Pochita is saying. “Pantita, it’s six o’clock already.” “Has our little cadet moved?” Panta is rubbing his eyes. “Let cadet’s fathel feel belly.” “Don’t talk like an idiot. What’s gotten into you, imitating the Chinks?” Pochita makes a gesture of annoyance. “No, he hasn’t moved. Touch. Do you feel anything?” “These crazy ‘brothers’ have turned into something serious,” Bacacorzo is waving the newspaper. “Did you see what they did in Moronacocha? Enough to make you shoot them, damn it. It’s good the police are going after them with a clean-up campaign.” “Wake up, little cadet,” Panta glues his ear to Pochita’s navel. “You no heal leveille? What you waiting fol? Wake up, wake up!” “I don’t like you talking like that. Can’t you see how jumpy I am after what happened to that little boy in Moronacocha?” Pochita resists. “Don’t push on my belly so hard. You’re going to hurt the baby.” “But, sweetheart, I’m just fooling around,”
