I abruptly tugged Nelly’s arm and she floated toward me like a newly fallen leaf. The Many were so caught up in their clamor, they didn’t see the trick coming.
When we were naked, I raised my eyes to check that Nelly was still there with me. Or rather, I was there with her. I put my hands to her throat to slowly strangle her: without losing a glimmer of their black intensity, her eyes began to grow bloodshot. She slapped my face hard, asking for more. The Many were dumbfounded. Who’s the wimp now, you fucking shits? Suddenly, Nelly was strangling me back.
The last thing I saw was her adept turning of the tables. Then I was in the shadows. Nelly set the standard by squeezing my throat with increasing force. Like a signal prompting us to wait for the right moment, our coughing made us both ease off a little. When we were both really struggling for breath, we knew the time had come. I heard a single, shared cry that seemed to go on forever, leaving my fingers without the strength to seal the pact for good. The cry was silenced by blackness falling over everything else. I don’t know which of us passed out first. At some point, Nelly’s body spilled over onto my own numbed sensibility. I have no idea how long we remained unconscious. Nor who came round first. All I know is that when Nelly recovered, she went to fetch a bedspread. We were feeling colder than the room temperature merited. When I saw her again, I held her close until I fell asleep, this time naturally. Without the need for either of us to say it, we knew the countdown had begun. We had five days to discover if there was space for a new principle.
DAY 7
NO ONE KNOWS WHAT’S GOING ON
Nelly López
Anyone who considered Max Michels’ campaign to be just a stunt should think again. The truth is that his circus is pulling in more and more people. The residents at least give up their time to listen to and watch his proposals. The main problem is that no one, including himself, it seems to me, knows whether his shadow-theater spectacle is actually showing us anything or is in fact hiding something.
The Plaza del Orden had changed overnight into a gigantic board game. The territories of the world represented on the board looked like something, but who knows what it was. Michels’ team had drawn the frontiers in gray, and also written some of the customs and characteristics of the various countries within their boundaries.
Half the map was dominated by Pascual Bramsos, who looked very handsome in his red beret. Candidate Michels headed the other half. He was wearing a backwards baseball cap. His discourse director was elegantly dressed, and was apparently the leader of an assembly discussing what was happening on the board. When necessary, she went to the podium to make pronouncements. Sometimes she urged them not to overdo the aggression, but they didn’t usually take much notice of her. In fact, it seemed like her function was to authorize the chaos we all witnessed.
At first it seemed like the point of the game was for each side to amass the greatest number of territories. When curious residents turned up to see what was going on, either Bramsos or Michels assigned them territories. As weapons, they were given a set of giant plastic dice. In addition to giving territories to the newcomers, the leaders ran around, checking the loyalty of their troops, taking over new territories with a throw of the dice, or making pronouncements from the podium about some of their opinions. They went on like that for quite a bit until Michels came out on top. The problem is, it’s not clear what he won.
Summarizing everything that happened is very difficult. The residents only saw a chaotic scene of territories being taken over by others. The dice gave orders like “swamp a neighboring country with arms until there is a massacre,” or “install a military dictatorship capable of smashing kneecaps by the thousand,” or “bomb reservoirs to cause famine among the population,” or “organize a summit meeting to inform the locals about your practices.” A few allegiances were also formed by the offer of an umbrella. But people who received the umbrellas were disillusioned to find, when they tried to open them, that only the spokes were left.
Bramsos and Michels’ methods were completely different. Bramsos forced his followers to memorize a set of ten commandments, whacking them with an iron rod when they made mistakes. Some of the residents went off in a rage because the red-bereted leader took his role a bit too seriously. To calm them down, he offered a swig of some very strong liquor that knocked more than one of them out. Michels, on the other hand, won followers over with porn mags, sodas, candies, or autographed photos of celebrities. He gained territories by getting the first round. Then he asked for all their natural resources in exchange. The officials who administered his colonies stuffed themselves with hot dogs while looking at photos of blonde bombshells.
The discourse director mainly divided her time between meetings and writing drafts of speeches. But whenever one of the leaders tried to get hold of a particularly valuable territory, he’d first try to gain her approval. They mostly said they were invading because there was no respect for human rights in the territory, or no freedom of expression, or that they treated women badly, or had hostile policies. The discourse director would then consult a table of equivalences that clarified which die authorized the invasion. Each time Michels argued that civilians in his country had been attacked, she ruled that the enemy forces should be wiped out.
While this was going on, Bramsos’ territories rebelled. I think the population got tired of being beaten with iron rods. And they were jealous of the fun their neighbors were having. As he was unable to put down the rebellion, Bramsos took to drinking the strong liquor. When he was completely drunk, he started concentrating the wealth of his former bloc in the hands of a few of his loyal followers. Left in the lurch, the other inhabitants tried to copy what was being done in Michels’ territory. Although they didn’t feel the least nostalgia for the iron rod, they began to realize that the gum they chewed in Michels’ countries wasn’t any great shakes either.
