pulls the
panties away to reveal a red cache-sexe that barely contains the
generous growth of dark pubic hair. Wisps of hair are evident at
each side of the small red triangle. When the girl passes in
front of their table, Gabriela sees the rivulets of sweat between
the girl's breasts, the sheen of sweat on her belly just above
the red cache-sexe. The girl turns and her buttocks are suddenly
visible, the vertical strap of the cache-sexe buried between the
firm globes. When she faces the audience again, the cache-sexe
has been removed, the dark thicket of pubic hair exposed, the
mound aggressive, the girl's hips moving back and forth as she
points her sex at the crowded tables.

Henrik, what do you think? Marie says.

She's a beauty, Henrik says. She's a hot little girl.



Gabriela feels the heat in her face. A hot little girl. Does
she enjoy what she does? Does she find pleasure in it? Tavio is
dead and I sit here watching a striptease. All these people sit
here watching a striptease. How much money does she earn? Is it
enough to go to New York? Her nipples are like red berries. The
red of the girl's nipples is the same red as the red of Marie's
lips. Gabriela thinks of the old men who suck her sex. Is it
better to do that or better to do this? The girl's thighs are
strong. I'm drunk, Gabriela thinks. I'm drinking too much. I want
to forget. I want to forget Tavio. I want to forget Lorenzo. I
want to forget everything.





     15: NOW IN THE ANDERSEN LIVING ROOM AGAIN...


Now in the Andersen living room again Mane and Gabriela
stand in the foreground, facing each other as they talk, Henrik
between them in the background, behind him on the far wall four
small pictures arranged in a square, to the right of that two
small lamps attached to the wall, to the right of the lamps a
doorway, an open door that might lead to the dining room.

Marie's head is tilted toward her right shoulder, her left
arm extended toward Gabriela.

Can you stay? Marie says. Can you stay awhile?

Yes, Gabriela says.

Well good. We'll have more wine, won't we? Henrik? Won't we
have more wine?



Gabriela sits in one of the armchairs facing the sofa.
Henrik sits at the end of the sofa closest to Gabriela. Marie
sits on the arm of the sofa beside Henrik. She sits leaning
against Henrik's left shoulder, her right arm around his
shoulders, her right hand hanging forward as Henrik holds it with
his own right hand. Marie's left forearm lies across her lap, her
left hand in Henrik's left hand, their fingers entangled. Her
legs are crossed, her right knee over her left knee, her right
foot in the high-heeled sandal turning, swinging, turning again,
the sand-colored nylon of the stocking catching the light of the
nearby lamp

We love each other a great deal, Marie says. Henrik and I
enjoy each other. We do, don't we, darling?

Henrik turns his face toward Marie and they kiss. Their lips
meet. Marie pulls her face away and she looks at Gabriela again:
You don't mind, do you?

No, Gabriela says.

We're friends, aren't we? Henrik and I are very fond of you.
Henrik thinks you're exquisite. He talks about you all the time.

Henrik moves his legs: Not all the time.

Well, nearly all the time. But I'm not jealous, am I,
darling? I don't mind it when he looks at other women. Like that
girl in the striptease club. She was certainly something to look
at, wasn't she?

Marie turns her face to Henrik and they kiss again. This
time Henrik's right hand slips away from Marie's right hand and
the hand moves along Marie's left arm to close over the mound of
Marie's left breast. The kiss continues another moment, Henrik's
hand fondling Marie's breast through her dress, and then Marie
pulls away and she removes Henrik's hand.

Henrik, you mustn't. Gabriela might be upset by it.

They both look at Gabriela.

I don't think she's upset, Henrik says.

Gabriela's face: Her cheeks are flushed. Is it the wine or
something else? Her blonde hair hangs forward to frame her chin.

I don't mind it, Gabriela says.

She brings the glass of wine to her lips. She sips the red
wine and then she puts the glass down on the small table again.

Really, I don't mind it.



Only Gabriela's head is visible, the back of her head, her
blonde hair, the light from a lamp on the right side.

Then the view changes and now the sofa can be seen again
over Gabriela's left shoulder. Marie is now on the sofa beside
Henrik, leaning over him from his right side, her body bent as
she rests her head against his belly. Henrik's penis is exposed,
protruding out of the opening in his trousers, the tip of his
member inside Marie's mouth.

Henrik's face: His head is tilted backward, his eyes closed,
his mouth open.



Only Marie can be seen. She stands to the right of the small
fireplace, her arms crossed in front of her belly, her hands
holding the hem of her dress above her waist. The dress is
apparently about to be removed. Her cheeks are flushed, but her
face is without expression. She wears black pantyhose, the nylon
sheer enough to show the white flesh of her thighs and the shadow
of the pubic triangle at the lowest part of her belly.

Now Marie moves her hands, lifts the dress and slowly pulls
the dress over her head and away from her arms. She tosses the
dress away and she pats the back of her hairdo with her right
hand.

I'm not as good as that girl, she says. I'm not as good as
that girl who did the striptease.



Marie now stands with her body turned 45 degrees toward her
left. She wears a black bra, the black pantyhose, and black
high-heeled sandals. She has her right arm bent, her right hand
on the upper part of her right hip. She stands with her left leg
slightly forward, her left arm hanging loose at her left side.
Her face is turned so that she looks directly at the spectator.
The design of the black bra is such that the inner slopes of her
breasts are revealed, particularly the inner slope of her left
breast which is seen almost in profile.



Now Marie has turned and her body faces the other direction,
45 degrees toward her right, her left arm bent and her left hand
resting on her left hip. Her left hand is placed so that the
thumb is forward and the fingers hidden behind her waist on her
left side. Because of the angle of view, her right arm is not
visible below her right shoulder. Once again she gazes directly
at the spectator.

I suppose it's nasty, Marie says. I suppose if strangers
would see this, they'd think it's awfully nasty.



 From the right side now. Marie has turned again, and now
she's visible only from the right side. The right shoulder-strap
of her bra has been pulled down, the cup pulled down and away
from her right breast, and her right arm is bent as she holds her
breast in the palm of her right hand. The hand itself is bent so
that her thumb is close to the nipple while the other four
fingers are curved on the inner slope of the breast. Although she
has her face turned toward her right shoulder, her gaze is
directed not at the spectator but at another part of the room in
the right foreground. Her mouth is open and her teeth are
visible. Her lips move but she says nothing.



And then against the wall, Marie standing against the far
wall, the bra removed, Marie wearing nothing but the pantyhose
and high-heeled sandals now, her legs slightly apart, both arms
raised as she holds her hands together on top of her head. She
looks directly at the spectator. She remains motionless. Then her
left leg moves, the leg shifting more to the left, her right hip
jutting to the side, her elbows moving forward, then pulling back
again, her face without expression, her eyes continuing to gaze
directly at the spectator.



A moment of darkness, then light again, and now Gabriela is
suddenly naked in another corner of the room. On the left is part
of the curtain and on the right is part of the white wall. She
sits naked on a small table, her left leg raised and folded as
her left heel rests on the edge of the table with her toes
pointing downward. Her right leg is moved far to her right side
and this completely exposes her blonde sex. She holds a small
brown pillow with her right forearm and her right hand, the
pillow covering the right side of her body between her right
breast and her right thigh. Her left arm is hidden by her raised
left knee, but the fingers of the hand can be seen extended over
the small globe of her left breast. Her blonde hair hangs forward
to cover her collarbones and her head is tilted toward her right
shoulder. Her gaze is directed toward the brown pillow and her
eyes appear pensive.



I wish we had champagne, Marie says. Champagne would be just
perfect, wouldn't it?



Gabriela is seen from her right side as she kneels on all
fours near the edge of a bed. Henrik is naked. He stands behind
Gabriela with his penis visibly penetrating her sex, his hands on
her hips, his belly thrusting forward. Marie is behind Henrik,
her breasts pressed against his back, her right hand grasping his
right buttock, her face pushed forward as Henrik twists his head
back to kiss her mouth. Beyond them is a wall, an open wardrobe,
a rack of clothes in various colors, reds and browns and blues.

Henrik moves. He pushes forward, his penis vanishing as it
penetrates Gabriela's sex. He pulls back and his penis appears
again. He continues to kiss Marie's mouth. Marie continues to
hold his right buttock with her right hand. Gabriela remains
motionless. She closes her eyes each time Henrik pushes forward
to press his belly against her buttocks. She opens her eyes again
as he withdraws. She closes her eyes. She opens them. She closes
her eyes again.





    PART THREE: WITH AN EXPRESSION OF HAPPINESS...



         16: IN THE CAFE IN THE PLAZA BOLA...


In the cafe in the Plaza Bola, the waitress is now standing
motionless near the table in the foreground at the left. In her
right hand she holds a tray bearing a bottle of Coca-Cola and a
glass. She wears a white apron over a striped blue and white
dress. At the table on her left side a man sits reading a
newspaper, the newspaper held wide open in his two hands, his
feet on the floor, his head bald except for a fringe of dark hair
around his ears and the back of his neck. To his left is a small
girl about ten years old, the girl standing motionless with a red
ice-stick in her right hand, the end of the ice-stick in her
mouth. Behind the girl is the counter, a girl behind the counter,
a large coffee urn, a display case that contains a sugar cake
with whipped cream, behind that a boy wearing a white baker's
cap, behind the boy and the girl a series of shelves containing
plates and saucers. Over the shelves is another shelf, and on
this shelf is a black-and-white television set that now shows
moving figures on the screen, men in uniform, helmets, rifles, a
parade somewhere, maybe it's the Avenida Montana, helmets with
chin-straps, white gloves, boots, the marching feet...



At the table in the right foreground, Gabriela is with a
man. She sits with her left forearm on the edge of the table, her
right hand resting on her left wrist. The man has grey hair. He
leans forward with his elbows on the table. He wears a dark
jacket and grey trousers. Do you want something? the man says.
Why don't you have some coffee with me?



