Whiskey

Ui@ ui! Ui! i! - and the Officer grabbed his head as if wanting to get it off the shaft.

  where I am? What is my name - without understanding what he saw from the cushion from which the color could not be defined.

 The Officer lifted his head from the cushion, leaning on the back of the chair where he also did not know how it had ended up there.

 With all the slowness and laziness of a head that was massacred with every attempt to think, the let's say Officer spat on the floor, cracked and filthy.

 - never more! Spending the whole night of depressive and intense consumption of cheap whiskey brings this - making a supreme effort to go to throw each one of the glasses consumed in the toilet (one of those holes that were in the battalion's garage, next to the office practically hidden among a twisted and dry tree where he hung his bath towel in the river that passed two blocks south of that barracks abandoned to the fate of oblivion that time and people imposed.

 I have nowhere else to return - and threw his body weary of that life in that chair, witness to a lifetime.

 Yes, I remember that the first day I sat in that chair was when I was mistaken for the Officer and I was dressed as he was. Circumstances made me an impostor - but only this chair knows.

 He stretched his back, closing his eyes

 Never again do I want to fall asleep in that armchair muck, until it seems that a compressor roll has passed over me - stretching his arms to try to massage his ground back.

 The temptation is always greater.

 So he spotted a half-open bottle on the table in front of the chair.

 And, without thinking twice - or maybe even out of habit - he poured himself a glass of whiskey (counterfeit, but that's what it is)

 I need to change my life, do I have to think about it seriously or how am I going to survive this way?

 Look at the hill of things on my desk! , crowded with papers, glasses of soda, plates of food with a roach on it. Without talking about that flowery curtain that looks more like a bath towel hiding, come in! , A straw mattress that served as a bed, but smells so bad plus it heats more than an oven.

 How can I settle for this?

 With that box with secular waste where the mice come from?

 He should throw all that away, or at least look for another box - listless - soldier! He called to the soldier on duty who was outside the office, sitting on a stone placed right next to the door of the Office of the Officer, Self-proclaimed and perpetuated by the experience of more than fifteen years of service to the Army.

 Yes sir.

 Bring a deposit box.

 Yes sir

 The Officer, dragging the box towards the say door (which has to be varnished and screwed again because it looks like it is going to fall), stood at the door

 That I bring the box later, I feel that typical little frizzle at six in the morning, boisterous as the payday queue, unintelligible but with the power to infiltrate all my thoughts and disturb them at their convenience, crushing every fiber still alive of my senses .

 The soldier brings him a closed, medium-sized cardboard box

 Thank you. Tell me, have they started paying yet?

 I think so.

 Already. I have to appear. Give me the box.

 And the soldier handed him the box.

 The Officer grabbed her.

 He wanted to open it, with a knife he had on the desk.

 And when he finished removing the glue from the box, he realized that the box was not empty.

 what is this? notebook? - and he grabbed it, first pulling out the accumulated dust “for three or four years!

 He started flipping through it.

 -What is this notebook about? - even without realizing the origin or serventia of said notebook.

 He hobbled it with the curiosity of a dog's muzzle, which wants to know everything, seeks everything.

 wait a minute! This booklet has the telephones of the main military and civil authorities of this country - leafing through it with the eyes that it opened more or less according to the names it read.

 President Velasco. Chicosa? President? It sounds familiar to me. Wait, wasn't that an interim president? The one about the coup d'etat some fifteen years ago? He must be dying to get back into power - and he kept leafing through:

 Senator, chicosa? I don't understand that letter, does it say a tie? I think so.

 Colonel Acosta, what is he doing here? And the battalion Sergeant - search, rummage through the notebook, until surprise! - A name: Officer C. Porto.

 It is that I am Porto, and that C., of Carlos, as my second name! !, what luck! I have won the big lottery! I'm going to go into the story finally.

 I can't believe it, whose booklet would this be? I had never seen it and worse open. I'm going to keep it, colonels, senators, deputies. The fine cream of power. It wouldn't hurt to get back in touch with them. But ... by what name? Let me see - looking for a name on its cover or lining "as the ancients did"

 He grabbed the phone on the desk and started calling.

 Nobody answers. It should no longer be the number.

 And so he was repeating, systematically, the calls.

 Until the number no star next to it answered

 The Officer speaks.

 Official! It is an honor to speak with you again! How can I help you this time?

 The Officer fell silent, (what do I say now?)

 Yes, a pleasure.

 he has a cold,? I don't recognize his voice very well.

 Yes. A little cough.

 Tell me, what are you offered?

 Can you come to the office

 of course! , tonight, do you think?

 We are like this then.

 At eight o'clock. As usual.

 (As always? What time was that? No idea. But by seven o'clock I should even be showered.)

 It is that the reason has more excuses than the human mind can imagine.

 And the hope of a dream come true had to have style, depth of action to be really effective, that's why I'm going to call the soldiers from the outer barracks to clean the office - while running my finger over the dusty furniture - and for them to get some snacks and maybe some drinks, something really shocking.

 Because this time, I'm going to get rich!

 By seven o'clock at night, the office was spotless, with a red carpet covering the cracked floor, a soap-smelling curtain, a cleaned chair.

 There were no mice or roaches.

 Nor trash on all sides.

 There was a tray of diced melted cheese and green olives.

 And whiskey.

 Lots of whiskey.

 The Officer also smelled of toilet soap.

 He went in and out of the office with the face of whoever thought.

 I looked at the clock, every minute.

 Half past seven.

 Eight.

 Nothing happened.

 At nine o'clock, unable to wait, the officer sat in the chair.

 A whiskey was served.

And the cycle started all over again.