El
Indio
Paulino


Part
1





A
jump
across
the
desolate
plain,
amid
a
cloud
of
dust,
on
a
nearly
imaginary,
moved

the
truck
into
the
city.
It
was
early
morning
and
it
was
very
cold.
The
wind,
blowing

along
the
ground,
pushing
up
a
thin
curtain
of
steam,
lying
at
night
on
the
plateau.

Squeezed
between
other
Indians,
not
talking
to
anyone
and
making
efforts
to
keep

balance,
came
Paulino.
I
had
collected
in
the
morning
when
I
started
to
work,

hunched
over
wooden
plow
with
an
ox
dragged
obstinacy,
and
he
had
ordered
up,

without
explanation.
On
the
body,
crammed
with
an
expression
of
uncertainty
and

fear
in
his
eyes,
came
others
like
him.
Everyone
tried
to
get
away
from
the
gates,

that
I
gave
in
the
corners
and
threatened
to
break
dropping
their
cargo
on
the

highway.
With
nothing
solid
to
hold
on,
the
Indians
kept
his
balance
and
moved

together
to
one
side
at
every
turn,
to
compensate
for
the
inclination
excessive

weight
of
the
truck.


Back
to
the
ranches
were
together
on
the
tiny
piece
of
garden,
plow
inert
rods,
Ox

idle,
barren
land
of
the
pampas.
The
Indians
were
seen
without
looking
and
did
not

speak.
His
eyes
crossed
swiftly
through
the
pile
of
hard
faces
and
frightened

expressions
"Nobody
seemed
to
know
where
he
was
not
the
wearer.
The
dust

accumulated
on
their
faces,
entered
the
nose,
dried
the
mouth
and
hurt
her
eyes.

Above
hats
and
dusty
heads
protruding,
pointing
up,
the
pipes
of
three
rifles.
"It
will

be
again,
"
thought
Pauline‐agrarian
reform?
"The
trucks
were
still,
bouncing
and

creaking,
towards
the
city.
Sore
feet
back
from
the
effort
to
maintain
balance
and

not
fall
against
the
gate.

The
gunmen,
dressed
in
the
city,
ties
and
colored
shirts
indefinable,
talked
among

themselves
in
a
language
that
Paul
did
not
understand.


Looking
forward,
the
road
went
by
between
the
narrow
streets
of
a
village.
The

home
uniforms,
all
mud,
without
windows,
with
one
door
in
the
middle,
with

thatched
roofs
dark,
lined
along
cobblestone
street
sea.
Grim
women
dressed
in

colorful
skirts,
stealthily
crossing
the
half‐deserted
village,
the
children
loaded
on

the
back.
A
man
herding
three
donkeys
laden
with
firewood
in
the
direction
of
the

city.
Most
of
the
doors
were
closed.

The
truck
went
into
a
stall
and
stopped
with
a
great
grinding
of
brakes
on
the
door

of
a
chicha.
The
driver
helped
me
first
and
then
did
the
three
gunmen.
From
the

ground
issued
a
terse
warning.


‐
No
one
gets
off,
dammit!

When
the
five
were
gone,
Indians
looked
relieved.
Paul
took
the
opportunity
to
ask
a

man
who
walked
by
the
truck:

‐
Where
are
we
leading?

"It's
manifestation.
Will
march.
The
chief
partner
will
speak.


‐
Is
the
land
reform?

"It's
not.
He
says
the
revolution
has
failed.

‐
And
when
we
go
back?

‐No.
Said
that
trucks
are
going
to
bring.


‐
And
what
will
we
eat?

"Ten
thousand
Bolivians
say
they
will
give.

‐
And
where
we
will
get
on
the
trucks
to
return?


"That
they
have
to
say
after
the
demonstration.
The
mention
of
the
ten
thousand

Bolivians
lit
a
little
light
in
the
heart
of
Paul.
The
other
Indians
had
followed
the

conversation
and
everyone
seemed
happy.
The
idea
of
going
to
the
city
they
loved,

especially
now
that
they
knew
it
was
only
a
parade
of
ten
thousand
Bolivians.
The

tension
was
gone
and
even
suppressed
laughter
were
heard
the
murmur
of

conversation.

