The Feast of the Goat - Mario Vargas Llosa [66]
“What the hell do I gain by that?” an irritated Trujillo interrupted. “What do I gain if dollars move from the Central Bank to an account in my name?”
“What you gain is that from now on, the damage signified by three hundred enterprises operating at a loss doesn’t come out of your pocket, Chief. I repeat, if this goes on, they’ll all be bankrupt. My advice is technical. The only way to avoid the dissolution of your patrimony because of the economic blockade is to transfer the losses to the State. It isn’t good for anybody if you’re ruined, Chief.”
Trujillo had a feeling of fatigue. The sun was growing hotter, and like all visitors to his office, Senator Chirinos was perspiring. From time to time he wiped his face with a blue handkerchief. He too would have liked the Generalissimo to have an air conditioner. But Trujillo detested the fake air that chilled you, the false atmosphere. He tolerated only a fan, on extremely hot days. Besides, he was proud of being the man-who-never-sweats.
He was silent for a moment, meditating, and his face soured.
“You’re another one who thinks, in the back of your piggish brain, that I take over farms and businesses for profit,” he said in a weary tone. “Don’t interrupt. If you don’t know me yet, after so many years at my side, what can I expect from the rest? They believe I’m interested in power in order to get rich.”
“I know very well that isn’t so, Chief.”
“Do you need me to explain it again, for the hundredth time? If those businesses didn’t belong to the Trujillo family, those jobs wouldn’t exist. And the Dominican Republic would still be the backward African country it was when I picked it up and put it on my shoulders. You haven’t realized that yet.”
“I realize that perfectly, Chief.”
“Are you stealing from me?”
Chirinos gave another start, and the ashen color of his face darkened. He blinked in alarm.
“What are you saying, Chief? As God is my witness…”
“I know you aren’t,” Trujillo reassured him. “And why don’t you steal, even though you have the power to make or break us financially? Out of loyalty? Maybe. But more than anything else, out of fear. You know that if you steal from me and I find out, I’d turn you over to Johnny Abbes, and he’d take you to La Cuarenta, sit you on the Throne, and burn you to a crisp before he threw you to the sharks. All the things that tickle the overheated imaginations of the head of the SIM and the little team he’s put together. That’s why you don’t steal from me. And that’s why the managers, administrators, accountants, engineers, veterinarians, foremen, et cetera, et cetera, in the companies you oversee, that’s why they don’t steal from me either. That’s why their work is conscientious and efficient, that’s why the enterprises have prospered and multiplied and turned the Dominican Republic into a modern, prosperous country. Do you understand?”
“Of course, Chief.” The Constitutional Sot gave another start. “You’re absolutely right.”
“On the other hand,” Trujillo continued, as if he hadn’t heard him, “you’d steal everything you could lay your hands on if you were doing the work you do for the Vicini family, the Valdéz family, the Armenteros family, instead of the Trujillo family. And you’d steal even more if the enterprises belonged to the State. Then you’d really line your pockets. Now can your brain grasp the reason for all the businesses, all the land, all the livestock?”
“To serve the nation, I know that better than anybody, Excellency,” Senator Chirinos swore. He was frightened, and Trujillo could see it in the way he clutched the briefcase tight against his belly, and the increasingly unctuous manner in which he spoke. “I didn’t mean to suggest anything to the contrary, Chief. God forbid!