Read Online Red April by Santiago Roncagliolo - Free Book Online Page B

content, but he did not want to take advantage of his position:
    “I believe the entity that should really be thanked for its investigation is the National Police, which gave constant indications of efficiency and commitment …”
    “You are an example of humility, Señor Prosecutor. Captain Pacheco has already informed me that this case would not have moved forward if it had not been for your decisiveness and courage.”
    “Thank you, Señor.”
    The commander leaned back in his chair and drank a little
mate
. He seemed relaxed. He did not look as menacing as he had the first time. The prosecutor attributed this to the fact that they were gaining confidence in each other. The commander continued:
    “The majority of these cases are never resolved. Often proceedings are not even opened because nobody demands it. But it is always better to have everything archived and organized legally. Our best weapon is doing things well, don't you agree?”
    “Of course, Señor.”
    Feeling authorized to do so, the prosecutor also took a sip of
mate
. He thought of Edith. He had not wanted to go to her restaurant with the bandage on his neck; he had not wanted her to see his injury. He did stop by one morning to say hello. Shehad welcomed him with her brilliant smile. He had promised to return and walked out backward so she would not see his wound. But that morning he had removed the bandage. And the scar did not look bad. Perhaps he ought to stop by when he left the commander's office so she would not think he was an opportunist. And to celebrate.
    “That is precisely why I wanted to see you,” the commander continued. “Now the time has come for us to concentrate on the elections. We need trustworthy people who believe in legality, and in Peru, to face the great challenges of the twenty-first century.”
    “I will be delighted to do whatever I can, Commander.”
    “As I am that you'll collaborate with us. But first I'd like to ask a few questions.”
    The commander took a folder from his desk. It was a thick file filled with papers and some photographs. The prosecutor recognized the documents. It was his work file, though it looked much thicker than a normal work dossier. The commander put on his glasses and turned several pages. He stopped at one:
    “It says here that you personally requested your transfer to Ayacucho.”
    “That is correct, Señor. I wanted to return home.”
    “You left here after the death of your mother, is that so?”
    “Yes, it is. I went to live with her sister, who resided in Lima.”
    “How did your mother die? Was she … a victim of terrorism?”
    “No, Señor. She died … years before the start of all that …”
    A dark mass agitated his memory. He tried to go on without trembling:
    “She died in a fire. I was nine.”
    For the first time, the commander gave signs of having an emotion.
    “I'm sorry,” he said.
    “It is all right, Señor. She will always be alive … in my heart.”
    “And your father?”
    “I never knew him, Señor. I never asked about him. In a sense, I never had a father.”
    There was a photograph in his memory. His mother with a man, smiling. He looked white, perhaps a Limenian. It was in his mother's room, on the bureau. No. It was not there anymore. It never had been there.
    “It also says that you're married.”
    “Yes, Señor.”
    “I don't think we've seen Señora Chacaltana here.”
    Félix Chacaltana Saldívar felt uncomfortable. He remembered a cup with no coffee, an empty space in bed, the absence of a voice at the bathroom door in the morning.
    “There is no Señora Chacaltana anymore, Señor.”
    “Did she pass away too?”
    “No, no! She simply left. A little over a year ago. She said I … had no ambition. Then I requested my transfer.”
    He wondered why he had said that to Commander Carrión. He had not asked for so many details.
    “Not having ambitions is a good thing,” the military man replied. “There are more than enough ambitions here.