The soldiers are marching behind a tank now. The General is
in the reviewing stand, seated under a canopy between two
lieutenant generals. The General wears a brown uniform and only
one medal, the silver star directly under the collar of his
tunic. He watches the troops. His stomach is boiling again and he
wants the parade to end. When will it end? Will they pass the
entire army in front of him? You're an old fool, he thinks. It
was you who wanted this. He enjoys it. He always enjoys it when
they march. The sky is blue again. Now the flag arrives and
everyone stands up. The General salutes the flag, the standard
bearers behind the flag. When the group passes, he sits down
again. What do they think of the old man? These boys, what do
they think? The old man's legs aren't so good any more. He feels
a lurch in his gut. Yes, there's a grapefruit growing, he knows
it. In six months they'll tell him he has a cancer. Difficult
case, they'll say. One of the most difficult. Maybe another six
months, Your Excellency. They start talking behind his back, the
whispering, the plans for the funeral. So now for another year he
needs to think about his coffin, the box, his enemies. I won't
take the pills any more. He'll throw the pills in the garbage,
it's not indigestion it's a grapefruit. I don't need the pills
for a grapefruit. No matter how big you are, it's the doctors who
turn the screws, right? In the end your a bum without shoes in
the hands of the doctors. I'd like to sleep. I'd like a half
bottle of wine and a good sleep. Too much food in the belly,
Tino. No wonder the grapefruit is growing in there. Look at them,
look at those boys, the helmets, the boots. And now the flag
again. Get up, old man, salute the flag. My God, what a stomach.
Maybe they're poisoning me. Maybe that's what it is. Sit down
again. How much longer? It's enough, isn't it? It's enough...



The man's name is Senor Sabato. He tilts his head as he
gazes at Gabriela. Nothing has changed in the cafe. The
television set behind the counter still shows the parade in the
Avenida Montana. The soldiers are still marching. In the cafe in
the background a chess game is now in progress at one of the
tables, two men, the man on the right leaning forward with his
elbows on the table and both hands under his chin. The waitress
is in the far corner of the room, talking to two ladies who
appear to be drinking tea.

Next week I'm going to Lima, Senor Sabato says. I have a
sister in Lima. Have you ever been to Lima?

No, Gabriela says.

Senor Sabato rubs his hands together: You ought to travel,
he says. It's good for young people to travel.

Gabriela's face: She seems thoughtful. She turns her head
and she looks at the television set. She watches the marching
soldiers. Then she looks at Senor Sabato again.

He talks. He talks about his business problems. He imports
wool. Or is it leather? His mouth moves as he talks. He gazes at
Gabriela. He sips the black coffee.



Gabriela wonders if Senor Sabato is older than her father.
Yes, he must be older than her father. Is he rich? She's living
alone now. She has a room near the university. Senora Silva has a
man for Gabriela nearly every day, old men as always, usually in
the afternoon. Like old lizards, Gabriela thinks. They lie in the
sun like old Iizards.



At the table where the chess game is in progress, the man
who leans forward now leans back with his hands on his knees. He
rocks his body forward and back, and then he stops rocking and
he's motionless again. The television set now shows a line of
motorized vehicles. The waitress has turned away from the two
women at the table in the far corner. The girl at the counter is
adjusting the ribbon in her hair. The small girl with the
ice-stick pulls the ice-stick out of her mouth. She looks at the
end of the ice-stick, and then she extends her tongue and she
licks it.



It's not far, Senor Sabato says. I sent the housekeeper away
and we'll have the place to ourselves.



The General is inside his limousine. The sunlight flashes
through the trees as the car moves down the boulevard. The
limousine is surrounded by motorcycles, one on each side, two in
front, two in back, the noise of six motorcycles blocked out by
the closed windows. So it's finished at last, the soldiers, the
parade. His stomach is moving again, the boilings, the slight
burning on his left side. Take a pill, he thinks. No, not now.
What a fuss to go out like this. He's convinced now, he's
convinced he has a grapefruit in there. In the street the people
are gaping at the passing motorcade. Seventy per cent of the
country will celebrate when he dies, dance over his death, dance
on the ground over his grave. The grapefruit grows. It gets
larger and larger until finally it bleeds. His enemies will have
him bleeding, won't they? Every general will buy a new pair of
white gloves. He rubs his mouth. He fingers his moustache. He
suddenly thinks of bullets, rockets, the swishing sound of a
rocket. Then splashing blood, deep red blood splashing somewhere.
Two years ago he had to shoot rockets at the palace to get the
other one out of there. The place was a mess afterward, splinters
and dust, blood all over the rugs. This parade was a mistake,
wasn't it? Why do I let them talk me into it? He'll cancel all
parades for the next three months. He feels the twitching again,
the slight pain in his side. And his knees hurt. His bones are
too old. How long will it be before the doctors have enough for a
diagnosis? They laugh. don't they? He can see it in the eyes, he
can see the laughter. Finish them off. Finish the idiots off,
will you? Finish them off so they won't laugh so much...



Senor Sabato waves his arms at the large living room. Is it
too warm? he says. Do you want me to open a window?

The windows look out on an empty street. The sun is now low
in the sky, the light in the room no longer bright An enormous
Oriental rug covers most of the wood floor. On the mantle over
the fireplace is a line of framed photographs. One of them is a
photograph of the General. Gabriela stares at it. Senor Sabato
talks but she hears nothing. She stares at the photograph of the
General. Then she turns and she looks at Senor Sabato again. His
mouth is moving. He asks something about wine. Does she want a
glass of wine? Red wine? He leaves the room and she turns to the
mantle again, the photographs, of men and women and children. His
family, perhaps.

He returns with a bottle of wine. He opens the bottle and he
fills two glasses. He hands one glass to Gabriela and she lifts
it to her mouth.

To a happy season, he says.

What season? Gabriela watches him as he sits down in one of
the large upholstered chairs. Senora Silva has told her
everything. Senor Sabato has his eyes on her. Gabriela sips the
wine and then she puts the glass down on the table beside her.
Senor Sabato's eyes never leave her. He presses his lips
together. He opens them again. He stares at Gabriela's legs, at
her black shoes. She lifts her dress. She pulls at the lower part
of the dress until her knees are revealed, her thighs, the tops
of her stockings, her garters her thighs above the tops of her
stockings, her black lace panties, the bulge of her pubic mound.
Senor Sabato's gaze never wavers. His eyes catch the light of the
dying sun. Gabriela finally drops her dress and she goes to her
knees on the rug in front of him. She helps him with his shoes
and trousers, and then with his white underwear. His penis is a
limp serpent protruding from a patch of coarse hair. She holds it
with her fingers. She holds the snake in her hand. Then she leans
forward to take the tip in her mouth. Senor Sabato mutters
something, an ambiguous sound. Gabriela holds the glans of his
penis in her mouth as she rolls her tongue over it. His flesh
begins to grow, his penis swelling between her lips. He slides
his hands over her shoulder and around to the back of her head.
He mutters again, the sound more distinct this time. A groan.
Something about God. He opens his mouth. He closes his eyes. He
keeps his eyes closed as his mouth hangs open...



On a street, on a wide sidewalk somewhere, a line of cars on
the left proceeding toward the spectator, three carabineros and a
civilian in the foreground, the civilian on his knees, one of the
carabineros behind him with his right hand on the civilian's
neck. This carabinero holds his white helmet in his left hand.
The other two carabineros hold machine pistols, their helmets
pulled forward to shield their eyes from the sun. Now the
civilian on his knees lifts his right hand to his chest. He opens
his mouth. The traffic moves forward, the cars slowly moving
forward, slowly passing the two carabineros holding machine
pistols, the civilian, the carabinero who holds the civilian's
neck. In the background a man has turned his head to look back at
the carabineros. The traffic moves forward. The traffic continues
to move forward...






        17: THE DINING ROOM HAS WHITE WALLS...


The dining room has white walls, two windows that look out
on the roofs of the quarter, a rectangular wooden dining table
surrounded by four wooden chairs. The width of the room is almost
as great as its length. Gabriela sits at one of the long sides of
the rectangular dining table. Marie sits opposite her and Henrik
sits at Gabriela's right. The sound of vague music can be heard
from somewhere, maybe from the living room. Marie's hair is down,
a new coiffure, the hair falling in waves around her face. The
small chandelier over the table casts a muted yellowish light on
the faces of the three people. Henrik wears a white shirt with an
open collar and over that a grey wool jacket. Marie sits with her
left elbow on the edge of the table and the fingers of her left
hand touching the curve of her chin. The woman who cooks and
serves now comes through the doorway with a tureen of soup on a
large tray. Marie says something to the cook, turning her face
away from the table, her red lacquered fingernails catching the
light of the chandelier. The windows are dark, the night sky
without stars. Between the two windows is a painted wooden panel,
patches of red and orange bounded by black, the figure of a small
girl standing in a stiff pose. Marie's dress has a diagonal red
stripe from her left shoulder down to her waist on the right
side, the red of the stripe identical in hue to the red of the
girl's dress in the wooden panel between the two windows. Henrik
turns his head and he nods at Gabriela, his eyes indicating the
soup tureen that now sits on the table. The cook has returned to
the kitchen. Gabriela wears a blue dress that leaves her
shoulders bare. She brings her hands up from under the table and
she watches Henrik as he fills her soup bowl. Her lips have been
painted more heavily than usual, a dark red color that emphasizes
her white complexion. A point of light now appears in the sky
through the window at the right, an airplane or a helicopter
moving east, passing across the window from right to left,
vanishing behind the wall between the two windows, reappearing
again through the left window, vanishing again behind the
adjacent wall. Gabriela lifts a spoon in her right hand and she
begins eating her soup.

I suppose we'll have rain tomorrow again, Marie says. I
don't mind it. Really, I don't.

She divides a small roll into two pieces. She returns one
piece to the plate and she divides the remaining piece into two
more pieces. Now she brings one of the small quarters to her
mouth and she places it between her lips.

Henrik says nothing. He carries the soup from the bowl to
his mouth with a spoon. He looks at Gabriela again and he says
nothing.

When Gabriela finishes her soup, she moves the bowl and the
plate under it to her left side. Another point of light has now
appeared in the night sky through the window on the right.
Gabriela watches the light move from right to left across the
window. How far is it?

I think about New York all the time now, Marie says. I think
I'm getting homesick.

We'll be there eventually, Henrik says.

Marie looks at Gabriela: Will you come with us? Will you
come to New York with us?

Gabriela leans forward: Do you want me to?

Yes. I think we'd like that very much. Henrik thinks we
ought to pay for your ticket, and I agree with him. Will you
accept that? It's not that much money. It's a present, darling.
It's a present from Henrik and I to our friend Gabriela.

Marie continues to talk. Her mouth moves, her red lips. The
corners of the room are in shadow, the two windows once again
showing an empty night sky.



