The Feast of the Goat - Mario Vargas Llosa [116]
“I don’t know.” The Constitutional Sot touched his own chest. “You probably don’t believe me. You probably think I’ve schemed, instigated, provoked what’s happening to you. By my mother’s memory, the most sacred thing in this house, I don’t know. Since I found out yesterday afternoon, I’ve been utterly dumbfounded. Wait, wait, a toast. To this mess being resolved quickly, Egghead!”
He spoke with animation and emotion, with his heart in his hand and the sugary sensibility of heroes on the radio soap operas that HIZ imported, before the Castro revolution, from CMQ in Havana. But Agustín Cabral knew him: he was a first-rate actor. It might be true or false, he had no way to find out. He took a small, unwilling sip of sherry, for he never drank alcohol in the morning. Chirinos smoothed the hairs in his nostrils.
“Yesterday, at a meeting with the Chief, he suddenly ordered me to instruct Monkey Quintanilla, as Vice President of the Senate, to cancel all meetings until the vacancy in the Presidency had been filled,” he continued, gesticulating. “I don’t know, I thought you had an accident, a heart attack. ‘What happened to Egghead, Chief?’ ‘That’s what I’d like to know,’ he replied, with that gruffness that freezes your bones. ‘He’s no longer one of us, he’s gone over to the enemy.’ I couldn’t ask any more questions, his tone was categorical. He sent me to carry out his order. And this morning, like everyone else, I read the letter in ‘The Public Forum.’ Again, I swear to you on the memory of my sainted mother: that’s all I know.”
“Did you write the letter in ‘The Public Forum’?”
“I write Spanish correctly,” the Constitutional Sot said in indignation. “That ignoramus committed three syntactical errors. I’ve marked them.”
“Who was it, then?”
The fat-enclosed eyes of Senator Chirinos poured out compassion as they looked at him:
“What the hell difference does it make, Egghead? You’re one of the intelligent men in this country, don’t play dumb with me, I’ve known you since you were a boy. The only thing that matters is that for some reason you’ve made the Chief angry. Talk to him, ask his forgiveness, give him explanations, promise to make amends. Regain his confidence.”
He picked up the glass decanter, refilled his glass, and drank. There was less noise from the street than at Congress. Because of the thick colonial walls, or because the narrow streets in the center of the city discouraged cars.
“Ask his forgiveness, Henry? What have I done? Don’t I devote my days and nights to the Chief?”
“Don’t tell me. Convince him. I already know. Don’t be discouraged. You know how he is. Basically, a magnanimous man. A deep sense of justice. If he weren’t suspicious, he wouldn’t have lasted thirty-one years. There’s been a mistake, a misunderstanding. It ought to be resolved. Ask him for an audience. He knows how to listen.”
As he spoke, he waved his hand, savoring every word his ashen lips expelled. He looked even more obese seated than when he was standing: his enormous belly had pushed open his robe and pulsated in a rhythmic ebb and flow. Cabral imagined those intestines dedicated, for so many hours a day, to the arduous task of absorbing and digesting the masses of food swallowed by that voracious maw. He regretted being here. Did he think the Constitutional Sot would help him? If he hadn’t actually devised this, in his heart of hearts he was celebrating it as a great victory over someone who, despite all appearances, had always been his rival.
“Thinking it over, racking my brains,” Chirinos added, with a conspiratorial air, “I think the reason may be the disappointment the Chief felt when the bishops refused to proclaim him Benefactor of the Catholic Church. You were on the commission that failed to achieve that.”
“There were three of us, Henry! Balaguer, and Paíno Pichardo too, as Minister of the Interior and Religious Practice. The negotiations took place months ago, right after the Pastoral Letter. Why would I get all the blame?”
“I don’t know, Egghead. In fact, it seems pretty farfetched.