Conversation in the Cathedral

by Mario Vargas Llosa

  “Too well off, that’s why I left,” Santiago says. “I was so pure and thick-headed that it bothered me having such an easy life and being a nice young boy.”

  “The funny thing is that the idea of putting him in jail didn’t come from the Uplander,” Don Fermín said. “Or from Arbeláez or Ferro. The one who convinced them, the one who insisted was Bermúdez.”

  “So pure and so thick-headed that I thought that by fucking myself up a little I would make myself a real little man, Ambrosio,” Santiago says.

  “That all of it was the work of an insignificant Director of Public Order, an underling, I can’t swallow either,” Senator Landa said. “Uplander Espina invented it so he could toss the ball to someone else if things turned out badly.”

  Trifulcio was there, at the foot of the stairs, defending his place with his elbows, spitting on his hands, his gaze fanatically fastened on Don Emilio’s feet, which were approaching, mixed in with others, his body tense, his feet firmly planted on the ground: his turn, it was his turn.

  “You have to believe it because it’s the truth,” Don Fermín said. “And don’t tar him so much. Whether you like it or not, that underling is becoming the man the General trusts the most.”

  “There he is, Hipólito, I’m making a present of him to you,” Ludovico said. “Get those ideas of being headman out of his brain once and for all.”

  “Then it wasn’t because you had different political ideas from your papa?” Ambrosio asks.

  “He believes him implicitly, he thinks he’s infallible,” Don Fermín said. “When Bermúdez has an opinion, Ferro, Arbeláez, Espina and even I can go to the devil, we don’t exist. That was evident in the Montagne affair.”

  “My poor old man didn’t have any political ideas,” Santiago says. “Only political interests, Ambrosio.”

  Trifulcio took a leap, his feet were already on the last step, he gave a shove, another, and he crouched down and was going to lift him up. No, no, friend, a smiling, modest and surprised Don Emilio said, thank you very much but, and Trifulcio let go of him, drew back confused, his eyes blinking, but, but? and Don Emilio seemed confused too, and in the group tight around him there were nudges, whispering.

  “The fact is that even though he may not be infallible, he does have balls,” Senator Arévalo said. “In a year and a half he’s wiped the map clean of Apristas and Communists and we were able to hold elections.”

  “Are you still the headman of APRA, pappy?” Ludovico asked. “Fine, very good. Go right ahead, Hipólito.”

  “The Montagne affair was this way,” Don Fermín said. “One fine day Bermúdez disappeared from Lima and came back two weeks later. I’ve covered half the country, General, if Montagne runs in the election, you’ll lose.”

  What are you waiting for, you imbecile, said the man who gave the orders, and Trifulcio shot an anguished glance at Don Emilio, who made him a signal of quick or hurry up. Trifulcio’s head lowered rapidly, crossed the fork made by his legs, and he lifted Don Emilio up like a feather.

  “That was nonsense,” Senator Landa said. “Montagne never had a chance of winning. He didn’t have the money for a good campaign, we controlled the whole electoral apparatus.”

  “And why did you think my old man was such a great person?” Santiago asks.

  “But the Apristas would have voted for him, all the enemies of the government would have voted for him,” Don Fermín said. “Bermúdez convinced him. If I run under these conditions, I’ll lose. That’s how it ended up, that’s why they arrested him.”

  “Because he was, son,” Ambrosio says. “So intelligent and such a gentleman and so everything else.”

  He heard applause and cheers as he went along with his load on his back, surrounded by Téllez, Urondo, the foreman and the man who gave the orders, he also shouting Arévalo-Odría, secure, tranquil, holding the legs tight, feeling Don Emilio’s fingers in his hair, seeing the other hand that was giving thanks and shaking the hands that reached out to him.

  “Leave him alone now, Hipólito,” Ludovico said. “Can’t you see that you’ve already sent him off to dreamland?”

  “I didn’t think he was a great man, I thought he was a swine,” Santiago says. “And I hated him.”

  “He’s faking,” Hipólito said. “Let me show you.”

  The National Anthem had finished when they were through walking around the square. There was a roll of drums, silence, and a marinera started up. Among the heads and the food and drink stands Trifulcio saw a couple dancing: O.K., take him to the black truck, boy. To the truck, sir.

