Colonel Delcano smiled arrogantly when he faced Bernabé, but his smile veiled the torment raging in his heart. Thanks to his collection of photographs, his brother’s face was engraved on his mind, and he knew right away who this prisoner was. Fortune had placed him in his hands. A lifetime of anger and jealousy surged within the colonel’s heart, and his first impulse was to execute his brother on the spot, in spite of the witnesses. Nothing could stop him. There was a war going on, and here was a guerrilla leader. Lucio Delcano decided to wait, however.
“Put him in a cell. Keep him there until I give you new orders!” The colonel returned to his office to plan his next step. Alone in his office, he sat at his desk, absentmindedly biting his upper lip as he concentrated. He felt the palms of his hands wet with perspiration as he pondered what to do with his brother. Then his mother’s image crossed his mind. He had received a brief message from one of his agents stating that the woman, Luz Delcano, had been observed wandering through the streets of the city during the fighting. He gazed at the oversized city map hanging on the wall opposite his desk, realizing that after all these years, his mother and his brother were now within his reach. The colonel sat back in his chair, his hands set in a triangle under his chin. He knew that he would have his brother executed in the end. Yet, at that moment, he could not rid himself of an apprehension, a shakiness unknown to him.
He remained at his desk, his face stiff, and his body oddly poised. His blond hair looked white against the fluorescent lamps. The clock ticked, but the colonel had lost track of time. When he finally closed his eyes, pausing for a few seconds, he was aware of a fly that buzzed in the chamber’s silent air. Slowly he picked up one of the telephones.
“Call in the Lieutenant.”
“En seguida, Coronel.”
When the officer entered the office, Delcano waved him to a chair. “I have a detail to request of you before day’s end.”
“Mi Coronel, you know that I’m always at your disposition.”
The colonel stared at him without betraying the intense distaste the man’s abject subservience produced in him. “Do you know of the capture of the guerrilla leader?” he questioned.
“Sí, mi Coronel”
“Good. He seems to stand out from the rest…more intelligent… better prepared. The point is that I’m requesting that you execute him as soon as possible. There’s the possibility that an attempt to liberate him might take place.”
The lieutenant stared at the colonel.
“What’s the matter, Teniente? You seem surprised. Certainly, it’s not the first time that you’ve been ordered to execute a traitor.”
“But…he’s your brother…!” The soldier blurted out the words.
Colonel Delcano was stunned by the lieutenant’s words. Struggling to maintain his composure, he immediately understood that the picture had suddenly changed; the man facing him had to be eliminated. Without betraying the anger he felt at this unexpected turn in his calculations, Lucio Delcano was able to respond in a serene, controlled voice.
“Yes, he is my brother.”
The lieutenant was at a loss for words. He could only stare at the colonel.
“Teniente, you’ll perform your duty where you think best. El Playón would probably offer the best conditions for such a mission. But first, we’ll speak with him here.”
The lieutenant was showing signs of increasing nervousness and confusion. He shifted his body in the chair, and his hands were clasped tightly on his lap.
“Mi Coronel, here? You and I?”
The idea of interrogating a suspect in the colonel’s office frightened the lieutenant. He was unsure of what the consequences might be for him.
“I confess, mi Coronel, that I’m not quite sure of what you mean. Regarding what matters are we to question the prisoner? If I may be so disrespectful as to say that it’s highly unlikely that he’ll disclose information regarding the guerrillas, even under rigorous interrogation. And if that’s what we want, well then, I must go even further and say that in that case we need someone trained in the delicacies of extracting information from a recalcitrant subject. If you understand what I mean.”
“Indeed I understand your meaning, Teniente. You are the one who does not understand mine. The conversation,” he said the word sarcastically, “between my brother and me will not be an interrogation. We have things to say to one another. You merely will be the witness.”
Colonel Delcano paused long enough for the words to sink into the lieutenant’s mind. “You’ll be a witness and, of course, later on the executioner,” he said firmly.
The colonel’s face was a mask. The lieutenant began to shiver. “Sí, mi Coronel, whatever you say. Tell me the time, and I’ll be here.”
The colonel looked at his watch. It was slightly past eleven in the morning. “Be here in exactly two hours,” he commanded. “Please be prompt. I’ll see to it that the prisoner is here by the time you arrive.”
The lieutenant rose, saluted and left the office. Then the colonel rang for the orderly.
“Why are the telephones silent? Are the connections in order?”
“Sí, mi Coronel, but the city is quiet. The fighting appears to have stopped in most of the barrios. Nothing new has occurred.”
“Very well. Keep me informed.”
The colonel hunched over his massive desk with his face buried in his hands for a long time. After a while he glanced at his watch and saw that it was almost one o’clock. He called his aide into the inner office.
“Bring me the prisoner. When the lieutenant arrives, show him in. After that, you are not to interrupt us under any circumstances. Only a communication from the president’s office will be received.”
