“Señorita,” she corrected him, and added with a blush: “Though now I have an admirer who’s a captain in the Civil Guard.”
“A thousand pardons, Señorita Josefita,” Rigoberto apologized, bowing his head. “Can you tell me why reporters are chasing Señor Yanaqué?”
Josefita stopped smiling. She looked at them with surprise and even a little pity. Fonchito had emerged from his lethargy and seemed suddenly attentive to what the newcomer was saying.
“Don’t you know that at this moment Don Felícito Yanaqué is more famous than the president of the republic?” she exclaimed, dumbfounded, showing the tip of her tongue. “For some time now he’s been talked about on radio and television, and in the papers. But sad to say, it’s for bad reasons.”
Don Rigoberto and his wife were clearly so astonished that Josefita had to explain how the owner of Narihualá Transport had passed from anonymity to popularity. It was obvious that these Limeños were in the dark about the spider story and the subsequent scandals.
“It’s a magnificent idea, Fonchito,” Señor Edilberto Torres agreed. “To sail with confidence on the ocean of the Bible, one needs an experienced navigator. It could be a cleric like Father O’Donovan, of course. But also a layman, someone who’s devoted many years to studying the Old and New Testaments. Myself, for example. Don’t think I’m bragging, but the truth is I’ve spent a good part of my life studying Scripture. I can see in your eyes you don’t believe me.”
“Now the pedophile is passing himself off as a theologian and an expert in biblical studies,” Don Rigoberto said indignantly. “I can’t tell you how much I want to see his face, Fonchito. Any time now he’ll tell you he’s a priest—”
“He already told me that, Papa,” Fonchito interrupted. “I mean, he’s not a priest now but he was one. He hung up his seminarian’s habit before being ordained. He couldn’t endure chastity, that’s what he told me.”
“I shouldn’t talk to you about these things, you’re still too young,” added Señor Edilberto Torres, turning pale, his voice trembling. “But that’s what happened. I masturbated all the time, sometimes several times a day. It grieves and troubles me, because believe me, my vocation to serve God was very strong. Since the time I was a boy, like you. Except I never could defeat the damned demon of sex. The time came when I thought I’d go mad because of the temptations that pursued me day and night. And then, what could I do, I had to leave the seminary.”
“He talked to you about that?” Don Rigoberto was shocked. “About masturbation, about jerking off?”
“And then did you get married, señor?” the boy asked timidly.
“No, no, I’m still a bachelor.” Señor Torres gave a somewhat forced laugh. “You don’t need to be married to have a sex life, Fonchito.”
“According to the Catholic religion you do,” declared the boy.
“Certainly, because the Catholic religion is very intransigent and puritanical in sexual matters,” the man explained. “Other religions are more tolerant. Besides, in our permissive time, even Rome will modernize, no matter how difficult it may be.”
“Yes, yes, now I remember,” Señora Lucrecia interrupted Josefita. “Of course, I read it somewhere or saw it on television. Señor Yanaqué is that man: His son and mistress wanted to kidnap him and steal all his money?”
“Well, well, this is unbelievable.” Don Rigoberto was completely disheartened by what he was hearing. “It means we’ve walked right into the lion’s den. If I understand you correctly, your employer’s office and house are surrounded by reporters day and night. Is that right?”
“No, not at night.” With a triumphant smile Josefita tried to cheer up this big-eared man, who not only turned pale but also began to grimace and contort his face. “When the scandal first broke, yes, those early days were unbearable. Reporters circling his house and office twenty-four hours a day. But then they got tired; now, at night, they go to sleep or to get drunk, because here all the reporters are bohemians and romantics. Señor Yanaqué’s plan will work very well, don’t worry.”
“And what is his plan?” asked Rigoberto. He hadn’t finished his ice cream and still held the glass of lemonade he’d just emptied in a single swallow.
Very simple. They should stay in the hotel or, at the most, if they preferred, go to a movie; there were several modern theaters now in the new malls, she recommended the Centro Comercial Open Plaza in Castilla, not very far, right next to the Puente Andrés Avelino Cáceres. It wasn’t a good idea for them to appear on the streets of the city. When night came, when all the reporters had left Calle Arequipa, Josefita herself would come for them and take them to Señor Yanaqué’s house. It was near the theater, just a couple of blocks away.
“What bad luck for poor Armida,” lamented Doña Lucrecia as soon as Josefita had left. “She really fell into a trap worse than the one she wanted to escape. I don’t understand how the reporters or the police haven’t found her yet.”
“I wouldn’t want you to be scandalized by my confidences, Fonchito.” A remorseful Edilberto Torres apologized, lowering his eyes and his voice. “But tormented by that damned demon of sex, I went to brothels and paid prostitutes. Horrible things that made me feel disgusted with myself. God willing you’ll never succumb to those repugnant temptations, the way I did.”
“I know very well where that degenerate wanted to lead you by talking about touching yourself and hookers,” Don Rigoberto said in a hoarse, choking voice. “You should have left immediately and not encouraged him. Didn’t you realize that his supposed confidences were a strategy designed to make you fall into his net, Fonchito?”
“You’re wrong, Papa,” he replied. “I assure you Señor Torres was sincere, he had no hidden motives. He looked very sad, full of grief for having done those things. Suddenly his eyes grew red, his voice broke, and he began to cry again. It broke my heart to see him like that.”
“It’s just as well I’ve brought something good to read,” remarked Don Rigoberto. “We have a long time to wait until nightfall. I’m guessing you won’t want to go to a movie in this heat.”
“Why not, Papa?” Fonchito protested. “Josefita said they had air-conditioning and were very modern.”
“We could see something of their progress. Don’t they say that Piura is one of the Peruvian cities that’s developing the fastest?” Doña Lucrecia agreed. “Fonchito’s right. Let’s take a little walk around that shopping center, there’s probably something good playing. We never go to the movies as a family in Lima. Come on, Rigoberto.”
“I’m so ashamed of doing those bad, dirty things that I impose my own penance. And sometimes, as punishment, I flog myself until I bleed, Fonchito,” confessed Edilberto Torres, his voice breaking and his eyes red.
“And didn’t he ask you then to do the flogging?” Don Rigoberto exploded. “I’ll search heaven and earth for that pervert and won’t stop until I find him and put the screws to him, I’m warning you. He’ll go to prison or I’ll put a bullet in him if he tries to do anything to you. If he shows up again, tell him that for me.”
“And then he began crying even harder and couldn’t go on talking, Papa,” Fonchito reassured him. “It isn’t what you think, I swear it isn’t. Because listen, in the middle of crying, suddenly he stopped and ran out of the church, without saying goodbye or anything. He seemed desperate, like someone who’s going to kill himself. He isn’t a pervert but a man in a lot of pain. He’s more to be pitied than feared, I swear.”
Then a nervous knocking on the study door interrupted them. One of the panels opened and Justiniana’s worried face peered in.