Political fortune, on the other hand, is one very long orgasm, my darling. Success must be gradual and slow in coming if it is to endure. A prolonged orgasm, my sweet.
Start opening those doors, my child, one by one. Beyond the last threshold is my bedroom. The last key unlocks my body.
Nicolás Valdivia: I will be yours when you are the president of Mexico.
And I assure you: I will make you the president of Mexico. I swear it to you by the sign of the cross. In the name of the Holy Virgin of Guadalupe, I promise you this, my love.
2. XAVIER “SENECA” ZARAGOZA TO MARÍA DEL ROSARIO GALVÁN
I don’t expect them to pay any attention to me. A trusted adviser like me fulfills his duty by advising with goodwill — which is never enough— and good information, which is never forthcoming. If I manage to survive this catastrophe it will only be because this time the president actually, and unfortunately, listened to me.
As I always do, my cherished friend, I invoked principles — after all, principles are the reason the president listens to me at all. I’m the cricket in the ear of his conscience. I rummage through my files of ethical concerns. Perhaps my secret hope, María del Rosario, is that my conscience may remain clear even if realpolitik slides toward pragmatism. As you know, realpolitik is the asshole through which we expel what we’ve eaten — whether it’s caviar or cactus, duck à l’orange or a taco de nenepil. Principles, on the other hand, are the head without the anus. Principles don’t go to the bathroom. Realpolitik is what clogs the toilet bowls of the world, and in this world of power you have no other choice but to pay tribute to Mother Nature.
Today, for once, principles won out. Perhaps as a gift to an anxious populace in this new year of 2020, the president decided to offer moral satisfaction, not just good news. In his message to Congress, he called for the withdrawal of the United States’ occupation forces in Colombia and on top of it all a ban on the export of Mexican oil to the United States, unless Washington agreed to pay the prices established by OPEC. To make matters worse, we announced these decisions at a meeting of the United Nations Security Council. The response, as you can see, was not long in coming. We woke up on January 2 with our oil, our gas, and our principles intact, but with our communications systems cut off from the rest of the world. The United States, alleging a glitch in the satellite communications system that they so kindly allow us to use, has left us with no faxes, no e-mail, no grid, and no telephone service. We have but two forms of communication available to us now, oral and epistolary — as is exemplified by this letter I write to you now, though I fight to suppress the urge to eat it and swallow it whole. Why the hell did the president pay attention to me and put his principles ahead of damn reality this time? Oh, if you could only see me now — I’m banging my head against the wall, I can’t stop asking myself, over and over again:
“Seneca, who ever told you to be a man of principle?”
“Seneca, what is so terrible about being a little more pragmatic?”
“Seneca, why do you have to go against the majority of the presidential cabinet?”
Here you have me, my dear María del Rosario, here you have pigheaded old Seneca banging his head against the walls of the republic— Mexico’s eternal wailing wall.
At least, my dear friend, the wall isn’t made of stone. It’s padded, just like in a mental hospital, which is where your good friend Xavier Zaragoza — known as “Seneca” for reasons both marvelous and miserable — should be committed. Born in Córdoba, Seneca was the Stoic philosopher (pay attention if you don’t know this, and bear with me if you do and if you still love me nevertheless) who committed suicide at Nero’s court. His principles were irreconcilable with those of the empire. And yet to this day, in his native land of Andalucía, the word “Seneca” is synonymous with “sage,” or “philosopher.”
What shall be my destiny at the presidential court of Mexico, my dear María del Rosario? An enchanted life or death by disenchantment? At the dawn of the year 2020, we certainly have reasons for disenchantment. A communications system that’s completely cut off from the rest of the world, riots breaking out here and there, signs of social and geographical fragmentation. . and a president who is good, well-intentioned, weak, and passive.
Don’t blame me, María del Rosario. You know that my advice is sincere and, at times, even brutal. Nobody speaks to the president as honestly as I do, you know that. And I fervently believe that this country needs at least one disinterested voice whispering into the ear of President Lorenzo Terán. Such is our agreement, my dear friend, yours and mine. I’m there to say, “Mr. President, you know I’m your totally impartial friend.”
Which is not entirely true. I’m primarily interested in getting the president to shake off that reputation for inaction he’s earned during his time in office — almost three years guided by the mistaken conviction that all our problems will just sort themselves out, that an intrusive government creates more problems than it solves, and that civil society should always be the first to act. In his view, the government should always be the last resort. For once, we must admit he’s right. What on earth got into him, starting off the new year by invoking principles of sovereignty and nonintervention, instead of just letting the apples fall from the tree, since they were already rotten? What do we care about Colombia? And why not just let Venezuela and the Arabs deal with the dirty business of the oil markets instead of taking sides with a gang of corrupt sheikhs? We’ve always been good at making the most of others’ conflicts without having to take sides. But when you go around giving advice, you never quite know what the outcome will be, and this time, I admit, the whole thing backfired.
“Put some ideas forward, Mr. President, before the people impose them on you. In the long run, if you don’t come up with some ideas of your own, you’ll be crushed by everyone else’s.”
“Like yours, for example?” he asked with an innocent’s face.
“No,” I had the nerve to say. “No. I was thinking of that creep Tácito de la Canal.”
I wounded his pride, I realize that now, and he ended up doing exactly the opposite of what his favorite, his chief of staff Tácito de la Canal — who is more than a simple lackey, this guy wrote the book on servility — advised him to do.
One day, my dear friend, you’ll have to sit down and explain to me why a man as intelligent, dignified, and kind as our head of state keeps a fawning sycophant like Tácito de la Canal beside the Eagle’s Throne. Simply watch how he rubs his hands together and humbly raises them to his lips, his head bowed forward, and you will see that he’s nothing more than a depraved man whose hypocrisy is comparable only to the boundless ambition he so poorly conceals behind his false sincerity!
Behold the paradox, my (favorite) friend: My good advice brings about dismal results, while Tácito’s terrible advice could have averted this whole calamity. But I had gotten complacent, María del Rosario, I had gotten used to giving all that good advice under the assumption that it would be ignored once again. I know that my words stroke the moral ego of our head of state, who just by listening to me feels “ethical” and considers his duty to principles done, which allows him to follow the advice of Tácito de la Canal, the opposite of mine, with a clear conscience.