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Gabriela (MF, history)
Anon NixPixer (c) 1991

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

This novel is a construction of words. The characters, the
city, the country exist only in the minds of the author and the
reader. The General is not this or that general, his uniform is
not this or that uniform, his palace is not this or that palace.
The words are real. The words describe certain things that are
real. The characters in the story are not real.

Some people have said the tragedy of Hispanic America derives 
from its own savage history. Other people have said the savage 
history of Hispanic America is in truth the history of the human
race.

I am with the other people.


  PROLOGUE

First a vertical rectangle of pale blue, an open doorway
looking out at a morning sky, darkness around the blue rectangle,
a dense black beyond the perimeter. Now the shoulder of the poet
appears in the right foreground, his left shoulder, his head, the
silhouetted back of the poet. He moves forward to the open
doorway and his wrists are seen behind his back, one wrist
crossed over the other, the two wrists manacled together with
black handcuffs. Then a view from the front, the poet's tired
face, his white shirt, his dark jacket and dark trousers. He
stands on the top step with his mouth open. Beside the poet is a
young army officer, his right hand on his hip, his left hand
holding the poet's right elbow. On the sidewalk are four
soldiers, each soldier with a machine pistol, nothing in the
street except a mongrel dog sniffing at the base of a lamppost
and beyond that a black van parked at the corner.


Now the officer removes his right hand from his hip. He
looks at the black van and he signals with a wave of his fingers.
The poet says: I'm hungry. I haven't had any breakfast.
The words croak out. His throat is dry and his nose is
clogged like a broken toilet.
Breakfast later, the officer says. We're sorry for the
inconvenience.
No, I expected you, the poet says. But not so early. It's
early, isn't it? It's early in the morning.
The black van arrives at the curb, and the poet is led from
the doorway to the curb and put into the back of the van on a
metal bench. The four soldiers with machine pistols climb in
after the poet and squeeze him into a corner. One of the soldiers
smells like a horse. The grille that connects the back of the van
to the front of the van opens and the officer now shouts from the
front seat: ARE YOU COMFORTABLE?
The soldier who stinks like a horse opens his mouth and
laughs. His yellow teeth seem enormous. The poet closes his eyes.
The motor of the van starts up and the van moves off.


Two minutes later the van stops. The doors open. They take
the poet outside. An alley somewhere. The white peaks of the
cordillera are visible in the background. A smell of rotten
garbage in the alley.
How do you feel? the officer says.
The poet whispers: Where are we?
In paradise, the officer says. But we won't be here long.
The officer brings out of his pocket a roll of wide adhesive
tape. He pulls out a length of tape, tears it off the roll and
returns the roll to his pocket. He now covers the poet's eyes
with the wide adhesive tape. Then he pulls a white cloth out of
another pocket and he ties the white cloth over the tape and
around the poet's head.
I can't see, the poet says.
One of the soldiers makes a sound with his lips. The officer
smiles. He steps back, he turns, he lashes his foot out to kick
the poet in the crotch.
An animal cry comes out of the poet's throat. He doubles
over, his mouth wide open. He hangs there a moment, and then he
collapses to the ground.


They raise him up. Two of the soldiers hold the poet
upright. The officer pats the poet's left cheek. Then they drag
the poet into the van again. The motor starts up and the van
moves off.
One of the soldiers talks to the poet:
What kind of work do you do?
I'm a poet, the poet says.
Listen to me, poet, do you have any money in your pockets?
I don't know, the poet says.
What do you mean you don't know? Don't you know what you
have?
The soldier leans forward and he searches the poet's
pockets. He pulls out a few crumpled banknotes and he passes them
to his companions.
You don't need this money, the soldier says. Whatever you
need will be free.
The other soldiers laugh. One of them pokes the poet with
his machine pistol. The poet laughs. He coughs. The others laugh
again. Everyone laughs. The laughter continues.



 PART ONE: THE WORLD IS AN APPLE

 1: HIS HEAD FIRST...

