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integrity that oozed from his
    pores, I would have believed he was exaggerating just to impress me.
    How was it possible that this South American in Paris, who just a
    few months ago had earned his living as a kitchen boy in the Mexico
    Lindo, was now a figure in the revolutionary jet set, making
    transatlantic flights and rubbing elbows with the leaders of China,
    Cuba, Vietnam, Egypt, North Korea, Libya, Indonesia? But it was
    true. Paul, as a result of imponderables and the strange tangle of
    relationships, interests, and confusions that constituted the
    revolution, had been transformed into an international figure. I
    confirmed this in 1962 when there was a minor journalistic
    upheaval over an attempt to assassinate the Moroccan revolutionary
    leader Ben Barka, nicknamed the Dynamo, who, three years later, in
    October 1965, was abducted and disappeared forever as he left the
    Brasserie Lipp, a restaurant on Saint-Germain. Paul met me at
    midday at UNESCO, and we went to the cafeteria for a sandwich. He
    was pale and had dark circles under his eyes, an agitated voice, a
    kind of nervousness very unusual in him. Ben Barka had been
    presiding at an international congress of revolutionary forces on
    whose executive council Paul also served. The two of them had been
    seeing a good deal of each other and traveling together during the
    past few weeks. The attempt on Ben Barka could only be the work of
    the CIA, and the MIR now felt at risk in Paris. Could I, for just a few
    days, while they took certain necessary steps, keep a couple of
    suitcases in my garret?
    "I wouldn't ask you to do something like this if I had another
    alternative. If you tell me you can't, it's not a problem, Ricardo."
    I'd do it if he told me what was in the suitcases.
    "In one, papers. Pure dynamite: plans, instructions, preparations
    for actions in Peru. In the other, dollars."
    "How much?"
    "Fifty thousand."
    I thought for a moment.
    "If I turn the suitcases over to the CIA, will they let me keep the
    fifty thousand?"
    "Just think, when the revolution triumphs, we could name you
    ambassador to UNESCO," said Paul, following my lead.
    We joked for a while, and when night fell he brought me the two
    suitcases, which we put under my bed. I spent a week with my hair
    on end, thinking that if some thief decided to steal the money, the
    MIR would never believe there had been a robbery, and I'd become a
    target of the revolution. On the sixth day, Paul came with three men
    I didn't know to take away those troublesome lodgers.
    Whenever we saw each other I asked about Comrade Arlette, and
    he never tried to deceive me with false news. He was very sorry* but
    hadn't been able to learn anything. The Cubans were extremely
    strict where security was concerned, and they were keeping her
    whereabouts an absolute secret. The only certainty was that she
    hadn't come through Paris yet, since he had a complete record of the
    scholarship recipients who returned to Paris.
    "When she comes through, you'll be the first to know. The girl
    really has a hold on you, doesn't she? But why, mon uieux, she isn't
    even that pretty."
    "I don't know why, Paul. But the truth is she does have a tight
    hold on me."
    With Paul's new kind of life, Permian circles in Paris began to
    speak ill of him. These were writers who didn't write, painters who
    didn't paint, musicians who didn't play or compose, and cafe
    revolutionaries who vented their frustration, envy, and boredom by
    saying that Paul had become "sensualized," a "bureaucrat of the
    revolution." What was he doing in Paris? Why wasn't he over there
    with those kids he was sending to receive military training and then
    sneak into Peru to begin guerrilla actions in the Andes? I defended
    him in heated arguments. I said that in spite of his new status, Paul
    continued to live with absolute modesty. Until very recently, his wife
    had been cleaning houses to support the family. Now the MIR,
    taking advantage of her Spanish passport, used