Gradually, the woman began to revive and was able to wash herself. Her skin glistened under the water, and Victor felt a sexual stirring. He turned away.
He sat on the toilet while she rubbed the bar of soap all over her hair and rinsed it off, leaning back gingerly so as not to soak her blindfold. He allowed himself a glance at her breasts, the prominent ribs. Such a vulnerable thing, the human body-particularly a woman’s; it was a great wrong to torment it. She was not so different from him self, this woman; she was not a campesino. He imagined her as a child, growing up in a small middle-class home like his own. Perhaps she was teased by an older brother, annoyed by a younger sister. Parents had loved her, looked after her, comforted her when she was sick. Not so different from himself. Clearly, she was educated. He imagined her carrying books, arguing with the nuns at school.
And look at the school she was in now, with the likes of Tito and himself for her teachers. And lessons no human being should have to learn.
Victor handed the woman a towel, and when she had dried herself, he bandaged her wrist and gave her back her clothes.
He and Yunques brought her down the hall to the Captain’s office. Mr. Wheat was seated near the window, so that the sunlight flashed on his blond hair and made his teeth gleam. He looked utterly out of place in the little school, and Victor found himself staring at him almost as if he were a beautiful woman.
“Where did you pick her up?” Wheat asked the Captain.
“Near the cathedral. She was carrying food supplies.”
“Food for children,” she said in her cracked, ugly voice. “Apparently this counts as a crime in our country.”
“Shut up,” the Captain said quietly. “Nobody’s talking to you.”
“She’s connected with the rebels?” Wheat asked.
“Most definitely. We are just waiting for her to admit it.”
“And her name is Sanchez.”
“So she claims. We don’t yet know her real name. We just brought her in last night.”
“That is a lie,” the woman said. “I have been here at least five days. They are torturing me.” She held up the bandaged wrist.
“Resisting arrest,” the Captain said. “She put up quite a struggle. It took three men to subdue her.”
Victor was surprised by the lie. The Captain too seemed to feel the need to impress this shining American.
“I did not resist arrest,” the woman said. “I was distributing food for children. Everything else this man says is a lie.”
Less than half an hour ago she had been screaming in agony; she must know such boldness could only bring more of the same. Sometimes bravery seemed to Victor a species of stupidity-but of course it would be convenient for a coward to view it that way.
Mr. Wheat flicked his hair, wafting a little lime-scented aftershave in Victor’s direction. “Miss Sanchez, if that’s your name-I represent the United States of America. Believe me, we’re doing everything we can to ease things up down here for you people.”
“Really? Maybe you could untie my hands, then.”
Wheat raised his eyebrows at Captain Pena, who shook his head.
“The fact is,” Wheat continued, “I only want to know one thing from you.”
“I can’t tell you anything. I don’t know anything.”
“Be quiet and listen. For some time now it has been apparent to us that the FMLN leadership has advance knowledge of embassy statements and embassy functions. They know who is visiting, where and for how long- sometimes within twenty-four hours of our own knowledge.”
“What you expect me to do about this, I can’t imagine.”
“I want to know the source of this leak.”
“Why ask me, if you believe nothing I say? You really think I was resisting arrest? There’s a little room down the hall. If you go there now, you will see my blood all over the floor.”
“I’m not interested in any little room. If you simply answer questions truthfully, things will go better for you.”
“I was taking food to the cathedral. Food for children orphaned by war. Why don’t you talk to them? I’m sure they’d like to thank you in person for everything you’ve done.”
“Listen. Who do you think pays the bills around here? With all due respect to the Captain, we pay the bills around here, and what we say goes. The sooner you under stand that, the sooner you’ll be out of here. But you have to co-operate.”
“I’ll co-operate. I’ll tell you everything I know.”
“You say you were bringing food to the church for orphans of the war?”
“Yes.”
“Who asked you to help out?”
“No one. There are signs all over the church asking for volunteers.”
“What specifically made you want to help out?”
“The fact that they are orphans. Is the United States against feeding children?”
“I’ll ask the questions. Who invited you to be part of this humanitarian effort?”
“I told you. No one. I volunteered. All I do is collect a few cans of food and bring them to the church basement.”
Wheat looked at the Captain, shaking his head at her obstinacy. Then he turned back to the woman. “Who asked you to volunteer?”
“No one. Why is that so hard to believe? If I make up a name to please you, they will just beat me when they find out it is false. If I give you the name of a real person who has nothing to do with me or the orphans or the rebels, that person will be arrested and tortured just like me. But you still won’t have whatever it is you want.”
“I want to know the source of the embassy leak.”
“I wish I could help you.”
“Do you know a woman named Teresita Sanchez?”
“Teresita Sanchez. No.”
“Teresita Sanchez-Vega.”
“I don’t know her.”
“Are you sure you want to stick with that story?”
“It’s not a story. It’s just the way it is.”
“She’s a typist at the embassy.”
“I’m glad. Jobs are precious these days.”
“I’m asking you if you know her.”
“And I’m telling you the truth. I do not know her.”
“Your name is Sanchez, her name is Sanchez. And you don’t know her?”
“It’s a common name. Surely you know this.”
“San Salvador is not that big a town.”
“It’s two million people!”
“You have the same last name.”
“I don’t know her. If I did, I would not deny it, because I have no dealings with this person, no connection whatsoever. I wish I could tell you yes, if that would get me out of here.”
“You said you would co-operate.”
“Believe me, I’m trying to. At this moment I want nothing more than to please you, to make you feel that I am trying to help you by telling the truth.”
“This is what you call co-operation?”
“Please. Just entertain for a moment the possibility that I am not lying. Ask yourself what I have to gain and what I have to lose.”
“You know exactly what you have to gain. So tell me the truth: do you know Teresita Sanchez-Vega?”
“No, sir. I don’t.”
“This is not co-operation. I’m going to let you think about it some more. I’ll ask you again in ten days.”
