“I think it’s time to bring him back in,” Esther said.
“Yes,” David agreed, “according to the reports from the Good Governance Board in La Realidad, this Morales person was part of the Fox group that recently visited the Lacandona forest and had a secret meeting with some unidentified characters. That’s why Fox stayed overnight. The entire Fox party returned, all except one—”
“The Morales person,” Esther again interrupted.
“The area of Chiapas that Fox visited is full of fine hardwoods, oil, bountiful animal and plant life, uranium … and water. If there’s any one place where you can find the Bad and the Evil together, it’s there!” David exclaimed, jabbing his finger into a corner of the Chiapas map labeled, Montes Azules Biosphere Reserve.
THE BAD AND THE EVIL ACCORDING TO JOSÉ REVUELTAS, MEXICAN WRITER AND RADICAL LEFTIST MILITANT, WHO WAS, AMONG OTHER THINGS, A POLITICAL PRISONER.
The PAN represents the economic sectors whose endeavors are less “fruitful and creative” in the life of the nation: banking capital, commercial and real estate capital, and the capital that thrives in the so-called comprador economy. Their physical incarnation is the Licenciado, whose historical debut on the national scene dates back to the colonial period and the Pontifical University … Now then, the fondest wish of the PAN and its Licenciados is to set Mexico up as an open field for the growth and development of foreign capital, without whose momentum (as avowed by the PAN) our economy would be doomed to have its entrails devoured by vultures for rebelling against the gods, who, in our case, would be the big interests of North American imperialist capital.
—Mexico: A Barbaric Democracy, October-November 1957
THE BAD AND THE EVIL ACCORDING TO PABLO NERUDA, CHILEAN POET AND LEFTIST MILITANT.
I have seen the Bad and the Evil, but not in their lairs.
It is a tale of evil in caverns …
I found evil sitting on tribunals
in the Senate I found it dressed
and prim, diverting debates
and ideas into pockets.
The Bad and Evil
had just emerged from their baths: They
were framed in satisfactions
and were perfect in their softness
of their false decorum.
—Excerpt from “Se Reúne el Acero” (1945), in Canto General
PORTIONS OF THE REPORT ON THE WORK OF ELÍAS IN THE MONSTER SENT BY EL SUP TO THE INDIGENOUS CLANDESTINE REVOLUTIONARY COMMITTEE AT THE GENERAL HEADQUARTERS OF THE ZAPATISTA NATIONAL LIBERATION ARMY IN EARLY 2005.
According to this report, Elías was a waiter at the Champs-Élysées restaurant in Polanco, and he brought about one of the most intense attacks of rage ever suffered by Diego Fernández de Cevallos, senator from the PAN (National Action Party), lawyer of criminals, consort of drug traffickers, and architect of the campaign to elect Santiago Creel, current Secretary of the Interior, to the presidency of Mexico on the PAN ticket.
As it happens, La Coyota, which is what they call Fernández de Cevallos, was eating in a restaurant with his friends Jesús Ortega (a corrupt politician from the PRD, notorious for his misappropriation of party funds and his bid to become governor of Mexico City after the López Obrador fiasco), Manuel Bartlett (member of the PRI, linked to drug trafficking and looking to hook up with one of the narco groups vying for power along with the PRI nominees for president of the republic), and Enrique Jackson (also a member of the PRI, also a nominee, owner of a number of rackets in Mexico City, and, according to reports by the U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency, also tied in with one of the drug cartels).
Elías was supposed to serve them. Mr. Fernández de Cevallos yelled at him, “Hey, barefoot Indian trash, bring us the menu!” and turning to receive the approval of his guests, he added, “Let’s see if this lazy Indian falls asleep along the way,” as the others flattered him with chuckles and applause. When Elías brought the menu, Fernández de Cevallos said, “Listen, you, don’t pay any attention to those Zapatistas; you Indians are here to serve us; that’s what we conquered you for.”
More laughter and applause from the narco-legislators.
