Aramburu watches them come in. There they are: they’ve come to kill him. No more time for words. Each one knows where the other one stands. What he’s thinking. What he wants to do. Especially, in his case, what he did. Is Aramburu thinking about Valle? Not likely. They’re not going to kill me for what happened to Valle. I’m a symbol. The guy who threw Perón out. One knows the risks he takes. He should have foreseen this. But he never imagined that kids like this could show up. Revolutionaries and Peronistas, vengeful, irresponsible or courageous, it’s all the same thing. But with balls. Hell, who’d have thought it? They take the bonds from his hands. Aramburu rubs his wrists. They’re swollen and there’s some blood. “We’re very sorry about this, General,” Fernando says. “If it were up to me, we’d have avoided this.” “It’s within the rules,” Aramburu concedes. “You always tie prisoners up. A prisoner who escapes ceases to be one. A kidnapper without a prisoner, too.” “There’s more to us than just kidnappers,” Firmenich insists. “How’s that?” “We are your judges. We tried you and found you guilty.” “And now you’re going to execute me.” “Exactly.” josé pablo feinmann 194 | | “May I make a request, judge?” “Are you being ironic?” “Was there any irony in my voice?” “I don’t think so.” “Because there wasn’t.” “What would you like to request from me, General?” “Something silly. But I would not like to go to my death with the chance of doing something clumsy that would make me look ridiculous. You understand me, don’t you?” “Completely, General. What would you like?” “Tie my shoes.” “Sorry. I hadn’t noticed.” Firmenich goes down on one knee and ties Aramburu’s shoes. He stands up. He looks at him. Aramburu says nothing. “We have to tie your hands behind your back,” Fernando says. “Tie my hands again? Just look at my wrists. They’re a mess.” “Not really, General,” Fernando says. “They’re in tune with the circumstances. That’s the way things are. When one goes before a firing squad, it’s always with the hands tied behind the back.” “Is a firing squad awaiting me?” “Don’t ask questions when you know the answers.” “Not completely. I know there’s no firing squad. How are you going to kill me, then?” “You’ll know soon enough.” Fernando looks at his comrades. With his usual brevity, harshly, with that steely tone he knows how to use to give orders, he says, “To the basement.” “Just a minute,” Aramburu protests. “Like this? I can’t even shave?” “Why do you want to shave?” Ramus says tensely. “No one’s [18.213.110.162] Project MUSE (2024-03-29 01:33 GMT) t i m o t e| | 195 going to see you.” “I’m going to see me. I never thought I’d die dirty. You’ve got to at least allow me to take a bath.” “General,” Fernando says in a loud and somewhat irritated voice, “stop messing around. God will take you in His arms no matter how you reach Him.” “I always thought I’d be clean.” “Our Lord is only interested in the cleanliness of the soul. Think about whether this is what you have to offer him. If you think you already thought about it, think about it again. Just in case.” “Not even Saint Augustine had that to offer.” “Saint Augustine was a tormented sinner. Only his great suffering washed away his sins. I see no great suffering in you.” “I don’t see it in you, either, and you are about to commit a supreme sin.” “Maybe. But if we repent, it won’t be today. We have time.” Fernando becomes very serious. His eyebrow furrows and two vertical and deep gashes appear between his eyebrows. “We promised something to you. We are going to pray for the salvation of your soul. Today, General.” “I want a priest,” Aramburu demands. “We can’t do that,” Firmenich says. “Don’t play with us. You’re trying to trick us to the very end. What makes you think we could bring a priest here? All the roads are under surveillance. They’d follow him. They’d find us. It would have been all for naught.” “What do you mean?” Aramburu says incredulously. “You don’t have a...