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thought he ought to contribute something to the conversation. He wondered what Commander Carrión would say. He asked:
    “What would you have recommended?”
    “One reaches the true spirit only through suffering. Pleasure and nature are corporeal, worldly. The soul is full of suffering. Christ endured blood and death to save us. Penance is the only way to reach the heart of man. Shall we go down now?”
    The prosecutor nodded. He had not understood very well what the priest had said about suffering. In general he did not like suffering. They left the church and walked down a short alleyway that led to the small parish house. In the living room there was an accumulation of old furniture, cardboard boxes, and church decorations. Quiroz made an embarrassed gesture. He said:
    “Forgive the disorder. I usually see people in the parish office. I'm the only one who comes in here and that's only to sleep. The oven is down below.”
    The prosecutor remarked:
    “I did not think Catholics had crematories.”
    “We don't. The body should reach the day of the Final Judgment to be resurrected with the soul. The basement of the parish house was a storeroom. The recent crematory was built in the 1980s at the request of the military high command.”
    “The high command?”
    They stopped at a heavy wooden door. The priest took out another key and opened it. In front of them were damp unlit stairs. Holding on to the walls, they climbed down to the basement. It smelled of incense and enclosure.
    “Too many dead. The city was often under siege, and the cemeteries were full. One had to dispose of the bodies.”
    “And why did they do it here?”
    “In wartime, every request from the military is an order. The high command considered us the ones who took care of people after they were dead. According to them, the logical thing was for us to take care of the oven.”
    Down below a faint light came from a small, high window of opaque glass that faced the alley. The priest turned on the overhead light. It was a white neon bulb, like the one at the morgue, but round. When he turned it on, more boxes appeared piled up in a corner. And beside them, in the stone wall, was an opening with a metal door and lining. A chimney, which must have gone up to the roof of the house, protruded on one side. As if it were a baker's oven, the priest showed him how it operated. The body was introduced vertically into the oven, lying on a grate. The fire was fueled by gas and distributed uniformly around the body until it was reduced to powder. The ashes were collected in a metallic tray that was reinforced to withstand the heat, and from there they went down to the urn or jar where they would rest forever.
    “We haven't used it for a long time. The people here are very tied to the earth. And I don't like the idea of destroying the body, either. Only God should dispose of bodies.”
    The prosecutor placed his hand inside the opening. He touched the walls, the door. They were cold.
    “Could it have been used recently without your consent?”
    “Nothing is done here without my consent.”
    The priest adjusted a cross hanging on the wall. It was a blackcross without the image of Christ. Just a black cross on a gray surface. The prosecutor did not want to think about the cross burned into the forehead of the corpse.
    “And on the night in question did you notice anything unusual? Any noise? Anything unexpected?”
    “I don't know, Señor Prosecutor. I don't know which is the night in question.”
    “I thought I told you. Forgive me. It was Wednesday the 8th. Just after Carnival. The body was found on the same day it died.”
    The priest made an ironic face.
    “How appropriate.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Ash Wednesday. It's time to purify bodies after the pagan festivities and begin Lent, the sacrifice, the preparation for Holy Week.”
    “Ash Wednesday. Why Ash?”
    The priest smiled pityingly.
    “Ah, secular public education. Nobody taught you the