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“I do. Father Welner and General Martín will also be here.”
“Martín’s going to drive two hundred sixty kilometers to be there? For Christ’s sake, he took a bullet in his leg. He’s on crutches and painkillers. I was surprised the poor bastard didn’t pass out on the Casa Rosada balcony last night.”
“I told you to watch your mouth, Cletus,” Martha said.
Frade glanced at her and made a face as Perón said, “Cletus, this is very important to me. Please.”
“What’s going on in Junín, for the second time?”
“I can’t get into that on the telephone. I can only repeat that this is very important to me.”
“And Welner and Martín are going to be there?”
“Yes, they are.”
“Okay, I’ll come. But this had really better be important.”
“God bless you, Cletus. How soon can you leave?”
“Just as soon as I hang up and escape from my wife. You heard what I said about this better be important?”
He hung up and looked at Dorotea.
“My precious,” she said, “did I just hear that you’re going to walk out of here right now and drive two hundred sixty kilometers to Junín?”
“I don’t believe it myself,” Clete said.
“Darling, in that picturesque Texas—or is it Marine Corps?—phrase you so often use, ‘In a pig’s ass, you are!’”
“You tell him, Dorotea,” Marjorie said.
“Marjorie, you keep out of this,” Martha said.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” Dorotea demanded. “Why couldn’t you just have told him no?”
“Sweetheart, I just don’t know,” Clete admitted.
“Well, call him back and tell him you’re not going,” Dorotea said.
“Call him back where?” Clete asked.
“Junín?” Marjorie said sarcastically.
“Where in Junín?” Clete challenged.
“What’s going on there anyway?” Dorotea asked.
“I guess I’ll find out when I get there,” Clete said.
“You’re not really going?” Martha asked.
“I have to. I said I would.”
“Not alone you’re not,” Dorotea said.
“Dorotea and I are going with you,” Marjorie said.