By the time this reporter had to leave to file her report, the board was in total chaos. No one knew who belonged to which bloc. For more than an hour, the discourse director had been giving a speech no one listened to. The giant dice were scattered all over the board. Michels was going back and forth, trying to read what was left of the gray writing to see if he had any countries left to conquer. Bramsos fell into a drunken stupor on a bench. There’s no doubt that something very intense happened in Plaza del Orden, but the problem is that no one knows just what it was.
The board game left us completely exhausted, and not just physically. I’m not sure if Pascual went over the top by accident or on purpose. Sao helped him throw up before taking him home. This time she didn’t even have the energy to smile: her role had left her without hope. We’d established a number of basic rules at the beginning, but had agreed to let everything else run its natural course. It’s hard to make any judgment on the day: what had to happen, happened. To think otherwise would be to just perpetuate the sham.
I was thinking of leaving when Ponce turned up. Nelly was right: Taimado was not far behind him. They can look where they like, there’s only one hole full of emptiness. Not even Nelly knows she knows that. Or I hope so. It’s different now. Maybe the blindness was what happened before I could see her. Maybe it’s only when Nelly goes dark that I can see her. Maybe I haven’t got any fucking idea. I need to get through the next four days.
“I thought you’d got past the adolescent stage,” said Ponce, looking down at my outstretched hand. “You know better than anyone what the chief is capable of. He’s coming here, by the way. If you wait a few minutes, you’ll finally meet him.”
“I’m only doing what I was asked to,” I replied, hoping he couldn’t smell my fear. “You can say the same thing in different ways. Gridding out existence is just one of them. Your questionnaire doesn’t cover as much as you all think.”
His dark glasses misted with rage. “That remains to be seen. I’d like to give you a final recommendation: look in your pathetic father’s book. On one of those pages there’s the story of the sorcerer’s a
pprentice who unleashed uncontrollable forces. The chief has spent years muddying certain dimensions of the residents’ lives. We wanted to help them understand there’s no other truth than the one communicated in cash. We’re not going to run risks because someone’s acting stupidly. Am I right, Taimado?”
“Uh-huh. We’re only giving you one last warning, for your own good.”
“Don’t be fooled, Max. We’ve already got the missing piece. And soon we’ll know where it fits. Let’s go, Taimado.”
How did he know about the blank book? Could Nelly possibly be the missing piece? I thought I’d better ask her to dispel my doubts.
The moment I got home, I called her name time and again. There was no answer. There was no sign of her. Then, when I’d stopped shouting, I heard a sob. I walked quietly so as not to lose the trail: it was coming from the closet. When I slid the door open, Nelly shrunk from the light. In a shaky voice, she asked me to get in there with her and shut the door. She was leaning back against the wall, wearing only a loosely wrapped bathrobe. Her eyes and nose were red. I sat beside her, the two of us sealed off from time in the darkness.
Whenever Nelly tried to say something, the tears came faster. I pressed her to my chest, begging her to calm down. She refused to explain what was wrong, but managed to sob that she was a fool, was very sorry, she hadn’t known. She clung to me, pressing my body more tightly against hers. Her proximity made me feel like a monster. I’d never managed to see her because I didn’t deserve to. Behind that beautiful armor was a frightened woman. Why hadn’t I realized that before? Worse than anything were the ideas that came into my head at that moment. It was the perfect setting, but Nelly was a wreck. And so was I.
I swear it was she who took the initiative. At least that’s what I think. At this stage, it doesn’t really matter. Afterwards I lay with her head resting on my chest. She’d stopped crying. The heel of a shoe was digging into my back as I tried to persuade her we should move. We left the closet like two strangers, and lay as far as possible from each other on the bed. I waited in vain for her to say goodnight: she was most probably waiting for me to do the same. After a prolonged debate with the Many, I fell asleep before I could utter another word to her.
DAY 8
You have thirty seconds to respond, with anything that comes into your mind, to the following twenty quotations. That means a maximum of ten minutes in total:
“To see another thus. I know not what to say. I will not swear these are my hands.”
Who’s asking and who replies?
“…an admirable evasion of whore-master man, to lay his goatish disposition to the charge of a star.”
It makes no difference if the star is outside or inside a person.
“He’s mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a horse’s health, a boy’s love, or a whore’s oath.”
We’re taking a step backward. Calling them wolves and whores isn’t acceptable any more.
“All that follow their noses are led by their eyes but blind men…”
Blind men can see the difference between shades too.
“The art of our necessities is strange, that can make vile things precious.”
The wheel of need turns eternally on the same thing.
“This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.”
Let’s hope at least that we’re wearing expensive clothing when it falls.
“Who’s there, besides foul weather?”
The ones who are always there. The Many.
“Is there any cause in nature that makes these hard hearts?”
Blow up the environment to see if they soften.
“…yet nature finds itself scourged by the sequent effects: love cools, friendship falls off, brothers divide: in cities, mutinies, in discord; in palaces, treason…”
A man doesn’t stop being a man just because he can vote.