His head first, the cap, the nose, the grey moustache. In
the photograph the General is wearing a full dress uniform,
braid, ribbons, medals, a large silver star between the collar
and the first button of his tunic. He wears a peaked cap, braid
on the visor, an elaborate insignia on the front of the cap. The
visor shades his eyes. He wears white gloves, his arms lifted,
the palm of his right hand over the knuckles of his left hand,
the gloves pure white, the whitest of whites, the white of the
purest snow. The color photograph in the northernmost window of
the bookshop has a gilt frame and curved corners. The General's
cheeks are pink. Is he smiling? Is the General smiling?


All events in the square have suddenly come to a full stop,
the automobiles, the pedestrians, the fruit-vendor on the comer
near the bookshop (FRUTAS in red letters on the sign over the
fruit-barrow), the people standing on the traffic island, the
street-sweeper on the far comer where the fish shop is located
(PESCADERIA over each large window), one of his legs lifted, the
long handle of the broom in his right hand, all the men and
machines in the square frozen, motionless, the eyes of everyone
now turned to the figure in the center of the square, the young
man now flat on his back, the fallen motorcycle no more than five
feet from the young man's body, the motorcycle turned over on its
side with its two handlebars pointing southeast to the hotel with
tall windows.


A woman's voice: What is it? That noise. It must be an
accident.


The man and the woman are at one of the tall windows in the
hotel room, the man leaning forward as he pulls the curtain aside
with his left hand. The woman is behind him. apparently seated on
a chair (only the upper part of he} body can be seen), her head
turned as she looks at the window where the curtain has been
pulled back by the man's hand. On the right, supported by a low
table, is a large television set, the screen now showing the
General, the old General speaking to the camera as he sits behind
an antique desk. No sound is heard The General moves his lips, he
speaks, the television is silent.


A street sign is attached to the wall of the building on the
corner at the left side of the square, over one of the windows of
the bookshop (LIBROS in black letters in the window). The street
signs says AVENIDA MELENDEZ (white letters on a dark blue
background, a white border at the edge of the sign).


In the hotel room the woman wears red lipstick and gold
earrings, a dark grey jacket over a white blouse. Her dark brown
hair is pulled back from her face and temples and tied at the
rear by a thin red ribbon. The man is dressed in a dark suit, a
white shirt, and a dark blue tie. The woman says in English:
Henrik, what is it? That noise. It must be an accident.


The automobile that evidently struck the motorcycle is in
the foreground, a squat gray car maybe ten years old with a large
rust spot on the right front fender. Only the right side of the
gray car can be seen. Another car is behind the gray car, a black
and yellow taxi with a single passenger visible on the rear seat.
Only part of the taxi-driver's body can be seen from this angle
through the rear window. The taxi has only the one passenger. The
numbers on the taxi-meter are not legible.


It's a motorcycle, the man says. He's on the ground and he
may be hurt.
I don't want to look, the woman says. I don't want to look
at it.
You're afraid of blood.
Yes, I'm afraid of blood. You know I'm afraid of blood.
There's no blood down there. He's not dying.
I still don't want to look at it.


Three people are now standing beside the gray automobile,
two civilians and a policeman. The policeman holds a small open
folder in his right hand, the folder held up as he reads the
contents (no doubt the car documents). The two men beside him
watch him as he does this. One of the civilians wears a grey
fedora hat, the other man is hatless and without a jacket. The
man who wears the hat is apparently the motorist of the car that
struck the motorcycle. The other man claims to be an eyewitness
to the accident.

 
In the hotel room, the General still appears on the
television screen, his lips moving as he speaks. Now suddenly the
General's voice is heard: WE ARE ONE COUNTRY AND ONE PEOPLE.


The policeman continues to hold the automobile documents in
his right hand, his left hand extended forward toward the gray
car, perhaps touching it or holding something (the hand itself is
not visible). Broken glass can be seen on the ground directly
behind the policeman's right leg.


