Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or plot. They belong to Marquez.
Summary: The death of Santiago Nasar from Perdo Vicario's point of view.
We had seen Santiago Nasar at the same time. He stumbling through the streets in a daze unsure of what direction he was headed. The street was filled with spectators who were shouting to him the directions towards house.
"There he comes," Pedro commented beside me.
My brothers' statement reassured me that it was the man, Santiago Nasar and not a hallucination of my alcohol ridden mind. I was tense, watching our prey. My nervousness had caused me to flinch slightly at my brothers movements. He had taken off his jacket and unwrapped his knife. I mimicked the notion. I licked the sweat of my lips and crossed my self. In the name of the father, the son, and the Holy Spirit. This was my moment of true hesitation: the murder of Santiago Nasar was for honor I had told myself, trying in push the idea that we were breaking a sacred commandment to the back of my mind. Although I had been preparing myself for this murder, my mind had become uneasy a couple hours before. This death was different from the men I had killed before while in the army. I knew this one would follow me to death. The previous kills had been easy, we were commanded and the men were enemies. Santiago Nasar was rich and Arab and he ruined our sister. Apparently that was enough of a reason to be dead.
The moment had ended as Clotilde Armenta gripped my shirt with her small calloused hands. The street was busy with yells from observers waiting to see the murder, but the woman's shout had been so desperate, it was all that could be heard by Santiago Nasar.
"Run! They are going to kill you", Clotilde Armenta shouted.
He searched for the cry before seeking us out. Spotting us, Santiago Nasar turned on his heel and started sprinting the short distance to his house. I cursed, squeezed her wrists for her to let go and threw the wretched woman to the ground. We would not let her ruin this. Santiago Nasar rushed towards the front door of his house, my brother followed yards behind our target. I ran to catch up; slightly confused the Arab would run towards the door that remained locked year-round.
Gripping my knife tighter, I slowed my run to a stalk. The dead man stood with his back to us, pounding on the front door. Santiago Nasar turned. A pause and I acted attempting to slam the knife into his right side. I hit his hand first and created a stigmata before hitting the soft flesh. Although it was a smoother incision than a pig, we would cut him up the same as one.
"Sons of Bitches!" he shouted
My knife sunk hilt deep, I felt the heat from his body. He was pulsing and I wasn't sure if it was anger or fear or anticipation or his foretelling death. I ignored his cry of pain and the other shout pleading to his mother. I wretched the knife out of his side and slammed it again in into his right side. I did this, fascinated with the cleanliness of my knife. I was curious at the absence of blood and needed its confirmation that Pablo and I were truly killing Santiago Nasar. After my third blow, his body let out the moan of a calf instead of a pigs squeal that I was expecting. His arms covered his stomach, he had almost turned his back to us, but my brother stopped him with a stab to the back. Here was the blood. It had thin texture and gushed uncontrollably. The blood smelled like Santiago Nasar and the whole town would continue smelling like the man long after his death. He didn't cry out again. He must have known that he would be dead soon and wouldn't want to prolong the pain. The man was laughing as Pablo and I kept plunging the knife into him. I don't know how long we were there but I was in a trance. My knife would go in, come out, and there was blood. My sick interest was broken by exhaustion. This man was hard to kill and would not fall so easily. Tired from the days of celebration and sleepless nights and our day of plotting, I attempted to finish the deed. I hit Santiago Nasar near the armpit, the location I thought the heart was located. The death was again prolonged. My brother gave a horizontal slash to his stomach. I was aiming towards the same spot when my hand twitched and sliced his thigh.
The cut made by Pablo had made Santiago Nasar's intestines jump from his body. I backed away in disgust as the smell of shit reached my nostrils. He finally fell to his knees; his guts were displayed before him proudly shining in the sun. I found myself turning away from him in desperation and started running towards the church. My thoughts were wild and blurred. I was unsure if Pablo and I had really meant to kill Santiago Nasar, I didn't think our plan was actually going to be followed through until I saw the intestines. I should have never turned around that day but I couldn't help but want to see if he was truly dead. Turning my head back, I looked past the wild Arab with the gun.
There was Santiago Nasar with his intestines clutched in his hands and his body covered in blood. He walked upright with the same dignity that he held everyday when he walked to The Divine Face. I have never seen a dead man walk with such grace.
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