Conversation in the Cathedral

by Mario Vargas Llosa

“Do I think it was bad?” Ambrosio asked. “Well, sir, on the one hand of course it was, right? But police affairs, political affairs are never very clean. Working with Don Cayo you get to find that out, sir.”

  “But there was an accident, Mr. Lozano.” Ludovico and Hipólito: he’s caught him again. “No, I didn’t forget how to work the machine, the guy you sent did a perfect job of setting it up. I turned it on myself.”

  “Where are the tapes, then?” Mr. Lozano asked. “Where are the pictures?”

  “The dogs ate them, sir.” Hipólito and Ludovico didn’t look at each other, they twisted their mouths, hunched over. “They ate half of the tape, they tore up the pictures. The package was on top of the refrigerator, Mr. Lozano, and the animals …”

  “Enough, Gimpy, enough,” Mr. Lozano grunted. “You’re not an imbecile, you’re something else, words can’t describe what you are, Gimpy. The dogs? The dogs ate them up?”

  “Great big dogs, sir,” Gimpy Melequías said. “The boss got them, hungry dogs, they eat anything they come across, they’d even eat a person if he didn’t watch out. But the subject is sure to come back and …”

  “Go see a doctor,” Mr. Lozano said. “There must be some kind of treatment, injections, something, there must be some cure for such stupidity. Dogs, Jesus Christ, the dogs ate them. So long, Gimpy. Get going, don’t blame yourself and beat it now. To the Meiggs Extension, Ludovico.”

  “And besides, it wasn’t just Mr. Lozano who took advantage,” Ambrosio said. “Didn’t Don Cayo too, in a different way? That pair said that on the force everybody on the list took bribes in some way, from the highest down to the lowest. That’s why Ludovico’s great dream was to become a regular. You mustn’t think that everybody’s as honest and decent as you are, sir.”

  “You get out this time, Hipólito,” Mr. Lozano said. “Let them start getting to know you, since they won’t be seeing Ludovico’s face for quite a while.”

  “What do you mean by that, Mr. Lozano?” Ludovico asked.

  “Don’t play dumb, you know damned well why,” Mr. Lozano said. “Because you’re going to go to work for Mr. Bermúdez, just the way you wanted to, right?”

  *

  In the middle of the next week, Amalia was cleaning the mantel when the bell rang. She went to open the door and Don Fermín’s face. Her knees shook, she was barely able to stammer good morning.

  “Is Don Cayo in?” He didn’t answer her greeting, he came into the living room almost without looking at her. “Please tell him that Zavala is here.”

  He didn’t recognize you, she guessed, half frightened, half resentful, and at that moment the mistress appeared on the stairs: come in, Fermín, sit down, Cayo was on his way, he’d just called, could she give him a drink? Amalia closed the door, slipped into the pantry and spied. Don Fermín was looking at his watch, his eyes were impatient and his face worried, the mistress served him a glass of whiskey. What had happened to Cayo, he was always so punctual I don’t think you like my company, you’re so restless, the mistress said, I’m going to get angry. They treated each other with such familiarity, Amalia was startled. She went out the service entrance, crossed the garden, and Ambrosio had gone off a little way from the house. He greeted her with a terrified face: did he see you, did he talk to you?

  “He didn’t even recognize me,” Amalia said. “Have I changed that much?”

  “That’s good, that’s good.” Ambrosio took a deep breath as if life was coming back to him; he was shaking his head, still upset, and looking at the house.

  “Always secrets, always afraid,” Amalia said. “I may have changed, but you’re still the same.”

  But she said it with a smile so that he could see she wasn’t mad at him, that she was teasing, and she thought how happy you are to see him, stupid. Now Ambrosio was laughing too and with his hands he made her understand what we were saved from, Amalia. He got a little closer to her and all of a sudden he took her hand: could they go out that Sunday, could they meet at the streetcar stop at two o’clock? All right, then, Sunday.

  “So Don Fermín and Don Cayo have got to be friends again,” Amalia said. “So Don Fermín will be coming around now. One of these days he’s going to recognize me.”

  “Just the opposite, they’re real enemies now,” Ambrosio said. “Don Cayo is ruining Don Fermín’s business because he’s the friend of some general who tried to start a revolution.”