The General is in a reading room, seated in a large chair, a
bright reading lamp on his left side on a curved table. Near the
edge of the table is an enamel cigarette box. The room has a high
ceiling, dark beams overhead, white stucco plaster between the
beams. The reading lamp casts a broken circle of light on the
ceiling directly above it. The chair in which the General sits
has a back high enough to completely hide his head from the rear.
His grey hair is combed flat, straight back, no part on either
side. Beyond the General on his right side is a tall shelf of
books. He turns his head toward the lamp now. He looks at the
ashtray on the table, at the room beyond the table, at the
banquette that extends along the wall under the tall windows. In
his lap is a photograph album bound in a thick brown leather, the
album now open in his hands, a group of black-and-white
photographs arranged against the black matte paper of the album,
the photographs on the left page pasted so that their left edges
make a continuous vertical line parallel to the edge of the black
paper. The General looks down at the album again. These are
photographs of old friends, companions, an occasional face no
longer recognized. For a moment he stares at the black space
between the photographs, at the black matte paper. Then he turns
the page backward, another page backward, an earlier year, the
beach at Calamayor, yes there look at that one. She sits facing
left, the face seen in profile, the hair tied in the back to make
a pony's tail, a long white dress, bare feet on the mosaic floor.
A large umbrella shades the table, the white tablecloth, the gray
and white flowers of the centerpiece, the two glasses of orange
juice or lemonade. Behind her a waiter has appeared with a tray,
a white jacket and dark trousers, his left foot blurred, caught
off the ground as he steps forward. Stupid picture, the General
thinks. This is the best photograph he has of her and there right
behind her is the inquilino boy with an empty tray. She looks
thin, doesn't she? That year she was thin. She was sick all
winter and in summer at the beach it wasn't much better. She sits
with her left hand on her left thigh, her fingers wide apart and
extended. The angle is perfect. He always liked her profile. Look
at the bushes in the background, the trees, the enormous leaves
on the vines. What do you want? Do you want to go back? Do you
want to go inside the photograph? Do you want to sit down there
with her and finish your lemonade? What do you want?



Gabriela lies in a bed in a room near the university. The
only light in the room comes from a small lamp on the nightstand
on the left side of the bed, the plastic lamp shade streaked with
grime and cracked on one side. Only the bed and the lamp and
Gabriela's face can be seen. Everything around the bed is in deep
shadow. She turns her head to her left now. She looks at the
lamp, at the round clock near the base of the lamp. Then she
faces forward again and she closes her eyes.



She thinks of her brothers. Are they happy that she no
longer lives in the house with them? Her father shouted. Her
mother cried. Her two brothers laughed. I hate them, Gabriela
thinks. I hate them all, don't l? Yes, I hate them all. You'll
starve, her father said. But she won't starve, she has Senora
Silva. And now the Andersens. They give her money sometimes.
Marie buys her things. They know nothing about Senora Silva and
the old men. No more licking of her sex. She sucks them now. The
price is now three thousand pesos. Senora Silva is pleased. The
old men are happy. They groan when she has their flesh in her
mouth. She continues to study with the maestro Delgado. Gabriela
Prado will be an actress in New York. If only Tavio were still
alive. Sometimes she thinks of Tavio and she cries. Marie says
it's better if she doesn't think about Tavio any more. Marie says
Gabriela has her whole life to live. In New York everything will
be different. Marie and Henrik will be her friends. Henrik
whispers to her when he makes love to her. Senora Silva would be
furious if she knew about the Andersens. You do it with them for
money and you refuse to do it with the old men. Her mother would
not believe it. Her mother would say she's possessed by the
Devil. Gabriela is possessed by the Devil. Are you a whore,
Gabriela? The Andersens are her friends, aren't they? They'll
help her go to New York and there she'll begin a new life as an
actress. The maestro Delgado will be proud of her. In New York
she won't have the emptiness in her belly that she has now. The
room is cold. The lady who rented the room to her said the room
is warm, but it's not warm at all, it's cold. She has only one
blanket and the room is cold. She suddenly remembers Captain
Lorenzo, the way he laughed at her, the feel of his penis pushing
in her sex. It's not like that with Henrik and Marie. Henrik is
gentle with her. Henrik whispers when he makes love to her. Her
father would kill her and maybe kill the Andersens, too. Maybe I
should die. Maybe I should be dead like Tavio. The. Andersens are
rich, aren't they? Marie says they have a wonderful life in New
York. You'll meet all our friends, Marie says. We'll have a
lovely time together. Won't you like that? I'm sure you'll find
some work as an actress. So much happens in New York. Gabriela
thinks of the Andersens and she feels the pleasure again. She
thinks of Marie. She thinks of Henrik. Then she quivers as she
thinks of the old men again, their eyes, the way they groan, the
old hands that touch her hair. It's cold, isn't it? The blanket
is too thin. Don't think of the blanket, think of Marie and
Henrik. Think of New York. Think of the city where everything is
possible...



And now the General again. He sleeps. He lies on his back
with his mouth open. He dreams. He dreams of a grassy patch
spotted with small yellow flowers, a short wooden plank fixed
vertically in the ground, the top of the plank carved away to
form a U shape, the top of the plank no more than two feet from
the ground so that a man who kneels on the grass can lean forward
to rest his neck in the U-shaped opening. The General's hands are
tied with wire behind his back. A soldier with rolled up sleeves
crouches and holds an axe so that the blade of the axe just
touches the back of the General's neck. The other soldiers
surround them. It must be summer: some of the soldiers wear short
trousers. Now the soldier holding the axe rubs his cheek on his
left shoulder and he smiles:

Listen to me, the soldier says. Are you comfortable?

The other soldiers laugh. One of them slaps his thighs as he
laughs.

Ask him if he wants a priest, someone says.

Do you want a priest?

The General shakes his head: No, I don't want a priest.

Of course you don't. You'd rather have a cigarette. Somebody
give me a cigarette.

The soldier holding the axe raises one hand to accept a
cigarette. He pushes the entire cigarette into the mouth of the
General. The General spits and the soldier laughs:

It's no good for you anyway, the soldier says. You could get
cancer.

Everyone laughs again. The crouching soldier suddenly raises
the axe and brings it down with great force onto the neck of the
General. The axe cleaves the neck with a crunch, the neck spurts
blood, the General's head rolls in the grass. The eyes of the
head are open. The General's eyes. My eyes. My own eyes, the
General thinks. He looks at his own head. Is it him? Is that you,
Tino? Is that you?





      18: IN THE AFTERNOON IN THE CAFE RIENZI...


In the afternoon in the Cafe Rienzi, Gabriela orders a
lemonade. She looks at the crowd, she gazes at the faces of the
people at the tables. The wall at the far end is a deep green
color. Then Gabriela sees Teresa, Rafael's girlfriend. Teresa
turns her head and she looks at Gabriela. They stare at each
other. A boy now stands against the far wall with his arms
raised. Teresa rises from her chair and she walks across the cafe
toward Gabriela. She's Rafael's girl, Gabriela thinks. I was
Tavio's girl and Teresa is Rafael's girl. When Teresa arrives at
Gabriela's table, she stands near Gabriela and she looks down at
her.

Hello, Gabriela says.

Teresa turns her head to look at the entrance of the cafe.

Rafael has been arrested, Teresa says.

Gabriela stares at her. Teresa has such a thin body, a long
face and long arms. When Teresa speaks again, her voice is almost
a whisper:

Do you mind if I sit with you?

Teresa sits down and now she says nothing. She places her
hands on the table. The coat she wears has a torn collar. Her
lips are unpainted and her face is pale. She has round dark eyes.

I think I'm afraid now, Teresa says.

Gabriela wants to touch one of Teresa's hands, but instead
she remains motionless.

When was he arrested? Gabriela says.

Teresa shrugs: Two days ago. He told me they would arrest
him. He said they have the names of everyone who was in Mocorito.
They have their names and they have the names of their friends.

Gabriela wonders if her own turn will come. Do they have her
name? She stares at the yellow light that hangs from the ceiling.
Will they arrest the daughter of an important carabinero? The
cafe seems immobilized, the people frozen, their faces blank.

I don't want to be raped by them, Teresa says, l don't want
to be raped by them.



Gabriela's mother comes to visit her in her room. She sits
in a wooden chair and she turns her head to look at the walls, at
the old furniture, at the red scarf nailed to the wall at its
four corners.

What's that? Senora Prado says.

Gabriela looks at the scarf: It belonged to my friend Tavio.

Tavio?

The one who was killed by the carabineros.

Senora Prado makes a sound with her lips. She looks at the
furniture again. She speaks with a trembling voice:

You can't live here. You can't live here like a pig. I want
you to come home with me.

Senora Prado rubs her face with her hands. She opens her
purse and she removes a small pillbox.

Do you have any water? Senora Prado says.

Only some wine? Gabriela says.

Gabriela brings her mother some white wine in a small glass.
Senora Prado opens the pillbox. She removes a white pill and she
puts the pill on her tongue. She drinks the white wine and she
swallows the pill.



I've been sick, Senora Prado says. If you love me, you'll
come home with me.

She presses her lips together and she looks at Gabriela.

But Gabriela shakes her head: I won't live at home any more.

Senora Prado moans. She lifts her right hand and she touches
the cross that hangs at her throat. Once again she looks at the
room, at the furniture. Once again she appears to be shocked. Her
eyes are wide. She rolls her eyes as she gazes at the worn
carpet, at the grimy curtains that hang on each side of the
single window. Someone laughs. A noise of laughter comes from
outside the room, from the corridor or maybe from a room on the
other side of the wall.

Please, Gabriela...

No, it's not possible, Gabriela says.

But why not?

Because I don't want to.

Tears now. Senora Prado begins crying. She wipes the tears
from her eyes with a white tissue. Then a sudden noise from
somewhere, a man shouting in another room. The light from the
window is too dim to see all of Senora Prado's face. She pleads
with Gabriela to return home and once again Gabriela refuses.

I'll send your father, Senora Prado says.

Gabriela turns away: It doesn't matter.

Senora Prado dabs at her eyes again. Gabriela remains
motionless as she stands near the bed. Now Gabriela moves again.
She turns and she sits on the edge of the bed near the dressing
table. She looks at her mother and she says nothing.

Gabriela's face: the empty expression remains fixed.



I don't believe it, the General says.

