Chapter 13: The Iteration of Thought
Capac's corpse found its new home at the bottom of a shallow creek not far from the time. Sag and I found it after nearly an hour of searching the surrounding area, hoping for something more substantial, but we came up empty.
Sag lit up a cigarette and puffed idly as we stood atop a hill, watching the water trickle over Capac's lifeless body. I won't say I felt sorry for the guy--I had little doubt he was working for the Shining Path. But Ignacio's abrupt execution of him? I didn't exactly agree with that. Killing someone on the battlefield was one thing. Shooting a defenseless man in the head? Not cool. We could have found a way to bargain him back into the fold of his friends, maybe get some information out of them, identify some of their leaders, something. Now, that wouldn't happen. Back to square one. It'd take the Shining Path a while to discern what happened to good ol' Capac once he failed to report back. Maybe they'd send a smarter, craftier infiltrator next time. Maybe they wouldn't bother to infiltrate at all, decide it's too much trouble, and just start killing people. Why not? Mr. Quispe already drew blood. The gloves were off. Granted, he wasn't the first to resort to violence, but his actions would only serve to escalate, not mitigate.
Sag finished his cigarette ("snuffed [his] fag" was how he put it) and we headed back down to the mine entrance. We found Mr. Quispe talking sternly to the mine staff. Now, I don't suppose they really had to listen to him. It was his mine but they weren't his employees. But blood is thicker than water, and these people were mostly his relatives. I assumed he let into them for allowing a spy into their midst. Did he expect them to take matters into their own hands? That's what it sounded like to me. Dude had a serious grudge against the Shining Path and I didn't know why, but I assumed he had a reason. I didn't want to ask directly for fear of opening up old wounds, pissing him off, or otherwise jeopardizing our job. So, I kept it to myself.
Nobody spoke much as Sag drove the Jeep back to the manor, winding through forests, mountains, and humid air. I leaned out the back and watched the dust kick up in our wake, looking--maybe hoping--to see if anyone followed us. I wanted a real fight, a fair fight, not a turkey shoot. I should have remembered that getting what you wish for is often the worst thing that could happen. But I missed the action of the service, even with the misery it gave me. I had a habit of being the only survivor, or at least one of the few. Dr. Agon considered that an enormous coup for his technology--look at this guy who can walk from one end of Hell to the other, and come out intact! Come get your cybernetic augmentation now! I did question myself, wondering how much of it was me, and how much of it was the tech. Did it matter? My artificial bits were tools like any other, they just happened to be attached to my body and brain. Or perhaps I was just justifying my reliance on such crutches. Yep, my mind wandered a lot on that drive back to Quispe's estate, largely a product of boredom and the general directionlessness of my life at that moment. I thought this job would give me a purpose again, but I found myself even more confused. Was Mr. Quispe a good guy or a bad guy? To hear him tell it, he was the saint--the kind man who stood up for his relatives and his family and local workers, keeping them all from being exploited by the Americans. But still, he profited from such activity, and would he redefine "exploitation" if it improved his bottom line? I wanted to take him at face value but I'd grown so cynical over the years I had a tough time of it. Could he really just want to protect his family and his property and not have some ulterior motive for it? I decided I'd go over all this with Paul, later, and see what he thought. If anyone could understand my apprehension, it'd be him.
We finally made it back and found Paul relaxing on a white patio lounge chair, behind the house, catching some sun. Guess our weapons arrived, as he had his M16A1 laying alongside the chair, its shoulder strap wrapped around his wrist so he could yank it up in a hurry if necessary. But his grip looked quite relaxed, and he wasn't counting on any violence today. Lucky.
I got out of the Jeep and went back to my room, grabbed a shower. The dirt came off but I couldn't get those second thoughts to run down the drain. I just needed to talk to Paul. I was accustomed to a chain of command, having someone at the top who damn well knew his job and in whom I could place my confidence, and be assured that I did the right thing at the right time with no room for doubt. The system didn't always work perfectly, but it served me for many years, and I found myself very uncomfortable with the ambiguity here. I didn't expect Ignacio's execution of Capac to rattle me so much, but for some reason it did. Maybe because the guy was young and scrawny, a bit feisty, but not someone whose face screamed "cold-blooded killer." A peon. An errand boy. He was nobody. And Mr. Quispe just fed him a bullet, without a second thought.
