Conversation in the Cathedral

by Mario Vargas Llosa

  “That’s not true, I can get to the office from here faster than Sparky.” Don Fermín laughed. “Besides, I’m saving money and I’ve discovered that I like to drive. My second childhood. My, that stew looks good.”

  Delicious, mama, of course he wanted some more, should she peel the shrimps for you? yes, mama. An actor, Zavalita, a Machiavelli, a cynic? Yes he would bring his clothes for the girls to wash, mama. One who could turn into so many different people that it was impossible to know which one was really he? Yes he would come for lunch every Sunday, mama. Another victim or victim-maker fighting tooth and nail to devour and not be devoured, another Peruvian bourgeois? Yes he would phone every day to tell how he was and if he needed anything, mama. Good at home with his children, immoral in business, an opportunist in politics, just like all the others? Yes he would get his law degree, mama. Impotent with his wife, insatiable with his mistresses, dropping his pants in front of his chauffeur? No he wouldn’t stay up late at night, yes he would dress warmly, no he wouldn’t smoke, yes he would take care of himself, mama. Putting vaseline on himself, panting and drooling like a woman in labor underneath him?

  “Yes, I taught Master Sparky how to drive,” Ambrosio says. “Behind your father’s back, of course.”

  “I never heard Becerrita or Periquito say a word to the others,” Carlitos said. “Maybe when I wasn’t there, they know that we’re friends. Maybe they talked about it for a few days, a few weeks. Then they all got used to it, forgot about it. Wasn’t that how it was with the Muse, isn’t that how it is with everything in this country, Zavalita?”

  Years that get mixed up, Zavalita, mediocrity by day and monotony by night, beer, brothels. Stories, articles: enough paper to wipe yourself with for the rest of your life, he thinks. Conversations in the Negro-Negro, Sundays with shrimp stew, IOUs at the canteen at La Crónica, a handful of books to remember. Drunken sprees without conviction, Zavalita, screwing without conviction, journalism without conviction. Debts at the end of the month, a purgation, slow, inexorable immersion in the invisible filth. She’d been the only thing different, he thinks. She made you suffer, Zavalita, lose sleep, cry. He thinks: your worms shook me up a little, Muse, they made me live a little. Carlitos moved the back of his hand, raised only his thumb and sucked in; his head thrown back there, half his face lighted by the reflector, half his face sunken in something secret and profound.

  “China’s going to bed with a musician from the Embassy Club.” His wandering glassy eyes there. “I have a right to have my problems too, Zavalita.”

  “All right, I can see that we’ll be here until dawn,” Santiago said. “I’ll have to put you to bed.”

  “You’re good and a failure like me, you’ve got what you have to have,” Carlitos said syllable by syllable. “But you’re lacking something. Don’t you say that you want to live? Fall in love with a whore and you’ll see.”

  He’d leaned his head over a little and with a thick, uncertain and slow voice, had begun to recite. He would repeat a single line of poetry, be silent, go back to it, sometimes laughing almost noiselessly. It was already close to three o’clock when Norwin and Rojas came into the Negro-Negro and Carlitos had been rambling on for some time.

  “The championship race is over, we withdraw,” Norwin said. “We’re leaving the field free to you and Becerrita, Zavalita.”

  “Not another single word about the newspaper or I’m leaving,” Rojas said. “It’s three o’clock in the morning, Norwin. Forget about Última Hora, forget about the Muse, or I’m leaving.”

  “Shitty sensationalist,” Carlitos said. “You look like a newspaperman, Norwin.”

  “I’m not on the police beat anymore,” Santiago said. “This week I’m going back to local news.”

  “We’ve buried the Muse, we leave the field open for Becerrita,” Norwin said. “It’s all over, there’s nothing left in it. Make up your mind to that, Zavalita, they’re not going to find anything out. It’s not news anymore.”

  “Instead of exploiting the baser instincts of the Peruvian people, buy me a beer,” Carlitos said. “Shitty sensationalist.”

  “I know that Becerrita is going to keep on beating it to death,” Norwin said. “Not us anymore. There’s nothing left in it, make up your mind to that. You’ve got to recognize that up to here we’ve been in a tie getting the scoop, Zavalita.”

