Conversation in the Cathedral

by Mario Vargas Llosa

  “What you don’t want is for Don Cayo to find out that you brought me here,” Amalia said.

  “Well, that too,” Ambrosio said. “But not because of me, because of you. I already told you that Don Cayo has hated me ever since I left him to go work for Don Fermín. If he found out that you know me, you’d be all through.”

  “My, what a good person you’ve become,” she said. “The way you worry about me now.”

  They’d been chatting by the service entrance and Amalia kept looking to see if Símula or Carlota was coming. Hadn’t Ambrosio told her that Don Fermín and Don Cayo didn’t see each other the way they used to? Yes, ever since Señor Cayo had young Santiago arrested they weren’t friends anymore; but they had business together and that’s probably why Don Fermín is in San Miguel now. Was Amalia happy here? Yes, very happy, she had less work than before and the mistress was very good. Then you owe me a favor, Ambrosio said, but she cut off his joking: I already paid you a long time back, don’t you ever forget it. And she changed the subject, how was everybody in Miraflores? Señora Zoila very good, young Sparky had a girl friend who’d been a runner-up for Miss Peru, Missy Teté a young lady now, and young Santiago hadn’t been back to the house since he ran away. You couldn’t mention his name in front of Señora Zoila because she’d start crying. And all of a sudden: San Miguel’s been good for you, you’ve turned into a good-looking girl. Amalia didn’t laugh, she looked at him with all the fury she could muster.

  “Sunday’s your day off, isn’t it?” he said. “I’ll wait for you there at the streetcar stop, at two o’clock. Will you come?”

  “Not in your wildest dream,” Amalia said. “Is there something between us that we should go out together?”

  She heard a sound in the kitchen and went into the house without saying good-bye to Ambrosio. She went to the pantry to spy: there was Don Fermín, saying good-bye to Don Cayo. Tall, gray-haired, so elegant in gray, and she remembered all at once all the things that had happened since she’d seen him last, Trinidad, the alley in Mirones, the Maternity Hospital, and she felt the tears coming on. She went to the bathroom to wash her face. Now she was furious with Ambrosio, furious with herself for having stopped to talk to him as if there was anything between them, for not having told him did you think that just because you told me they needed a maid I’d forgotten, that I’d forgiven you? I hope you drop dead, she thought.

  *

  He tightened his tie, put on his jacket, took his briefcase and left the office. He passed by the secretaries with an absent-minded face. The car was parked by the door, the Ministry of War, Ambrosio. It took them fifteen minutes to cross the downtown area. He got out before Ambrosio could open the door for him, wait for me here. Soldiers who saluted, a hallway, stairs, an officer who smiled. In the waiting room of the Intelligence Service a captain with a little mustache was expecting him: the Major is in his office, Mr. Bermúdez, go right in. Paredes got up when he saw him come in. On the desk there were three telephones, a small flag, a green blotter; on the walls maps, city plans, a photograph of Odría and a calendar.

  “Espina called me to complain,” Major Paredes said. “If you don’t get rid of that man at the door I’ll take a shot at him. He was furious.”

  “I already ordered the plainclothesman withdrawn,” he said, loosening his tie. “At least he knows he’s being watched now.”

  “I’ll say again that it’s a waste of time,” Major Paredes said. “Before he was let go he was promoted. Why should he start plotting?”

  “Because it hurts his pride not being Minister,” he said. “No, he wouldn’t plot on his own, he’s too dumb for that. But they can use him. Anybody can get his finger into the Uplander’s mouth.”

  Major Paredes shrugged his shoulders, made a skeptical gesture. He opened a cupboard, took out an envelope and handed it to him. He thumbed distractedly through the papers, the photographs.

  “All his movements, all his telephone conversations,” Major Paredes said. “Nothing suspicious. He’s spending his time consoling himself through his fly, you can see. Besides the mistress in Breña, he’s taken on another one, in Santa Beatriz.”

  He laughed, muttered something, and he could see them for an instant: fat, fleshy, their teats hanging down, advancing one after the other with a perverse joy in their eyes. He put the papers and photographs back into the envelope and laid it on the desk.