That night at dinner, he informed all of us--me, Paul, Sag, the family--that Huayna would take over as mine foreman next week. This was to happen some time later, in fact, but Mr. Quispe moved the schedule up given the day's events, and wanted the three of us to rotate between protecting Huayna, Ignacio himself, and the rest of the family. There would be one of us with each identified unit at all times whenever they left the house, and at least one would always stay behind as long as the house remained occupied.
On the plus side, this gave me the opportunity to learn more about his family. I spent the next several days alternating between guarding Mr. Quispe, his oldest son, and his wife and younger kids. I got a feel for their daily lives. Pilar still went to the market herself, picking out fresh fruits and vegetables for Isabel to prepare. The kids were remarkably well-behaved, speaking only when spoken to. Pilar had a stern look about her that told me she'd skin them alive if they so much as gave her a dirty look, so maybe that explained it. Honestly, I found guarding them very dull after a couple days, because they were so well-behaved and subdued. They walked in single-file behind their mother, practically marching in step, stood up straight, didn't speak out of turn, didn't misbehave. If they ever acted up, they must have only done it behind closed doors, in private.
Huayna didn't turn out to be much more interesting. He was his father's son in most ways, seemingly quiet and kind. I wondered if he had the impulse for sudden violence that his father did. Wondered, but didn't exactly want to find out for real. He spent much of his time buried in books about the coal industry and business, I suppose preparing himself for his new job and his future as the head of the family--getting ready to produce his own version of what his father had built. I didn't detect much of an identity separate from that, which meant it was hiding deep down, and Huayna had become very good at suppressing it. Understandable under the circumstances, but probably not the best thing for him in the long run, assuming he even had a "long run" to worry about, what with the Communists around trying to kill his whole family.
When the weekend rolled around and Mr. Quispe paid us, then, I was happy to get away. I borrowed the Jeep and made for Trujillo.
I had two goals: get drunk; get laid. In that order.
Chapter 13
- Printer-friendly version
- Login or register to post comments
- view mark as best reply
- Send to friend
I feel like
Chapter 13: The Iteration of
Capac's corpse found its new home at the bottom of a shallow creek not far from the time. Sag and I found it after nearly an hour of searching the surrounding area, hoping for something more substantial, but we came up empty.
Sag lit up a cigarette and puffed idly as we stood atop a hill, watching the water trickle over Capac's lifeless body. I won't say I felt sorry for the guy--I had little doubt he was working for the Shining Path. But Ignacio's abrupt execution of him? I didn't exactly agree with that. Killing someone on the battlefield was one thing. Shooting a defenseless man in the head? Not cool. We could have found a way to bargain him back into the fold of his friends, maybe get some information out of them, identify some of their leaders, something. Now, that wouldn't happen. Back to square one. It'd take the Shining Path a while to discern what happened to good ol' Capac once he failed to report back. Maybe they'd send a smarter, craftier infiltrator next time. Maybe they wouldn't bother to infiltrate at all, decide it's too much trouble, and just start killing people. Why not? Mr. Quispe already drew blood. The gloves were off. Granted, he wasn't the first to resort to violence, but his actions would only serve to escalate, not mitigate.
Sag finished his cigarette ("snuffed [his] fag" was how he put it) and we headed back down to the mine entrance. We found Mr. Quispe talking sternly to the mine staff. Now, I don't suppose they really had to listen to him. It was his mine but they weren't his employees. But blood is thicker than water, and these people were mostly his relatives. I assumed he let into them for allowing a spy into their midst. Did he expect them to take matters into their own hands? That's what it sounded like to me. Dude had a serious grudge against the Shining Path and I didn't know why, but I assumed he had a reason. I didn't want to ask directly for fear of opening up old wounds, pissing him off, or otherwise jeopardizing our job. So, I kept it You could clarify 'it'. Maybe change it to 'my quetions' or something. to myself.