The blotter on the desk is green. On the desk near the
General's right hand is a small book with a red leather cover:
DIARIO. Beyond the desk is a small man wearing the uniform of a
major general. His name is Luis Pombal and he heads the National
Intelligence Office. Maybe it's you, the General says. Pombal
stands erect: You've known me for thirty years. Thirty-two years.
No one is more loyal to you.

The General folds his hands in his lap and he leans back in
his chair: Sit down, sit down.

On the far wall is a painting of a blue lake surrounded by a
dense green forest. Pombal sits down in an upholstered chair. His
face is expressionless. The General stares at him. Suddenly the
General opens his mouth to release a short laugh:

Ha!

I'm not lying, Pombal says.

Listen, you keep looking. There's a group and they're making
a plot. Generals, you know. It's the generals we need to watch.

You can trust me. If there's anything going on, I'll find
out about it.

But you don't think I know what I'm talking about.

I think there's more danger from the younger officers.

The General turns his face and body to the left: What about
the Front? What's happening with our bums in the Front?

There's no organization any more. They've been cleaned out.

Are you sure?

Do you want a list?

No, I don't want a list. What do you want me to do with a
list?

Pombal's voice is weak. He makes a vague sound. His voice
fades...



Now the General is alone. He sits back in the big chair and
he thinks about his enemies. Everyone has enemies,


 don't they? Even the Pope has enemies. The General gazes at the
room, at the painting of Lago Valencia. Maybe Pombal wants to cut
off his balls. Maybe it's Pombal who wants to sit in the big
chair Maybe it's Pombal who wants this palace for his house. He
has a big family, doesn't he? Pombal has three daughters and two
sons. He needs a big house. Whatever they have is never good
enough for them. You give them one million and they want ten. You
give them ten and they want a hundred. What do you think? It's
not like it was before, is it? The last one in the big chair was
an idiot out of the Front who wanted to give the palace to the
bums in Aravaca. Was he thinking about Aravaca when the bullets
came? What was he thinking about? Was he thinking about Aravaca?



In a large room a man wearing civilian clothes stands near a
blackboard holding a piece of chalk in his left hand. The window
at the extreme right is open enough to make the sound of the
trucks in the street audible.

A cloud of bluish-grey cigar smoke floats near the white
ceiling.

The man speaks: AS A GENERAL RULE, INJURIES TO THE BRAIN IN
THE BACK PART OF THE HEAD ARE MORE LIKELY TO CAUSE DEATH THAN
INJURIES TO THE BRAIN IN THE FORWARD PART OF THE HEAD. SOMETIMES
THERE CAN BE A SEVERE INJURY TO THE FRONT PART OF THE HEAD WITH A
MASSIVE FRACTURE OF THE SKULL AND ACTUAL OOZING OUT OF THE BRAIN
SUBSTANCE WITHOUT THE INDIVIDUAL EVEN LOSING CONSCIOUSNESS. THE
IMPORTANT THING TO REMEMBER IS THAT WOUNDS FROM AUTOMATIC PISTOLS
HELD DIRECTLY TO THE HEAD ARE NOT ALWAYS IMMEDIATELY FATAL.
SOMETIMES THE INDIVIDUAL MAY LIVE FOR SEVERAL HOURS OR EVEN DAYS
AFTER A WOUND OF THIS KIND AND SOMETIMES THEY WILL EVEN RECOVER.
BECAUSE OF THESE CONSIDERATIONS, I DO NOT RECOMMEND THE PISTOL AS
AN INSTRUMENT OF DISPOSAL.





    19: SENORA SILVA STANDS NEAR A DARK DOORWAY...


Senora Silva stands near a dark doorway, the corner behind
her in shadow, a small painting on the left wall, a curved lamp
with an eggshell yellow shade attached to the right wall. She
wears a red silk dress and red shoes with pointed toes. Gabriela
stands in the right foreground beside an upholstered armchair.
She wears a blue dress, but only the upper part of her body is
visible. Only part of the width of the room can be seen, the
draped windows on the right, the carpet, part of a table on the
left. The pattern of the carpet is vague. Directly over the dark
doorway on Senora Silva's right is another small painting, a
reclining nude, the body an obscure pink curve against a brown
background. Senora Silva's lips are painted a deep red. She turns
her face toward her left shoulder, toward the yellow lamp
attached to the wall. A small crack in the eggshell shade is now
apparent. Under the lamp is a small table, a pair of gloves on
the table beside a black telephone. The table is of brown wood
with a fine yellow line on the outside of each leg. The table is
placed at an equal distance between the corner of the room and
the first window on the right. Senora Silva now turns her face
toward her right side. Gabriela remains motionless. From this
angle, Senora Silva's figure divides the room into two parts, one
part on the left mostly in shadow, and another part on the right
where the windows and the standing figure of Gabriela can be
seen. Near Gabriela is the upholstered armchair. The silence
continues. Senora Silva continues to gaze at an undefined point
toward her right side, toward the left foreground. Her face is
without expression. She moves her head toward her left now and
she looks at Gabriela, or she looks beyond Gabriela to another
part of the room that cannot be seen. The far corner on the left
is completely in shadow, completely dark. Senora Silva now lifts
her right hand and she touches the right side of her face with
her fingertips.



Now Gabriela has moved toward her left and the view is over
her right shoulder. Senora Silva has stepped forward, her body
turned so that she faces the entrance to the room. Beyond her is
the corner of the room, the small painting on the left wall, the
small lamp attached to the right wall. An old man has just come
into the room through the dark entrance. His name is Senor
Guttmann and he wears an old-fashioned dark grey suit, a white
shirt, and a dark tie. He stands just inside the doorway, leaning
forward, his eyes on Gabriela, his arms lifted so that his hands
are at the level of his waist, the fingertips pointing at each
other, the fingertips almost touching, his forearms forming a
line that cuts his body into two parts, an upper part that
directs the eye toward his face, a narrow bald head, a thin
mouth, a lower part that directs the eye toward his baggy
trousers, his black shoes. Senora Silva makes a slight turn
toward her right, toward Gabriela. Does Senora Silva appear
different now? The red silk dress rustles as she moves. Her eyes
are dark, the arched eyebrows black. She remains motionless. A
small vertical crease can be seen in the lowest part of her
forehead between her two eyebrows. She gazes at Gabriela but her
eyes reveal no emotion. Now she turns her head and she looks at
Senor Guttmann again.



The angle of view changes, shifts to the right so that
Senora Silva partly obscures Senor Guttmann's left shoulder.
Senora Silva opens her red lips. She says something, but the
words are indistinct. Senor Guttmann nods. His eyes remain fixed
on Gabriela. His hands have not moved. The right side of his face
is away from the light and the skin has a gray pallor. He steps
forward now, only one step to the edge of the carpet. The corner
of the room on his right side is still dark, still in shadow. He
turns his eyes away from Gabriela now. He turns his head to his
right and the color of the left side of his face slowly changes
from gray to a grayish-green, a shadowed green in sharp contrast
to the red color of Senora Silva's silk dress, her red shoes with
pointed toes.

I have an empty room, Senora Silva says. Come with me and
I'll show it to you.



Here in the room Senor Guttmann sits in an armchair with his
forearms and hands on the armrests. The wall behind the chair is
covered with a blue wallpaper with an unclear pattern, small
curlicues or flowers or an array of rosettes repeated again and
again across the width of the blank wall. Senor Guttmann's face
is tilted backward, his head resting on the back of the armchair,
his eyes closed and his mouth open. He still wears a grey jacket
over a white shirt and a dark tie, but his shoes and trousers and
underwear have been removed and except for the black stockings
that cover his calves he sits naked below the waist in the
armchair. He sits with his legs apart as Gabriela kneels on the
carpet between his knees, her back curved, her head bent, her
shoulders and her head hiding the central part of Senor
Guttmann's body. Gabriela is still dressed. She still wears the
blue dress. Her blonde hair has fallen forward to surround her
face as she bends over Senor Guttmann's belly. The light comes
from the right, maybe from a lamp, and now as Gabriela moves her
head the light is momentarily caught in her hair, the light in
her blonde hair, and then she moves her head again and the light
is gone. Senor Guttmann continues to sit with his head tilted
back, his mouth open, a bit of pink tongue appearing now between
his open lips. As his eyes remain closed, his hands move from the
armrests, a jerky movement inward, the hands closing in on
Gabriela's head, the fingers sifting through the fine blonde
hair.



The view suddenly changes. Gabriela is seen from her left
side. She has Senor Guttmann's penis in her mouth. The organ is
erect, thick enough to stretch her lips, the shaft glistening
with Gabriela's saliva, the base of the shaft held by Gabriela's
left hand, the glans hidden inside Gabriela's mouth, between her
lips, appearing now as she pulls her head back, the darker plum
of the glans appearing, held between her lips, then vanishing
again as she pushes her mouth down to take more of the pink
member. Senor Guttmann groans. Gabriela pushes her head down,
pulls back, pushes her head down again. Senor Guttmann's fingers
continue to sift through Gabriela's blonde hair.



The sun is down. Now near the railroad station a scarred
wall, patches of white on grey, chipped concrete, old and new
white scratches running in all directions. Against the wall a
seated woman, a woman in rags, her nose and lips, a woman from
the mountains, a burlap sack with a large knot at her left
shoulder, the sack in front, in the sack a child two years old,
the woman's arm supporting the child's head, the child's lips
clamped to a balloon of a breast. the woman's right breast
ballooning out of the folds of frayed cotton, the woman's left
hand extended, her palm open, two coins in her palm. Then to the
right a man's shoes, a man's trousers, an arm with a hand that
has apparently just


 dropped the coins into the woman's palm. Behind the man's legs a
doorway or an alley. Only part of the doorway, only the man's
legs remain visible. Suddenly the man is gone. The woman puts the
two coins in a small tin plate on the ground. Now legs again, a
woman's legs in the doorway, white shoes with openings for the
toes, two fat legs with red blotches on the ankles, an extended
hand with fat fingers, the woman on the ground raising her open
palm, her palm lifting to receive a coin dropped by the fat
fingers.



