Breaking Lorca

“Bastard,” the woman said quietly.

“Now, now,” the Captain said. “There is no need to insult the boy. We have every reason to believe he is a legitimate child of God-fearing parents.”

“Do not do this,” the woman said. “For your own soul’s sake, I beg you, do not do this.”

“Thirteen years old, Miss Whoever-you-are. Thirteen years old, this boy. Would you like to turn fourteen?”

“Yes, sir. I will be fourteen in October.” The boy was on the edge of tears, and Victor saw that the fabric of his shirt, even though wet, was trembling.

“Thirteen. You must have been confirmed this year.”

“Yes, sir. At the cathedral.”

“Did the bishop give you a little slap on the cheek?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell me, I never understood that slap. What does that little slap mean, exactly?”

“It means-it means that our faith will be tested. Our faith will be tested, and we must prepare ourselves.”

“Well, I’m glad you are prepared, Mr. Fourteen-in-October. Very glad. As a man of faith, little Jaime, you will be interested to know that this woman here is an incarnation of the Virgin Mary-although I assure you from first- hand experience, she is no longer a virgin. Nevertheless, she has the Blessed Virgin’s wonderful power to protect. You know about this? To intercede. Remember this, Jaime. I am God, and this woman here is the Blessed Virgin.”

The prisoner strained forward in her chair. “You are evil,” she said in her cracked voice. “You are an evil man. The woman does not live who would knowingly bear you a son.”

Captain Pena ignored her. “This woman, little Jaime, this woman can cause you pain, or she can save you from pain. It is entirely in her power, I want you to be clear on this. Whether you are in pain or not, whether you shed tears or blood, it is entirely within her power.”

“Please don’t hurt me, sir. I have done nothing wrong.”

“Don’t be afraid. I’m sure Our Lady will protect you. Do you have any brothers or sisters, Jaime?”

“Two. Two sisters. They are younger than me.”

“No brothers?”

The boy swallowed. Beneath the wet shirt, his breathing was as fast as a rabbit’s.

“Answer the Captain, faggot.”

“I have one brother, but I don’t know where he is. I believe he is with the rebels in Chalatenango.”

“A brother with the rebels in Chalatenango. Well, this is an unexpected bonus. What is your brother’s name?”

“Dario.”

“Dario Reyes. The Blessed Virgin here may be personally acquainted with him. But we don’t know, little Jaime, because Our Lady will tell us nothing. That is going to end very soon. Is there anything you would like to say?”

“Please don’t hurt me, sir. I am not a rebel. I have done no wrong.”

“I believe you. I am sure you are a good boy. That is the whole point. Soldier,” he barked at Tito, and the boy’s shoulders jerked up to his ears, “what shall we do with him?”

“Hard to say, Captain. There are many possibilities.”

“Give me your thoughts. What would be most effective, in your view?”

“How about we cut his thing off. We cut his thing off, we cook it, and then we feed it to the Virgin here. Make her eat it.”

“Very imaginative.”

“Please don’t hurt me, sir. Please-I will do anything you say. Anything you want me to, I’ll do.” The boy was crying hard, his words wildly distorted.

“Or we could pull his fingernails out. That’s very painful.”

“It’s a little bloodier than I had in mind. And a little slow. I hate to make a mess in here. Look at that, he’s pissing his pants.”

“You fucking little faggot, I’m going to make you lick that up.”

“Leave it for now. Give me some ideas.”

“Cocksucker. Pissing on our clean floor. How would you like to meet the General, huh? How about I introduce you to the General right now?”

“Leave him alone,” the woman said. “Please. Just let the boy go, and maybe I can tell you some things you want to know.”

The Captain, Tito, all the soldiers looked at her. Silence fell over them as they realized that she had offered to talk. The only sounds were the boy’s.

“She’s talking,” Victor said hurriedly. “Let me drag this little faggot back to his cell.” He grabbed the boy by his soaking collar.

Captain Pena shrieked, “Leave the boy where he is!” He slapped the woman full force across the face. “You think you make bargains with us? You think maybe you will negotiate with us? You whore. I will show you how we negotiate. I will show you exactly how we negotiate. On your back, faggot. Get down on the floor.”

The boy was handcuffed, but he began to kick out blindly. His foot connected glancingly with Victor’s groin, and he doubled over and groaned, as if the injury were great. Lopez and Tito wrestled the boy to the floor, pinning him down on his back.

“Get his leg up on the bed frame. Just the heel. Get his leg up.”

They dragged him across the floor, the boy begging please, please, please the whole way. Victor had sunk to his knees with eyes closed. He could hear in the knife-edge of his uncle’s voice, in Tito’s silence, in the sharp, near-hysterical cries of Lopez and Yunques, that a threshold had been crossed. Violence had been launched. Violence had been launched and was now as impossible to recall as a missile that has been fired.

“Listen to this,” Captain Pena yelled in the woman’s ear. “You listen close to this sound! If you weren’t such a whore, this would not have happened.”

The boy’s leg was propped up on the bed frame at a forty-five-degree angle to the floor. Captain Pena took one step and jumped onto the leg with his full weight. Victor’s gorge rose at the sound it made and he nearly vomited. The boy was shrieking uncontrollably.

“You hear that, whore? You hear? This boy’s leg is broken. That’s what you’ve done. You’ve broken his leg. You could have stopped it, and you didn’t. Next time you beg for mercy, I want you to think about what you did to this boy.”

Tito kicked the boy in the head and the shrieks turned to moans.

“Put them together in her cell. Keep them both wet. Nobody gets any sleep until this bitch has told us everything she knows: brothers, sisters, grade school teachers, past lives, everything. This bitch is going to sing.”

“Shit, boss,” Tito grumbled, “I was hoping we could set the little faggot on fire.”

“Maybe tomorrow.” Captain Pena shrugged as he went out the door. “It all depends on the Virgin.”

FOURTEEN

It was not necessary to torture the boy further; the woman was quite broken. The next day she sat across the table from Captain Pena and Victor and she told them everything they wanted to know.

And now it was over. The torture was done, the questions were done, it only remained to kill her.

It was nine o’clock, the night was black and violent. The sky had opened, and rain thundered around the little school in chestnut-sized drops that clattered on the hood and roof of the Jeep. The soldiers wore their plastic ponchos, beneath which their heavy arms bulged as if they were pregnant.