The Feast of the Goat - Mario Vargas Llosa [161]
“Good afternoon, Chief.”
“You have to go on a diet,” Trujillo advised. “Barely fifty and you’re breathing hard. Learn from me, seventy years old and in great shape.”
“My wife says the same thing every day, Chief. She fixes chicken broth and salads for me. But I don’t feel like eating that. I can give up everything except good food.”
His obese body could barely keep up with him. Modesto, like his brother, General Juan Tomás Díaz, had a broad face, flat nose, thick lips, and a complexion with unmistakable racial reminiscences, but he was more intelligent than his brother and most of the other Dominicans Trujillo knew. He had been president of the Dominican Party, a congressman, a minister; but the Generalissimo did not allow him to stay too long in the government, precisely because his mental acuity when expounding, analyzing, and solving a problem seemed dangerous, something that could puff up his pride and lead him to treason.
“What conspiracy has Juan Tomás gotten himself involved in?” He asked the question and turned to look at him. “You know what your brother and son-in-law are up to, I suppose.”
Modesto smiled, as if enjoying a joke:
“Juan Tomás? Between his estates and his businesses, his whiskey and the movies he shows in his garden, I doubt he has any time left for conspiracies.”
“He’s conspiring with Henry Dearborn, the Yankee diplomat,” Trujillo declared as if he had not heard him. “He should stop that bullshit; he went through a bad time once and he can go through another that’s even worse.”
“My brother isn’t fool enough to conspire against you, Chief. But even so, I’ll tell him.”
How pleasant: the sea breeze cleared his lungs, and he could hear the crash of waves breaking against the rocks and the cement wall of the Avenida. Modesto Díaz made a move to leave, but the Benefactor stopped him:
“Wait, I haven’t finished. Or can’t you take it anymore?”
“For you I’d risk a heart attack.”
Trujillo rewarded him with a smile. He always liked Modesto, who, in addition to being intelligent, was thoughtful, fair, affable, and unduplicitous. Still, his intelligence could not be controlled and used, like Egghead’s, the Constitutional Sot’s, or Balaguer’s. Modesto’s had an indomitable edge, an independence that could become seditious if he acquired too much power. He and Juan Tomás were also from San Cristóbal, he had known them since they were boys, and in addition to awarding him posts, he had used Modesto on countless occasions as an adviser. He had subjected him to rigorous tests, and he had always come through successfully. The first one came in the late forties, after Trujillo visited the Livestock Show for pedigree bulls and dairy cows that Modesto Díaz organized in Villa Mella. What a surprise: his farm, not very large, was as clean, modern, and prosperous as the Fundación Ranch. More than the impeccable stables and splendid cows, it was Modesto’s arrogant satisfaction as he showed his breeding farm to him and the other guests that wounded the Chief’s sensibilities. The following day he sent the Walking Turd, with a check for ten thousand pesos, to formalize the transfer of ownership. Without the slightest hesitation at having to sell his most prized possession at a ridiculously low price (just one of his cows cost more), Modesto signed the contract and sent a handwritten note to Trujillo expressing his gratitude that “Your Excellency considers my small cattle-breeding enterprise worthy of being developed by your experienced hand.” After considering whether those lines contained some punishable irony, the Benefactor decided they did not. Five years later, Modesto Díaz had another large, beautiful ranch in a remote region of La Estrella. Did he think it was so far away it would go unnoticed? Weak with laughter, he sent Egghead Cabral with another check for ten thousand pesos, claiming he had so much confidence in his cattle-raising talents that he was buying the farm sight unseen. Modesto signed the bill of sale, pocketed the symbolic sum, and thanked the Generalissimo in another affectionate note.