  “He’s a mulatto with straightened hair and muscles like this,” Carlitos said. “He plays the bongo drums.”

  “The detectives have already buried the whole thing, I’ll pass the information on to you,” Norwin said. “Pantoja confessed it to me this afternoon. We’re digging around in the same place, we have to wait for something to turn up. They’re getting bored already, they’re not going to discover anything more. Tell that to Becerrita.”

  Couldn’t they discover anything more or didn’t they want to? he thinks. He thinks: didn’t they know or did they kill you twice, Muse? Had there been conversations in low voices, posh salons, coming and going, mysterious doors that opened and closed, Zavalita? Had there been visits, whispering, confidences, orders?

  “I went to see him tonight at the Embassy Club,” Carlitos said. “Are you looking for a fight? No, buddy, I came to have a talk. You tell me how China acts with you, then I’ll tell you my side, and we can compare notes. We got to be friends.”

  Had it been the sloppiness, Lima and its moping ways, the stupidity of the detectives, Zavalita? He thinks: that no one demanded anything, insisted, that no one made a move on your behalf. Forget about it or did they really forget you, he thinks, bury the matter, or did they really bury it on their own? Did the same people kill you again, Muse, or did all Peru kill you this second time?

  “Ah, I see why you’re acting that way,” Norwin said. “You had another fight with China, Carlitos.”

  They went to the Negro-Negro two or three times a week while the newspaper was still at the old location on the Calle Pando. When La Crónica moved into its new building on the Avenida Tacna they would meet in little cafés and bars on Colmena. The Jaialai, he thinks, the Hawaii, the América. The first days of the month Norwin, Rojas, Milton would appear in those dank caves and they would go to brothels. Sometimes they would find Becerrita, surrounded by two or three reporters, drinking and talking all buddy-buddy with the pimps and fairies and he always picked up the check. Getting up at noon, having lunch at the boardinghouse, an interview, a piece of information, sitting down at his desk and writing, going down to the canteen, back to the typewriter, leaving, going back to the boardinghouse at dawn, getting undressed watching the day grow over the ocean. And the Sunday lunches were getting confused, the little meals at the Rinconcito Cajamarquino celebrating Carlitos’ birthday, Norwin’s, or Hernández’, and the weekly get-togethers with his father, mother, Sparky and Teté.

  2

  “MORE COFFEE, Cayo?” Major Paredes asked. “You too, General?”

  “You got an O.K. out of me, but you still haven’t convinced me. I still think it’s stupid talking to him.” General Llerena threw the telegrams onto the desk. “Why not send him a message ordering him to Lima? Or if not, what Paredes proposed yesterday. Bring him out of Tumbes by land, put him on a plane in Talara and bring him here.”

  “Chamorro may be a traitor, but he’s not an imbecile, General,” he said. “If you send him a telegram, he’ll make it across the border. If the police show up at his house, he’ll greet them with bullets. And we don’t know what the reaction of his officers will be.”

  “I can answer for the officers in Tumbes,” General Llerena said, raising his voice. “Colonel Quijano has kept us posted from the beginning and he can assume command. You don’t negotiate with plotters, least of all when the plot has been crushed. This is all nonsense, Bermúdez.”

  “Chamorro is very popular with the officer corps, General,” Major Paredes said. “I suggested that the four leaders all be arrested at the same time. But since three of them have already started to back down, I think Ca
yo’s idea is the best.”

  “He owes everything to the President, he owes everything to me.” General Llerena pounded on the arm of his chair. “I might have expected a thing like this from somebody else, but not from him. Chamorro has got to pay me for this.”

  “It’s not a question of you, General,” he admonished him in a friendly way. “The President wants this settled without any trouble. Let me do it my way, I assure you it’s the best way.”

  “Chiclayo on the phone, General,” a head with a military cap said from the door. “Yes, all three phones are connected, General.”

  “Major Paredes?” shouted a voice muffled by buzzing and acoustical vibrations. “Camino speaking, Major. I haven’t been able to get in touch with Mr. Bermúdez to let him know. We’ve already picked up Senator Landa here. Yes, on his ranch. Protesting, yes. He wants to call the Palace. We’ve followed the instructions to the letter, Major.”