At
the
door
of
the
chichería
appeared
one
after
another
the
five
men,
and
headed

toward
the
truck.
The
three
armed
rose
to
the
body
giving
off
a
strong
odor
of

alcohol.
Jumps
again,
by
the
twisted
roads
of
the
highlands,
dry
throat
and
sore
feet.

Paulino
was
thinking
about
strange
things
that
had
happened
in
recent
years.
The

old
man
Baptist
was
gone
one
day
never
to
return.
Soon
after
came
a
few
men
of
the

city,
with
banners
and
notebooks
and
all
the
Indians
gathered
to
talk
about

something
that
nobody
understood.
I
had
wondered
how
it
had
called
and
they

painted
the
fingers
after
they
were
hit
on
the
leaves
of
the
notebook.
At
night,
the

oldest
and
those
who
knew
some
Castilian
gathered
to
try
to
remember
what
had

been
said
by
men
of
the
city,
but
there
was
little
that
could
make
it
clear.
Again
they

came
to
the
finances
of
old
man
Baptist
gunmen
asked
many
questions:

‐
Who
is
your
boss?


Child‐Baptist.

‐
What
Baptist?

Child‐Baptist.


‐
Do
you
beat
your
boss?


"Your
boss,
child
Baptist.

"I
do
not
understand.
I
ask
if
you
beat
your
boss.

"I
do
not
understand.

‐
Was
good
to
your
boss?


"Well
it
was.

"But
I
beat
her.

"I
hit.

"Then
it
was
bad.


Bad
it
was.

A
Paulino
asked
no
more.
After
the
men
were
wanted
to
know
what
they
wanted

and
asked
Nina
Marcos
who
knew
some
Castilian.
Marcos
said
that
the
questioners

wanted
to
know
if
the
Tata
Bautista
was
bad,
because
the
revolution
had
triumphed

and
the
nanny
had
been
hidden.
said
the
government
would
give
land
to
peasants,

and
then
would
give
them
schools,
seeds,
medicines,
herrsminetas
and
silver.
"its

land
reform,
"
said
Nina
Marcos.
The
men
returned
several
times,
and
the
second,

Mark
Nina
went
with
them.
Since
then
it
was
Mark
who
was
speaking
in
Aymara

explanations.
His
appearance
had
changed.
Gone
were
the
poncho
and
sandals
had

bartered
for
tennis
shoes.
Over
time
I
get
to
wear
a
tie
and
white
sunglasses
with

tortoise
shell
rings.
Had
gained
weight
and
life
in
the
city
he
was
stripped
of

hardness
in
the
features,
the
calluses
disappeared
from
his
hands
and,
one
day,
Paul

saw
him
a
ring
with
a
blue
stone
that
aroused
his
jealousy.
And
with
body
and

appearance
had
changed
and
soul
had
gone
bad,
as
bad
as
the
Tata
Bautista.
In
the

end,
men
no
longer
came.
Nina
Marcos
appeared
from
time
to
time,
the
Indians

gathered
and
explained
again
the
agrarian
reform.
"The
land,
he
said,
should
be
for

the
work.
And
revolution
has
triumphed,
the
land
is
now
the
peasants.
Pretty
soon

we'll
have
our
land
titles
signed
by
the
chief
partner
who
is
the
President
of
the

Republic
.
And
then
we
have
schools
and
are
going
to
give
money,
seeds
and

machinery
for
work.
But
the
government
has
no
money
because
the
thread
has
been

before
the
revolution,
and
we
must
help.
To
those
who
do
not
help
are
not
going
to

give
his
title,
nor
are
they
going
to
give
money
or
their
children
go
to
school.
"


Paulino
always
helped
because
Marcos
Nina
was
their
leader
and
in
charge
of
taking

the
money
to
La
Paz.
One
day,
after
explaining
the
reform
land,
Marcos
had
told

them
that
he
was
their
leader,
and
that
no
doubt
put
it.
So
when
there
was
money

borrowed
or
sold
Paulino
a
sheep
to
help
land
reform,
and
when
Marcos
was
called

Nina
to
put
his
finger
painted
on
the
notebook,
be
refused.
Schools,
roads,
money,

securities,
seeds
and
machinery
would
be
denied
to
those
who
do
not
help.
Paulino

had
it
in
mind.
In
the
end,
and
Nina
Marcos
land
reform
did
not
explain
but
which
he

received
the
money
and
go
again.