  “The best thing would be for us to talk to him,” Senator Arévalo said. “You tell him about your talk with the Ambassador, Fermín, and we’ll tell him that the elections are over, poor Montagne is no danger to anybody, let him go and that gesture will win him support. That’s the way you have to work with Odría.”

  “Child, child,” Ambrosio says. “How can you say that about him, son?”

  “You really do know peasant psychology, senator,” Senator Landa said.

  “You can see he’s not faking,” Ludovico said. “Leave him alone now.”

  “But I don’t hate him anymore, not anymore now that he’s dead,” Santiago says. “He was one, but he didn’t know it, it was unconscious. Anyway, there’s a surplus of swine in this country, and I think he paid for it, Ambrosio.”

  Put him down now, said the man who gave the orders, and Trifulcio squatted down: he watched Don Emilio’s feet touch the ground, watched his hands brush off his pant legs. He got into the van and behind him Téllez, Urondo and the foreman. Trifulcio sat in front. A group of men and women were looking, open-mouthed. Laughing, putting his head out the window, Trifulcio shouted at them: Long live Don Emilio Arévalo!

  “I didn’t know that Bermúdez had so much influence in the Palace,” Senator Landa said. “Is it true that he’s got a mistress who’s a ballerina or something like that?”

  “All right, Ludovico, don’t carry on so much,”’ Hipólito said. “I’ve already left him alone.”

  “He’s just set her up in a house in San Miguel,” Don Fermín said. “The one who used to be Muelle’s mistress.”

  “Did you also think the one you worked for before you were my old man’s chauffeur was a great man?” Santiago asks.

  “The Muse?” Senator Landa said. “I’ll be damned, she’s quite a woman. Is she Bermúdez’ mistress? She’s a high-flying bird and if you want to keep her caged up you’ve got to have your pockets well lined.”

  “I think he’s already got away from you. Shit,” Ludovico said. “Throw some water on him, do something, don’t just stand there.”

  “So high-flying that she put Muelle in his grave.” Don Fermín laughed. “And a dyke and she takes drugs.”

  “Don Cayo?” Ambrosio asks. “Never, son, he couldn’t come close to your papa.”

  “He didn’t get away, he’s still alive,” Hipólito said. “What are you afraid of, I didn’t leave a scratch or a bruise on him. He passed out from fright, Ludovico.”

  “Who isn’t queer these days, who doesn’t take drugs in Lima?” Senator Landa said. “We’re really getting civilized, aren’t we?”

  “Weren’t you ashamed to work for that son of a bitch?” Santiago asks.

  “It’s all set, then, we’ll see Odría tomorrow,” Senator Arévalo said. “Today they’ve put the presidential sash on him and we have to let him spend his day looking at himself in the mirror and enjoying it.”

  “I had no reason to be,” Ambrosio says. “I didn’t know that Don Cayo was going to treat your papa so bad. Because they were such good friends at the time, son.”

  When they reached the ranch house and he got out of the van, Trifulcio didn’t go to get something to eat, but went to the creek to wet his head, his face and his arms. Then he stretched out in the backyard under the eaves by the cotton gin. His hands and throat were burning, he was tired and content. He fell right off to sleep.

  “That fello
w, Mr. Lozano, that Trinidad López,” Ludovico said. “Yes, all of a sudden he went crazy on us.”

  “You ran into her in the street?” Queta asked. “The one who’d been Gold Ball’s maid, the one who went to bed with you? Was that the one you fell in love with?”

  “I’m glad you got Montagne released, Don Cayo,” Don Fermín said. “The enemies of the government were using that as a pretext to say the elections were a farce.”

  “What do you mean, went crazy?” Mr. Lozano asked. “Did he talk or didn’t he?”

  “They were, as a matter of fact, and just between you and me, we can see that,” Cayo Bermúdez said. “Jailing the only opposition candidate wasn’t the best solution, but there was nothing else we could do. The General had to be elected, didn’t he?”

  “Did she tell you that her husband had died, that her son had died?” Queta asked. “That she was looking for work?”

  He was awakened by the voices of the foreman, Urondo and Téllez. They sat down beside him, offered him a cigarette, chatted. The rally in Grocio Prado had turned out pretty good, hadn’t it? Yes, it had turned out pretty good. There’d been more people at the one in Chincha, hadn’t there? Yes, more people. Would Don Emilio win the election? Of course he’d win. And Trifulcio: if Don Emilio went to Lima as a senator, would they let him go? No, man, they’d keep him on, the foreman said. And Urondo: you’ll stay with us, you’ll see. It was still hot, the late-afternoon sun was tinting the cotton fields, the ranch house, the stones.