In the evening on a stage a woman sings. The General sits in
a box at the opera. He gazes at the stage, at the woman who
sings, at the men in costume who stand beside her. The box is
near enough to the stage so that the General can see the woman's
pink tongue, the dark hole of her throat as she opens her mouth
wide, as she lifts her face and opens he} mouth wider. Is she
looking at the General? She wears a headpiece, a long gown
trimmed with fur and fake jewels. Then a moment of silence. The
woman's mouth is closed. The men move. The men stop. One of the
men turns to the audience and he begins,singing. He lifts his
arms. He opens his mouth wide as he sings to the audience. He
turns from the audience and he sings to the woman. The General
gazes at the stage. He looks across at the other boxes, at the
other generals, his generals, his lieutenants, his majors, his
brigadiers. He looks down at the audience, the women, the bare
shoulders, the breasts like fat pillows, the black hair, the red
hair, the blonde hair, a deep blue evening dress. He thinks of
her again, the photograph, the table at the beach, the boy behind
her with the empty tray in his hands, the umbrella over the
table, her long white gown, her bare feet on the stones beside
the pool, her lips, her eyes, her breasts, the smell of her skin
between her breasts, the taste of a nipple between his lips...

On the stage the woman is singing again. She lifts her head,
her arms, she opens her mouth, and she sings again.





   20: THIS AFTERNOON GABRIELA LEARNS FROM ELENA...


This afternoon Gabriela learns from Elena that the maestro
Delgado has apparently vanished. They stand at the edge of a
park. The hedge beside Elena has a deep green color. Above the
building in the background is a stream of white smoke spiraling
upward. The maestro Delgado has vanished. Gabriela gazes beyond
Elena at a pair of carabineros walking near a row of shops.

Elena extends her right hand toward Gabriela: I thought it
might happen, Elena says.

The two carabineros have turned around, and now they walk in
the opposite direction. The edge of the pavement forms a line
that runs directly to the west. Gabriela stands immobilized. She
feels weak. She watches a black van as it moves past them. Her
eyes follow the vertical lines of the building behind Elena. The
roof of the building forms a sharp angle with its edge.

I'm going to the studio, Gabriela says.

No, you shouldn't, Elena says.

But she goes with Gabriela. They enter the building and they
walk through the vestibule. The photographs are gone. The inner
corridor is covered with gray dust. A broken chair lies on its
side in a corner. The lights don't work and the hallway is in
shadows. ln the room with the small stage, everything has been
moved, thrown about, turned over, and wrecked. A red poster on
one of the walls has been slashed into two pieces. Elena makes a
vague sound: Carabineros, she says. Gabriela says nothing.



That's awful, Marie Andersen says. It's horrible, isn't it?
Maybe they'll release him soon. It's possible, isn't it?

Gabriela sits on the sofa in the Andersen apartment as Marie
hovers over her. Henrik sits near the window with a drink in his
right hand.

She needs consolation, Henrik says. She doesn't look well.

Marie's face is pink, her lips red, her fingernails red.
Gabriela thinks of the studio, the broken furniture, the cracks
in the walls. The maestro Delgado has disappeared. Is Henrik
looking at her again? Gabriela moves her shoes over the rug. She
feels the rug beneath her feet, beneath the soles of her shoes.
She wants to cry, but instead she drinks the tea Marie has
brought for her. The wall behind Henrik looks yellow as it
catches the light of the setting sun.

I'd rather have wine, Gabriela says.

Marie smiles and she brings Gabriela a glass of red wine.

I'll have a glass with you, Marie says. There's no point in
being too sad, is there? I'm sure he'll be back soon.

Marie laughs. She sits on the sofa beside Gabriela and she
slips her right arm around Gabriela's shoulders. Gabriela leans
against Marie and she wants to cry again. The cocktail table is
precisely parallel to the sofa, the distance between the table
and the sofa equal at both ends.

We'll take you back to New York with us, Marie says. You'll
have a new life in New York. Let's drink a toast to that? Let's
drink a toast to a new life in New York.

Gabriela drinks with them. She stares at the window. She
stares at the red sky.



In the bedroom now. Only a small lamp, a meager light on the
bed. All of them are naked. Gabriela kneels on the edge of the
bed and Henrik stands behind her. Marie presses her lips against
Henrik's back, against his left shoulder. Gabriela lies with the
right side of her face on a pillow, the left side of her face
revealed by the lamplight. Her eyes are closed, her cheeks
flushed. Henrik has penetrated her from behind, his penis in her
sex, his belly pressed against her buttocks. Is it too warm in
the room? Marie has already asked if a window ought to be open.
She presses her lips against Henrik's left shoulder. The light is
behind Henrik, and now as he moves against Gabriela's buttocks
his body makes a shadow on the bed. Marie presses against
Henrik's back. She holds Henrik's testicles in her right hand.
She holds the upper part of his left arm with her left hand.
Henrik slides his penis in and out of Gabriela's sex as Marie
holds his testicles.

Gabriela's face; Her eyes are still closed. But now her
cheeks are no longer flushed and her face appears without
expression. Her face appears frozen.

Henrik continues to push against Gabriela's buttocks. Marie
continues to press her lips against Henrik's left shoulder.



The General's mouth is open. He has a book in his lap again.
Something different now. The General reads. Carcinoma accounts
for 95% of malignant neoplasms of the stomach. Stomach cancer is
often associated with gastritis and intestinal metaplasia of the
gastric mucosa. The General reads on. Gastric carcinomas can be
classified according to gross appearance. He reads on. In early
stages there are no specific symptoms. He reads on. X-ray studies
generally have been unreliable. Gastric analysis is of limited
value. Excision of the tumor offers the only hope of cure. He
reads on. He continues to read. His mouth is open. He sits in the
big chair leaning forward with the book in his lap. He thinks of
the stomach, the lining of the stomach, a small grapefruit, a
large grapefruit. My stomach. In the beginning they can't find it
because it's too small and when it's big enough to find then it's
too late. So he has it. Maybe now it's a small one, a small
grape-fruit, but he has it and there's no way they can tell him
he doesn't have it. The words mean nothing, he knows he has it.
What do you think? Another year? Maybe in another year he's dead.
He'll die before the Pope comes. No, he'll wait until after the
Pope comes and then he'll die. The hell with them he'll wait
until after the Pope comes. Even with a big grapefruit in his
stomach, he'll wait until after the Pope comes. Let them see that
he has balls. You have balls, Tino. He feels cold. The words make
him cold. He thinks of the grapefruit and he feels cold. No one
cares that he feels cold. Where is she?. Why doesn't she make him
feel warm again? After he's dead nothing will change, nothing,
not here, not in the mountains, not by the seaside. They'll go to
the seaside as always, to the beach, to the hot sand, the women,
the girls, the white teeth in the sun. It goes on, doesn't it?
What do you expect? They don't care. He makes them rich and they
go to the beach and laugh at the sun. When the Pope comes he'll
ask the Pope for a blessing, bless me Father put your hand on my
head and bless me, what the hell it's money isn't it? The Pope
lives like a pope, doesn't he? He has a big chair. It's between
the big chairs, from one big chair to another. even the Pope has
enemies. They look at him in the big hat and they want the hat.
They look at him in the big chair and they want the chair. How
bad is it when the grapefruit bleeds? How bad is it? How long do
you carry the grapefruit around before it starts bleeding inside?
No, it's there, don't be a fool. He knows it. I know it. Do you
want to sleep? No, I don't want to sleep, I'm not tired. I'm not
tired yet. Put on a new uniform. He'll change his uniform. He
always feels better when he changes his uniform. He's a soldier,
isn't he? Listen, I'm a soldier. Sit up straight. Hold your
stomach in. What the hell you can sit up straight just to spite
them. No, you're sleeping now, you're sleeping, you're an old
fool and you're sleeping...





         21: GABRIELA SITS WITH HER FATHER...


Gabriela sits with her father in a restaurant, at a table
near a window, Gabriela on one side, her father on the other
side, Gabriela's eyes on the window and the street and the
traffic and the carabinero car waiting at the curb. Gabriela is
silent. Senor Prado is silent. He watches Gabriela. He stares at
her across the table. He taps the table with the fingers of his
right hand. The carabinero car that waits for Senor Prado has a
blue color. Gabriela gazes at the car, and then she lifts her
eyes and she looks at the blue sky, at a bird circling over a
tilted roof. The bird circles once over the roof and then it
flies east. In a moment the bird is too far, too small in the
distance, nothing but a black spot that continues to grow
smaller.

How will you live? Senor Prado says.

I have a job, Gabriela says.

A job? What kind of job?

In a bookshop.

Where? Where is it?

In the Plaza Melendez.

Senor Prado taps the table with the fingers of his right
hand: I want you to live at home. I want you to come back to the
house as soon as possible.

Gabriela refuses. She remains motionless, her eyes on the
window. Senor Prado insists and Gabriela refuses again. The bird
has returned. A bird is circling again over the roof of the
building. Is it the same bird? Gabriela rises. She lifts her
purse and her coat.

Sit down, Senor Prado says.

Gabriela ignores him. She leaves the table. She leaves the
restaurant. She walks past the carabinero car that waits for her
father. She watches the bird as it circles over the roof of the
building.



She walks into the Cafe Rienzi in Mirabel on the edge of a
black despair. What now, Gabriela? She stares at the crowd, at
the green walls, at the paintings and drawings on the walls. The
people in the cafe seem subdued, their voices muted, their faces
blank. Above the heads of the crowd, the ceiling is in shadow.
Who are these people? Gabriela stares at them. She looks beyond
the tables to the entrance to the kitchen. She looks at the
people in the cafe again. Are they staring at her? A man extends
his arm. Is he gesturing at Gabriela? She feels uneasy. She
stands near the entrance. She does not want a table. A woman
dressed in black smiles at her. Gabriela feels a sudden panic.
Beside the woman dressed in black is a woman dressed in grey.
Gabriela turns. She hurries out of the cafe. She walks to the
comer. She stands beside the lamppost and she trembles. A shadow
passes, a truck, a loud noise, the red side of the truck:
NABISCO. Gabriela continues to tremble. Her body shakes as she
stands beside the lamppost.



An automobile horn. Another horn. A crowd of cars in a small
intersection. Maybe it's near the railroad station. Four soldiers
stand at one of the corners, two with rifles, two with machine
pistols. This is an occupied country. This is a country occupied
by its own army.