The woman wears sheer black stockings and black pumps with
high thin heels. She moves to the bed and she sits down with a
magazine in her hands. A red and yellow book lies on the bed on
the woman's right side, part of the cover of the book hidden by a
brown scarf. A GUIDE TO--. (The female population is slightly in
the majority. Demographically, the population is unevenly
distributed. The vast majority is concentrated in the capital and
its suburbs.) The man turns away from the window and he stands
near the bureau in the corner. The woman slowly turns the pages
of the magazine. CREATE SEE-THROUGH LIP FROST. IMAGINE TASTE THIS
GREAT PLUS. MANY LOSE TWICE AS MUCH WEIGHT. The wide bed consists
of two sections pushed together between a single headboard and a
single footboard. On the wall above the headboard is a framed
painting of the Andes, dull blue and gray and dull brown. A large
light fixture hangs from the ceiling in the center of the room,
the light fixture directly over the bedside carpet runner at the
foot of the bed. In the far right comer of the room (near where
the man is standing) is a dressing pouf covered with red and
white striped material, and behind that a dressing table on which
can be seen an assortment of small bottles and jars. Attached to
the wall above the dressing table is a large mirror that now
shows the reflection of the man as he stands near the striped
pouf.


From the mouth of the General: WE ARE ONE COUNTRY AND ONE
PEOPLE.


Now a doctor in a white jacket is kneeling on the ground
beside the injured motorcyclist. The doctor's left hand is on the
young man's chest. On the ground beside the doctor (on his left
side) is an open first-aid box, the large red cross on the cover
of the box clearly visible. In the foreground the policeman is
still looking at the documents of the gray automobile. Vehicle
serial or identification number. Body style. Year. Make of
vehicle. Model of vehicle. Cylinders. Horsepower. Total weight.
We hereby affirm the information provided is true and correct. On
the corner where the bookshop is located, a woman with a small
child has just approached the edge of the pavement. The child
stands on the woman's right side and the woman holds the child's
left hand with her right hand. In her left hand the woman carries
a white purse. The woman wears a blue and white dress and over
that a dark blue sweater. The child wears a pale pink jacket. To
the left of the child, the fruit-vendor is still standing beside
his two-wheeled fruit-barrow. The fruit-vendor wears a dark cap,
a gray jacket and dark trousers. He appears to be holding a small
orange in his left hand. Behind the fruit-vendor, the windows of
the bookshop can be seen, the large sign in the window LIBROS,
and below that a scattered arrangement of books and magazines.
HORTICULTURA. FOTOGRAFIA l. APRESTO Y ACABADO DE TEXTILES.


I'd like a decent dinner, the woman says. We ought to ask
the man downstairs.
All right.
It's not like Mexico, is it?
No, it's not like Mexico.


Not far from the fruit-vendor and in front of the second
window of the bookshop, a street hawker has now appeared with a
small table on which are displayed an assortment of ball-point
pens, paper clips, rubber bands, a collection of spiral-bound
notebooks of three different sizes. The hawker wears a grey
peaked cap and a dark jacket and dark trousers. He stands with
his arms forward as he holds the edges of the table in front of
him. Directly behind him is the bookshop window, three shelves of
books with covers in various colors, the sign LIBROS in the
window behind glass and directly over the hawker's head. He pulls
back now. He removes his hands from the table and he turns his
head to the left to stare once again at the center of the square
where the motorcyclist is still lying on the ground. Nothing has
moved. The motorcycle still lies on its side five feet away from
the motorcyclist, the policeman and the two civilians are still
standing beside the gray automobile that struck the motorcycle.
The black and yellow taxi behind the gray car has also not moved.
The passenger on the rear seat of the taxi now slides to his left
and he rolls the window down to have a better look at the scene
in the center of the square. Just at that moment the policeman
turns his head to look at the black and yellow taxi, and now the
policeman waves his right arm at the taxi, the arm swinging in a
gesture indicating the taxi has his permission to proceed through
the square on the far side of the fallen motorcycle. This
produces an immediate response from the taxi driver, and the
black and yellow taxi now veers to the left, passes between the
motorcycle and the traffic island, and then crosses the square
into the narrow street where the street-sweeper is once again
pushing his long broom.


