by Horacio Castellanos Moya | El Salvador
A boozing, sex-obsessed writer finds himself employed by the Catholic Church to proofread a report on the army's massacre and torture of thousands of indigenous villagers a decade earlier, including the testimonies of the survivors. Mesmerized by the strange Vallejo-like poetry of the Indians' phrases, the increasingly agitated and frightened writer is endangered twice over: by the spell the strangely beautiful heart-rending voices exert over his tenuous sanity, and by real danger―after all, the murderers are the very generals who still run this unnamed Latin American country.