  “The two mistresses, the dice games at the Military Club, one or two drinking bouts a week, that’s his life,” Major Paredes said. “The Uplander is a used-up man, believe me.”

  “But with a lot of friends in the army, lots of officers who owe him favors,” he said, “I’ve got the nose of a hound dog. Stay with me, give me a little more time.”

  “All right, if you insist so much, I’ll have them watch him for a few days more,” Major Paredes said. “But I know it’s a waste of time.”

  “Even though he’s retired and dumb, a general is a general,” he said. “I mean he’s more dangerous than all the Apristas and redtails put together.”

  *

  Hipólito was a brute, yessir, but he had his feelings too, Ludovico and Ambrosio had found out that time in Porvenir. They still had some time and they were going to get a drink when Hipólito appeared and took each one by the arm: he was inviting them to a snort. They’d gone to the dive on the Avenida Bolivia, Hipólito ordered three short ones, took out his oval cigarettes and lighted the match with a trembling hand. You could see he was nervous, sir, he was laughing listlessly, running his tongue over his mouth like a thirsty animal, looking behind, and the depths of his eyes were dancing. Ludovico and Ambrosio looked at each other as if to say what ails this guy.

  “You seem to be carrying some problem around, Hipólito,” Ambrosio said.

  “Did you catch the clap in some whorehouse, brother?” Ludovico asked.

  He shook his head no, drained his glass, asked the Chinaman for another round. What was wrong, then, Hipólito? He looked at them, blew smoke in their faces, he’d finally decided to let the cat out of the bag, sir: he was bothered by that whoopty-do in Porvenir. Ambrosio and Ludovico laughed. There was nothing to it, Hipólito, the crazy old women would start running with the first whistle, it was the easiest work in the world, brother. Hipólito drained the second glass and his eyes popped out. He wasn’t afraid, he knew what the word meant, but he’d never felt it, he’d been a boxer.

  “Fuck off, you’re not going to start telling us about your fights again?” Ludovico said.

  “It’s something personal,” Hipólito said sorrowfully.

  It was Ludovico’s turn to pay for another round, and the Chinaman, who’d seen that they were going along at full speed, left the bottle on the bar. Last night he couldn’t sleep because of that whoopty-do, you can imagine what it was like. Ambrosio and Ludovico looked at each other as if to say has he gone crazy? Talk to us straight out, Hipólito, that’s why they were friends. He coughed, he was just about to but he changed his mind, sir, his voice got stuck in the end but he loosened it up: a family affair, something personal. And without further ado, he poured out a mournful story, sir. His mother made mats and had her stand in the Parada market, he’d grown up in Porvenir, lived there, if you could call that living. He’d washed and polished cars, run errands, unloaded trucks at the market, picking up pennies where best he could, sometimes sticking his hand in where he shouldn’t have.

  “What do they call people from Porvenir?” Ludovico interrupted him. “People from Lima are called Limans, people from Bajo el Puente are Bajopontines, what about people from Porvenir?”

  “You don’t give a shit about what I’m saying,” Hipólito had said furiously.

  “By no means, brother.” Ludovico patted him on the back. “That question just came to me all of a sudden. I’m sorry, go ahead.”

  That even though it had been some years since he’d been back there, here inside, and he touched his chest, sir, Porvenir was still home to him: besides, that’s where
he’d started boxing. That a lot of the old women in Parada knew him, that some of them were going to recognize him, maybe.

  “Oh, now I get it,” Ludovico said. “There’s no reason for you to get upset, who’s going to recognize you after so many years? Besides, they won’t even see your face, the lighting in Porvenir is awful, the punks keep throwing stones at the street lights and breaking them. There’s nothing to worry about, Hipólito.”

  He’d stood there thinking, licking his lips like a cat. The Chinaman brought salt and a lemon, Ludovico salted the tip of his tongue and squeezed half of the lemon into his mouth, drained his glass and exclaimed that the drink had gone up in quality. He’d started talking about something else, but Hipólito silent, looking at the floor, the bar, thinking.

