Andean Express Read Online Free Page B

Saint Bernard.”
    â€œA dog is a dog,” the man averred.
    The gypsy stepped in. “You just don’t listen. You’re being stubborn.”
    â€œAnd rude,” the midget added.
    â€œLower your voice!” demanded the inspector.
    A crewman opened one of the freight cars and the contortionist deposited her dog.
    â€œIt’s too hot in there,” Father Moreno said. “The dog’s going to fry.”
    â€œWhich one is it going to be,” the inspector said, “death from cold or death from heat?”
    â€œWhat a jerk!” the contortionist exclaimed.
    â€œI suppose that once it gets dark, they could open the car and bring him a blanket,” Father Moreno suggested.
    â€œWe’ll see,” the inspector answered.
    As the train slowly pulled away from the station, the gypsy and the midget waved goodbye with their handkerchiefs. The contortionist settled into one of the second-class cars.
    Alderete walked out into the corridor wearing an undershirt, his mud-colored torso looking as smooth as a newborn baby’s. “What’s going on?”
    â€œSomething about a dog,” the priest said.
    Alderete scrutinized him like a policeman sizing up a crook. “Your face is familiar,” he said.
    â€œWe Franciscans look alike, maybe because of our modest appearance.”
    Alderete frowned. “You look exactly like a rabble-rouser I know who’s always inciting the mineworkers to rise up with the MNR * against the owners.”
    Father Moreno turned slightly pale. “They say we all have a double somewhere,” he said, his voice trailing off.
    * The leftist Movimiento Nacionalista Revolucionario (Nationalist Revolutionary Movement) spearheaded a popular revolution in Bolivia in 1952.

T he train left the El Alto district and traveled deep into the Andean plateau. Tiny mud and straw huts were scattered across the countryside, which grew increasingly barren as the city was left farther and farther behind. By the time Ricardo entered the dining car, nearly every table had been taken. The better-off second-class passengers congregated around the snack counter. In exchange for a few pesos, the waiter led Ricardo to a table with two chairs. Ricardo settled in, looked around, and noticed a table marked Reserved in the middle of the car. It was probably for the Alderetes. Ricardo was intrigued and wanted to know more about Gulietta and her strange marriage. She had introduced him to her world and he wanted to be part of it, at least for the duration of the twenty-four-hour trip.
    The remaining guests from the sleeping car continued to arrive. As was to be expected, they had changed clothes for the occasion. Ricardo’s uncle, Pepe Tréllez, was sporting a brown suit, white shirt, striped tie, and Panama hat. When he saw that Ricardo was alone, he went to join him.
    â€œYou’re looking good,” Tréllez said.
    â€œIt’s the thought of traveling to the coast.”
    â€œDid you pass with flying colors?”
    â€œNot really.”
    â€œWell, what matters is that you passed.”
    Pepe Tréllez was wearing too much cologne. He reeked like a high-class chorus girl. Assessing his next move, like an actor before a mirror, he eyed the other passengers with an air of superiority. “There’s nobody worth going for.”
    â€œThe Carletti girl,” Ricardo said.
    Tréllez smiled. His brown eyes, ever in search of surprises, looked amusedly at Ricardo. “Do you know the story?”
    â€œNo. But I can imagine.”
    â€œIt’s no soap opera. It’s more like one of those depressing Vargas Vila books.”
    The Marquis was letting himself be seen with Anita. He had on a blue suit, a light blue shirt, and a wild green and yellow–splashed tie that resembled a slice of the jungle. Anita—La Paz’s most famous madam—was wearing a girlish pink dress and looked like a doll out of a