Chapter 3

A Catholic Education

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TOCAYO
Part 1
Prologue

Playa Norte
Charly the American
A Catholic Education
Cold Showers
A Peruvian Name...
Tossing Armando...
Bob Cousey's Shorts
Inside Immaculada
Warming the Bench...
A Little Socrates...
Running From Lola
Ping Pong Politics
A Perfect Basketball Day
A Man Needs His Friends
A Pig In a Hole
Condors Over Ticlio
Wrestling in the Plaza
Handcuffs and Curfews
Rochabus
A Hero Hiding
Hitting A Brick Wall
Part 2

 

 

 

 

 

Page 15

Twenty minutes into the test, I slapped down my pen and leaned back in my chair. I stretched with great luxury. It was the well-deserved stretch of a man who has accomplished his goal to his satisfaction. When I finished with my stretch, I crossed my legs to the side of the desk, put my arms behind my head, and surveyed my vast dominions through the glass.

Pezespada did not fail to notice. "Finished, Señor Gamarra?"

"Si, Professor!"

"So soon?"

"Of course."

The professor shut his eyes into wrinkles and motioned with his hand for me to bring him my test. My body did not appreciate this disturbance so early into its repose, but Catholic school being what it was, I gathered my body out of the desk and walked my test confidently, perhaps a bit imperiously, to Pezespada, who set his book aside and began reading my answers. By the time I returned to my desk, he had read both sides of my paper. "Señor Gamarra, there is not much here."

"No, Professor, indeed there is not."

Pezespada waited for an explanation. From the recovered comfort of my seat, I obliged him. "Why waste my time, your time, and the gringo's paper when what I have written constitutes the entirety of what I have to say?"

Pezespada glanced at Charly, who looked up, frowned an American’s teenager’s frown of irritation, and returned to his work.

“Continue with your test, Mister Anderson,” Pezespada told him unnecessarily.

Charly frowned again, shook his head with contempt, and continued his laborious writing in bad Spanish.

Pezespada turned his attention back to me. He gave me his most suspicious look. "But there is not much here," he repeated, flicking a finger at my paper.


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