  “Very good, Camino,” he said. “Yes, it’s me. Is the senator there? Put him on, I want to speak to him.”

  “He’s in the next room, Don Cayo.” The buzzing grew louder, the voice seemed to disappear and come to life again. “Incommunicado, as you indicated. I’ll have him brought right away, Don Cayo.”

  “Hello, hello?” He recognized Landa’s voice, tried to picture his face and couldn’t. “Hello, hello?”

  “I’m terribly sorry about all the trouble we’ve been causing you, senator,” he said in a friendly way. “We had to locate you.”

  “What’s the meaning of all this?” Landa’s angry voice exploded. “Why was I taken from my house by soldiers? What happened to parliamentary immunity? Who ordered this outrage, Bermúdez?”

  “I wanted to let you know that General Espina is under arrest,” he said calmly. “And the General insists on tying you in with some very sticky business. Yes, Espina, General Espina. He insists that you’re involved in a plot against the government. We need you in Lima to clear this all up, senator.”

  “Me, in a plot against the government?” There was no hesitation in Landa’s voice, only the same ringing fury. “But I belong to the government, I am the government. What kind of nonsense is this, Bermúdez, what are you up to?”

  “I’m not up to anything, it’s General Espina.” He begged his pardon. “He’s got proof, he says. That’s why we need you here, senator. We’ll have a talk tomorrow and I hope everything will all be cleared up.”

  “Have them get me a plane to Lima at once,” the senator roared. “I’ll rent a plane, I’ll pay for it. This is absolutely absurd, Bermúdez.”

  “Very well, senator,” he said. “Put Camino on, I’ll give him instructions.”

  “I’ve been treated like a criminal by your police,” the senator shouted. “In spite of my position as a member of parliament, in spite of my friendship with the President. You’re responsible for all this, Bermúdez.”

  “Keep Landa there overnight for me, Camino,” he said. “Send him to me tomorrow. No, no special plane. On the regular Faucett flight, yes. That’s all, Camino.”

  “‘I’ll rent a plane, I’ll pay for it,’” Major Paredes said, hanging up the phone. “It’ll do that big shot good spending a night in the cooler.”

  “One of Landa’s daughters was chosen Miss Peru last year, wasn’t she?” he said, and he could see her, hazy against the curtain of shadows by the window, taking off her fur coat, her shoes. “Cristina or something like that, wasn’t it? She looked like a pretty girl from her pictures.”

  “Your methods still don’t convince me,” General Llerena said, looking ill-humoredly at the rug. “Things are settled better and quicker with a heavy hand, Bermúdez.”

  “There’s a call from Police Headquarters for Mr. Bermúdez, General,” a lieutenant said, sticking his head in. “A Mr. Lozano.”

  “The subject has just left his house, Don Cayo,” Lozano said. “Yes, a patrol car is tailing him. In the direction of Chaclacayo, yes.”

  “Fine,” he said. “Call Chaclacayo and tell them that Zavala’s on his way. Have them let him in to wait for me. Don’t let him leave until I get there. See you later, Lozano.”

  “The big fish is going to your house?” General Llerena asked. “What does that mean, Bermúdez?”

  “It means he’s realized that the plot’s all washed up, General,” he said.

  “Is everything going to be settled so easily for Zavala?” Major Paredes muttered. “He and Landa are the brains behind this, they pushed the Uplander into this adventure.”

  “General Chamorro on the phone, General,” a captain said from the door. “Yes, all three phones are connected to Tumbes, General.”

  “Cayo Bermúdez speaking, General.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw General Llerena’s face, drawn from lack of sleep, and Paredes’ anxiety as he bit his lip. “I’m sorry to wake you up at this hour, but it’s a very urgent matter.”

  “This is General Chamorro, at your service.” An energetic voice that showed no age, sure of itself. “Tell me, how can I be of help, Mr. Bermúdez.”