“…know thou this, that men are as the time is: to be tender-minded does not become a sword.”
Blood flows very slowly in the arteries of numbers.
“And my poor fool is hang’d!”
There are many of them nowadays, but they aren’t made the way they used to be.
“’Tis the times’ plague, when madmen lead the blind.”
They don’t want to believe there’s nothing there except what has already been seen.
“…man’s nature cannot carry the affliction nor the fear.”
Betting on catastrophe is the source of huge fortunes.
“Why, then, your other senses grow imperfect by your eyes’ anguish.”
I’d give up everything else just to see her once.
“What, art mad? A man may see how this world goes with no eyes. Look with thine ears; see how yond justice rails upon yond simple thief.”
Ears are no less vain than eyes.
“When the mind’s free, the body’s delicate: the tempest in my mind doth from my senses take all feeling else save what beats there.”
On the road to the abyss, unexpected scenes appear that will never abandon you.
“The quality of nothing hath not such need to hide itself.”
Lungs process the only air at their disposition.
“You have seen sunshine and rain at once: her smiles and tears were like a better way: those happy smiles that play’d on her ripe lip seem’d not to know what guests were in her eyes; which parted thence as pearls from diamonds dropt.”
Nelly, Nelly, Nelly. That’s Nelly.
“The prince of darkness is a gentleman: Modo he’s call’d, and Mahu.”
And Selon Perdumes.
“…I am ashamed that thou hast power to shake my manhood thus; that these hot tears, which break from me perforce, should make thee worth them.”
I know now that manliness only exists through its absence.
Sao was very serious about the test she’d prepared. She says it’s a relaxing warm-up for the debate. In the end, the drama about the king who dethrones himself only to see his daughters betray him comprises all other dramas that followed it, including present ones. The one thing still clear to me is the corrosive power of the naked truth. Deception is the basis of a happy beginning: an inability to lie unleashes generalized disaster. Sao is right when she says no one has ever again formulated a more profound psychology of power. She’d like to have all the candidates take the test. She quite rightly thinks it might save us unpleasant surprises.
The pretense of transparency articulates the new deception. The illusion of knowing everything allows what is most fundamental to remain hidden. Ponce’s model claims that for every scandal exposed, 235 others are never discovered. What’s pertinent here is thinking we’re not being tricked any longer, even though we know that, by necessity, we are. Who would really want to know his partner’s erotic fantasies? Romantic relationships would be impossible. I envy those who manage to believe they’re the only one.
It’s the same with poverty, ignorance, corruption, racism, snobbery, and all the rest. They’re not just mishaps in the process of being eliminated: they’re endemic to the present social organization. The man who analyzed the Great Transformation stated clearly that the main difference between the past and the present is that before, when there was enough for everyone, it was inconceivable that some would go hungry. With the exaltation of egoism, many were condemned to become the basic ingredient in the march of the machine. The mass production of poor people ensures that they accept being exploited by those able to exploit them, to divest them of everything but the minimum needed for them to continue producing at low cost. And they’d better be grateful for the chance to serve. Millions don’t even have that, and so are willing to accept much worse conditions. Official discourse and the charitable foundations try to salve guilty consciences: the cripple with the gangrenous leg, thrown out into the street, is not a pretty sight for anyone. Patience. The time will come. We just have to progress a little further. The more the very few amass, the more crumbs will fall to the ground to be fought ove
r to the death. Is there enough for everyone to live the way I do? The answer to that question puts you on either the side of the thieves or the dispossessed.
The trick is for everyone to be united in denunciation. Admitting to the existence of the rot guarantees its perpetuation. I remember the concert organized in Villa Miserias to buy new shoes for the workers. They didn’t raise enough for even a tenth of them. The real situation didn’t interest anyone. What was important was to express concern: “You know what? I’ll just do another line of coke to relieve my suffering.”
This time a truce wasn’t even tabled. Nelly shut herself up to go over her notes. I tried asking her what she’d been referring to the night before, but she didn’t know what I was talking about: “Oh, Max, forget it. You might not believe it, but I was crying about something that has nothing to do with you.” Really. It’s the truth. And she’d got a lot of work to do. She was under pressure. I went to bed and watched television so not to miss her presence. It was her who slept on the sofa. I had an awful night. Nelly got up early, looking very rested. I’m becoming more and more alone. I can’t even count on my sofa now.
DAY 9
THE CREAM PIE DEBATE
Nelly López
With only three days to go, the election debate finally came around. Max Michels’ eccentric campaign made us think we’d see something different there too. But no one expected what did happen: his opponent, Modesto González, received a barrage of cream pies. Michels neither confirmed nor denied that he’d planned the attack. And his only declaration didn’t make anything clearer: “If you’re determined to go on sweetening the cesspit we live in,” he warned after the second cream pie had landed right in the middle of Gonzaléz’s face, “it’s only to be expected that some people will decide to carry things to their logical consequence.”
A Zero-Sum Game Page 31