The Feast of the Goat - Mario Vargas Llosa [198]
“You have saved the Republic,” he said, embracing him, something he never did. “If Abbes García’s orders had been carried out and the irreparable had happened, the Marines would be landing in Ciudad Trujillo.”
“They weren’t only Abbes García’s orders,” the head of San Isidro Air Base replied. He seemed confused. “The one who ordered Commander Rodríguez Méndez, at the Air Force detention center, to shoot the bishop was Pechito León Estévez. He said it was my brother-in-law’s decision. Yes, Pupo. I don’t understand. Nobody even consulted me. It was a miracle that Rodríguez Méndez refused to act until he talked to me.”
General García Trujillo cared for his appearance and dress—a thin Mexican-style mustache, brilliantined hair, a well-cut, pressed uniform, as if he were about to go on parade, and the inevitable Ray-Ban sunglasses in his pocket—as coquettishly as his cousin Ramfis, whose intimate friend he was. But now his shirt was not tucked all the way in, and his hair was disheveled; suspicion and doubt were in his eyes.
“I don’t understand why Pupo and Pechito made a decision like that without talking to me first. They wanted to compromise the Air Force, Dr. Balaguer.”
“General Román must be so affected by what happened to the Generalissimo that he has lost control of his nerves.” The President made excuses for him. “Fortunately, Ramfis is already on the way. His presence is absolutely necessary. It falls to him, as a four-star general and the son of the Chief, to assure the continuity of the Benefactor’s policies.”
“But Ramfis isn’t a politician, he hates politics; you know that, Dr. Balaguer.”
“Ramfis is a very intelligent man, and he adored his father. He cannot refuse to assume the role that the Nation expects of him. We will persuade him.”
General García Trujillo looked at him warmly.
“You can count on me to do what is needed, Mr. President.”
“Dominicans will know that you saved the Republic tonight,” Balaguer repeated as he accompanied him to the door. “You have a great responsibility, General. San Isidro is the most important base in the country, and for that reason, maintaining order depends on you. If anything happens, call me; I have ordered priority status for your calls.”
Bishop Reilly must have spent terrifying hours in the hands of the caliés. His habit was torn and muddied, and deep furrows lined his pale, thin face that still bore the imprint of a grimace of horror. He was erect and silent. He listened with dignity to the excuses and explanations of the President of the Republic, and even made an effort to smile as he thanked him for the steps he had taken to free him: “Forgive them, Mr. President, for they know not what they do.” At that point, the door opened, and, submachine gun in hand, drenched in sweat, eyes brutalized by fear and rage, General Román burst into the office. A moment was all the President needed to know that if he did not take the initiative, this ape would start to fire. “Ah, Monsignor, look who is here.” Effusively, he thanked the Minister of the Armed Forces for coming to apologize, in the name of the military, to His Grace the Bishop of San Juan de la Maguana for the misunderstanding of which he had been the victim. General Román, turned to stone in the middle of the office, blinked with a stupid expression on his face. He had crusts in his eyes, as if he had just awakened. Without saying a word, after hesitating for a few seconds, he extended his hand to the bishop, who was as disconcerted as the general by what was happening. The President said goodbye to Monsignor Reilly at the door.
When he returned to his desk, Pupo Román shouted: “You owe me an explanation. Who the hell do you think you are, Balaguer?” and waved his submachine gun in his face. The President remained imperturbable, looking him in the eye. He felt invisible rain on his face, the general’s spittle. This lunatic would not dare to fire now. After a stream of insults and curses and incoherent phrases, Román fell silent. He was still in the same spot, panting. In a soft,