In the bookshop in the Plaza Melendez, Gabriela stands
behind the cash register near the entrance. A vague sound comes
from the rear of the shop, voices, a murmur, someone laughing.
Gabriela does not turn her head. She sits on a stool behind the
cash register. She tries to remember the look in her father's
eyes. His face is uncertain. She works in the bookshop only a few
hours a day. Senora Silva says that Gabriela is stupid. It's a
waste of time, Senora Silva says. But Gabriela insists. Not more
than a few hours a day. In the early afternoon it's finished and
she has time for Senora Silva. The cash register is not
difficult. The people in the shop are kind. Gabriela gazes at the
bookshelves, at the curve of a large globe that stands on a
pedestal near the opposite wall. She feels desolate again. She
looks a her hands, at her pink skin. Are these her own hands? The
colors of the books appear to shift from side to side under the
bright ceiling light.

A male voice: Gabriela?

She turns her head and she looks at one of the clerks. His
name is Roberto and he has a thin face and dark eyes.

Gabriela, are you all right?

Yes, I'm fine.

Roberto smiles: Will you have a coffee with me later? Maybe
we can go to a music shop.

Gabriela refuses. Roberto pouts. He asks again and she
refuses again. He shrugs and he leaves her. Gabriela stares at
the table of books close to the cash register.

Gabriela's face: Her lips are red. She lifts her right hand
and she touches her right temple. She touches her right temple
with her fingers.

She stares at the books again. Now she folds her hands
together. She gazes at the cover of one of the books: PERROS.
Dogs. A book about dogs. She stares at the letter O. The O is
like an open mouth. The O in Prado. The O in Tavio. The O in
Delgado. When will her brothers come here? Her father will send
her brothers to bring her back to the house. They don't know, do
they? They don't know about Senora Silva. They don't know what
she does I'm going to be an actress, she thinks. It won't be long
now. In New York everything is possible. She has a sudden urge to
sing. How amusing. Everyone will look at her and smile. She has a
pleasant voice, doesn't she? Our Gabriela has a pleasant voice.
How is it done in Valldemosa? Do they let them run before they
kill them? Do they let them run naked? Teresa said the women are
always naked. Tavio had such pink cheeks when they went skiing in
Ortigosa. Do you understand, Gabriela? My face is warm. Nothing
matters because soon I'll be in New York with Marie and Henrik.
Of course Senora Silva won't like it. She'll be furious, won't
she? Oh yes. Someone approaches the counter, a woman with a book
in her hands. It's the book about dogs.

I think I'll buy this one, the woman says. It's not the
first, is it? I have three at home and now I'll have another one.



An old man's face, pink skin, a white moustache. His head is
tilted backward, his mouth open. Is he laughing? A noise comes
from somewhere, a creaking sound, the ticking of a clock.
Gabriela kneels in front of the old man with her face in his lap,
the old man's penis in her mouth, her lips pulling at his member.
The old man talks. He moves his pink lips. He clicks his teeth as
he talks.

Everything is different now, the old man says. Just a few
years ago we had the bums in the palace and now we have the
General. I don't care how many uniforms he wears. It's good for
the people to see the uniforms. It's good for them. It makes them
happy. They don't drink so much. They work harder. It's better
than before. It's better, isn't it?

The old man looks down at Gabriela's blonde head. His mouth
remains open. He closes his eyes, he opens them again. He turns
his head to his left and he looks at the large fireplace, the
mantle, the gold candlesticks. Now his hands appear, his pink
hands sliding over Gabriela's head, the back of her neck, her
ears. His lips move. He talks again but no sound is heard.

The chair is covered with brown leather, a large upholstered
chair with a deep back and wide armrests.

Gabriela continues to pull at the old man's organ with her
lips. Now all of her can be seen. She's clothed, still dressed,
only her coat removed. The old man is also clothed, only the
front of his trousers opened to expose his penis.

He looks at her again. He bends his head as he gazes at
Gabriela's head. He has white hair, a white moustache, a bluish
mark on his right temple.

Gabriela rests her weight on her knees. Her face is obscured
by her hair. She keeps her face in his lap, her mouth filled with
his organ.

It's not like the old days, the old man says. In the old
days it was better.

Music now, a piano somewhere, the notes of a Chopin sonata.

The old man closes his eyes.

Gabriela's head rises and falls. She continues pulling at
the penis with her mouth.



Evening now. Gabriela walks along the Avenida Melendez. She
passes from one shop window to the other, her face pink in the
light of the neon signs, her coat buttoned to cover her throat,
her blonde hair swaying as she walks. She stops at the window of
a shop that sells television sets and radios. Four television
sets are in the window, each screen showing an identical picture
of the General. Gabriela gazes at the General's face, his eyes,
his mouth, the collar of his uniform. His lips move. He talks to
the camera but no sound is heard. Gabriela remains motionless,
frozen, her eyes fixed on the General's face. Then suddenly she
turns away and she walks again. Now the light is green. She
walks. In the distance the dome of an official building is lit up
by white lights. How far is it? She passes one shop after the
other. A large black car pulls over to the curb. A male voice.
Someone calling to Gabriela. She looks at the car but she
continues walking. She ignores the man. It's not the first time.
In this part of the Avenida Melendez it happens often. She
refuses them. She stops at another shop and she looks at the
clothes in the window. She studies a black dress in the window.
The mannikin's fingernails are pointed. Gabriela walks again. She
walks. She passes the window of a restaurant. She stops and she
looks inside. That face. That one. A sudden terror seizes her.
It's Tavio's face. No, Tavio is dead. It's only a boy who
resembles Tavio. It's not Tavio. She wants to run. She feels a
sudden panic. She trembles. She stares at the boy and she
trembles. He turns his head now and he looks at Gabriela. Of
course it's not Tavio. His face is blurred. It's not Tavio, she
thinks. She turns away from the window and she walks again. I'm
not well. She wants to cry. No, it's not possible. Someone is
calling her again, someone laughing. No, it's not possible. She
walks. She continues walking.






   22: THE GENERAL SITS AT THE HEAD OF THE TABLE...


The General sits at the head of the table at the meeting
with his ministers. He sits with his hands raised, his fingertips
touching to form the outline of a pointed dome, the point of the
dome directly in front of his chin, his face without expression,
his eyes on the long table, the men around the table, the faces,
the eyes, the pink hands. At the far end of the table is the
Minister of National Defense. Then along the sides of the table
the other ministers, the Minister of Agriculture, the Minister of
Economic Coordination, the Minister of Economy, Development, and
Reconstruction, the Minister of Education, the Minister of
Finance, the Minister of Foreign Relations, the Minister of
Housing and Urbanization, the Minister of the Interior, the
Minister of Justice, the Minister of Labor, the Minister of
Lands, the Minister of Mines, the Minister of Public Health, the
Minister of Public Works, the Minister of Transportation.

Outside the tall windows, the afternoon sky has a pale blue
color. Across the square, an army tank sits motionless in front
of the cathedral, the hatch open, the helmeted head of a soldier
protruding from the hatch, the soldier's eyes on the empty
square, on the windows of the palace.

The Minister of Economy, Development, and Reconstruction is
now addressing the table. The General interrupts him. The General
shouts. The General's mouth is open. The Minister of Finance is
talking. The General shouts at the Minister of Finance. The
General's mouth is open. He looks at the faces. He looks at the
green cloth that covers the long table. He looks at the tall
windows. Nothing moves. Across the square in front of the
cathedral, the helmeted head of the soldier is still protruding
from the open hatch of the tank. Now a cigarette appears in the
soldier's mouth. He puffs the cigarette. He turns his head to the
left. He turns his head to the right and once again he stares at
the empty square.



Gabriela is in the Avenida Tablas behind the cathedral. The
light is sharp, a bright sun, a pale blue sky, the afternoon
shadows growing longer on the pavement. She walks with her hands
in the pockets of her coat. Where are you, Gabriela? Four
soldiers are at the end of the street. They stand in the shadow
of a building, their faces obscure. Gabriela feels a sudden fear
as she looks at them. She turns her eyes away. She does not want
to look at the soldiers. Are the soldiers worse than the
carabineros? She wears too much paint on her lips. She's afraid.
No, I don't want it. She hears a voice. Is someone shouting at
her? Now she looks at the soldiers again. Their faces are still
obscure, their eyes unclear. Gabriela stops. She turns. She's
afraid the soldiers will arrest her. Or the carabineros. Don't
look at them. No, it's no good to stop. They might suspect
something. She walks again. She stares beyond them. She passes
the soldiers without a glance at their faces. I'm the daughter of
my father, she thinks. I'm a carabinero's daughter. She hears a
noise behind her. One of the soldiers is laughing at something.
The others laugh. Gabriela continues walking.



The General is alone. He stares at the room, his desk, the
small statue of a horse on two legs. It's better to be a horse,
isn't it? They think he has no balls. What do you say, Tino? They
don't know. They're too fat. Between the fat ones and the bums
there's only a thin wall. I stand before God as the protector of
the fat ones. What do you think? Only the women understand it. He
sees the look in the eyes of the women and he knows they
understand it. The others he hates. The fools, the idiots. Maybe
they still don't understand it. Two years ago they laughed at him
and now he sits in the big chair. This isn't the other one, is
it? The other one is dead. You saw the blood, didn't you? It took
the boys a week to clean up the blood in here. He had his guts
all over the carpet. What do you think? Listen, that's what he
wanted. You kill them when they want it. And then you hold on.
They don't know about the grapefruit. He won't tell them. He
won't tell the bastards about the grapefruit in his stomach. He
won't tell them anything. Let them think what they want, he won't
tell them anything.



The poster on the side of the building is ten stories high:
FANTA. MARCA REGISTRADA. And beside that poster, another poster,
white letters on a red background: FIRESTONE.



Gabriela stands on a street corner with her eyes fixed on a
bus that has stopped to obey a traffic light. Some of the people
on the bus are staring at her. Are they laughing? She hears the
laughter. She keeps her hands inside the pockets of her coat.
Then suddenly she sees Tavio in the back of the bus. Oh God. He's
not looking at her. She wants him to look at her. Tavio, please
look at me. He wears a red scarf. Yes, it must be Tavio. Please,
Tavio. But he refuses to look at her. She wants to cry. A great
shudder passes through her body. The bus is so near. Tavio is so
near. She longs for him. Gabriela, why do you long for him. You
never loved him, did you? You never loved Tavio. Why do you long
for him? It's a dream, isn't it? She's dreaming that Tavio is
dead and he's not dead. Tavio is alive and inside the bus. When I
open my eyes, the dream will be gone. In the morning her mother
will smile at her. She closes her eyes now. When she opens her
eyes again, the bus is moving through the intersection. She wants
to run after it. She tries to run, but her legs won't move. I
can't move my legs. She pulls her hands out of the pockets of her
coat. She stands on the corner with her body leaning forward, her
arms rigid at her sides, her body immobilized. If I move now the
bus will explode. A great cry comes out of her throat, but when
she opens her mouth she hears nothing. Someone is laughing.
Captain Lorenzo is laughing at her. Her father is pointing at
her. He points at her with his right hand, and then he folds his
arms and he stares at her. And now suddenly the flesh falls away
from her father's face and she can see his bare cheekbones. She
can see the bare bones, the white bones, the flat white bones
under the sockets of the eyes. No, the bus is not there. The bus
is not there. Tavio is in the bus and the bus is not there...