Elías waited for them to finish their orders, pretending he was writing them down. Then he left, and after a while he returned, not with the orders, but holding an antacid bottle with a pom-pom on top and a note that said, For La Coyota and her pups. Fernández de Cevallos turned every color of the rainbow; he could hardly speak. All he could do (according to Elías) was open his eyes really wide, like when he gets angry with reporters. The captain came to the table to see what was happening and Fernández de Cevallos pointed at Elías as his three little pigs pounded him on the back and fanned him with napkins. They called an ambulance. As they lifted him into the vehicle, Fernández de Cevallos mumbled, “Rat-shit Indians.” Maybe they fired Elías, but he didn’t hang around to find out. Diego Fernández de Cevallos was admitted to a hospital, so he said, “to have some lab analyses done and rule out cancer.” The fact is, he had such a severe bile attack that it turned his beard green. A very exclusive beauty parlor charged a fortune to dye it back, with white hairs and all. The Senate of the Republic picked up the tab.
… Before the incident with La Coyota Fernández de Cevallos, Elías worked as a room steward at the Oxford Hotel, over in the Tabacalera district. While he was working for them, Elías slipped a ski mask over the head of the Che Guevara bust in the park behind the San Carlos Museum, in that same district. That happened just last year, on October 8, 2004, but no one ever found out because just before first light, before anyone could see it, the personnel of the Cuauhtémoc Station tore off the ski mask, along with a sign that read. He shall return, and they shall be millions.
THE BAD AND THE EVIL ACCORDING TO MANUEL VÁZQUEZ MONTALBÁN, CATALONIAN WRITER AND FIERCE CRITIC OF THE RIGHT (AS WELL AS THE LEFT).
No. There are no single truths, nor are there final struggles, but we can still find our way by siding with the possible truths against the evident non-truths and fighting. One can see part of the truth and not recognize it. But it is impossible to look upon evil and fail to recognize it. Good does not exist, but evil, I think, or I fear, does.—In “Panfleto desde el Planeta de los Simios,” late 1994
THE BAD AND THE EVIL ACCORDING TO HÉCTOR BELAS-COARÁN AND ELÍAS CONTRERAS.
So I went to see this Belascoarán over where he works, which is his office. I left when it was getting on in the afternoon, which was almost like the evening. That morning, I had been reading in this newspaper called La Jornada about what a guy says who knows a whole lot of things and his name is … his name is … Gimme a second … That’s it, Miguel León Portilla. And I copied down what this Mr. León Portilla said, which was:
A person’s word must neither be bought nor sold, says an old adage (pre-Hispanic) that a mother shared with her daughter Beautiful, isn’t it? Such a contrast with what so many contemporary politicians do and think.
That’s what the man said in that newspaper called La Jornada. Well, I just stood there thinking about what that wise man said, but not too long, cause I had to go and find that Belascoarán feller.
I reckon it musta been a Sunday, can’t really tell now, but what I do know is that I crossed in front of that big old building where they have that newspaper called El Universal, and I noticed that it was 6 p.m., Fox time, which is 19:00 hours Southeastern Combat Front time. I can tell that was the time, cause just as I was walking in front of the building, I heard the music of the National Anthem of Mexico, and so I snapped to, which means I came to attention and I brought my left arm real stiff to the side of my head, which is how us Zapatistas salute the anthem and the flag of our country, which is called Mexico. So there I was, all by myself cause there was no one else around at that time, standing there at attention and all, and twisting my eyes every which way to figger where it was coming from, the music to that anthem that says, Mexicans, at the call to war/your steel and your bridle prepare … and I couldn’t find where, till finally i
t finished and I turned and saw that it was coming from the big old clock on top of that newspaper. The thing is, that street is called Bucareli, and right around the corner is where that Belascoarán works, where he has his office, on the street that’s called Artículo 123 on the one side and Donato Guerra on the other.
