By Night in Chile

the glitter of medals, he added. To put it bluntly, you’re going to have to keep your mouth shut, said Mr. Etah. Hush-hush, said Mr. Raef.
    Lips sealed, said Mr. Etah. Silent as the grave, said Mr. Raef. No going around shooting your mouth off about it, you understand, absolute discretion, said Mr.
    Etah. And just what does this delicate task involve? I asked. Giving some classes on Marxism, not many, just the basics really, to some gentlemen we’re all deeply indebted to in this country, said Mr. Raef, leaning forward and exhaling a sewerlike stench in my face. I couldn’t help frowning. My expression of displeasure made Mr. Raef smile. Don’t rack your brains, you’ll never guess who they are. And if I accept, when would these classes start, because right now I have quite a bit of work piled up, I said. Don’t get coy with us, said Mr.
    Etah, this is an offer no one can refuse. An offer no one would want to refuse, said Mr. Raef in a conciliatory tone. I felt the danger was past and the time had come to be firm. Who are my pupils? I asked. General Pinochet, said Mr.
    Etah. My breath caught in my throat. And the others? General Leigh, Admiral Merino and General Mendoza, of course, who else? said Mr. Raef, lowering his voice. I’ll have to prepare myself, I said, this is not something to be taken lightly. The classes have to start within a week, is that enough time for you? I said yes, two weeks would have been better, but I could manage with one. Then Mr. Raef talked about the fee. You’ll only be doing your patriotic duty, he said, but everyone’s got to eat. I probably agreed with him. I can’t remember what else we said. The week went by with the same calm, dreamy feeling as the weeks before. One afternoon, when I was leaving the newspaper office, there was a car waiting for me. I was taken to the college to pick up my notes and then the car plunged into the Santiago night. In the back seat, sitting next to me, was a colonel, Colonel Pérez Latouche, who handed me an envelope which I decided not to open, and stressed once again what Mr. Raef and Mr. Etah had been at such pains to make clear: the importance of absolute discretion with regard to every aspect of my new assignment. I assured him he could count on me. Let’s say no more about it then and just enjoy the drive, said Colonel Pérez Latouche, offering me a glass of whiskey, which I declined. Is it because of the cassock?
    he asked. And only then did I realize that when we had gone to the college I had changed out of the suit I was wearing at the office and put on a cassock. I shook my head. Pérez Latouche said he knew a few priests who were pretty good drinkers. I said I doubted there were any good drinkers in Chile, priests or lay folk. We tend to be bad drinkers in this country. As I expected, Pérez Latouche disagreed. I let him go on and stopped listening, wondering what had prompted me to change my clothes. Was it that I wanted to be in uniform too, so to speak, when facing my illustrious pupils for the first time? Was I afraid of something?
    Did I feel the cassock would ward off some indefinable, undeniable danger? I tried to open the curtains covering the windows of the car, but could not. There was a metal bar holding them in place. It’s a security measure, said Pérez Latouche, who was still listing Chilean wines and incorrigible Chilean drunks, as if he were unwittingly, and ironically, reciting one of Pablo de Rokha’s crazy poems. Then the car drove into a garden and stopped in front of a house with only one light on, above the main door. I followed Pérez Latouche. He realized I was looking for the soldiers on guard duty and explained that the best guards were the ones you couldn’t see. So there are guards? I asked. Oh yes, and each one has his finger on the trigger. That’s good to know, I said. We entered a room where the furniture and the walls were blindingly white. Take a seat, said Pérez Latouche, What would you like to drink? A cup of tea? I
    suggested. Tea, excellent, said Pérez Latouche, and left the room. I was left standing there on my own. I was sure they were filming me. There were two mirrors with gilded wooden frames that they could easily have been using. I could hear distant voices, people discussing something or sharing a joke. Then silence again. I heard footsteps and a door opening: a waiter dressed in white brought me a cup of tea on a silver tray. I thanked him. He murmured something I didn’t catch