Part
3

The
truck
continued
its
march
while
Pauline
thought.
Back
from
a
hill
appeared

suddenly
in
the
distance,
the
skyline.
A
few
scattered
buildings
marked
the
place

where
the
plane
departed.
Later
there
was
a
huge
silver
ball
with
spiral
stairs
going

up.
At
the
entrance
to
the
city,
under
an
arch
with
large
print,
had
other
trucks,
all

loaded
with
Indians
who
came
to
the
demonstration.
In
each
truck
had
armed
men

waved
an
some
a
flag.
From
the
entrance
of
the
city
below,
the
plateau
is
split
and

opened
like
if
he
had
been
a
big
pit.
The
bus
descended
in
endless
curves,
crossing

slums
and
passed
in
front
of
the
big
factories
with
chimneys
spewing
smoke
erect.

Paul
looked
around
wide‐eyed
curiosity.
The
truck
ends
in
a
broad
avenue.
Emerged

from
side
streets
and
Indian
truckloads
of
armed
men,
from
time
to
time,
fired
guns

into
the
air.
We
noticed
the
smell
of
burnt
gunpowder
and
the
festive
air.
Groups
of

people,
men
and
women,
carrying
banners
rolled
on
its
staff,
some
of
them
with

rifles
on
their
backs,
were
in
the
same
direction
of
the
trucks.


Far
be
heard
ringing
a
military
band.
Finally
the
bus
stopped
at
the
door
of
a

building.
Was
the
Ministry
of
Rural
Affairs,
the
same
place
years
ago
Pauline
had

gone
to
pick
up
your
title
signed
by
the
chief
partner.

After
one
of
the
visits
from
Marcos
Nina
,
Paulino
had
asked
him
when
I
handed
over

land
titles
that
were
of
Tata
Bautista,
and
had
told
him
that
I
had
to
go
to
La
Paz
and

order
yours
at
the
Ministry
of
Rural
Affairs
.
To
travel
had
sold
four
sheep
and
on

arrival
they
had
stayed
at
an
inn
where
he
slept
on
the
floor,
facing
the
stars,
next
to

a
pile
of
oranges
in
the
belt
where
he
had
the
money
so
tight
she
could
hardly

breathe.
That
time
was
not
given
the
title
but
was
told
that
soon
I
would
go
for
the

estate
of
tata
Bautista,
the
man
who
had
the
papers
signed
by
the
President.
That

had
been
many
years.

Since
then,
Paul
had
given
money
for
land
reform,
for
the
revolution,
for
school,
for

the
union,
for
the
cooperative
and
for
the
road.
But
things
continued
as
before.
The

man
who
had
no
papers
had
never
appeared
in
the
land
of
tata
Bautista.
There
was

no
school,
no
way,
not
cooperative,
and
the
union
only
met
when
he
came
to
collect

Marcos
Nina.


Outside
the
door
of
the
Ministry,
the
Indians
unloaded
trucks.
Thousands
of
them.

Everyone
looked
at
trying
to
infuse
peace
and
pretending
it
was
not
the
first
time

they
were
there.
There
was
talk
in
Aymara
and
the
words
hard
and
dry,
without
a

hint
of
melody,
came
together
in
a
single
rumor.
Indians
sitting
on
the
sidewalks
or

leaning
against
the
walls
of
the
Ministry,
chewing
coca
leaves
from
side
to
side
of
the

mouth.

Suddenly
a
car
stopped
and
several
men
came
out
of
the
city
Is.
They
spoke
quickly

to
each
other
and
finally
they
went
up
to
an
empty
truck.
The
Indians
stopped

talking
and
looked
around.
One
of
them
began
to
speak
screaming.
Paul
watched
his

movements,
the
abrupt
movements
of
the
arms,
so
I
had
to
gesture,
but
did
not

understand
what
he
was
saying.
After
completing
an
Indian
went
up
a
lot
like
Nina

Paulino
was
glad
because
now
they
would
know
what
was
happening.
But
the
new

address
was
also
in
Castilian.
When
finished,
the
men
got
out
of
the
truck
and
went

by
car.
Pauline
approached
a
group
surrounding
a
tall
Indian
and
made
him

questions:

‐
What
do
you
say?