I was just getting there when this Belascoarán walked up with some drinking glasses and a loaf of bread and we said hello and went up where he works with those other three Christians who seem right enough and make a lot of noise. Belascoarán introduced me to the others and said something like, “Let me introduce Elías Contreras, he comes from Chiapas.” And they all applauded and asked what I did and all, and since I could see that Belascoarán trusted them, I said that I was an Investigation Commission. Belascoarán told them that I was a detective, but that in my own territory, which is the rebel territory for humanity and against neoliberalism, that’s what they call us: Investigation Commission. So then I told Belascoarán that we should go see that thing about that Morales. And he said that was what we were going to do—that is, that we were going to see the thing, or the case, depending, on that Morales. And that’s when Belascoarán explained that you don’t say thing; you have to say case. And I said, right, whatever, let’s go see the thing, or the case, depending, on that Morales. Then Belascoarán brought out the file I gave him the other day—actually, the other night—and there was the papers El Sup sent with the reports we had on that there Morales. But now Belascoarán had them all fixed together with some of his own reports and investigations, and it was kinda messy.
Thing is, Belascoarán organized it all to get some order and perspective. So I asked what that perspective thing is, and he explained that perspective is when you look at things, or cases, depending, from all sides at the same time and kinda from a little far away, so’s you can see how it all fits together. Then I figgered that this perspective thing is to look at things, or cases, in a group, cause you can tell that one person alone can’t look from all sides at the one thing (case?) all at once, but with a group you could. That’s when the gentleman called Gilberto Gómez Letras butted in.
“Don’t be a pain in the ass, boss, just tell him what it is so it’s clear, or Mr. Elías here is going to repeat what you told him and people over there are going to think we’re ignorant.”
Then the furniture gutter, that Carlos Vargas, spoke up: “You ever seen a goddamn plumber who knows what perspective is?”
And then the one who was sposed to be a goddamn plumber piped up, “Pay attention, Mr. Wilson, and you’ll find out why my second last name is Letras.”
So he went over to this really fat book called the Dictionary of Modern Spanish and started looking, till he found it, and what it means is, just a minute, what it means is … Let me look in my pad, cause I have it right here next to aforementioned … Here it is:
Perspective: The art of representing volumes and spatial relations on a flat surface; a work of art employing this technique; the aspect of an object seen by an observer from far away; a fallacious and apparent representation of things; a foreseeable contingency in a business deal.
Well, that’s what I wrote down in my pad about what it said in that book that Gómez Letras checked. Then the sofa gutter, Vargas, said, “Sonovabitch, if the cure ain’t worse than the disease.”
Belascoarán said that it would be better to stick to his, Belascoarán’s, definition of the word. So I asked if it was to see everything all together at once, and Belascoarán said that, yeah, it was something like that, and I got to thinking that my head was all mixed up, but with perspective, cause I always see everything at once all together. So Belascoarán’s thinking is in “ordered perspective,” and mine’s in “mixed-up perspective,” but then he’s a city detective and I’m a Zapatista Investigation Commission, so I think that’s the difference, and my kind of thinking is not his kind of thinking—Belascoarán’s, that is. Then he started explaining that you had to arrange investigations according to the way you see them, and figger out where they happened and how they happened so you could tell if they had anything to do with each other, or if they just happened and that’s all, and when you got that down, then you can see where you are in the investigation and where you’re going, or maybe you’re just staring into a hole in the ground. Anyway, Belascoarán told the others that they should hurry up and eat their donuts. Now, you see, donuts are like a roll with a hole in them—that is, they have part of them missing, but they charge you the same as if they were whole … I mean, without a hole.
So like I said, Belascoarán told them to hurry up with their donuts and coffees, and then either they could shut up or he, Belascoarán, would shut up. He said they had their own choice in “free democratic discipline,” that’s what he said. So they figgered that shutting up themselves was better and just sat there listening while Belascoarán and me looked over the thing, or the case, depends, about this Morales, but with perspective, Belascoarán’s ordered perspective together with my mixed-up perspective, cause we were working together on the investigation of the Bad and the Evil, in a collective, you see. Belascoarán, he layed out all the papers he had, plus the ones we gave him, and it took awhile and most of the flat spaces in the room, including on top of the Mr. Villareal’s coffee cup and on the gutted easy chairs, yeah, there was papers practically everywhere. When he had them all laid out, he began explaining how since we didn’t have people to talk to—that is, to ask questions at—then we had to ask the papers what we wanted to know. And how there was big questions and little questions, and I knew right off that it wasn’t that the papers were going to talk, but that it was what was written on the papers that was going to give us the answers, or maybe not, depends. Then the big questions would give big answers, and it was from the big answers that we would know what the little questions had to be.