  He was telling her that when they saw Don Cayo’s black car turning the corner, there he is, run, and Amalia went into the house. Carlota was waiting for her in the kitchen, her big eyes crazy with curiosity: did she know that man’s chauffeur, what were they talking about, what did he say to you, he was a good-looking fellow, wasn’t he? She was telling her some lies and then the mistress called her: take this tray up to the study, Amalia. She went up with the glasses and ashtrays that were dancing about, trembling, thinking that fool Ambrosio has infected me with his fear, what’ll I say if he recognizes me. But he didn’t recognize her: Don Fermín’s eyes looked at her for a second without seeing her and turned away. He was sitting and tapping his foot, impatient. She put the tray on the desk and left. They were closeted for half an hour. They were arguing, you could hear their voices in the kitchen, loud, and the mistress came and closed the pantry door so they couldn’t hear. When from the kitchen she saw Don Fermín’s car leaving, she went up to get the tray. The mistress and the master were talking in the living room. Such shouting, the mistress was saying, and the master: the rat was trying to get away when he thought the ship was sinking, now he’s paying for it and he doesn’t like it. What right did he have to call Don Fermín a rat? he was more respectable and a nicer person than he was, Amalia thought. He must have been jealous of him, and Carlota tell me, who was it, what were they talking about?

  *

  “I too have this job because the President asked me,” Dr. Arbeláez said, softening his voice, and he thought good, let’s make peace. “I’m trying to do something positive and …”

  “Everything positive done in this ministry is done by you, doctor,” he said forcefully. “I take care of the negative side. No, I’m not joking, it’s true. I assure you that I’m doing you a great service, relieving you of everything that has to do with everyday police work.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you, Don Cayo,” Dr. Arbeláez’ chin wasn’t trembling anymore.

  “I’m not offended, doctor,” he said. “I would have liked to have made those cuts in the security budget. I simply can’t. You’ll see that for yourself.”

  Dr. Arbeláez picked up the folder and handed it to him.

  “Take it, you don’t have to give me any proof, I believe you without it.” He tried to smile, scarcely parting his lips. “We’ll find some way to fix up those patrol cars and start the repairs in Tacna and Moquegua.”

  They shook hands, but Dr. Arbeláez didn’t get up to see him to the door. He went directly to his office and Dr. Alcibíades went in behind him.

  “The Major and Lozano have just left, Don Cayo.” He handed him an envelope. “Bad news from Mexico, it seems.”

  Two typewritten pages, corrected by hand, notes in the margin in nervous writing. Dr. Alcibíades lighted his cigarette while he read, slowly.

  “So the plot is taking shape.” He loosened his tie, folded the papers and put them back in the envelope. “Did this seem so urgent to the Major and Lozano?”

  “There were meetings of Apristas in Trujillo and Chiclayo, and Lozano and the Major think they have something to do with the news that the exile group is getting ready to leave Mexico,” Dr. Alcibíades said. “They’ve gone to talk to Major Paredes.”

  “I hope those birds come back to the country so we can lay our hands on them,” he said, yawning. “But they won’t. This is the tenth or eleventh time, doctor, don’t forget that. Tell the Major and Lozano that we’ll get together tomorrow. There’s no rush.”

  “The people from Cajamarca called to confirm the meeting at five o’
clock, Don Cayo.”

  “Yes, fine.” He took an envelope out of his briefcase and gave it to him. “Will you find out how this matter is going? It’s a land claim in Bagua. Do it personally, doctor.”

  “First thing tomorrow, Don Cayo.” Dr. Alcibíades thumbed through the memo, nodding. “Yes, how many signatures are missing, what reports there are, I’ll find out. Fine, Don Cayo.”

  “Any moment now we’ll get the news that the money for the plot has disappeared.” He smiled, looking in the envelope from the Major and Lozano. “Any moment now the leaders will be accusing each other of being traitors and thieves. Sometimes you get bored with the same things always happening, don’t you?”

  Dr. Alcibíades nodded and smiled politely.

  *

  “Why do I think you’re so honest and decent?” Ambrosio asked. “Please, don’t ask me hard questions like that, sir.”

  “Are they really going to assign me to take care of Mr. Bermúdez, Mr. Lozano?” Ludovico asked.

  “You’re bursting with happiness,” Mr. Lozano said. “You worked it all out quite well with Ambrosio, didn’t you?”