  “General Espina was arrested tonight, General,” he said. “The garrisons at Arequipa, Iquitos and Cajamarca have reaffirmed their loyalty to the government. All the civilians involved in the plot, from Senator Landa down to Fermín Zavala, are under arrest. I’m going to read you some telegrams, General.”

  “A plot?” General Chamorro whispered in the midst of various noises. “Against the government, you say?”

  “A plot that was crushed before it could get started,” he said. “The President is prepared to forget all about it. General Espina will leave the country, the officers involved won’t be touched if they act reasonably. We know that you promised to back General Espina, but the President is prepared to forget about it, General.”

  “I only answer for my actions to my superiors, to the Minister of War or to the Chief of the General Staff,” Chamorro’s voice said haughtily, then, after a long pause with electric belches, “Who do you think you are? I don’t give any explanations to some civilian flunky.”

  “Hello, Alberto?” General Llerena coughed, spoke more strongly. “The Minister of War is speaking, not your comrade in arms. I just want to confirm what you’ve just heard. I also want you to know that you can thank the President for this chance. I’d proposed bringing you up before a court-martial on the charge of high treason.”

  “I take full responsibility for my actions,” Chamorro’s voice replied indignantly, but something had begun to give way in it, something that showed through had begun to give way in it, something that showed through its drive. “It’s not true that I’ve been involved in any act of treason. I’ll answer for it before any court you want. I’ve always answered, you know that very well.”

  “The President knows that you’re an outstanding officer, that’s why he’d rather not think of you as being connected with this headstrong adventure,” he said. “Yes, Bermúdez speaking. The President respects you and thinks of you as a patriot. He doesn’t want to take any action against you, General.”

  “I’m a man of honor and I won’t permit my good name to be sullied,” General Chamorro affirmed vigorously. “This is an intrigue that was put together behind my back. I won’t permit it. I have nothing to say to you, put General Llerena back on.”

  “All the leaders of the army have attested to your loyalty to the government, General,” he said. “All that’s needed is for you to do it yourself. The President expects it of you, General Chamorro.”

  “I won’t allow myself to be slandered, I won’t let my honor be put in doubt,” Chamorro’s voice repeated with vehemence. “This is some cowardly and swinish intrigue against me. I order you to put General Llerena on.”

  “Reaffirm unbreakable loyalty constitutional government and chief of state in mission national patriotic restoration. Signed, General Pedro Solano, Commander in Chief, First Military District,” he read. “Commander in Chief Fourth District and officers confirm support sympathy patriotic regime national rest
oration. Stop. Will obey constitution laws. Signed, General Antonio Quispe Bulnes. Reaffirm support patriotic regime. Stop. Reaffirm decision fulfill sacred duties fatherland constitution laws. Signed, General Manuel Obando Coloma, Commander in Chief, Second District.”

  “Did you hear, Alberto?” General Llerena roared. “Did you hear, or do you want me to read you the messages again?”

  “The President is waiting for your telegram, General Chamorro,” he said. “He asked me to tell you personally.”

  “Unless you want to commit the madness of rebelling all by yourself,” General Llerena roared. “And in that case I can give you my word that all I will need is a couple of hours to show you that the army is completely loyal to the government, in spite of what Espina may have made you believe. If you don’t send the telegram before dawn, I’ll consider you in revolt.”

  “The President has confidence in you, General Chamorro,” he said.

  “I don’t have to remind you that you’re in command of a frontier garrison,” General Llerena said. “I don’t have to tell you about the responsibility that will fall on you if you provoke a civil war at the very gateway to Ecuador.”

  “You can consult Generals Quispe, Obando and Solano by radio,” he said. “The President is waiting for you to act with the same patriotism they showed. That’s all we wanted to tell you. Good night, General Chamorro.”

  “Chamorro’s head is a can of worms right now,” General Llerena murmured, running his handkerchief over his sweating face. “He’s capable of doing something foolish.”

  “At this moment he’s insulting the mothers of Espina, Solano, Quispe and Obando,” Major Paredes said. “He could escape into Ecuador, but I don’t think he’ll want to ruin his career like that.”

  “He’ll send out the telegram before dawn,” he said. “He’s an intelligent man.”