Breaking Lorca

it, the dog would not get off. As his mind cleared, he realized the weight on his chest was fear.

He thought of the new woman prisoner. If he felt isolated and fearful, how must she feel? She would not have slept. She would have been too cold, too wet, too hungry. He had soaked her thoroughly before he went off duty, and when Yunques relieved him, he had added his own bucket right away. “Tits are too small,” he said with a grimace. Yunques was always saying tough things, but sometimes Victor wondered if he wasn’t putting on a show of bravado. Perhaps Sergeant Tito could be that carelessly cruel, but Victor wondered about Yunques and Lopez. Maybe under the macho talk they were just as scared as he was.

–

“Please. I want to see a lawyer,” the woman said. Victor had just thrown a full bucket of ice water on her, and rivulets streamed down her face. “I have done nothing wrong. I was simply taking food to the church basement.”

Victor stood in the door of her cell, breathing hard. Prisoners were supposed to be struck whenever they spoke. He locked the cell door and went back to the guard room.

She called after him in her unpleasant voice: “And I would like some food, please.”

“Special treat for the new bitch,” Lopez said. “Take a look at this.” He opened the lid of a small cardboard box, revealing the cockroaches.

“You going to put them in her cell?”

“Her cell?” Lopez looked truly puzzled. “Why would we put them in her cell?”

“For a joke?”

“We are not joking here, soldier. You should’ve figured that out by now.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll get the hang of things, I’m sure.”

“Put these in her food and serve it to her.”

Victor did as he was told.

“Well?” Lopez said when he came back. “How’d the bitch like it?”

“She felt the bugs,” Victor said. “Then she just put the plate on the floor and lay down again.”

“Really? She didn’t cry or nothing?”

“No.”

“You know, I think she may be a real hard-ass terrorist, this one. Most women scream like a motherfucker when we give them the bug dinner.”

“That doesn’t make her a terrorist.”

“I’ll bet you, Pena. She’s too hard for a civilian.”

The woman didn’t touch any food they brought her that day. When Victor threw the bucket of water at her, she did not cry out, even though he aimed it well to make sure she was good and soaked in case Tito should stick his ugly head in again.

The next day, she ate a plate of heavily salted beans and asked several times for water, but no water was brought to her. Later, when Victor checked on her through the peephole, he saw her sucking water out of her shirt, the way an infant sucks a beloved blanket.

Sergeant Tito came for her that afternoon. “Bring her out, soldier. Don’t tell her nothing what’s going on. She will learn soon enough.”

“Blindfold!”

Lopez unlocked the cell door and Victor went in for the woman. She was crouched against the wall, her arms curled up in front of her, expecting a soaking.

Victor took hold of her elbow and she yanked it away. He jerked harder.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You’re going to have a chat with the General,” Lopez said. “That’s what you wanted, right?”

Victor led her along the corridor.

“Where is the General?” she demanded as soon as she was brought into the interrogation room.

Tito and the Captain were sitting at a small table. Yunques was not around, and Tito motioned for Victor to stand by the wall.

“Have a seat, please,” said the Captain. “What is your name, please?”

“Maria Sanchez.”

“You don’t want to tell me your name?”

“I just told you my name. Maria Sanchez.”

“That is a lie. But I will tell you my name.” The Captain got up and leaned down beside her ear. Even though his voice was barely above a whisper, she flinched when he spoke. “My name,” he said, “is God.”

FIVE

Once, when Victor was in high school, he had been caught smoking on school property. The vice-principal, a prematurely bald and angry man, had taken him to the office and offered him a choice: Victor could take a two- week suspension or the strap.

“There is the telephone, Pena.” The bald head gleamed for an instant as he nodded at the terrifying instrument. “Call your father and explain to him why you will be missing class for the next two weeks. Tell him why you will miss the term review just as your exams are approaching-because you had to have a cigarette on school property, even though you are well aware of the rules. Go on now, Pena, you call the Major and ask him what to do.”

The prospect of such a conversation with his father was a brick wall. Take a two-week suspension? The Major would beat him about the head. He would make him suffer for a year.

“I will take the strap, sir,” Victor had said. It couldn’t be worse than his father’s fists. Many boys got the strap, and all of them said it didn’t hurt, they didn’t cry.

“Very good, Pena. Bend over the desk and take hold of the far edges.”

Victor bent over, feeling horribly exposed even though his trousers had not been lowered. He caught a glimpse of the strap as the vice-principal took it down from the shelf. It was about fifteen inches long, and much thicker than he expected-a quarter-inch of leather. He gripped the far side of the desk and tried to fix his mind on the bookshelves that faced him. There were no book titles to read, however, just large binders-probably full of dossiers on delinquent students like himself.

He looked back over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of the vice-principal leaning back, his wind-up for the first blow. There was a whistling sound and then the smack of leather on flesh. Victor shrieked. The strap felt like a patch of fire across his skin, and tears sprang into his eyes.

The strap whistled again, and again he shrieked. To his dismay, he now began to cry helplessly; great gasping sobs shook his body. He could not catch his breath, and the hot tears streamed down his cheeks. Deep inside, a voice spat the word, “Coward.”

“Holy Mother, Pena.” There was genuine puzzlement in the vice-principal’s voice. “That’s only two strokes. I don’t know if you’re faking or not.”

Victor’s voice was choked and unrecognizable.

“Nobody’s ever screamed like that. I know you’re a skinny runt, but really-try and control yourself. It can’t hurt that much.”

But Victor could not control himself. The vice-principal threw himself into the remaining eight blows, and rained them down so quickly that Victor scarcely had time to breathe before the next one landed. When the blows were done, he nearly passed out.

“Sit there until you catch your breath. Go on. Sit down and put your head between your knees. You look like you’re about to faint.”

Victor did as he was told, staring at the polished wooden floor. He had to breathe through his mouth, his sinuses were so clogged from crying.