  “I don’t want you to think I don’t want to work with you, Mr. Lozano,” Ludovico said. “The fact is that the black fellow and I have gotten to be good friends and he’s always telling me why don’t you put in for a transfer and me no, I’m happy working with Mr. Lozano. Maybe Ambrosio made the request on his own, sir.”

  “All right.” Mr. Lozano began to laugh. “It’s a step up for you and I think it’s only right that you should want to better yourself.”

  “Well, starting with the way you talk to people,” Ambrosio said. “You don’t start off insulting people as soon as they turn their backs the way Don Cayo does. You don’t put anyone down, you say good things about people, you’re polite.”

  “I put in a good word with Bermúdez about you,” Mr. Lozano said. “You do your job, you’ve got guts, everything the black fellow said about you was true. You won’t be mad at me. You know, all I had to do was say you were no good and Bermúdez would have taken my advice. So you owe this promotion to me as much as to your black friend.”

  “Of course, Mr. Lozano,” Ludovico said. “I don’t know how to thank you, sir. I don’t know how to make it up to you, I mean it.”

  “I do,” Mr. Lozano said. “By behaving yourself, Ludovico.”

  “You just say the word and there I am, at your orders for whatever you want, Mr. Lozano.”

  “Keeping your tongue tucked away in your pocket too,” said Mr. Lozano. “You never went out with me in the Ford, you don’t know what a monthly payoff is. You can make it up to me that way, understand?”

  “I swear you didn’t have to tell me that, Mr. Lozano,” Ludovico said. “I swear it wasn’t necessary. What do you think I am?”

  “You know that it’s up to me if you want to get on the regular list someday,” Mr. Lozano said. “Or if you never want to get on it, Ludovico.”

  “And the way you treat people too,” Ambrosio said. “So elegant, always saying nice things to them, intelligent things. I can hear when you’re talking to someone, sir.”

  “Here come Hipólito and Half-breed Cigüeña,” Ludovico said.

  They got into the Ford and Ludovico was so happy with the news of his transfer that I started driving the wrong way, he told Ambrosio later. Half-breed Cigüeña was repeating his usual tales.

  “The plumbing broke down and it cost a lot of money, Mr. Lozano. Besides, we’re getting fewer and fewer customers every day. People in Lima just aren’t screwing anymore and we’re going broke.”

  “Well, if business is that bad, then you won’t mind if I shut you down tomorrow,” Mr. Lozano said.

  “You think they’re lies I’m making up so I won’t have to give you the payoff, Mr. Lozano,” Half-breed Cigüeña protested. “But they’re not, here it is, you know that it’s something sacred with me. I’m only telling you my troubles as a friend, Mr. Lozano, so you’ll know what they are.”

  “And the way you treat me too,” Ambrosio said. “The way you listen to me, the way you ask me questions, the way we talk together. The trust you have in me. My whole life has changed ever since I came to work for you, sir.”

  7

  ON SUNDAY, AMALIA TOOK AN HOUR to get herself ready and even Símula, always so dry, teased her Lord of mercy, such preparations to go out. Ambrosio was already at the streetcar stop when she got there and he squeezed her hand so hard that Amalia gave a little cry. He was laughing, happy, blue suit, a shirt as white as his teeth, a small tie with red and white dots: you always made him jumpy, Amalia, now too, he’d been wondering whether or not you were going to stand me up. The streetcar was half empty when it arrived and, before she sat down, Ambrosio took out his handkerchief and dusted off the seat. The window seat for the queen, he said, bowing deeply. Such a good mood, how he’d changed, and she told him: how different you get when you’re not afraid they’re going to catch me with you. And he was happy because he was thinking of other times, Amalia. The conductor was looking at them, amused, with the tickets in his hand, and Ambrosio sent him on his way asking him anything else we can do for you? You scared him, Amalia said, and he yes, this time nobody was going to come between them, no conductor and no textile worker. He looked seriously into her eyes: did I behave bad, did I go off with another woman? Misbehaving was when you left your woman for another one, Amalia, we fought because you didn’t understand what I was asking of you. If she hadn’t been so flighty, so stuck-up, they could have kept on seeing each other on the outside and he tried to put his arm around her shoulder, but Amalia took it away: let me go, you behaved bad, and there was laughter. The streetcar had filled up. They were silent for a while and then he changed the subject: they’d stop by and see Ludovico for a minute, Ambrosio had to talk to him, then they’d be alone and do whatever Amalia wanted to do. She told him that Don Cayo and Don Fermín were raising their voices in the study and that the master said afterward that Don Fermín was a rat. He’s more likely the rat, Ambrosio said, after being such good friends now he’s trying to make him go under in his business deals. Downtown they took a bus to Rímac and walked a couple of blocks. It was here, Amalia, on the Calle Chiclayo. She followed him to the end of a hallway, saw him take out a key.

