The War Of The End Of The World - Mario Vargas Llosa [111]
He paused and someone solicitously handed him a glass of fruit punch. He savored each sip, recognizing the pleasantly sweet taste of guava.
“We’re overjoyed, naturally, at your optimism,” he heard Luiz Viana say. “You’ll grant, however, that we’ve suffered reverses and that we must act as quickly as possible.”
“There is no doubt of that,” the baron agreed. “We shall do so. For the moment, what we’re going to do is send Colonel Moreira César a telegram immediately, welcoming his arrival and offering him the support of the Bahia authorities and of the Autonomist Party. Is it not in fact in our interest to have him come to rid us of the thieves who steal our land, of the fanatics who sack haciendas and won’t allow our peasants to work the fields in peace? And this very day we’re also going to begin taking up a collection that will be handed over to the Federal Army to be used in the fight against the bandits.”
He waited until the murmur of voices died down, taking another sip of punch. It was hot and his forehead was wet with sweat.
“I remind you that, for years now, our entire policy has been to prevent the central government from interfering too zealously in Bahia affairs,” Luiz Viana finally said.
“That’s all well and good, but the only policy left us now, unless we choose to kill ourselves, is to demonstrate to the entire country that we are not the enemies of the Republic or of the sovereignty of Brazil,” the baron said dryly. “We must put a stop to this intrigue at once and there is no other way to do so. We’ll give Moreira César and the Seventh Regiment a splendid reception. It’ll be our welcome ceremony—not the Republican Party’s.”
He mopped his forehead with his handkerchief and waited once again for the murmur of voices, even louder than before, to die down.
“It’s too abrupt a change,” Adalberto de Gumúcio said, and the baron saw several heads behind him nod in agreement.
“In the Assembly, in the press, our entire strategy has been aimed at avoiding federal intervention,” Deputy Rocha Seabra chimed in.
“In order to defend Bahia’s interests we must remain in power and in order to remain in power we must change our policy, at least for the moment,” the baron replied softly. And as if the objections that were raised were of no importance, he went on laying down guidelines. “We landowners must collaborate with the colonel. Quarter his regiment, provide it with guides, furnish it supplies. Along with Moreira César, we’ll be the ones who do away with the monarchist conspirators financed by Queen Victoria.” He simulated a smile as he again mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. “It’s a ridiculous farce, but we have no other choice. And when the colonel has liquidated the poor cangaceiros and plaster saints of Canudos we’ll stage all sorts of grand celebrations to commemorate the defeat of the British Empire and the Bragança dynasty.”
No one applauded him; no one smiled. They were all silent and ill at ease. But as he observed them the baron saw that already there were some who were admitting to themselves, however reluctantly, that there was nothing else they could do.
“I’ll