The Stories of Eva Luna Read Free

was his aspiration to win the popular vote in the December elections.
    â€œTo do that, I have to talk like a candidate. Can you sell me the words for a speech?” the Colonel asked Belisa Crepusculario.
    She had accepted many assignments, but none like this. She did not dare refuse, fearing that El Mulato would shoot her between the eyes, or worse still, that the Colonel would burst into tears. There was more to it than that, however; she felt the urge to help him because she felt a throbbing warmth beneath her skin, a powerful desire to touch that man, to fondle him, to clasp him in her arms.
    All night and a good part of the following day, Belisa Crepusculario searched her repertory for words adequate for a presidential speech, closely watched by El Mulato, who could not take his eyes from her firm wanderer’s legs and virginal breasts. She discarded harsh, cold words, words that were too flowery, words worn from abuse, words that offered improbable promises, untruthful and confusing words, until all she had left were words sure to touch the minds of men and women’s intuition. Calling upon the knowledge she had purchased from the priest for twenty pesos, she wrote the speech on a sheet of paper and then signaled El Mulato to untie the rope that bound her ankles to a tree. He led her once more to the Colonel, and again she felt the throbbing anxiety that had seized her when she first saw him. She handed him the paper and waited while he looked at it, holding it gingerly between thumbs and fingertips.
    â€œWhat the shit does this say,” he asked finally.
    â€œDon’t you know how to read?”
    â€œWar’s what I know,” he replied.
    She read the speech aloud. She read it three times, so her client could engrave it on his memory. When she finished, she saw the emotion in the faces of the soldiers who had gathered round to listen, and saw that the Colonel’s eyes glittered with enthusiasm, convinced that with those words the presidential chair would be his.
    â€œIf after they’ve heard it three times, the boys are still standing there with their mouths hanging open, it must mean the thing’s damn good, Colonel” was El Mulato’s approval.
    â€œAll right, woman. How much do I owe you?” the leader asked.
    â€œOne peso, Colonel.”
    â€œThat’s not much,” he said, opening the pouch he wore at his belt, heavy with proceeds from the last foray.
    â€œThe peso entitles you to a bonus. I’m going to give you two secret words,” said Belisa Crepusculario.
    â€œWhat for?”
    She explained that for every fifty centavos a client paid, she gave him the gift of a word for his exclusive use. The Colonel shrugged. He had no interest at all in her offer, but he did not want to be impolite to someone who had served him so well. She walked slowly to the leather stool where he was sitting, and bent down to give him her gift. The man smelled the scent of a mountain cat issuing from the woman, a fiery heat radiating from her hips, he heard the terrible whisper of her hair, and a breath of sweetmint murmured into his ear the two secret words that were his alone.
    â€œThey are yours, Colonel,” she said as she stepped back. “You may use them as much as you please.”
    El Mulato accompanied Belisa to the roadside, his eyes as entreating as a stray dog’s, but when he reached out to touch her, he was stopped by an avalanche of words he had never heard before; believing them to be an irrevocable curse, the flame of his desire was extinguished.
    *  *  *
    During the months of September, October, and November the Colonel delivered his speech so many times that had it not been crafted from glowing and durable words it would have turned to ash as he spoke. He traveled up and down and across the country, riding into cities with a triumphal air, stopping in even the most forgotten villages where only the dump heap betrayed a human