...of classified information

…So could we say that you know something or perhaps more than something about Marxism? asked Mr Etah fixing me with his penetrating gaze. I looked to Mr Raef for help. He made a face I couldn’t interpret: it might have been expressing solidarity with his colleague or complicity with me. I don’t know what to say, I said. Say something, said Mr Raef. You know me, I’m not a Marxist, I said. But are you familiar or not with, shall we say, the fundamentals of Marxism? asked Mr Etah. Well, who isn’t? I said. So what you’re saying is that it’s not very hard to learn, said Mr Etah. No, it’s not very hard, I said, trembling from head to toe and feeling more than ever as if it were all a dream. Mr Raef slapped me on the leg. It was meant to be friendly but I almost jumped out of my skin. If it’s not hard to learn, it wouldn’t be hard to teach either, said Mr Etah. I remained silent until it was clear that they were waiting for me to say something. No, I said. I guess it wouldn’t be very hard to teach. Although I’ve never taught it, I added. Now’s your chance, said Mr Etah. You’ll be serving your country, said Mr Raef. Serving in silence and obscurity, far from the glitter of medals, he added. To put it bluntly, you’re going to have to keep your mouth shut, said Mr Etah. Hush-hush, said Mr Raef. Lips sealed, said Mr Etah. Silent as the grave, said Mr Raef. No going around shooting your mouth off about it, you understand, absolute discretion, said Mr Etah…

[By Night in Chile, Bolano, R.]