Death in the Andes by Mario Vargas Llosa Page B

more time,” Lituma pleaded. “Son of a bitch, since I came to Naccos I’ve been living like a eunuch. And your stories about the Piuran get me hot, Tomasito.”
    â€œStill wet behind the ears, I’ll bet,” she added after a pause, as if talking to herself. “So even if you carry a gun and go around with gangsters, you don’t know anything at all, Carreño. That’s your name, isn’t it? The fat man called you Carreñito.”
    â€œThe women I knew were scared babies, but she had so much nerve,” the adjutant said excitedly. “Even after what happened in Tingo María, she had her self-control back in no time. Faster than I did, I can tell you. She was the one who talked the truck driver into taking us to Huánuco, and for half of what he had asked. Just argued with him like his equal.”
    â€œI’m sorry to change the subject, but I have a feeling they’ll attack tonight, Tomasito,” said Lituma. “Like I could see them climbing down the hill right now. Do you hear something outside? Should we get up and have a look?”
    â€œI’m twenty-three,” he said. “I know everything I need to know.”
    â€œBut you don’t know that men sometimes need to play games to get their kicks,” she replied, somewhat defiantly. “Do you want me to tell you something that’ll turn your stomach, Carreñito?”
    â€œDon’t worry, Corporal. I have good ears, and I swear nobody’s on the hill.”
    The boy and the woman sat side by side among sacks of fruit. The aroma of the mangoes grew more intense as the night deepened. The motor’s spasmodic roar had drowned out the hum of the insects, the rustling of the leaves, the singing of the river.
    â€œThe truck jolted so much it threw us against each other,” the adjutant recalled. “Every time I felt her body, I trembled.”
    â€œSo nowadays they call it trembling?” Lituma joked. “It used to be known as getting horny. You’re right, there’s nothing out there, it’s just my nerves. You know, I was getting a hard-on listening to you, and that sound put it right back to sleep.”
    â€œHe wasn’t even really hitting me,” the woman murmured, and Carreño gave a start. He thought she was smiling, because he could see the gleam of her teeth. “He cursed, and I begged and cried, and you thought he was beating me. Didn’t you know it was just to get excited, to get him excited? You’re such a baby, Carreñito.”
    â€œShut up or I’ll throw you off the truck,” he interrupted, filled with indignation.
    â€œYou should’ve said, ‘Shut up or I’ll kick your ass,’ ‘Shut up or I’ll beat you to a pulp,’” said Lituma. “That would’ve been pretty funny, Tomasito.”
    â€œThat’s what she said, Corporal. And we both burst out laughing. And then neither of us could stop. We’d get serious for a minute and then begin laughing again.”
    â€œYes, it would’ve been funny if I hit you,” the boy acknowledged. “And I admit, I want to sometimes when you start putting me down for trying to help you. Let me tell you something. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me now.”
    â€œAnd what about me?” she replied. “At least you pulled that dumb trick because you wanted to, but you got me into this mess and didn’t even ask my opinion. They’re going to look for us, maybe they’ll kill us. And nobody’s going to believe what really happened. They’ll say that you work for the police and I was your accomplice.”
    â€œDidn’t she know you were in the Civil Guard?” Lituma asked in surprise.
    â€œAnd I don’t even know your name,” the boy recalled.
    There was a sudden silence, as if the motor had been turned off, but it immediately began to roar and boil again. Tomás