About that time I was feeling real happy, cause this Belascoarán feller had his thinking all mixed up like mine and we were both starting to understand real well, and the others were just sitting there all hushed up, but I didn’t know if it was cause of free democratic discipline or cause they didn’t understand anything. So Belascoarán said it was time to ask the big questions, and I pulled out my pad and wrote everything down, cause you always have to be ready to learn things … Who knows, they might come in handy for the struggle, someday.
The first big question Belascoarán asked was, “Is there any connection between all these pieces of information?” Which means, if all those pieces of paper had anything to do with each other. But the thing is, Belascoarán just stood there waiting and the rest of them were still silent from before, and I got the idea that he was waiting for somebody to say something, so I said that they were, that all those little pieces of paper were connected. Well, Belascoarán leaned back and lit a cigarette and stared at me as he asked me why I said that, what connection I saw between all the papers.
And that’s when I said: “The dead.”
Well, everybody just kept real quiet, and not on account of free democratic discipline neither, but cause they were expecting me to go on explaining. So I started explaining that the investigations were being done cause the dead had started them. I mean, I didn’t tell them that I was already deceased or passed away or dead or nothing, cause I didn’t want none of them getting upset about it and maybe chucking up their coffee and hole-breads. Like I said, I explained how the deceased Manuel Vázquez Montalbán was the one who began the Zapatista investigation, and the investigation done by Belascoarán was started by the deceased Jesús María Alvarado, and how one of them wrote and the other talked on the telephone, but they were both deceased, which is dead. But they were dead people who weren’t just hanging around waiting for All Souls’ Day to come on out and have some coffee and tamales and atole made with pozol—no sir, they were speaking up, or out.
Belascoarán smiled and stared out the window. “Yes, they are … because they’re our uncomfortable dead.” And just when I was about to write the word uncomfortabl
e in my pad, he turned around and said, “Very good, Elías Contreras.”
But he explained that it was not just the uncomfortable dead that were the connection between all those papers, no, it was that those papers were like the big fat book the plumber feller had—that is, the dictionary—cause those papers were like a dictionary of the shit, piss, and corruption in the system, which made them like a perspective of all the ways the system of the powerful fucked everybody else to benefit the rich and the bad governments. Then he said there was a little of everything: There was repression, murder, prison, persecution, disappearances, fraud, robbery, land grabbing, the sale of national sovereignty, high treason, corruption.
“In sum,” he said, “those at the top screw those at the bottom.”
Then I thought it over, lit one of my cigarettes, smiled, and said, “The Evil.”
I could tell that Belascoarán got a little happy, cause he went and got some sodas and opened them with the sights on his gun and gave one to each person.
Then the man called Villareal raised his hand and said, “May I take the floor?” But he didn’t wait for anyone to give him the floor, he just started right out talking, which isn’t really “free democratic discipline.” If this Villareal feller did that in one of the assemblies in my town, truth is, everybody would have stared him down, but this Villareal wasn’t in an assembly in my town, so he just asked, “What about this Morales person?”
Belascoarán and I looked at each other, we both did, that is, and we saw how we both at the same time were thinking the same thing, and that’s how we both said together: “The Bad.”
Then Belascoarán got to explaining again with the scramble of pieces of paper and the pictures of the alleged Morales that he had glued on a wall beside a lady that was real naked—I mean, she didn’t have no veils or flowers or hankies or nothing. And then he said: “What we have on this Morales doesn’t match: not the dates, not the places, not the ages, and,” pointing to the wall, “not the photos.”
The Uncomfortable Dead Page 16