Red April by Santiago Roncagliolo

Author:Santiago Roncagliolo [RONCAGLIOLO, SANTIAGO]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-37831-6
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2009-06-10T16:00:00+00:00

KILLED BY THE PEOPLE'S JUSTICE

for rustling

Sendero Luminoso

They are back, thought the prosecutor.

The commander said:

“When all is said and done … you may have hit the nail on the head with your idea about the terrorists, Señor Prosecutor.”

“Nail” was an unfortunate word. The prosecutor tried to focus his gaze on some less horrific part of the body. He stared at the feet splayed from walking through the countryside, the thick nails, green now.

Dr. Posadas lit a cigarette.

The second time the prosecutor entered army headquarters, he did not have to present any identification. With Commander Carrión, he crossed the central courtyard of the old building and climbed a wooden staircase to the second floor. There, at the end of a creaking wooden corridor, was the commander's office. Inside, the air seemed heavier than it had the first time. It made him think of the air in Lima, downtown, on Avenida Tacna at six in the evening. The commander poured two glasses of pisco. The prosecutor did not want to refuse. They sat facing each other, this time at the worktable. Sitting there, they were on the same level. The commander took the first drink.

“I don't like working with civilians too much, Señor Prosecutor. And let's be frank, in general you and I don't like each other much. But I'm very worried.”

“Well, Commander, I believe we could establish inter-institutional bridges of the greatest …”

“Chacaltana, let's get to the point.”

“Yes, Señor.”

“We'll work together but under my command.”

“Of course, Señor.”

They were silent for a period of time that seemed like years. Finally the commander said:

“All right, say something, damn it!”

The prosecutor tried to be calm. He wondered if he was feeling palpitations, or if perhaps everything around him was suffering from palpitations. He tried to confine himself to the case:

“I have written a report that I will send to you, Señor. I will tell you in advance that I would ask for a statement from those involved in this report, to wit, Lieutenant Alfredo Cáceres Salazar of the Army of Peru and the civilian Edwin Mayta Carazo, both of whom can shed useful light on the connection of the deceased to …”

“See them? Mayta and Cáceres? You want to see them?”

“See them … and speak with them, Señor.”

“Speaking with them will be difficult. As for seeing them, you already saw them. You met Edwin Mayta Carazo, at least a part of him, this morning when you looked into the grave. And you saw Lieutenant Cáceres Salazar thirty-eight days ago, when his burned body was found in Quinua.”

The prosecutor felt blocked by the information, passed over.

“Señor?” he stammered.

“Yes, it was that motherfucker Cáceres. He was reported missing in Jaén a month before his body was discovered.”

“Dog Cáceres?”

The commander gave a half smile, as if he were remembering an old comrade:

“They called him Dog, right? He was a shit of a man. A sinchi, a member of the counterinsurgency forces. They were kept rotting on a base in the jungle. Then they were transferred here to bring them up to date.

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