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Payasos

Payasos

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set in Guatemala against the backdrop of a military dictatorship. Two men whom both work for the C. I. A. in vastly different roles set out to save 2 brothers from the a system, the government, the rebels, and end up places both in their thoughts and life where they cannot find a way out.

M. S. Cone.
Badlands press.
set in Guatemala against the backdrop of a military dictatorship. Two men whom both work for the C. I. A. in vastly different roles set out to save 2 brothers from the a system, the government, the rebels, and end up places both in their thoughts and life where they cannot find a way out.

M. S. Cone.
Badlands press.

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08/09/2013

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2Payasos: a novel: Chapter 1Richard Wilson stared out the window at the streets below.It was a beautiful day for a circus, he thought next. And indeedit was. Under the bow tie sun a Dantesque circus had arrived inLima, Peru. Abimael Guzman, the great and feared leader ofSendero Luminosos...the Shining Path Guerilla movement...playedthe ringmaster. The Peruvian Government conducted the orchestra.The crowds, well they played the bit roles: clowns. The circus began precisely at eight A.M. At this designated hour armedsoldiers bodily carried Guzman from his prison cell and placedhim inside a lions cage that was in turn loaded aboard a flatbedtruck. As soon as the cage was locked, an order was barked, andthe truck began its ponderous journey to the Palazia de Justice.The truck followed the wide recently washed clean boulevardswhere every mile serious faced statues of long dead Generalsstood erect...their only claim to fame: deposing a clone of them-selves. To say the masses watched would be an understatement,they, numbering in the tens of thousands, thronged the sidewalksso that they pushed against the wooden barricades in the hope ofcatching a glimpse of Guzman. Guzman knew most came to see alunatic, and a few a martyr, and he had long decided to mix martyrdom and madness; and done so extremely well. Guzman,
 
3dressed in filthy rags which were the only clothes allowed him,rattled the bars while stomping and storming and ranting andraving about the cage, his fire red night black eyes glaringhatefully at the thousands lined up behind the barricades. The people were, except for an occasional tourist, good God-fearingchurch going middle class citizens of Lima...stout house wiveswith wide eyed baby's clinging to their shoulders, men with thegrease of changing oil or the barbers shears washed from theirhands, slim petite girls wearing the latest sample of fragrancethey sold over store counters to the wealthy class...who tookdelight at spitting on him and heaving rotten eggs and hatefullyshouting: Son of Puta! And maybe a whore had sired him. To readthe press releases the Peruvian government issued on almost anhourly basis Guzman's mother spread her legs wider than Mary Magdalene, his father the thief who shared the cross with Jesusand the feared man himself a devil worshiper who sacrificedchildren upon communism's black altar. And in truth Guzman had sacrificed many men and women andchildren. And in all honesty the government had, in the fervor ofhunting down the last great South American Communist Greuerlla,sacrificed many. And Guzman thrived on the attention. Cage me. See me. Andyes, fear me!

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