again and again into the glass shade, trying to reach the flame. They wanted to kill themselves, the idiots.
“The fortune-teller said that when the guitar is found the murderers will be found, too. Whoever’s got his guitar killed him. Murderers! Murderers!”
Lituma nodded in agreement. He was dying for a smoke, but to light up a cigarette in the presence of this grieving lady seemed sacrilegious to him.
“Your son was exempt from military service?”
“The only son of a widow,” recited Doña Asunta. “Palomino was the last; the other two died. That’s the law.”
“It’s true, so many unfair things happen.” Lituma scratched his neck once again, certain she was going to start crying again. “I mean, they had no right to call him up, right? You call that justice? If he hadn’t been drafted, he’d be alive. For sure.”
Doña Asunta shook her head as she dried her eyes on the hem of her dress. In the distance they could still hear the guitars, and Lituma suddenly fantasized that the guy playing out there in the darkness, maybe on the riverbank watching the moon, was Palomino.
“They didn’t draft him; he enlisted.” Doña Asunta was still weeping. “Nobody made him go. He went into the Air Force because he wanted to. He brought on his own tragedy.”
Lituma stood there, silently watching the seated woman, who was so short her bare feet scarcely reached the floor.
“He took the bus to Talara, went into the base, and said he wanted to join up. Poor baby! He was going to his death. He did it himself. My poor Palomino!”
“Why didn’t you tell this to Lieutenant Silva when you were in Talara?”
“He never asked. I answered every question he asked me.
That was true. Did Palomino have any enemies? Did anyone ever threaten him? Had she ever heard of his arguing or fighting with someone? Did anyone have any reason to harm him? Had he told her he was thinking of deserting? Asunta meekly answered every question: no, nobody, never. But the truth was that the lieutenant had never thought of asking if the kid had been drafted or if he enlisted.
“You mean he liked being in the service?” Lituma was shocked: the impression he had of the bolero singer was completely false.
“That’s the part I don’t understand,” she wailed. “Why did you do it, Palomino? You, in the Air Force? You? You? In Talara? Planes crash; do you want to scare me to death? How could you do it without talking to me first? Because if I did, you’d have said no, Mama. But why, Palomino? Because I have to go to Talara. Because it’s a matter of of life and death, Mama.”
“And why was it a life-and-death matter for your son to go to Talara?”
“I never found out.” She crossed herself for the fourth or fifth time. “He wouldn’t tell me and he’s taken his secret to the grave. Oh! Why did you do this to me, Palomino?”
A brown goat with white spots poked its head into the room and stared at the woman with its big, pitying eyes. A shadow pulled it away.
“He must have been sorry as soon as he joined. When he discovered that military life is not fun, games, and girls but a lot of drill, spit, and polish. That’s probably why he deserted. That much I can understand. What I don’t get is why they killed him. And in such a cruel way.”
He’d been thinking out loud, but Doña Asunta didn’t seem to notice. So he enlisted to get out of Piura, because it was a matter of life and death. Someone must have threatened him here in town and he thought he’d be safe in Talara, on the Air Force base. But he couldn’t take military life, so he deserted. The person or persons he ran away from found him and killed him. But why like that? You’ve got to be crazy to torture someone who’s still just a kid. Lots of guys join up because their love life has fallen apart. Maybe he was turned down. Maybe he was in love and the girl gave him a hard time, or cheated on him. He got bitter and decided to get away. Where? Talara. How? By enlisting. It seemed believable and unbelievable all at the same time. He nervously scratched his neck again.
“Why have you come to my house?” Doña Asunta suddenly turned toward him.
He felt he’d been caught in a lie. Why had he come? No good reason, unhealthy curiosity.
“To