The Feast of the Goat by Mario Vargas Llosa Read Free Book Online Page A

priest, in Santiago. He arranged an audience for me with Monsignor Lino Zanini, the papal nuncio. ‘Would it be a sin for a believer to kill Trujillo, Monsignor?’ He closed his eyes and thought. I could repeat his exact words, with his Italian accent. He showed me the passage from St. Thomas, in the Summa Theologica . If I hadn’t read it, I wouldn’t be here tonight with all of you.”
    Antonio de la Maza had turned around to look at him:
    “You talked about this with your spiritual adviser?”
    His voice was angry. Lieutenant Amado García Guerrero was afraid he would explode into one of those rages he had been prone to ever since Trujillo had his brother Octavio killed, years before. Outbursts like the one that was about to destroy the friendship that united De la Maza to Salvador Estrella Sadhalá. But Salvador calmed him down:
    “It was a long time ago, Antonio. When I began to help June 14. You think I’m such an asshole that I’d confess something like this to a poor priest?”
    “Turk, explain to me why you can say asshole and not ass, cunt, or fuck,” Imbert joked, trying once again to ease the tension. “Don’t all dirty words offend God?”
    “Words don’t offend God, only obscene thoughts,” Turk replied in resignation. “Assholes who ask asshole questions may not offend Him. But they must bore Him to death.”
    “Did you take communion this morning so you’d come to the great event with a pure soul?” Imbert continued the teasing.
    “I’ve taken communion every day for the past ten years,” Salvador acknowledged. “I don’t know if my soul is the way a Christian’s soul should be. Only God knows that.”
    “It is,” thought Amadito. Of all the people he had known in his thirty-one years, Turk was the one he admired most. Salvador was married to his aunt, Urania Mieses, whom Amadito loved dearly. From the time he had been a cadet at Batalla de Las Carreras Military Academy, whose director was Colonel José León (Pechito) Estévez, Angelita Trujillo’s husband, he had spent his days off at the house of the Estrella Sadhalás. Salvador had become extremely important in his life; he confided in him about his problems, troubles, dreams, and doubts, and asked his advice before making any decision. The Estrella Sadhalás gave the party to celebrate Amadito’s graduation, carrying the sword of honor—first in a class of thirty-five officers!—attended by his eleven maternal aunts, and, years later, for what the young lieutenant thought would be the best news he’d ever receive, his acceptance into the most prestigious unit in the Armed Forces: the military adjutants responsible for the personal safety of the Generalissimo.
    Amadito closed his eyes and inhaled the salt-laden breeze blowing in the four open windows. Imbert, Turk, and Antonio de la Maza were quiet. He had met Imbert and De la Maza at the house on Mahatma Gandhi, and that meant he had witnessed the fight between Turk and Antonio, so violent he expected them to start shooting, and, months later, he also witnessed the reconciliation of Antonio and Salvador for the sake of a single goal: killing the Goat. No one could have told Amadito on that day in 1959, when Urania and Salvador gave him a party and countless bottles of rum were consumed, that in less than two years, on a mild, starry night, on this Tuesday, May 30, 1961, he would be waiting for Trujillo in order to kill him. So many things had happened since the day when, shortly after he arrived at 21 Mahatma Gandhi, Salvador took him by the arm and gravely led him to the most private corner of the garden.
    “I must say something to you, Amadito. Because of the fondness I have for you. That all of us in this house have for you.”
    He spoke so quietly that the young man leaned his head forward to hear him.
    “What’s this about, Salvador?”
    “It’s about my not wanting to do anything to hurt your career. You may have problems if you keep coming here.”
    “What kind