Navidad & Matanza Read Online Free PDF

classmate of Bruno’s, the oldest child of the Vivar’s. One day Terelenita called us to invite him to a birthday party. I don’t know, I guess he was turning five.
    â€“ Don’t make me hang up. I’m not interested.
    I lied.
    â€“ At seven in the evening I went across the street to pick up Juan Carlitos. As always, the front door was open and no one greeted me. No doubt Juan Francisco and Terelenita were in their room, you know what I mean.
    â€“ No. And I don’t see the reason for this conversation. I must insist.
    â€“ Please, don’t interrupt me, I don’t have much time. As I was saying, I went to see if there was anyone in the living room, but the house was empty. A lot of noise was coming from the garden, where the kids were running around and swimming in the pool, watched over by men who looked like house staff. Then all of a sudden I looked at the chimney. It was a reflex. Or I was somehow compelled. I’d seen something that caught my attention, a piece of skin among the flowers. It was hanging from the chimney, it was summer. The piece of skin was . . .
    â€“ What?
    â€“ A nose. They’d torn off someone’s nose and left it stuck to the chimney.
    I was silent.
    â€“ I don’t know if you know who I am. I’m a surgeon, although I don’t practice my specialty. I knew right away that it’d been torn off recently. It was still warm.
    â€“ A nose?
    â€“ Yes. Do you understand now that this little journal where you work doesn’t provide you with what you need to write good stories?
    â€“ Hang on.
    My secretary needed something; I dealt with it as quickly as possible. I picked up the phone:
    â€“ Mr. Montes, I’d like to meet with you to discuss this at greater length.
    â€“ Yes, yes. But, please, let me finish. I tore a page from a notebook that was in a wastebasket and wrapped the nose inside it.I was about to put it in my pocket when I heard the children screaming.
    â€“ What happened to the nose?
    â€“ I left it there, in the living room. I think a big dog came and started chewing on it, something I seem to have seen as I ran as fast I could out to the garden because my son Juan Carlitos had a cramp and was drowning. That’s what an employee told me, a butler who worked in the house. I wanted to see my son, but ten large men dressed in suits surrounded the pool. The children were running around wildly, screaming: “The fish, the fish.” They were terrified, as if they’d seen a monster. It was horrible. There was a lot of fear and violence and hate, I don’t know if I can explain it, a lot of fear and hate in that house.
    â€“ Okay. And what happened to your son?
    â€“ Juan Carlitos? I couldn’t see anything because those guards—who said they were butlers too, but who were speaking into walkie-talkies the whole time—surrounded my son and carried him to a car. They said they were taking him to a clinic, but they didn’t say which one. I never saw any of them again. Those fucking criminals evaporated. That was fifteen years ago and I’ve never seen him since. That’s why I’m calling you.
    â€“ They took your son?
    â€“ They told me he died. Vivar swears my son was never in his house, and he hasn’t allowed me to speak to that woman, Terelenita. I filed a report and the police briefly opened an investigation. Shortly thereafter they told me he was dead. The judge said his body might be found in mass grave of disappeared-detainees in Pisagua, but that was another lie. I’ve spoken with many people and found nothing: my case will never be on television or in thenewspapers. I don’t want them to discuss the state my wife is in. It pains me even to speak of it.
    â€“ Mr. Montes, may I call you later to set up an interview? This is serious. What’s your phone number?
    â€“ Uh, no, not now. I just want attention put on the Vivar’s. I’ll call you.