  “Do you think I’m crazy?” she said, taking his arm. “Your friend isn’t here. The place is empty.”

  “Ludovico will be along later,” Ambrosio said. “We’ll talk while we wait for him.”

  “Let’s walk while we talk,” Amalia said. “I’m not going in there.”

  They argued in the muddy flagstone courtyard, watched by children who stopped running around, until Ambrosio opened the door and made her go in, with a shove, laughing. Everything was dark for Amalia for a few seconds until Ambrosio turned on the light.

  *

  He left the office at a quarter to five and Ludovico was already in the car, sitting next to Ambrosio. To the Paseo Colón, the Cajamarca Club. He was quiet and kept his eyes lowered during the ride, more sleep, more sleep. Ludovico accompanied him to the door of the club: should he go in, Don Cayo? No, wait here. He began to go up the stairs when he saw the tall figure appear on the landing, Senator Heredia’s gray head, and he smiled: maybe Mrs. Heredia was here. They’ve all arrived, he shook hands with the senator, a miracle of punctuality among Peruvians. He should come in, the meeting would be in the reception room. Lights on, mirrors with gilt frames on the ancient walls, photographs of mustachioed old dodderers, men clustered together who stopped murmuring when they saw them come in: no, there weren’t any women. The deputies came over, they introduced him to the others: names and surnames, hands, how do you do, good evening, he thought Mrs. Heredia and Hortensia, Queta, Maclovia? he heard at your orders, delighted, and he glimpsed buttoned vests, hard collars, stiff handkerchiefs sticking out of jacket pockets, ruddy cheeks, and waiters in white jackets who served drinks, hors d’oeuvres. He accepted a glass of orangeade and thought so disti
nguished, so white, those well-cared-for hands, those manners of a woman used to giving orders, and he thought Queta so dark, so coarse, so vulgar, so used to serving.

  “If you want, we can get started right away, Don Cayo,” Senator Heredia said.

  “Yes, senator,” she and Queta, yes, “whenever you want.”

  The waiters arranged the chairs, the men sat down holding their pisco sours, there must have been twenty of them, he and Senator Heredia sat facing them. Well, here they were all together to talk informally about the President’s visit to Cajamarca, the senator said, that city which everyone present loved so much and he thought: she could be her maid. Yes, she was her maid, a triple reason for rejoicing by the people of Cajamarca the senator was saying, not here but in the ranch house she probably had in Cajamarca, because of the honor that his visit to our region means the senator was saying, a ranch house full of old furniture and long hallways and bedrooms with thick vicuña rugs which she probably lazed about on while her husband attended to his senatorial duties in the capital, and because he is going to inaugurate a new bridge and the first stretch of the highway the senator was saying, a house full of pictures and servants, but her favorite maid was probably Quetita, her Quetita. Senator Heredia stood up: above all, an occasion for the people of Cajamarca to show their gratitude to the President for these public works which are so important for the department and the country. A movement of chairs, hands, as if they were going to applaud, but the senator was already speaking again, Quetita the one who probably served her breakfast in bed and listened to her confidences and kept her secrets: that’s why this Reception Committee has been named, consisting of, and he noticed out of the corner of his eye that when they heard their names those mentioned smiled or blushed. The object of this meeting is to coordinate the program put together by the government itself for the presidential visit, and the senator turned to look at him: Cajamarca was a hospitable and a thankful place, Don Cayo, Odría would receive a welcome worthy of his accomplishments at the head of the nation’s high destiny. He didn’t get up; the glimmer of a smile, he thanked the distinguished Senator Heredia, the parliamentary delegation from Cajamarca for their selfless efforts to make the visit a success, in the back of the room behind some fluttering sheer curtains the two shadows dropped down beside each other in heat on a feather mattress that received them noiselessly, the members of the Reception Committee for having had the goodness to come to Lima to exchange ideas, and immediately muffled bold laughter broke out and the shadows clung together and rolled and were one single form on the white sheets under the curtains: he too was convinced that the visit would be a success, gentlemen.