The woman in the hotel room has a brown purse in her lap,
and now she opens the purse and she searches inside the purse
with her right hand until she finds what she wants. She brings
out a black tube of lipstick and a small mirror. She puts the
purse on the bed beside her. First she holds the mirror up with
her left hand and she looks at her mouth. She closes her lips and
she opens them again. She runs her tongue over her lower lip and
then from one corner to the other and then along the lower edge
of her upper lip, her pink tongue sliding from side to side and
back again. She turns her head and she looks at the man. But the
man has his eyes on the wall and he ignores her. The woman waits
another moment and then she turns her head back and she looks at
her mouth in the mirror again. Then she puts the mirror down on
top of the brown purse and she takes up the black tube of
lipstick. She pulls the cap off and she turns the bottom part of
the tube until a half-inch cylinder of bright red lipstick
protrudes from the opening. The end of the lipstick is bevelled
to a point. She leaves the upper part of the tube on the bed, and
now she takes up the mirror again in her left hand. In her right
hand she holds the lipstick. Once again she looks at her mouth in
the small mirror. She lifts her right hand and she runs the
angled flat end of the lipstick back and forth over her lower
lip. After three passes, she pulls the cylinder of lipstick away
from her mouth and she presses her lips together. Then she opens
her mouth again and she begins painting the edge of her upper lip
with the point of the lipstick. She carefully follows the curve
of the lip directly under the philtrum. The man is still looking
at the wall. Now he turns from the wall and he looks at the
woman.


From the mouth of the General: WE ARE ONE COUNTRY AND ONE
PEOPLE.


A man with a briefcase in his left hand is now crossing the
square near the traffic island. He wears a grey hat and a dark
suit. He walks slowly. On the corner near the bookshop, the woman
and the child are no longer standing beside the street lamp. The
fruit-vendor has his hands in his pockets. On the opposite side
of the square near the fish shop, the street-sweeper is standing
still again. He leans on the handle of his broom as be watches
the news vendor on the corner. Trouble in Palmillas. A student
strike in Mocorito. The motorcyclist is now standing on his feet
near his motorcycle. He shakes his fist at the man who leans
against the gray car. The policeman turns his back to the gray
car and he waves his hand at the motorcycle on the ground. The
motorcyclist opens his mouth and begins shouting again. A woman
carrying a shopping bag in her right hand is now crossing the
square toward the fish shop. Two people are standing on the
traffic island, no doubt waiting for the next bus. At the north
end of the square, a bum with glazed eyes leans against a kiosk
as he watches everything.


It's a new shade, the woman says. Don't you like it? It
makes me feel whorish.
You look very respectable
But I don't feel respectable. Come, lie down with me on the
bed.
With our clothes on?
Yes, why not? Pretend we're in Acapulco.
This isn't Acapulco.
Darling, you promised.
He says nothing. He goes to the bed and the woman stands up
to make room for him to lie down. He lies down on the bed on his
back with his head on one of the pillows. He pushes the guidebook
away with his right hand. (The coast has vast unspoiled beaches.
The seaside resorts are open all the year round. The ski resorts
are only one hundred miles from the ocean.) The woman sits down
again on the edge of the bed and she puts her left hand on his
chest. Tell me that you like my lipstick. Yes, I like it.



 2: NOW AT THE SOUTH END OF THE SQUARE...