"He
says
the
revolution
has
failed.

‐
So
the
reform
has
ended?


‐No.
This
was
a
screw
revolution.
"

‐
So
we're
not
going
to
march
for
agrarian
reform?

‐No.
We
will
march
through
the
revolution.


‐
Have
you
have
ten
thousand
Bolivians?

"Not
yet.
He
says
that
after
the
parade.

‐
Who
are
pulling
shots?

"They
are
the
militants.
Militants
have
been
mine.


‐
To
what?

‐A
march
in
the
demonstration.

‐
In
the
land
reform
is
also
militia?


‐No.
They
have
the
nationalization
of
the
mines.

‐
And
since
you
have
given
your
role?

"Yes,
but
I
did
not
ask
for
more
companion.

A
military
band
arrived
in
a
truck
to
help
stop
the
dialogue.
Pauline
approached
a

line
that
began
to
form
and
took
his
place.
It
was
time
to
march
in
the

demonstration.
Appeared
much
'Indians
as
Nina
Marcos
and
helped
organize
the

raucous
shouting
column.
Finally
the
parade
started.
Paulino
walked
confused

among
others
Indians
who
had
never
seen.
In
a
corner
and
stopped
all
from
a
truck,

began
to
decline
long
sticks
that
stability
together
in
pairs,
by
a
strip
of
white
cloth

which
had
lyrics.
A
Paulino.
was
on
the
side
of
the
column,
gave
one
of
the
two
sticks

and
an
Indian
who
was
across
the
street
gave
him
another.
On
the
web
blah
there

was
something
written
in
large
red
letters.
The
column
came
back
to
move
forward.

Before
them,
the
military
band
played
a
march,
but
every
Indian
walk
like
I
wanted.

Only
those
who
had
gone
to
headquarters
marked
the
passage.

The
parade
will
last
long.
Paulino
walked
the
streets
that
he
knew
was
trying
to

remember
where
the
Ministry
where,
upon
completion,
would
give
him
ten

thousand
Bolivians
and
a
place
in
a
truck
to
go
home.
As
they
passed
a
large
square,

with
churches
and
tall
buildings,
there
were
many
men
on
a
balcony
waving
his

hands
raised,
and
many
people
outside
the
building
looking
men.

Before
people
were
leaving
the
bands
and
the
air
thundered.
its
beats.
Militants

firing
into
the
air
passing
their
guns
and
their
machine
guns,
but
Paulino
was
not

afraid.
Leaving
the
plaza,
everyone
was
still
marching.

The
column
followed
several
blocks
yet,
but
suddenly,
it
began
to
dissolve.
Some

turned
to
the
square
where
the
men
were
in
the
balcony,
guided
by
the
sound
of
the

bands.
Others
took
the
side
streets.
Pauline
decided
to
return
to
Ministcrio
and
wait

for
the
bus.
Down
the
street
were
many
Indians
and
decided
to
follow.
Finally

arrived,
but
realizing
that
no
parade
was
over,
I
find
a
place
to
wait.
In
the
shadow

of
a
stunted
trees
on
the
grass,
sat
down
and
taking
a
handful
of
coca
leaves
dc

started
to
chew
parsimoniously.
Far
away
was
heard
the
military
bands.
For
a
long

time
he
had
spent
the
lunch
hour.

Among
the
Indians
who
had
not
expected
any
of
the
estate
of
tata
Bautista,
but
Paul

did
not
feel
like
talking.
He
sat
in
the
shade,
legs
outstretched,
with
the
sweet
juice

of
the
coca
sluggish
bowels.
I
had
no
trouble.
And
began
to
lose
more
people
walking

in
truckloads.
People
crossed
in
front
of
the
Ministry
and
not
stopped
to
look
at
the

Indians
who
were
waiting,
some
sitting
on
the
floor,
others
in
the
gardens,
some

standing
alone
or
in
groups
to
reach
the
trucks
to
return.
The
militia
returned

wearily
parade,
gun
in
hand,
pointing
downward.
All
the
doors
were
closed,
but

some
stores
had
not
lowered
the
shutters
on
their
windows.


