The Feast of the Goat - Mario Vargas Llosa [175]
When would it happen? Very soon, most likely. On his birthday, May 24, just six days earlier, Luis Amiama and Juan Tomás Díaz, whom he had invited to his country house, assured him that everything was ready. Juan Tomás was categorical: “Any day now, Pupo.” They told him that President Joaquín Balaguer had probably agreed to be part of the civilian-military junta over which he would preside. He asked for details, but they couldn’t give him any; the approach had been made by Dr. Rafael Batlle Viñas, married to Indiana, Antonio de la Maza’s cousin, and Balaguer’s principal physician. He had sounded out the puppet president, asking if, in the event Trujillo disappeared suddenly, “he would collaborate with the patriots.” His reply was cryptic: “According to the Constitution, if Trujillo were to disappear, I would have to be taken into account.” Was this a good piece of news? That suave, astute little man had always inspired in Pupo Román the instinctive distrust he felt for bureaucrats and intellectuals. It was impossible to know what he was thinking; behind his affable manners and eloquence lay an enigma. But, in any case, what his friends said was true: Balaguer’s involvement would reassure the Yankees.
By the time he reached his house in Gazcue, it was nine-thirty. He sent the jeep back to San Isidro. Mireya and his son Álvaro, a young lieutenant in the Army who had come to visit them on his day off, were alarmed at seeing him in that condition. He explained what had happened as he removed his dirty clothes. He had Mireya telephone her brother and told General Virgilio García about the Chief’s outburst:
“I’m sorry, Virgilio, but I’m obliged to reprimand you. Come to my office tomorrow, before ten o’clock.”
“Shit, and all for a broken pipe,” Virgilio exclaimed in amusement. “The man can’t control his temper!”
He took a shower and soaped his entire body. When he came out of the tub, Mireya handed him clean pajamas and a silk bathrobe. She stayed with him while he dried himself, splashed on cologne, and dressed. Contrary to what many people believed, beginning with the Chief, he hadn’t married Mireya out of self-interest. He had fallen in love with the dark, timid girl, and risked his life by courting her despite Trujillo’s opposition. They were a happy couple, and in twenty years together they’d had no fights or separations. As he talked to Mireya and Álvaro at the table—he wasn’t hungry, all he wanted was rum on the rocks—he wondered what his wife’s reaction would be. Would she side with her husband or with the clan? His doubts mortified him. He had often seen Mireya indignant at the Chief’s insulting manner; perhaps that would tip the balance in his favor. Besides, what Dominican woman wouldn’t like to be the First Lady?
When supper was over, Álvaro went out to have a beer with some friends. Mireya and he went up to their bedroom and turned on the Dominican Voice. There was a program of dance music with popular singers and orchestras. Before the sanctions, the station would bring in the best Latin American performers, but due to the crisis of the past year, almost all the programs on Petán Trujillo’s television station featured local artists. As they listened to the merengues and danzones of the Generalissimo Orchestra, conducted by Maestro Luis Alberti, Mireya remarked sadly that she hoped the problems with