The Feast of the Goat - Mario Vargas Llosa [114]
“Did the order to cancel the meeting of the executive committee come from the Palace?” he whispers. The Vice President, leaning over, has his ear against Cabral’s mouth.
“Where else would it come from? There’s more. All committees in which you participate are canceled. The directive says: ‘Until the status of the President of the Senate is regularized.’”
He is silent. It has happened. The nightmare is happening, the one that came periodically to drag down his triumphs, his ascent, his political achievements: he has been estranged from the Chief.
“Who sent it to you, Monkey?”
Quintanilla’s chubby face tightens in alarm, and Cabral finally understands Monkey’s agitation. Is the Vice President going to say he cannot commit an act of such disloyalty? Abruptly, he makes his decision:
“Henry Chirinos.” He takes his arm again. “I’m sorry, Egghead. I don’t think there’s much I can do, but if I can, you can count on me.”
“Did Chirinos tell you what I’m accused of?”
“He only gave me the order and made a speech: ‘I know nothing. I am the humble messenger of a higher decision.’”
“Your papa always suspected that the schemer was Chirinos, the Constitutional Sot,” Aunt Adelina recalls.
“That fat repulsive nigger was one of the people who made the best accommodation,” Lucindita interrupts. “From Trujillo’s bed and board to Balaguer’s minister and ambassador. Do you see what kind of country this is, Uranita?”
“I remember him very well, I saw him in Washington a few years ago, when he was ambassador,” says Urania. “He often came to the house when I was little. He seemed like one of Papa’s intimate friends.”
“And Aníbal’s, and mine,” adds Aunt Adelina. “He would come here with all his flattery, he’d recite his poems for us. He was always quoting books, pretending to be educated. He invited us to the Country Club once. I didn’t want to believe he had betrayed his lifelong friend. Well, that’s what politics is, you make your way over corpses.”
“Uncle Agustín had too much integrity, he was too good, that’s why they turned on him.”
Lucindita waits for her to corroborate this, to protest the injustice done to him. But Urania does not have the strength to pretend. She merely listens, with an air of regret.
“But my husband, may he rest in peace, behaved like a gentleman, he gave your papa all his support.” Aunt Adelina gives a sarcastic little laugh. “What a Quixote he was! He lost his job at the Tobacco Company and never found work again.”
Samson the parrot lets loose another flood of shouts and noises that sound like curses. “Quiet, lazybones,” Lucindita scolds him.
“Just as well we haven’t lost our sense of humor, girls,” exclaims Manolita.
“Find Senator Henry Chirinos and tell him I want to see him right away, Isabel,” Senator Cabral says as he enters his office. And addressing Paris Goico: “Apparently he’s the one who cooked up this mess.”
He sits down at his desk, prepares to review again the day’s schedule, but becomes aware of his circumstances. Does it make sense to sign letters, resolutions, memoranda, notes, as the President of the Senate of the Republic? It’s doubtful he still is. The worst thing would be to show signs of discouragement to his subordinates. Put the best face on a bad situation. He picks up the papers and is beginning to reread the first page when he notices that Parisito is still there. His hands are trembling:
“President Cabral, I wanted to tell you,” he stammers, devastated by emotion. “Whatever happens, I’m with you. In everything. I know how much I owe you, Dr. Cabral.”
“Thank you, Goico. You’re new to this world, and you’ll see things that are worse. Don’t worry. We’ll weather the storm. And now, let’s get to work.”
“Senator Chirinos is expecting you at his house, Senator Cabral.” Isabelita is speaking as she comes into the office. “He answered himself. Do you know what he said? ‘The