On the northern wall of the opera house: BALLET MODERNO.
DANZA FOLKLORICA. TEATRO.



And then a male voice: IN THIS CONTEXT THE WEAPON OF CHOICE
IS THE UZI MACHINE PISTOL. CALIBER 9MM PARABELLUM. BLOWBACK,
SELECTlVE FIRE. WEIGHT 8.9 LBS WHEN LOADED WITH 25 ROUND MAGAZINE
AND METAL BUTT, 8.8 LBS WHEN LOADED WITH 25 ROUND MAGAZINE AND
WOODEN BUTT. LENGTH 25.2 INCHES, WITH BUTT REMOVED 17.3 INCHES.
BARREL LENGTH 10.2 INCHES. MUZZLE VELOCITY 1310 FEET PER SECOND
WlTH 8 GRAM 9MM PARABELLUM BULLET.






           23: STAND WITH US, TERESA SAYS...


Stand with us, Teresa says to Gabriela. They want you to
stand with us.

It is one o'clock in the afternoon, a murky day, a gray sky
visible outside the window of the cafe.

Why? Gabriela says.

Teresa's eyes are dark hollows. She looks at the window, and
then she turns her head and she looks at Gabriela: They say it's
important to have someone with us whose father is a carabinero.

They don't trust me, Gabriela says.

Teresa says nothing.

Gabriela gazes at her hands as she folds them on the table
in front of her. Her lips are red. They want her to stand with
them in the demonstration against the government. The students
will march back and forth in the square opposite the palace.
Gabriela moves her hands to the edge of the table. Teresa wears a
green sweater and over that a brown jacket. Police will be in the
square. Helicopters will fly above the square. Gabriela looks at
Teresa's face, at the dark eyes, at the dark hollows around the
eyes. Then Gabriela turns her face away and she looks at the
window of the cafe. She looks beyond the buildings to the gray
sky.



It's dangerous, Teresa says.

Have you heard anything from Rafael?

No, nothing. I think he's dead.

Like Tavio.

Yes, like Tavio.

Gabriela wants to extend her hand to Teresa, but instead she
remains motionless.

Will you stand with us? Teresa says.

A van passes outside in the street, a black van without any
markings.

Yes, Gabriela says.

She gazes at the gray sky again. Then she looks at Teresa,
at Teresa's pale face, at Teresa's pale lips.



Later Gabriela is alone in the cafe. Teresa has left and
Gabriela sits alone at the table near the window. She gazes at
the street, at the corner where the lamppost is located. Is
Rafael dead? A shadow passes across the window, two shadows, two
carabineros walking slowly past the cafe. Gabriela trembles. She
looks away from the window. She looks at the wall of the cafe,
the re,d painting on the wall, the vague figures in the painting.
The coffee cup in front of her is empty. Teresa's cigarette is in
the ashtray. Gabriela stares at the table. She's frightened
again. Where is she? Why is she here? Nothing is certain any
more. She wants to look at the window again, but her head refuses
to move. She slides her right hand toward the ashtray, then she
pulls the hand back to her body. It's not finished, she thinks.
It's not over, is it? The table suddenly wavers in front of her
eyes. The ashtray, the coffee cup, the table, everything
wavering, now cracking, crumbling in front of her eyes. She's
afraid to move. If she moves, the entire cafe will be destroyed.

Then the moment passes.

The coffee cup is intact. She stares at the curve of the
cup, the curve of the saucer. She wears pink nail polish today,
and now she decides she hates the color. It's ugly. Her fingers
have the appearance of pink worms. She closes her eyes. She
slides her hands beneath the table. No, it's not possible. The
waiter will think she's ill. She opens her eyes again and she
stares at the yellow sign that hangs over the counter near the
kitchen: HELADO. She trembles again, her legs trembling, then her
hands. She fixes her eyes on the corner of the table, the point
where the two edges meet. If she moves her eyes, the table will
crumble again. How far is it to the cathedral? The cardinal wears
a red hat. The bones of the dead become covered with a fine gray
dust.

Now she cries. She wipes her eyes. The waiter stops at the
table. He stares a moment at the empty coffee cup, and then he
moves on.



Shouting. A thousand students are shouting in front of the
cathedral.

They face the palace. They shout. They raise the banners.
VIVA LIBERTAD. DEMOCRACIA AHORA. VlVA LIBERTAD. DEMOCRACIA AHORA.

They shout. They raise the banners.

They shout again.



Two companies of soldiers are lined up in front of the
palace, the soldiers facing the square and the cathedral. On each
flank are fifty carabineros wearing face helmets and holding body
shields. The students shout. The soldiers and the carabineros
remain motionless.



A door somewhere, a partly open door that reveals part of a
room, a woman in a red dress, a man, a uniform, his dark hair
flat on his head. The woman stands close to the man, but she
touches him only at one point: the bulge of her right breast
presses against the chest of the man's tunic.

Have you ever killed anyone? the woman says.

Of course, the man says.

What does it feel like?

The first time it's awkward. After that it becomes simple.

I don't think I could kill anyone. When was the last time
you killed someone?

Last week.

How did you do it?

I don't want to talk about it. You ask too many questions.

Will you ride with me tomorrow?

Yes.

And make love to me in the stable?

Yes.

I love the smell of horses.

All women love the smell of horses.

What happens to these people who disappear?

They disappear.

Do you kill them all?

Don't ask so many questions.

The man's hand appears, the hand sliding over the woman's
dress, over her right shoulder, pulling the shoulder of the dress
down on the right side to expose her right breast, the hand
sliding again, now over the exposed breast, the thumb and
forefinger touching the nipple, pulling at the nipple, turning,
turning back, turning again, a slow rhythm exact and unhurried,
the brown wool of the sleeve, the fingers, the brown nipple, the
bulge of the breast, the long strip of brown and pink undulating
in the open space, through the partly open door, in the gray
light...



Gabriela is in the crowd in front of the cathedral. She
stands beside Teresa. The students shout. The banners are raised
again. VIVA LIBERTAD. DEMOCRACIA AHORA. VIVA LIBERTAD. DEMOCRACIA
AHORA.



Why did she wear a white gown? the General thinks. He has
the photograph album in his hands, his eyes on the photograph,
his mother at the table near the pool, the servant behind his
mother, the foliage in the background. Why did she wear a white
gown? He remembers that day she told him she would wear red. He
liked her best in red. He liked her in a red dress and red shoes.
She would laugh and tell him he was like a small boy. Tino,
you're like a small boy. I'm your mother and you're still like a
small boy. Why do you like red shoes so much? So now he has this
picture of her in a white gown and no shoes at all. And with a
servant behind her, the servant holding the empty tray in his
hands. She seems at ease in the chair. Tino, I'm your mother.
Tino, you shouldn't do that. No, not now. It's too much. God will
punish us. Tino, God will punish us. No, don't do that. My God,
you're impossible. You make me crazy. All right, but we need to
hurry, don't we? Oh Tino. In the photograph the table and his
mother are reflected in the pool. The reflection of the white
gown is not distinct. Is she moving? He imagines that her hand
moves. He stares at the hand, at the fingers, at the outline of
her leg under the white cotton of the long gown, at the hand
again, at the slender fingers...



In the square the students are now pushing forward. Gabriela
is in the second rank, her face without color, the bodies of the
students pushing against her from behind. They shout again. They
raise the banners and they shout. VIVA LIBERTAD. DEMOCRACIA
AHORA. The soldiers are motionless. The carabineros are
motionless. The students push forward. The students continue to
push forward. VIVA LIBERTAD. DEMOCRACIA AHORA.



Then suddenly the gas appears. The first canisters explode
in the midst of the crowd.

The carabineros and the soldiers rush forward to meet the
students.

More explosions in the midst of the crowd of students.

Gabriela's face is lost.

The shouting continues. The banners are raised. VIVA
LIBERTAD.

Gabriela's face is suddenly visible again. Her mouth is
open. Someone is screaming. Gabriela is screaming. The screaming
continues.

Now a new sound. Gunfire. The sound of machine pistols.



A male voice: IN THIS CONTEXT THE WEAPON OF CHOICE IS THE
UZI MACHINE PISTOL. CALIBER 9MM PARABELLUM. BLOWBACK, SELECTIVE
FIRE. WEIGHT 8.9 LBS. WHEN LOADED WITH 25 ROUND MAGAZINE AND
METAL BUTT, 8.8 LBS. WHEN LOADED WITH 25 ROUND MAGAZINE AND
WOODEN BUTT. LENGTH 25.2 INCHES, WITH BUTT REMOVED 17.3 INCHES.
BARREL LENGTH 10.2 INCHES. MUZZLE VELOCITY 1310 FEET PER SECOND
WITH 8 GRAM 9MM PARABELLUM BULLET.



The General looks at the photograph. He stares at her bare
feet. He had her on the sofa once. He was twenty years old. She
wore the red shoes. She lay naked on the sofa, wearing nothing
but the red shoes, her arms around his body, her head thrown
backward over the armrest of the sofa, her mouth open, her thighs
open, his flesh in her flesh, his belly pushing against her
belly, her mouth open. No, don't stop. It's wicked. Oh Tino. Oh
my sweet darling. This was 1925. They had the beach house and the
sweat ran down his face and over his chest and over her belly.
Again, Tino, again. Oh God, I'm your mother, it's impossible. I
like it. I can't say I don't like it. It's my fault, isn't it?
God will punish us. Oh yes like that. Oh darling. Oh Tino...