  “No,” he’d said suddenly. “I’m not bothered by somebody recognizing me. I’m bothered by the whole idea of the whoopty-do.”

  “But why, man?” Ludovico said. “Isn’t it better to put a scare into old women than students, for example? All they do is holler and jump, Hipólito. Noise can’t hurt anyone.”

  “What if I have to swat one of the ones who fed me when I was a kid?” Hipólito had said, pounding on the table, all worked up, sir.

  Ambrosio and Ludovico as if saying here comes the crybaby stuff again. But man, brother, if they fed you then they’re good people, religious, law-abiding women, do you think they’d get mixed up in political fights? But Hipólito. He wouldn’t be convinced, he was shaking his head as if you can’t convince me.

  “I’m doing this today, but I don’t like it,” he said finally.

  “Do you think anybody likes it?” Ludovico asked.

  “I do,” said Ambrosio, laughing. “It’s like a rest for me, an adventure.”

  “That’s because you only come along once in a while,” Ludovico said. “You’ve got a great life as the big boss’s chauffeur and this is just a game for you. Wait till you get your head split open by a stone, the way it happened to me once.”

  “Then let’s hear you tell us that you still like it,” Hipólito had said.

  Lucky for him nothing ever happened to him, sir.

  *

  How dared he? On her days off when she didn’t go to see her aunt in Limoncillo or Señora Rosario in Mirones, she would go out with Anduvia and María, two maids in the neighborhood. Because he’d helped her get that job, did he think she’d forgotten? They’d take walks, go to the movies, one Sunday they’d gone to the Coliseo to see the folk dancing. Just because you chatted with him did he think you’d forgiven him already? Sometimes she went out with Carlota, but not too often, because Símula wanted her to have her home before dark. You shouldn’t have treated him so well, dummy. When they left, Símula would drive them crazy with her instructions, and when they got back with her questions. She was really going to stand him up on Sunday, coming here all the way from Miraflores in vain, oh, she was going to get one up on him. Poor Carlota, Símula wouldn’t let her stick so much as her nose out onto the street, she worked hard to frighten her about men. All week long she was thinking he’s going to be waiting for you, sometimes it sent her into a rage that made her tremble, sometimes into laughter. But he probably wouldn’t come, she’d told him not in your wildest dream and he’d say to himself why should I go. On Saturday she pressed the shiny blue dress that Señora Hortensia had given her, where are you going tomorrow? Carlota asked her, to her aunt’s. She looked in the mirror and insulted herself: you’re already thinking about going, dummy. No, she wouldn’t go. That Sunday, for the first time, she put on the high-heeled shoes she’d just bought and the bracelet she’d won in a raffle. Before leaving she put a little lipstick on.

  She cleared the table quickly, ate practically no lunch, went up to the mistress’s room to look at herself in the full-length mirror. She went straight to the Bertoloto Hotel, passed it, and on Costanera she felt fury and a tingling in her body: there he was at the streetcar stop, waving. She thought go back, she thought you won’t speak to him. He had a brown suit, white shirt and red tie on and was wearing a handkerchief in his jacket pocket.

  “I was praying you wouldn’t stand me up,” Ambrosio said. “I’m glad you came.”

  “I came to get the streetcar,” she said, indignant, turning away from him. “I’m going to my aunt’s.”

  “Fine,” Ambrosio said. “Let’s ride downtown together.”

  *

  “I was forgetting one detail,” Major Paredes said. “Espina’s been seeing a lot of your friend Zavala.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” he said. “They’ve been friends for years. Espina got his laboratory the concession to supply the army commissaries.”

  “There are a few things about that big shot that I don’t like,” Major Paredes said. “I keep an eye on him from time to time. He’s had meetings with Apristas.”

  “Thanks to those important Apristas he learns lots of things and thanks to him I learn about them,” he said. “Zavala’s no problem. You’re wasting your time on him.”

  “I’ve never been convinced of the loyalty of that big shot,” Major Paredes said. “He’s with the government in order to do business. Strictly a matter of convenience.”

  “We’re all with the government out of convenience; the important thing is for it to be convenient for people like Zavala to be with the government.” He smiled. “Can we take a look at the Cajamarca business?”

