Woes of the True Policeman

and Pascual Orozco, and then he retired, young and newly wed, and returned to Santa Teresa until the Villistas went back to war, this time against Carranza, whom Sepúlveda fought with few resources but great art, winning respect near and far and earning himself the nickname Epaminondas of Sonora or—it depended on the poet and the spot where the ode was composed—Scipio of Chihuahua, not to mention the Spanish baker who called him El Empecinado of the North or the Milans del Bosch of the Border, though General Sepúlveda always preferred the Greek and Roman references.
    He was the only Villista chief (except for Ángeles and Lucio Blanco) who fully exploited the marriage of cavalry, mounted artillery, and mobility: he was skilled at exploiting victories and penetrating the enemy’s rear guard, creating chaos.
    He didn’t fight against Obregón. For a while he retreated to his house in Santa Teresa, supposedly writing his memoirs but really letting matters take their course. Then he was admitted with full honors into the Obregonista camp. He was a personal friend of General Plutarco Elías Calles. In 1935, his friendships and clout got him named state governor. He prospered, like all of them, and his house in Santa Teresa grew like an Erector set, without rhyme or reason, with new wings and stables and staff quarters and even a tennis court used only by his children. As a politician he was a disaster and there were those who said he was like some notorious Greek tyrant or deranged Roman general and others who likened him to Napoleon the Small or the bloodthirsty hypocrite Thiers, but General Sepúlveda didn’t give a fig about the nicknames and comparisons, classical or modern.
    He survived three assassination attempts.
    He had three sons, two of whom went to study and live in Texas, married American women, and founded the Austin branch of the Sepúlveda family. The third never married and lived in the big house in Santa Teresa until his death, in 1990. General Sepúlveda hardly undertook or encouraged any public works during the long years in which he served Mexico as governor of his home state or senator of the Republic. Three years before his death the street where he lived was rechristened Calle General Sepúlveda. After he died his name was given to a street in Hermosillo and the Santa Teresa State Hospital.
    A life-size bronze statue memorializes him now in the city’s main square. Its creator was the sculptor Francisco Clayton and it portrays the general staring nostalgically into the distance. It’s a strange sculpture, with much more dignity than the intellectuals of Santa Teresa, with their sarcastic and naïve mockery, give it credit for, and it’s also a sad sculpture—so sad, one might say, that it is rendered absent.

8
    Pancho Monje began to tail Amalfitano one Monday morning. He watched him leave at nine for the university and then, half an hour later, he watched his daughter leave. The usual thing would have been to follow Amalfitano, but Pancho let himself be guided by his instinct. When Rosa had turned the corner he got out of the car and followed her. Rosa walked along Avenida Escandón for a long time. For a moment Pancho was convinced that she didn’t know herself where she was going, then he thought that maybe she was on her way to school, some school, but the lightness of her step and the fact that she wasn’t carrying any books convinced him otherwise. At the intersection with Calle Sonora, Avenida Escandón changed name and got more crowded, and suddenly Rosa disappeared. There was no lack of coffee shops nearby, and Pancho went into one of them and ordered a breakfast of coffee, huevos a la ranchera , and toast. When he took the first sip of his coffee he realized that his hands were shaking. That night, at the police station, he was told that a girl had turned up dead in Parque México and he learned that Álvarez and Chucho Peguero were on the case. He went to see them and asked who the dead girl was.
    “Edelmira Sánchez, sixteen, hot stuff,” said Álvarez, and showed him a picture of a girl in a torn dress.
    While his buddies were working, he thought, he had spent the whole day at home, watching television and doing nothing.
    On Tuesday he began his vigil at Amalfitano’s house at seven in the morning. He left the Ford parked a block away and waited. For a long time he thought the house seemed empty, as if life inside had ceased that night while he was away, unable do