In the square the screaming continues. A gray fog of tear
gas covers the confusion of bodies, carabineros, soldiers,
students running, more bodies, the heavy thud of a club as it
strikes the neck of a blood-soaked boy, his mouth open, his
tongue exposed.

Gabriela's face suddenly appears.

And then Teresa's face. Teresa screams as the hands of a
carabinero pull at her hair.

Gabriela's face: An expression of horror as she watches two
carabineros pull Teresa toward a black van. Teresa's legs are
limp. Teresa's feet bounce on the cobblestones.

Gabriela coughs. She closes her eyes. She coughs again.

She runs.



A man's voice: THE BEST PHYSICAL SURROUNDINGS FOR AN
INTERROGATION ARE A ROOM WITH ONE DOOR AND NO WINDOWS. IF A
WINDOW IS UNAVOIDABLE, THERE SHOULD BE NO VIEW. THE ROOM SHOULD
BE SOUNDPROOFED. THE WALLS OF THE ROOM SHOULD BE BLANK. THE
OBJECTIVE OF THE PHYSICAL SURROUNDINGS IS TO EMPHASIZE THE
ISOLATION OF THE PRISONER.



She runs in the streets. Where? To the Andersen flat. She
runs. She continues running.



The General has now replaced the photograph album with a
book. He holds the book open on his lap and he


 stares at a color photograph of a circumscribed Iymphosarcoma of
the stomach. The duodenal cap and the pars pylorica appear
normal. The tumor is in the body of the stomach and it exhibits a
large irregular surface ulceration. The color of the tumor is a
bright red. The color of the tissue surrounding the tumor is a
dull red. Like raw meat. the General thinks. Well, what do you
want? It's the guts inside. Look at it. Like a red grapefruit
that's been squashed in the middle. He feels a boiling in his
stomach. His face is cold. He closes the book. He closes his
eyes. Then he opens his eyes again and he puts the closed book on
the desk. He wants to look at her picture again, but now he feels
too weak, a sudden weakness that makes him want to sleep. Is it
finished out there? Why do they do it here? Why here in front of
the palace? Are they crazy? What do they want? Does anyone know
what they want?



The janitor is an old man with rheumy eyes. He wipes his
hands on his blue overalls. He stares at Gabriela.

They moved out, the janitor says.

Moved out?

They moved away yesterday.

Moved away?

The old janitor opens his mouth: They moved away, I tell
you. Listen, they moved out yesterday.

No, it's a lie.

He shakes his head: It's not a lie. You see? The name is
gone. The Americans have moved away. They've gone away. They've
gone home. A big car came to take them to the airport. What do
you think? Do you think I'm lying. You can look at the flat. Do
you want to look at the flat?

The furniture remains. The furniture is in the flat, but
nothing else, no sign of the Andersens, no sign of Marie and
Henrik.

Tomorrow we have an English family, the janitor says.

Gabriela has already turned away. He calls after her. She
ignores him. She walks out of the flat and she ignores him.






            24: NOTHING IS NOTHING HERE...


Nothing is nothing here, she thinks. What is it then? The
street. My shoes in the street. One after the other. It's a big
eye. Don't you know? Wipe the sweat away now, you're sweating.
You don't want to sweat. Let me go, please, let me go. And then.
It's a woman. Her eyebrows hacked into a thousand pieces. The
money is on her lips. What a pleasure to hear the voice again.
When Marie turns around I can't see anything. Don't scream. Don't
look at them. Their faces will hurt you. The old men always put
their hands on her head. Her brothers make those funny sounds
with their tongues when they laugh. It's nothing but dust, isn't
it? Between my legs it's a black oil. Between her legs it's a
black oil. To be an actress is everything. It's everything to be
an actress. That girl is an actress. Look at that girl she's an
actress. She's an actress, don't you know? That girl is an
actress. I want the sky to be light again. She wants the sky to
be light again but now the sun is gone and the sky is darker and
darker. Darker and darker. l have an urge to be darker. If you
start running again you'll freeze. If you start running again
you'll be frozen in the street. The money is on her lips. I'm
frozen now. Don't run, please don't run. Tavio is in that green
car. Don't you see his head? Look, if I point my finger at it you
can see his head. One ear only. You can see only one ear, but
it's Tavio, isn't it? He's inside the green car. And now the
green car moves and Tavio is gone again Poor Tavio. Is he
bleeding now? Is his throat bleeding now? Try to understand, will
you? If I hold my hand in front of my face, my fingers are so
close to my eyes. Don't you see how close they are? If I cover my
face I can't see them. If I move my body I'll fall to pieces. My
eyebrows will be hacked to a thousand pieces. No, let me go,
please let me go. Don't you know who I am? You might visit me in
New York, you know. I'll have different clothes, won't I? Henrik
never pretends. He raises the glass to his lips and he drinks.
Senora Silva is up there, isn't she? She opens the window and she
looks down at me. Senora Silva looks down. Is that you Gabriela?
Her lips are so red. Someone kisses her mouth. Someone kisses her
red mouth and now the red paint is smeared over her lips. No, you
smeared it yourself with your fingers. You smeared it yourself,
didn't you? Your mouth is smeared. The clown laughs and cries.
The clown is a dream. My mouth doesn't exist. I cover it and it
doesn't exist. That girl. Does she have a mouth? Does she have a
mother? Her mother is smeared. No, it's her mouth that's smeared.
She has a mother and her mouth is smeared. She has a mouth and
her mother is smeared. My mouth is smeared again. You mustn't
look like a clown. Now stand still and look happy again. They
want you with an expression of happiness. Captain Lorenzo said
it's important for a whore to be happy. No, don't say it. Nothing
but silence now. Not a sound. The slightest noise in there and
everything will fall to pieces. What do you think? She has hacked
eyebrows. Her father wears a white suit in summer. When the
weather is warm he wears a white suit. In the mirror the flesh
falls away and nothing but death remains. These people don't
know, do they? They count the money in their pockets. The men
look at her as they count the money in their pockets. No, please
let me go. I don't like the noise here. Don't you like my shoes?
I won't say. I won't say anything. I'm not hungry. I never find
any pleasure in eating food. It's a question of habit, you know.
Sometimes it's a question of habit. Marie is there, isn't she?
She's in the shadows in that corner. Look, you can see her now.
She's waving, isn't she? She smiles. She looks at someone else
and then she smiles again. Don't you see the eyes? No, don't
scream. I don't want to scream. I don't want to scream now. Not
now. No please not now not now. What do you think? Not now,
please not now not now...






               25: NOW IN THE EVENING...


Now in the evening the General is in his car again, in the
black car, the night car, in the rear of the car behind the
chauffeur. The General wears a dark blue suit, a white shirt, a
red tie. The car moves slowly along the boulevard. The General
keeps his eyes on the pavement, on the pedestrians, on the shop
windows. In the distance beyond the car the traffic in the
boulevard seems impenetrable. The General gazes at the
pedestrians as the car drifts along the road, a slow movement,
silent, the motor inaudible, a shop window, a woman, the shape of
her body against the bright window, another woman, a girl. Now
they pass into the Avenida Melendez. At this hour the pavement is
crowded with pedestrians, women and girls passing the shops. One
girl shouts at another. The General hears nothing. The windows of
the car are closed. Inside the car there is nothing but silence.
Another row of shops, more pedestrians, an occasional girl
standing near a window with her eyes on the boulevard. Then a
blonde girl, blonde hair. She stands near a window. She stands
there without moving, her black purse held with both hands in
front of her body, her eyes on the window of the shop.

As the girl turns to look at the General's car, Gabriela's
face suddenly appears.



She wears a light grey coat with black buttons, black
stockings, and black shoes. Her blonde hair is unpinned, the hair
falling forward around her chin and over her forehead, the hair
uncombed and tangled, the skin of her face pale, her mouth red, a
smear of red lipstick on her lips.

The General's face: He moves his lips. He stares at
Gabriela.

He presses the white button under the middle finger of his
right hand and the car stops.

Gabriela has walked along to follow the General's car. She
stops when the car stops. Once again she looks at the car.

The General stares at Gabriela another moment. Then he opens
the car door. He beckons to Gabriela with his right hand. She
holds her purse in front of her body as she moves forward.



This one is a wild one, he thinks. She's mad. He can tell by
the eyes that she's mad. She has madness in her eyes as she
kneels on the floor of the car in front of him. He remains
motionless as she bends her face to his lap. The car is moving
again. He looks down at her. Her mouth is a red smear. The blonde
hair is dried out, knotted at the ends. She's a witch, he thinks.
This one is a witch. He keeps his hands away from her head. Only
her mouth, her red lips. The car is now in the Plaza Melendez.
The General watches the moving head in his lap, the blonde head.
He feels the mouth, the lips, the girl's hands. Then a boiling in
his stomach. No, not now. He doesn't want that now. He turns his
head. He looks out the window and he sees a bookshop on one of
the corners of the Plaza Melendez. As the car passes the
bookshop, he sees his photograph in the shop window. He stares at
the photograph as the girl's head continues to move in his lap.
He stares at his own face as the car moves onward through the
small square.






                       EPILOGUE


Now the noise of the helicopter, the chopping noise, the
huge blades, the faces inside. First the face of the pilot, the
goggles, the microphone in front of his mouth. Then the four
soldiers, the bored faces, the eyes, the machine pistols on their
laps. The soldiers sit behind the pilot, two on one side, two on
the other side, and between them on the floor is the poet, his
hands and feet manacled. one side of his face caked with dried
blood, his eyes open, his mouth open, his broken fingers
clutching at the air.

Nothing changes. The noise of the helicopter continues, the
chopping noise, the huge blades...

Below the helicopter, the shore of the sea now appears, the
line of a white beach.

The noise of the helicopter continues...

Two miles out at sea, at an altitude of one thousand feet,
the betting begins.

The pilot says the head.

Two soldiers say the feet.

The other two soldiers say the head.

After the money is counted, two soldiers drag the poet to
the open bay, to where the poet can see the sky and the sea and
the line of the white beach in the distance.

One of the soldiers leans over the poet to shout at his
face: HOW DO YOU WANT TO GO OUT? HEAD FIRST OR FEET FIRST? The
poet's mouth moves. His lips form a word: Head. The soldier nods.

The poet's head is already near the open bay. They push his
body forward and he slides out head first.

The soldiers huddle together to divide the money.

In the void, the poet is falling. He falls. The noise of the
helicopter is gone. The poet continues to fall.


                          END

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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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