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Carnival and a man dies. Jealousy. A fight over broads. It happens every year.”
    “No family member has claimed the body.”
    “Because they never talk. Or haven't you noticed that yet? The campesinos always avoid coming forward, they hide.”
    “That is precisely the reason they would not kill this way, Commander. Not so violently.”
    “Oh, no? You'd have to see me after a three-day drunk.”
    The prosecutor pondered the legal basis for that reply. While he was thinking, the commander seemed to forget him. He joined in the laughter of the other two and continued talking. He said something about the mayor's wife. They laughed. When Chacaltana had begun to seem like a decoration on the national pavilion, he decided to respond to the commander.
    “Excuse me, Señor. But I am afraid your reasoning lacks juridical foundation …”
    The commander broke off speaking. The man in the sky-blue tie looked uncomfortable. Captain Pacheco began to talk about how attractive the Lenten festivities were turning out. He spokein a very loud voice. The commander did not stop looking at the prosecutor, who felt totally convinced of his argument. Yes. He was doing it well. Perhaps when the commander had confirmed his professional zeal, he would consider some kind of recommendation for him. The commander said:
    “And what do you suggest?”
    The police officer closed his mouth again. The prosecutor saw his opportunity to emphasize the gravity of the case and display his powers of deduction:
    “I would not presume to discount a Senderista attack.”
    He had said it. The silence that followed his words seemed to reach the entire ballroom, the entire city. The prosecutor imagined that with this information they would take the case more seriously. It was a matter of the highest security. Civil law and the Ministry of Justice would collaborate for the common goal of achieving a country with a future. The commander seemed to reflect on his attitude. After a long while, he interrupted the silence with a laugh. Pacheco hesitated for a moment, but then he began to laugh too. And then the man in the sky-blue tie, Eléspuru. After them, the rest of the ballroom and the universe began to laugh just a little and then very loudly, until the air thundered.
    “You're paranoid, Señor Prosecutor. There is no Sendero Luminoso here anymore.”
    And he turned away to end the conversation. With the pride of an archivist, the prosecutor countered:
    “It has been twenty years since the first attack …”
    The commander gestured with his hand as if he were brushing away the prosecutor's words.
    “Bullshit! We finished them off.”
    “That first attack was carried out during an election …”
    The military man began to lose patience:
    “Are you arguing with me, Chacaltana? Are you calling me a liar?”
    “No, but …”
    “You aren't one of those politicized prosecutors, are you? You aren't an Aprista or a Communist, are you? Do you want to sabotage the elections? Is that what you want?”
    In the face of the unexpected turn in the conversation, the prosecutor opened his eyes very wide and was quick to clarify matters.
    “Not at all. If there is a boycott against the elections, rest assured I shall open an investigation as soon as I receive a formal complaint, Commander.”
    The commander looked at the prosecutor in disbelief. He thought he was an impossible man. Then he laughed again. This time he laughed slowly, paternally.
    “You're pathetic, little Chacaltita. But I understand you. You haven't been here very long, have you? You don't know these half-breeds. Haven't you seen them hitting one another at the fertility fiesta? They're violent people.”
    The prosecutor had been at that fiesta several times. He remembered the blows. Men and women, it did not matter. All of them hitting in the face, where it bleeds the most. They believed their blood would irrigate the earth. He remembered the bloody noses and black eyes. The prosecutor usually