Now at the south end of the square, Gabriela stands at the
corner where the hotel is located. She stands there a moment
without moving, her black purse held with both hands in front of
her body, her eyes on the motorcyclist, on the doctor, on the
fallen motorcycle, on the policeman and the two civilians beside
the gray car. She wears a light grey coat with black buttons,
black stockings, and black shoes. She has long blonde hair kept
away from her face by a black hairclip on each side. The hair
hangs below her neck in back, and in front some of the hair falls
forward around her chin. Her face is young and without makeup,
only a hint of red lipstick on her lips.


He looks crazy, Gabriela thinks. She stares at the
motorcyclist, at the way he waves his arms as he shouts at the
policeman. He certainly does look crazy. In any case she has a
hatred for motorcycles. Tavio has a motorcycle and she's always
worried that one day the motorcycle will kill him.


At last Gabriela moves. She pulls her right hand away from
her purse and she holds the purse in her left hand as she crosses
the street to the southwest corner. She passes in the foreground
in front of the gray car, and then behind the gray car she
crosses the street again to the corner where the bookshop is
located.
The fruit-vendor turns to look at Gabriela. The street-
hawker turns to look at Gabriela. They watch her as she continues
past the lamppost. She walks to the entrance to the bookshop, and
there she pushes the door forward and she walks inside.


The bookshop is not crowded. Two people are in the front of
the shop, two more people in the rear of the shop. A young woman
is at the counter in the front where the cash register is
located. Gabriela stands at one of the display tables in the
front of the shop. Once again she holds her purse with both hands
in front of her body. She gazes at the books on the display
table. The books are stacked one on top of the other, some of the
books with a paper band around the cover, the band announcing a
prize, a critic's comment, or simply the name of the author's
last book. Gabriela touches nothing. She does no more than gaze
at the titles of the books. LA OTRA ORILLA. MALATA. EL REGRESSO.
LA COMPANERA. EL CIMMARON. LOS ALBANILES. PAJAROS EXOTICOS. EL
TENIS. EL JUEGO DEL GOLF. Then she raises her left hand and she
looks at the small wristwatch on her left wrist. She drops her
left arm and she holds her purse with two hands again. After
another moment she turns away from the table and she leaves the
bookshop. Outside on the pavement, she turns left and she walks
north until she reaches the entrance to the comer building. She
stops and she looks up at the number over the door. Then she
pushes the door forward and she steps inside the hallway.


Here you are, she thinks. Senora Silva always smiles at her.
You're so pretty, darling. You'll never have any trouble because
you're so pretty. The prettiest girls never have any trouble.


In a room an old man stands in front of a mirror with his
eyes on the image of his face. He wears a dark grey sweater, a
white shirt, a dark tie, and dark trousers. He stands
immobilized, his eyes gazing at his reflection. On the left side
of the mirror is a door that may be the front door of the flat.
Then the old man hears the doorbell ring. His eyes become wider.
He hurries to the far wall to push the button that will open the
door downstairs in the vestibule. After that he goes to the
entrance of another room and he looks at the furniture. The
television set is turned on. The General is speaking, his mouth
moving, his eyes directed at the camera, the medals on his chest
crowded one on top of the other. The old man stares at the
General a moment and then he returns to the front door again.
When the door-knocker sounds on the outside, the old man unlocks
the door and opens it.
Gabriela stands at the threshold with no expression in her
face. She holds her purse in front of her body with both hands
and she says: Senor Vallego?


In the square the motorcycle is now standing again and the
motorcyclist is kneeling beside it with his left hand on the seat
and his right hand touching the rear wheel. The gray car and the
driver of the gray car are no longer visible. The policeman
stands near the motorcycle with his hands on his hips and he says
something to the motorcyclist. The motorcyclist does not respond.
He continues kneeling beside the machine, his left hand on the
seat and his right hand touching the rear wheel. On the traffic
island a man wearing a black leather jacket now pulls a folded
newspaper from his rear pocket and he slides the folded newspaper
under his left arm.