“Sí, mi Coronel.”
Once alone, he went to a filing case and removed two files. He opened the folder containing photographs of Bernabé’s early years with Luz. For longer than he realized, Lucio sifted through the pile, pushing pictures aside with his long index finger. He was looking for one in particular. The photograph showed the boy dressed in white, standing at the entrance of a church, accompanied by his mother and a priest. Delcano picked up the photo, holding it delicately, as if afraid that it would fall apart. He saw that his fingers trembled lightly. He allowed the picture to slip through his fingers onto the desk. He turned to the other file containing details of Luz’s search for Bernabé.
There was a rap on the door. The colonel tensed.
“¡Adelante!”
The door opened. The lieutenant, who was carrying a machine gun, was the first to enter. He was followed by two armed guards who shoved the prisoner toward the center of the room. Bernabé was handcuffed. His face was sallow and haggard from sleeplessness, but he stood erect, showing no signs of fear or intimidation. With an authoritative glance, Colonel Delcano dismissed the two guards, who stiffly turned, quietly closing the door behind them.
“Remove the handcuffs.”
Colonel Delcano’s voice was calm, cold. It did not betray his inner turmoil. The lieutenant obeyed immediately.
“Be seated!”
The order was aimed at Bernabé who took a seat. As he looked at the colonel, his eyes filled with disdain. The lieutenant also sat, placing himself behind Bernabé while he balanced the machine gun on his lap.
Colonel Delcano hovered behind his desk.
“Your name and rank!”
“Cura. Capitán.”
“I want your true name!”
The colonel was impatient; calculations of an entire lifetime had to be carried out within a short time. Bernabé, however, remained calm as he glared defiantly at his interrogator. Finally, he said,”My rank is that of captain, and my name is Cura.”
Delcano felt incensed at the prisoner’s boldness, and his mouth flooded with bitter saliva as he strained to fight off the impulse to slap Bernabé. He overcame his anger, however, instinctively knowing that to take the lead in the process he had to put Bernabé on the defensive.
“Your name is Bernabé, and the surname your mother claimed for you and for herself is Delcano. Am I not correct, Bernabé?”
The colonel emphasized Bernabé’s name mockingly, taking pleasure in the surprise his brother was unable to hide. Sensing Bernabé’s confusion, he felt invigorated.
“Well, Bernabé Delcano,” he smirked, “since I know your name, I want you to know mine. I’m Lucio Delcano.”
Bernabé was unable to mask his shock, and the colonel was satisfied to see his brother’s body stiffen as if an iron rod had been rammed up his spine. Lucio spoke slowly, relishing each word, as he watched the movements and flutters in his brother’s face. The colonel pulled up a chair, and sat very close to Bernabé, placing his face so that his nose nearly grazed his brother’s cheeks. Bernabé felt his brother’s hot breath on his skin. Breathing with difficulty that increased by the second, Lucio Delcano whispered these words, “I’m your brother. Your mother conceived me when she fornicated with her grandfather.”
He paused, waiting for the words to take effect. Bernabé attempted to look away from the colonel’s intense eyes.
“Look at me! I said, look at me! The two of them made me what I am! Then she wound up selling me, abandoning me so she could lead the life of a slut. That’s how she got you. I’ll tell you how. By betraying the woman who took her into her house, by fornicating with that woman’s husband. That’s how! Yes! That’s you, just another bastard…like me.”
Bernabé kept quiet, this time glaring straight at his brother, his pupils distended. Perspiration was seeping from his hair and face, and the colonel could not tell if the drops that coursed down Bernabé’s chin, dripping onto his clenched hands, were tears or sweat.
“Delcano! You are not a Delcano! You’re a Grijalva! Impostor! Liar!”
The colonel’s voice trembled with a rage that intensified until he could hardly breathe. His words were hoarse, nearly unintelligible. Then all of a sudden his throat dried up, unexpectedly forcing him into silence, making him unable to articulate the words that were still burning in his mind.
In his fantasies, Lucio had imagined that he would one day horrify his brother with the information he had amassed over the years. He had planned to crush Bernabé’s spirit by telling him of their mother’s depravity. Oddly, though, he was now physically incapable of expressing those words. He knew he was drained of strength. He even feared that he would crumble under the power of his brother’s defiant eyes.
Bernabé silently stared at his brother, no longer attempting to look away, and as if in a trance, both men remained silent, motionless, their gaze interlocked. The ticking of the clock measured the silence.
It was the colonel who first lowered his eyes. He turned to the lieutenant and, with a nod of his head, ordered him to remove the prisoner. The lieutenant left his chair and approached the prisoner. “¡Vámonos!”
Colonel Delcano sat motionless in his chair long after the door closed. He listened to his brother’s fading footsteps until they became an echo in his memory.