Mario Llosa - Who Killed Palomino Molero?

1987

Sons of bitches. Lituma felt the vomit rising in his throat. Kid, they really did a job on you.

The boy had been both hung and impaled on the old carob tree. His position was so absurd that he looked more like a scarecrow or a broken marionette than a corpse. Before or after they killed him, they slashed him to ribbons: his nose and mouth were split open; his face was a crazy map of dried blood, bruises, cuts, and cigarette burns. Lituma saw theyd even tried to castrate him; his testicles hung down to his thighs. He was barefoot, naked from the waist down, with a ripped T-shirt covering his upper body. He was young, thin, dark, and bony. Under the labyrinth of flies buzzing around his face, his hair glistened, black and curly.

The goats belonging to the boy whod found the body were nosing around, scratching around the field looking for something to eat. Lituma thought they might begin to gnaw on the dead mans feet at any moment.

Who the fuck did this? he stammered, holding back his gorge.

I dont know, said the boy. Dont get mad at me, its not my fault. You should be glad I told you about it.

Im not mad at you. Im mad that anybody could be bastard enough to do something like this.

The boy must have had the shock of his life this morning when he drove his goats over the rocky field and stumbled onto this horror. But he did his duty: he left his herd browsing among the rocks around the corpse and ran to the police station in Talara. Which was quite a feat because Talara was a good hours walk from the pasture. Lituma remembered his sweaty face and his scared voice when he walked through the station-house door:

They killed a guy over on the road to Lobitos. I can take you there if you want, but we have to go now because I left my goats all alone and somebody could steal them.

Luckily, no goats were stolen. As he was getting over the jolt of seeing the body, Lituma had noticed the boy counting his goats on his fingers. He heard him breathe a sigh of relief: All here.

Holy Mother of God! exclaimed the taxi driver. What the hell is this?

On the way, the boy had described, more or less, what they were going to see, but it was one thing to imagine it and quite another to see it and smell itThe corpse stank to high heaven. The sun was boring holes through the rocks and through their very skulls. He must have been rotting at a record pace.

Will you help me get him down, buddy?

Why not? grunted the taxi driver, crossing himself. He spit at the carob tree. If someone had told me what the Ford was going to be carrying, Id never of bought it. You and the lieutenant take advantage of me because Im such a nice guy.

Jernimo had the only taxi in Talara. His old van, as big and black as a hearse, passed freely through the gate that separated the town from the zone where the foreigners who were employed by the International Petroleum Company lived and worked. Lieutenant Silva and Lituma used the taxi whenever they had to go anywhere too far to use horses or bicycles-the only transport available at the Guardia Civil post. The driver moaned and complained every time they called him, saying they made him lose money, despite the fact that the lieutenant always paid for the gasoline himself.

Wait, Jernimo, I just remembered we cant touch him until the judge comes and holds his inquest.

Which means Ill be making this little trip again, croaked the old man. Either the judge pays me or you find another sucker.

Just then, he tapped himself on the forehead, opened his eyes wide, and looked the corpse in the face. Wait a minute! I know this guy!

Who is he?

One of the boys they brought to the air base among the last bunch of recruits. The old mans face lit up. Thats right. The guy from Piura who sang boleros.

He sang boleros? Then hes got to be the guy I told you about, Mono said again.

He is. We checked; hes the same guy. Palomino Molero, from Castilla. But that doesnt tell us who killed him.

They were near the stadium in La Chunga s little bar. There must have been a prizefight in progress because they could hear the shouts of the fans. Lituma had come to Piura on his day off; a truck driver from the I.P.C. brought him that morning and was going back to Talara at midnight. Whenever he came to Piura, Lituma went on the town with his cousins, Jos and Mono Len, and with Josefino, a friend from the Gallinacera neighborhood. Lituma and the Len brothers were from La Mangachera, but the long-standing rivalry between the two neighborhoods meant nothing to the four friends. They were so close theyd written their own theme song and called themselves the Unstoppables.

Figure this one out and theyll make you a general, Lituma, wisecracked Mono.

Its going to be tough. Nobody knows anything, nobody saw anything, and the worst part is that the authorities wont lift a finger to help.

Wait a minute, arent you the authorities over in Talara? asked Josefino, genuinely surprised.

Lieutenant Silva and I are the police authority. The authority Im talking about is the Air Force. That skinny kid was in the Air Force, so if they dont help us, who the fuck will?

Lituma blew the foam off his beer and took a swallow, opening his mouth like a crocodile. Motherfuckers. If you guys had seen what they did to the kid, you wouldnt be grinning your way down to the whorehouse like this. Youd understand why I cant think about anything else.

We do understand, said Josefino. But talking about a corpse all the time is boring. Why dont you forget about the guy, Lituma? Hes dead.

Thats what you get for becoming a cop, said Jos. Work is a disease. Besides, youre no good at that stuff. A cop should have a heart made of stone, because he has to be a motherfucker sometimes. And youre so damn sentimental.

Its true, I am. I just cant stop thinking about that skinny kid. I have nightmares, I think someones pulling off my balls the way they did to him. His balls were hanging down to his knees, smashed as flat as a pair of fried eggs.

Did you touch them? Mono asked, laughing.

Talk about eggs and balls, did Lieutenant Silva screw that fat woman yet? Jos asked.

Weve been on pins and needles ever since you told us about it, added Josefino. Did he screw her or not?

At the rate hes going, hell never screw her.

Jos got up from the table. Okay, lets go to the movies. Before midnight the whorehouse is like a funeral parlor. Theyre showing a cowboy film at the Variety with Rosita Quintana. The cops treating, of course.

Me? I dont even have the dough for this beer. Youll let me pay later, wont you, Chunguita?

Maybe your mama will let you pay later, answered La Chunga, looking bored.

I figured youd say something like that. I just wanted to screw around.

Go screw around with your mama.

Two points for La Chunga; zero for Lituma, Mono announced. La Chunga wins.

Dont get steamed, Chunguita. Heres what I owe you. And lay off my mom: shes dead and buried over in Simbil.

La Chunga, a tall, sour woman of uncertain age, snatched up the money, counted it, and gave back the change as the Unstoppables were leaving.

One question, Chunguita. Didnt anyone ever crack a bottle over your head for being such a wise guy?

Since when have you been so curious, she replied, not deigning to look at him.

Someday someones going to give you a lesson in good manners.

Ill bet it wont be you, said La Chunga, yawning.

The four Unstoppables walked along the sandy path that led to the main road, passed the Piura blueblood club, and headed toward Graus monument. It was a warm night, quiet and starry. The mixed smells of carob trees, goats, birdshit, and deep frying filled the air. Lituma, unable to erase from his mind the picture of the impaled and bloody Palomino Molero, wondered if hed be sorry hed become a cop instead of living the free and easy life of the Unstoppables. No, he wouldnt be sorry. Even though work was a bitch, he ate every day, and his life was free of uncertainties. Jos, Mono, and Josefino were whistling a waltz in counterpoint, and Lituma was trying to imagine the lulling tones and the captivating melodies of the kids boleros. At the entrance to the Variety, he said goodbye to his cousins and Josefino. He lied to them, saying the truck driver from the International was going back to Talara earlier than usual and that he didnt want to miss his ride. They tried to shake him down for some cash, but he didnt give them a cent.