The sitting room has two windows, but the blinds have been
closed and the afternoon light that enters the room is meager.
Between the two windows an elaborate embroidered tapestry hangs
from a brass bar. On the right wall is a large bookcase filled
with books. ln the foreground on the right side is an upholstered
armchair, a floor-lamp on the left side of the armchair and a
large potted plant on this side of the lamp on the edge of the
carpet. Another chair is near the two windows, this chair in
front of a low table that supports a chess board without any
chess pieces.
Gabriela stands at the left, near a small buffet that may
serve as a bar. Beyond the buffet is a long sofa covered with
dark red velvet.
The old man stands near the upholstered armchair and he
looks at her: Mother of God you're a beauty, he says. Do you want
some wine? I have some good wine. Or maybe some tea? Would you
like some tea?
No, I dont think so, Gabriela says. I don't want anything.
That's too bad. A little red wine doesn't hurt, you know. A
small glass is a good thing in the afternoon. Won't you change
your mind?
Gabriela sighs: All right, just a small glass of red wine.


From the mouth of the General: WE ARE ONE COUNTRY AND ONE
PEOPLE.


The news vendor on the northeast corner of the square has
lifted his right arm and now he begins to shout something across
the square at the traffic island. Then he turns forty degrees to
his left and he shouts again at the motorcyclist and the
policeman. The motorcyclist is still kneeling beside the
motorcycle and he ignores the news vendor. The policeman turns
his head and he looks at the northeast corner. What's the
trouble? What's the trouble in Palmillas? What do they want in
Mocorito?


Gabriela has removed her coat and she stands near the buffet
with a glass of red wine in her right hand. She wears a white
blouse with long sleeves and a high collar, and below that a
black pleated skirt that extends below her knees. She raises the
glass to her lips and she sips the wine. The old man is standing
at the right, a glass of red wine in his right hand, his eyes on
Gabriela and his mouth open.
Mother of God you're beautiful, he says.
Gabriela turns her eyes away and she says: Would you like me
to undress now?


A face on the television screen, a man wearing a military
uniform. This is not the General. This is not the Commander-in
Chief. This is the Vice Commander-in-Chief. His lips move. He
speaks: BENEATH THE GAZE OF THE MOTHER OF GOD, AND WITH THE
SACRED INSPIRATION OF GOD AND COUNTRY, OUR ARMY ACTS WITH A
PROFOUND AND UNDENIABLE SENSE OF JUSTICE TO DEMONSTRATE BEFORE
THE CITIZENRY THE RECOGNITION AND HONOR OWED THE FIRST SOLDIER OF
THE REPUBLIC, OUR COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF, OUR LEADER, OUR NOBLE
GENERAL.


Inside the hotel room the woman says: Sometimes you puzzle
me.
The man is standing again, his clothes in order. The woman
screws out the lipstick and she begins painting her lips.
What do you mean? the man says.
Sometimes I think you don't like it.
That's not true.
You think it's nasty.
No, that's not true.
Well, not me. I don't think it's nasty at all. I think it's
lovely. You don't mind that I think it's lovely, do you?
No.
I'm better at it than your blonde girls.
I don't have any blonde girls.
You had them in Acapulco.
No, I didn't. You just imagined it.
I hope so. I hope I did just imagine it.


Gabriela is naked, squatting with her elbows on the seat of
the upholstered chair, the upper part of her body supported by
her elbows, her feet on the carpet, her legs spread wide apart,
her buttocks raised off the floor just enough to make room for
the old man's head. Only the upper half of the old man's body is
visible. He still wears all his clothes. He lies on his back on
the carpet, his body flat on the floor on the left side of
Gabriela, his shoulders under her left thigh, his face directly
under Gabriela's buttocks, his mouth open and his tongue extended
to push between the lips of Gabriela's blonde-haired sex.
Gabriela's head is bent as she gazes down at the old man's face.
Now Gabriela turns her head and she looks at the window and she
opens her mouth to speak:
Something happened, she says. An accident outside.
The old man ignores her. Now his hands are on Gabriela's
breasts, one hand on each breast, his fingers pulling at her pink
nipples. He still has his tongue between the lips of her sex, and
now Gabriela eases down a bit further to push her sex at his
mouth. She continues to squat with her elbows on the seat of the
upholstered chair, her head bent, her eyes on the old man's face.
He pinches her nipples, but then suddenly his arms are tired and
he drops his hands to hold her buttocks. Gabriela lifts her sex
an inch, and then she pushes down again.


