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punishment lottery, which was his own invention (“Brigadiers, give six points to all the number threes and multiples of three!”).
    “Alberto Fernández, Sir, Fifth Year, first section.”
    “All right, now get to the point.”
    “I think I’m sick, Lieutenant. I mean mentally, not physically. I have nightmares every night.” Alberto had lowered his eyes, feigning humility, and he spoke very slowly, his mind a blank, letting his lips and tongue talk on by themselves, letting them weave a spider web, a labyrinth. “They’re awful, Lieutenant. Sometimes I dream I’m a killer, or sometimes these animals with human faces are chasing me. I wake up sweating and shaking. It’s horrible, Lieutenant, honest.”
    The officer studied the cadet’s face. Alberto discovered that the frog’s eyes had come to life: surprise and suspicion peered out of them like two faint stars. I could laugh, I could cry or scream, I could run away. Huarina finished his scrutiny. He took a sudden step backward, and said, “I’m not a priest, goddamn it! Go take your personal problems to your father or mother!”
    “I didn’t mean to bother you, Lieutenant,” Alberto mumbled.
    “Wait a minute, what’s that arm band?” The officer pushed his snout closer, his eyes widening. “Are you on guard duty?”
    “Yes, Sir.”
    “Don’t you know you should never leave your post except when you’re dead?”
    “Yes, Sir.”
    “Personal problems! You’re a fuck-up.”
    Alberto held his breath. The scowl had vanished from the officer’s face, his mouth was open, his eyes were squinting, there were wrinkles on his forehead: he was laughing. “You’re just a fuck-up, goddamn it. Get back to your post. And you should be grateful I’m not reporting you.”
    “Yes, Sir.”
    Alberto saluted, made a half turn, and glimpsed the soldiers at the guardhouse sitting huddled over on the bench. He heard from behind him, “We aren’t priests, goddamn it.” In front of him, toward the left, there were three cement hulks: the Fifth Year, then the Fourth, and finally the Third, which was the barracks of the Dogs. Beyond that the stadium sprawled out: the soccer field covered with weeds, the track full of hollows and holes, the wooden stands warped by the dampness. On the other side of the stadium, beyond the ruined building that was the soldiers’ quarters, there was a grayish wall where the world of the Leoncio Prado Military Academy ended and the open fields of La Perla began. And if Huarina’d looked down and seen my boots, and if the Jaguar hasn’t got the chemistry exam, or if he’s got it and won’t trust me, and if I go see Golden Toes and tell her I’m from Leoncio Prado and it’s the first time I’ve come, I’ll bring you good luck, and if I go back to the neighborhood and borrow twenty soles from one of my friends and leave him my watch in hock, and if I don’t get hold of that chemistry exam, and if I don’t have laces for my boots for the personal inspection tomorrow I’m screwed and that’s for sure. Alberto walked slowly, dragging his feet a little. He had not had any laces in his boots for a whole week, and his boots threatened to come off at every step. He had covered about half the distance between the Fifth Year and the statue of the hero. Two years ago the assignment of the barracks was different: the cadets of the Fifth were in the barracks next to the stadium, and the Dogs were nearest to the guardhouse. The Fourth had always been in the middle, between their enemies. But when there was a change of directors, the new colonel decided on the present assignment, and explained it in a speech: “The privilege of sleeping near our great hero is one that ought to be earned. From now on the cadets of the Third Year will occupy the barracks farthest away. Then each year they’ll move closer to the statue of Leoncio Prado. And I hope that when they leave the academy they’ll resemble him a little, because he fought for the