Night of the Jaguar Read Free Page B

Leave me alone! Get out! Get out, get out, get out!”
    Ajax recoiled at the soldier’s torment but fought to wrestle his hands away from his head. Fortunado fought him, his eyes roaming madly over the darkened ceiling.
    â€œGet out! Leave me alone! I was trying to help them. Help!”
    Ajax took an accidental head butt to the nose. The pain, as always, made him stronger and he grappled with the soldier’s hands.
    â€œCompa, God doesn’t punish soldiers. Look at me! Look at me. Hombre! Corporal Gavilan look at me!”
    Ajax pinioned his hands. The soldier calmed himself, or just gave up. But Ajax could see up close now the black eyes swimming in blood-red pools. The cracked lips and hard-caked spit at the corners of his mouth—Ajax had been told by the psychologist—were symptoms of the dehydration that accompanies sleep deprivation.
    Ajax released the soldier’s wrists and slowly laid his hands on his cheeks. “Compañero. You did no wrong.” Ajax rubbed the soldier’s head, massaged his temples. “Compa, your friends have already forgiven you. You’ve got to forgive yourself, man. God does not punish soldiers.” He raised the boy’s head to look into his eyes. “That’s what officers are for, right?”
    The soldier’s eyes stopped swimming. They finally looked into Ajax’s eyes. He let out what seemed a wail of pain, but was really a high-pitched laugh. He dropped his hands back to the AK. “You’re funny.”
    Fortunado doused himself again with rum. This time Ajax saw him wince as it poured over the new scratches in the boy’s scalp.
    â€œYou want a cigarette?”
    â€œSure.”
    Ajax shook a Red loose from his pack.
    â€œMarl-burros! My favorite.”
    Ajax lit his Zippo with one hand. His other twitched to seize the rifle. Instead he lit himself one, too.
    They smoked for a while.
    Then Ajax made his first try. “You know I found a great place for you to get some sleep. Good chow, too. Lots of free beer.” Instantly he knew it was a mistake. The soldier sat up alertly, peered over Ajax’s shoulder into a corner of the room. Listened intently to something. Someone? When his eyes returned to Ajax, they were full of suspicion. The soldier crushed out the cigarette, leaned close, put a hand behind Ajax’s neck and forced their foreheads together.
    â€œAre you a ghost talker? Do you see them? Speak to them?”
    â€œNo, compa. I told you.”
    Fortunado’s eyes turned back to the corner. He listened. Ajax knew they were not alone. He reached slowly for the AK, but the soldier suddenly held it tight and gripped Ajax’s neck.
    â€œHe says you’re a liar. He says you talk to him and he talks to you. He says you’re a snake and you brought the crows with you!”
    Ajax pushed back, grinding their foreheads together, his neck muscles straining. He laid a hand on the AK. “Well, he’s a cock-sucking, motherfucking, bitching, bastard, son of the Great Whore, shit-eating liar.” Ajax poured all of his heart and soul through his eyes into the soldier’s bloodshot windows, desperate to reach some final thread of a man. “And so is his mother.”
    The soldier flicked a look into the corner and back to Ajax. He released a stale, stinking breath into Ajax’s face. “I don’t like him either. He’s always making trouble. Telling me things. Making my friends angry.” He loosened his grip on Ajax’s neck and the AK.
    â€œThat’s right compa. He brought the crows. Look at him. You know he did. Let’s leave that sick fuck here.” Ajax slid the AK onto his own lap. “Let’s just go. You need to sleep. I’ll stand guard over you. No ghosts. No crows.”
    â€œYou swear it?”
    He raised his right hand. “Te lo juro.”
    The soldier picked up the destroyed cigarette, assessed its salvagability. “Got any