In the hotel room the woman says: Are we ready to leave?
Yes, the man says.
I don't like this dress. There's something about it that I
don't like.
It looks fine.
It's too short, isn't it? The hem ought to be two inches
longer.
No, it's fine.
Nice legs?
Very nice.


Gabriela's eyes are wide open. Her head is bent as she gazes
down at the joining of her sex and the old man's face. Her cheeks
ale flushed, a faint pink lower down and a darker pink on the
cheekbones. She opens her mouth and then she closes it again. Her
lips are wet. Now her tongue appears, the pink tongue sliding
across her lower lip and then vanishing again. The old man
continues to push his tongue inside her sex. His mouth is wide
open, his nose pressing against her clitoris. Gabriela gazes down
at his forehead beyond the curve of her belly, at his white hair,
at the curlicues in the design of the carpet. The old man's mouth
makes a noise. He smacks his lips as he sucks at her sex.
Gabriela's mouth is open again. The glint of sweat is visible on
her temples. She closes her eyes as she feels the old man's
tongue again, his lips pushing against the lips of her sex. Now
her knees move, her thighs opening wider and then moving closer
together again. The carpe.t is old, but the pile of the carpet is
thick under Gabriela's bare feet. She opens and closes her mouth
again. She pushes her sex against the old man's moving tongue.
Now she trembles as he licks her clitoris. She makes a sound in
her throat. She looks down as she moves her hips, her hips
shaking against the old man's face, against his mouth and tongue,
her belly moving, her mouth opening, her sex pushing at the
sucking mouth, at the tongue, at the lips, at the face of the old
man...


In the lobby of the hotel, the man speaks to the desk clerk
in Spanish: Can you recommend a good restaurant for this evening?
The desk clerk nods: Yes, senor. The Maistral is very
popular.
Now the woman speaks to the desk clerk in Spanish: Can you
give us the address? Can you possibly give us the address?


Where is the General now? Where is the General at this
moment? The Plaza Melendez is suddenly quiet, as quiet as the
garden where the General walks, stops, walks again. No, the
General is not alone here. There are six others here and they all
walk with the General, stop with the General, walk again with the
General. On the General's right side is a woman of middle years,
a black dress with long sleeves, white and black shoes, a striped
bow on the bodice of her dress, her head turned toward her left
shoulder as she looks at the General, at his head, at his peaked
officer's cap. On the General's left side is a young man dressed
in a grey business suit and a dark tie, his arms raised so that
his hands touch each other at his waist, at the front of his body
directly over one of the buttons of his jacket. The woman on the
General's right side is smiling. The young man on the General's
left side is smiling. Behind them are four men, two men in
military uniform, another man in a business suit, a fourth man
who wears a white jacket and a black bow tie and who might be a
servant. Behind the group of seven is a grove of trees, fruit
trees, part of an iron fence. The ground is covered with white
gravel. The General walks, lifting his left foot, moving forward,
lifting his right foot, moving forward again...


A suburban housewife in Quintana, carefully dressed hair,
pearl earrings, and a pearl necklace: HERE WE HAVE TWO KINDS OF
PEOPLE. I DON'T KNOW HOW IT IS IN OTHER PLACES. HERE THE PEOPLE
ARE EITHER DIRTY OR CLEAN. IT'S NOT ONLY MONEY, IT'S BREEDING.
IT'S IN THE BLOOD. IF YOU WANT TO KNOW WHO THE GENERAL IS, HE'S
THE SAVIOR OF THE CLEAN PEOPLE.