  Major Paredes nodded. He picked up one of the three telephones and gave an order. He was thoughtful for a moment.

  “At first I thought you were only posing as a cynic,” he said then. “Now I’m convinced you really are. You don’t believe in anything or anybody, Cayo.”

  “I’m not paid to believe, I’m paid to do my job.” He smiled again. “And I’m doing a good job, right?”

  “If you’re only in this out of convenience, how come you haven’t accepted other offers a thousand times better than what the President has offered you?” Major Paredes laughed. “You see, you are a cynic, but not as much as you’d like to think you are.”

  He stopped smiling and looked at Major Paredes wistfully.

  “Maybe because your uncle gave me an opportunity that no one else gave me,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “Maybe because I haven’t found anyone who can serve your uncle in this job the way I can. Or maybe because I like the work, I don’t know.”

  “The President is concerned about your health and so am I,” Major Paredes said. “In three years you’ve aged ten. How’s your ulcer?”

  “Healed over,” he said. “I don’t have to drink milk anymore, thank God.”

  He reached for his cigarettes on the desk, lighted one and had a coughing attack.

  “How many do you smoke a day?” Major Paredes asked.

  “Two or three packs,” he said. “But dark tobacco, not that crap you smoke.”

  “I don’t know what’s going to do you in first.” Major Paredes laughed. “Tobacco, the ulcer, amphetamines, the Apristas, or some resentful army officer like the Uplander. Or your harem.”

  He gave a touch of a smile. There was a knock on the door, the captain with the little mustache came in with a file folder: the photostats were ready, Major. Paredes spread the map out on the desk: red and blue marks at certain intersections, a thick black line that zigzagged along many streets and came to an end in a square. They leaned over the map for some time. Danger points, Major Paredes was saying, troop concentrations, the route of the movement, the bridge to be inaugurated. He was taking notes in a small book, smoking, asking questions in his monotonous voice. They went back to their chairs.

  “Tomorrow I’m traveling to Cajamarca with Captain Ríos to take a last look at the security precautions,” Major Paredes said. “There’s no problem on our side, security will function like clockwork. What about your people?”

  “I’m not worried about security,” he said. “I’m worried about something else.”

  “His reception?” Major Paredes asked. “Do
you think they’ll do something unpleasant?”

  “The senator and the deputies have promised to fill the square,” he said. “But promises like that, you know. This afternoon I’m going to meet with the reception committee. I had them come to Lima.”

  “Those uplanders would be ungrateful shits not to receive him with open arms,” Major Paredes said. “He’s building them a road, a bridge. Who ever remembered there even was a Cajamarca before that?”

  “Cajamarca’s always been an Aprista hotbed,” he said. “We’ve done some cleaning up, but something unforeseen could happen.”

  “The President thinks the trip will be a success,” Major Paredes said. “He says you’ve assured him there’ll be forty thousand people at the rally and no trouble.”

  “There will be, and there won’t be any trouble,” he said. “But those are the things that are aging me. Not the ulcers or the tobacco.”

  *

  They’d paid the Chinaman, gone out, and when they got to the courtyard the meeting had already begun, sir. Mr. Lozano looked angrily at them and pointed to the clock. There were some fifty there, all dressed in civilian clothes, some were laughing like idiots and what a stink. This one on the regular list, this one a hired hand like me, the other one from the list, Ludovico was pointing them out, and a police major was talking, potbellied, half-stuttering, who kept repeating “so that.” So that there were assault guards on the outskirts, so th-th-that there were patrol cars too, so that the c-c-cavalry was hidden in some garages and c-c-corrals. Ludovico and Ambrosio looked at each other as if to say c-c-comical, sir, but Hipólito kept a funeral face. And then Mr. Lozano came forward, all very quiet to listen to him.

  “But the idea is that the police won’t have to intervene,” he’d said. “It’s something Mr. Bermúdez has asked about especially. And there isn’t to be any shooting either.”

  “He’s bringing in the big boss because you’re here,” Ludovico had said to Ambrosio. “So you’ll go back and tell him.”