Read Online Conversation in the Cathedral by Mario Vargas Llosa - Free Book Online

a dog. Passable, not good, not bad, one of those that a white man does a favor for once and if I saw you I’ve forgotten. Her little teats half formed, a young body and nothing else, but so dirty she couldn’t even be fixed up to go to mass. She used to be seen in Chincha driving the donkey with the jugs, yessir, selling it by the gourd from house to house. Túmula’s daughter, the Vulture’s son, you can imagine the scandal, yessir. The Vulture already had a hardware store and a warehouse and they say he said that when the boy comes back from Lima with his law degree he’ll make a pile of money. Doña Catalina spent all her time in church, a close friend of the priest, raffles for the poor, Catholic Action. And the son prowling around the milk woman’s daughter, who would have thought it. But that’s the way it was, yessir. He was attracted by the way she walked or something, some people would rather have a mongrel than a thoroughbred, they say. He must have been thinking, I’ll work her over, wet her and leave her, and she realized that the white boy was drooling over her and must have thought I’ll let him work me over, wet me and I’ll grab him. The fact is that Don Cayo went ki-yi, yessir: what can I do for you? The Lieutenant opened his eyes, leaped to his feet.
    “I’m sorry, I fell asleep.” He ran his hand over his face, coughed. “Mr. Bermúdez?”
    Next to the horrible woman was a man with a dry and acidy face, in his forties, in shirtsleeves, a briefcase under his arm. The wide cuffs of his pants covered his shoes. Sailor pants, the Lieutenant managed to think, a clown’s pants.
    “At your service,” the man said, as if bored or displeased. “Have you been waiting for me long?”
    “Please pack your bags,” the Lieutenant said jovially. “I’m taking you to Lima.”
    But the man didn’t change his expression. His face didn’t smile, his eyes weren’t surprised or alarmed or happy. They watched him with the same indifferent monotony as before.
    “To Lima?” he asked slowly, his eyes dull. “Who wants to see me in Lima?”
    “Colonel Espina, no less,” the Lieutenant said with a triumphal little voice. “The Minister of Public Order, no less.”
    The woman opened her mouth, Bermúdez didn’t blink. He remained expressionless, then the hint of a smile altered the dreamy annoyance of his face, a second later his eyes became uninterested and bored again. His liver’s kicking up, the Lieutenant thought, bitter over life, with the wife he’s saddled with it’s easy to understand. Bermúdez tossed the briefcase onto the sofa.
    “Yes, indeed. Yesterday I heard that Espina was one of the ministers of the Junta.” He took out a pack of Incas, offered an unappetizing cigarette to the Lieutenant. “Didn’t the Uplander tell you why he wanted to see me?”
    “Only that he needs you urgently.” The Uplander, the Lieutenant thought. “And for me to bring you back to Lima even if I have to stick a pistol in your chest.”
    Bermúdez dropped into an easy chair, crossed his legs, blew out a mouthful of smoke that clouded his face and when the smoke disappeared , the Lieutenant saw that he was smiling at him as if he was doing me a favor, he thought, as if he was making fun of me.
    “It’s hard for me to leave Chincha today,” he said with a growing laxness. “There’s a business deal I have to close on a ranch near here.”
    “If a person is summoned by the Minister of Public Order, he has no recourse but to go,” the Lieutenant said. “Please be reasonable, Mr. Bermúdez.”
    “Two new tractors, a good commission,” Bermúdez explained to the flies or holes or shadows. “This is no time for outings to Lima.”
    “Tractors?” The Lieutenant put on an irritated face. “Use your head a little, please, and let’s not waste any more time.”
    Bermúdez took a puff, half closing his cold little eyes, and he exhaled the smoke unhurriedly.
    “When you’re up to here with bills, you