The
hours
passed.
On
the
city
began
to
wind
down
the
cold
of
the
highlands.
Paul

thought
of
the
old
problems
and
trying
to
understand,
where
would
the
tata

Baptist?,
why
following
the
land
reform
if
the
revolution
had
failed?,
why
would
the

militia
of
the
mines
had
their
roles
and
the
Indians
not
had?,
Where
would
travel
the

man
who
had
the
estate
papers
of
tata
Baptist
who
had
signed
the
President?,
when

would
the
trucks
to
return?

He
thought
of
his
home.
Arrive
at
dusk
in
time
for
dinner,
by
the
stove,
sitting
on
his

bed
inside
the
house
of
one
room
protected
from
the
cold
of
the
highlands,
where
he

lived
with
his
wife
and
children.
The
next
day
would
begin
early
the
business
that

had
interrupted
today
to
attend
the
demonstration.

One
after
another,
the
Indians
left
the
square
in
front
of
the
Ministry.
Pauline

decided
to
wait
the
bus.
Above
his
head,
suddenly
the
light
came
from
a
lamppost

and
the
door
of
a
shop
a
long
strip
bright
red
letters
of
light.
The
cars
began
to
move

with
the
lanterns
lit,
large
strips
of
tracing
the
floor
as
light
antennas.
To,
again,
very

cold.
Paul
realized
that
he
had
been
alone
in
the
plaza
and
realized
that
the
truck

would
not
come.
Thought
about
the
inn
where
he
had
stayed
last
time
and
it
was

agreed
that
he
had
no
money.

Step
by
step,
remade
in
reverse
the
route
the
truck
took
the
road
back.

Acknowledged
the
long
walk
fireplaces,
dirty
streets,
gates
and
signs
he
had
seen
on

arrival.
Music
coming
out
of
some
houses
through
open
doors,
and
focuses
projected

yellowish
spots
on
the
street.
Inside,
men
and
women
drank
and
danced.
Singing

and
crying,
preserving
the
balance
by
a
miracle,
they
came
stumbling
drunks.
Down,

the
city
was
thriving.


It
was
already
morning
when
Paulino
came
home.
The
feet
had
swollen
from

walking.
The
head
and
stomach
ached
from
hunger
and
thirst.
His
face
and
hands

blue
with
cold.
He
had
walked
all
night
to
rhythmic
step
on
the
road
leading
to
his

home,
crossing
villages
and
deserts,
where
they
shine
a
light
was
seen,
and
long

stretches
that
night
seemed
sadder
and
more
desolate
than
ever.
Not
even
had
his

last
cigarette
and
the
coca
leaves
had
been
chewed
while
waiting
for
the
truck
in

front
of
the
closed
door
of
the
Ministry.
Throughout
the
night,
fosters
more
of
a

truck
had
passed
by,
in
the
same
direction
he
was
following.
Paulino
had
not
even

made
a
gesture
to
stop
because
he
had
no
money
for
passage.
Raising
clouds
of
dust,

breaking
the
silence
with
the
sound
of
their
engines
and
bodywork
rickety,
trucks

had
overtaken
him,
loaded
to
the
brim
with
packages,
over
which
they
traveled.

Indian
and
the
other,
and
had
continued
without
stopping.


At
the
door
of
his
house,
his
wife
was
waiting
with
astonished
eyes
beside
her,

standing,
a
child
wrapped
in
colorful
rags
watched
him
in
silence.
Nobody
said

anything
when
Paulino
walk
out
the
door
and
dropped
heavily
on
the
bed.
Before

sinking
into
the
dream
he
heard
that
his
wife
spoke:


‐
Where
have
you
been?

‐A
La
Paz.

‐
What
have
you
done?


‐
Have
I
marched.
It
was
demonstration.

‐
And
the
Ministry
has
gone?

"Yes.

‐
And
you
have
given
your
role?


"Not
yet.