  “He talked, but he said crazy things, Mr. Lozano,” Ludovico said. “That he was the second in command, that he was the headman. That the Apristas were coming to rescue him with cannons. He went crazy, I swear.”

  “And you told her there’s a house in San Miguel where they’re looking for a maid?” Queta asked. “And you took her to Hortensia’s?”

  “Do you really think Odría would have been defeated by Montagne?” Don Fermín asked.

  “I’d say, rather, that he made fools of you,” Mr. Lozano said. “Oh, what a useless pair. And on top of it, stupid.”

  “So it’s Amalia, the girl who started work last Monday,” Queta said. “Maybe you’re dumber than you look. Do you think nobody’s going to find out about it?”

  “Montagne or any other opposition candidate would have won,” Cayo Bermúdez said. “Don’t you know Peruvians, Don Fermín? We’re a complex bunch, we like to support the underdog, the one who’s out of power.”

  “Nothing of the sort, Mr. Lozano,” Hipólito said. “We’re not useless and we’re not stupid. Come take a look at how we left him and you’ll see.”

  “That you made her swear she wouldn’t tell Hortensia you were the one who told her about it?” Queta said. “That you made her think Cayo Shithead would kick her out if he found out she knew you?”

  At that moment the door of the ranch house opened and out came the man who gave the orders. He crossed the courtyard, stopped in front of them, pointed his finger at Trifulcio: Don Emilio’s wallet, you son of a bitch.

  “It’s too bad you didn’t accept the senate seat,” Cayo Bermúdez said. “The President had hoped you’d be the majority leader in parliament, Don Fermín.”

  “The wallet, that I took it?” Trifulcio stood up, pounded his chest. “Me, sir, me?”

  “You pair of fools,” Mr. Lozano said. “Why didn’t you take him to the infirmary, you pair of fools?”

  “Do you steal from the one who feeds you?” said the man who gave the orders. “From the one who gives you work and you a known thief?”

  “You don’t know women,” Queta said. “One of these days she’ll tell Hortensia that she knows you, that you brought her to San Miguel. One of these days Hortensia will tell Cayo Shithead, one of these days he’ll tell Gold Ball. And that’s the day they’ll kill you, Ambrosio.”

  Trifulcio had knelt down, had begun to swear and whimper. But the man who gave the orders wasn’t moved: he was ordering him arrested again, a criminal, a known hoodlum, the wallet, right now. And at that moment the door of the ranch house opened and Don Emilio came out: what was going on there.

  “We took him but they wouldn’t take him in, Mr. Lozano,” Ludovico said. “They wouldn’t accept the responsibility, only if you gave the order in writing.”

  “We’ve already talked about that, Don Cayo,” Don Fermín said. “I’d be more than pleased to serve the President. But a senate seat is getting into politics full time and I can’t do it.”

  “I’m not going to say anything, I never say anything,” Queta said. “Nothing in the world is any business of mine. You’re going to fuck yourself up, but not because of me.”

  “Wouldn’t you accept an ambassadorship either?” Cayo Bermúdez asked. “The General is very thankful for all the help you’ve given him and he wants to show it. Wouldn’t you be interested in that, Don Fermín?”

  “Look how he’s insulting me, Don Emilio,” Trifulcio said. “Look at the terrible thing he’s accusing me of. He even made me cry, Don Emilio.”

  “I wouldn’t even think of it,” Don Fermín said, laughing. “I’m not cut out for a legislator or a diplomat either, Don Cayo.”

  “I didn’t do it, sir,” Hipólito said. “He went crazy all by himself, he fell on his face all by himself, sir. We barely touched him, believe me, Mr. Lozano.”

  “It wasn’t him, man,” Don Emilio said to the man who gave the orders. “It must have been some peasant at the rally. You’d never stoop so low as to rob me, would you now, Trifulcio?”

  “The General is going to be hurt by your being so stand-offish, Don Fermín,” Cayo Bermúdez said.

  “I’d let them cut off my hand first, Don Emilio,” Trifulcio said.