Nobody spoke much as Sag drove the Jeep back to the manor, winding through forests, mountains, and humid air. I leaned out the back and watched the dust kick up in our wake, looking--maybe hoping--to see if anyone followed us. I wanted a real fight, a fair fight, not a turkey shoot. I should have remembered that getting what you wish for is often the worst thing that could happen. But I missed the action of the service, even with the misery it gave me. I had a habit of being the only survivor, or at least one of the few. Dr. Agon considered that an enormous coup for his technology--look at this guy who can walk from one end of Hell to the other, and come out intact! Come get your cybernetic augmentation now! I did question myself, wondering how much of it was me, and how much of it was the tech. Did it matter? My artificial bits were tools like any other, they just happened to be attached to my body and brain. Or perhaps I was just justifying my reliance on such crutches. Yep, my mind wandered a lot on that drive back to Quispe's estate, largely a product of boredom and the general directionlessness "Direcitonlessness" is a bit of a mouthful. Maybe 'Lack of direction' would be better? of my life at that moment. I thought this job would give me a purpose again, but I found myself even more confused. Was Mr. Quispe a good guy or a bad guy? To hear him tell it, he was the saint--the kind man who stood up for his relatives and his family and local workers, keeping them all from being exploited by the Americans. But still, he profited from such activity, and would he redefine "exploitation" if it improved his bottom line? I wanted to take him at face value but I'd grown so cynical over the years I had a tough time of it. Ah, there's the suspicious Maxie I know and love!Could he really just want to protect his family and his property and not have some ulterior motive for it? I decided I'd go over all this with Paul, later, and see what he thought. If anyone could understand my apprehension, it'd be him.
We finally made it back and found Paul relaxing on a white patio lounge chair, behind the house, catching some sun. Guess our weapons arrived, as he had his M16A1 laying alongside the chair, its shoulder strap wrapped around his wrist so he could yank it up in a hurry if necessary. But his grip looked quite relaxed, and he wasn't counting on any violence today. Lucky.
I got out of the Jeep and went back to my room, grabbed a shower. The dirt came off but I couldn't get those second thoughts to run down the drain. I just needed to talk to Paul. I was accustomed to a chain of command, having someone at the top who damn well knew his job and in whom I could place my confidence, and be assured that I did the right thing at the right time with no room for doubt. The system didn't always work perfectly, but it served me for many years, and I found myself very uncomfortable with the ambiguity here. I didn't expect Ignacio's execution of Capac to rattle me so much, but for some reason it did. Maybe because the guy was young and scrawny, a bit feisty, but not someone whose face screamed "cold-blooded killer." A peon. An errand boy. He was nobody. And Mr. Quispe just fed him a bullet, without a second thought.
That night at dinner, he I'd change 'he' to 'Quispe'.informed all of us--me, Paul, Sag, the family--that Huayna would take over as mine foreman next week. This was to happen some time later, in fact, but Mr. Quispe moved the schedule up given the day's events, and wanted the three of us to rotate between protecting Huayna, Ignacio himself, and the rest of the family. There would be one of us with each identified unit at all times whenever they left the house, and at least one would always stay behind as long as the house remained occupied.
On the plus side, this gave me the opportunity to learn more about his family. I spent the next several days alternating between guarding Mr. Quispe, his oldest son, and his wife and younger kids. I got a feel for their daily lives. Pilar still went to the market herself, picking out fresh fruits and vegetables for Isabel to prepare. The kids were remarkably well-behaved, speaking only when spoken to. Pilar had a stern look about her that told me she'd skin them alive if they so much as gave her a dirty look, so maybe that explained it. Honestly, I found guarding them very dull after a couple days, because they were so well-behaved and subdued. They walked in single-file behind their mother, practically marching in step, stood up straight, didn't speak out of turn, didn't misbehave. If they ever acted up, they must have only done it behind closed doors, in private.
Huayna didn't turn out to be much more interesting. He was his father's son in most ways, seemingly quiet and kind. I wondered if he had the impulse for sudden violence that his father did. Wondered, but didn't exactly want to find out for real. He spent much of his time buried in books about the coal industry and business, I suppose preparing himself for his new job and his future as the head of the family--getting ready to produce his own version of what his father had built. I didn't detect much of an identity separate from that, which meant it was hiding deep down, and Huayna had become very good at suppressing it. Understandable under the circumstances, but probably not the best thing for him in the long run, assuming he even had a "long run" to worry about, what with the Communists around trying to kill his whole family.
When the weekend rolled around and Mr. Quispe paid us, then, I was happy to get away. I borrowed the Jeep and made for Trujillo. I can't help but wonder why they'd get the weekend off. I'm sure Quispe's enemies woulnd't b taking the weekend off trying to kill him and his family, and it seems odd that he'd let all his bodyguards go away for the weekend.
I had two goals: get drunk; get laid. In that order.
Unlike Nikki, I didn't actually find this chapter too information heavy. Maybe a little moreso than the rest of the story thus far, but I didn't find it overwhelming or anything.