  “You people complicated this whole thing,” Mr. Lozano said, “and you’re going to uncomplicate it all by yourselves, you bastards.”

  “Not stand-offish, you’re wrong,” Don Fermín said. “The time will come when Odría can pay me back for my services. You see, since you’re so frank with me, I can be the same with you, Don Cayo.”

  “You’re going to take him out nice and quiet, you’re going to take him nice and carefully,” Mr. Lozano said, “you’re going to leave him somewhere. And if anyone sees you, fuck you, and I’ll fuck you besides. Understood?”

  Oh, you black scoundrel, Don Emilio said. And he went into the ranch house with the man who gave the orders, and Urondo and the foreman also left after a while. You let them insult you all they wanted, Trifulcio, Téllez laughed.

  “You’re always inviting me out and I’d like to return it,” Cayo Bermúdez said. “I’d like to invite you to have dinner at my house one of these nights, Don Fermín.”

  “The man who insulted me didn’t know what he was leaving himself open to,” Trifulcio said.

  “It’s all set, sir,” Ludovico said. “We took him out, carried him away, left him, and nobody saw us.”

  “Did you lift the wallet?” Téllez asked. “You can’t fool me, Trifulcio.”

  “Whenever you say,” Don Fermín said. “It would be my pleasure, Don Cayo.”

  “I lifted it but he didn’t know it,” Trifulcio said. “Do you want to go to town tonight?”

  “At the door of San Juan de Dios Hospital, Mr. Lozano,” Hipólito said. “Nobody saw us.”

  “I’ve taken a house in San Miguel, near the Bertoloto Hotel,” Cayo Bermúdez said. “And besides, well, I don’t know whether you heard, Don Fermín.”

  “Who, what are you talking about?” Mr. Lozano said. “Haven’t you forgotten about it yet, you bastards?”

  “How much money was there in the wallet, Trifulcio?” Téllez asked.

  “Well, I’d heard something, yes,” Don Fermín said. “You know what parrots people in Lima are, Don Cayo.”

  “Don’t be so nosy,” Trifulcio said. “Be happy that I’ll be buying the drinks tonight.”

  “Oh, yes, oh, of course,” Ludovico said. “Nobody, nothing, we’ve forgotten all about it, sir.”

  “I’
m a country boy, in spite of a year and a half in Lima, I’m still not sure of the customs here,” Cayo Bermúdez said. “Frankly, I felt a little hesitant. I was afraid you’d refuse to come to my house, Don Fermín.”

  “Me too, Mr. Lozano, word of honor, I forgot,” Hipólito said. “Who was Trinidad López? I never saw him, he never existed. You see, sir? I’ve forgotten already.”

  Téllez and Urondo, drunk now, were nodding on the wooden bench in the cheap bar, but in spite of all the beers and the heat, Trifulcio was still awake. Through the holes in the wall the sandy little square turned white by the sun could be seen, the shack where the voters were going in. Trifulcio was looking at the policemen standing in front of the shack. During the course of the morning they had come over a couple of times to have a beer and now there they were in their green uniforms. Over the heads of Téllez and Urondo a strip of beach could be seen, a sea with splotches of shining algae. They’d seen the boats leave, they’d seen them dissolve into the horizon. They’d eaten marinated fish and fried fish and potatoes and had drunk beer, lots of beer.

  “Do you take me for a monk, a boob?” Don Fermín said. “Come on, Don Cayo. I think it’s wonderful that you’ve made a conquest like that. I’d be delighted to dine with you two, as many times as you want.”

  Trifulcio saw the cloud of dust, the red van. It crossed the small square through the barking dogs, stopped in front of the bar, the man who gave the orders got out. Had a lot of people voted already? An awful lot, they’d been going in and coming out all morning. He was wearing boots, riding breeches, a pullover shirt: he didn’t want to see them drunk, they shouldn’t have any more. And Trifulcio: but there were a couple of cops there, sir. Don’t worry about it, said the man who gave the orders. He got into the van and it disappeared in the midst of barking and a cloud of dust.

  “After all, you’re partly to blame,” Cayo Bermúdez said. “Remember that night at the Embassy Club?”

  The ones who were coming out after voting approached the bar, the woman who owned it barred their entry: closed because of elections, they weren’t serving. And why wasn’t it closed for those guys? The old woman gave no explanations: out, or she’d call the cops. The people went away, grumbling.