42. BERNAL HERRERA TO MARÍA DEL ROSARIO GALVÁN
Marucha, my Marucha, what’s happened to you? I hardly recognize you, I hardly recognize myself. Why have you let a vengeful impulse get the better of you? Why haven’t you controlled your passion? Why have you let your hormones hasten the plan that you and I agreed to, the two of us together, as ever, always so synchronized? You and I have never confused our loyalties. . Our political bond grew out of a carnal bond, and only now am I struck by how very different we were when we met and fell in love, before we paid the inevitable price of all romantic beginnings. It was in our nature, psychological and political, to doubt everything. We met. We were drawn to each other. But you doubted me, just as I doubted you. Until the night we shared a bottle of Petrus and realized that we loved each other even though we couldn’t trust each other. We laughed (was it the wine, was it the lust, or was it the risk, without which no erotic encounter is possible?) and said to each other, “If we doubt everything, we’ll understand each other perfectly.”
I told you that a public figure should never stop doubting, even though that means living in perpetual anguish and insecurity without ever revealing it to anyone. That’s the other rule, my Marucha. Doubt and anguish leaven our public clarity and serenity. We’ve become professional politicians because we don’t suppress our insecurity — that is, our capacity for suspicion. Profession: politician. Party: suspicionist. In other words, we make the most of our anguish so that our serene facade is fed by human matter. We had a son, María del Rosario. A mongoloid child or, to speak scientifically, a child with Down syndrome. We had to make a choice. We could have lived together, looked after our child, and sacrificed our political ambitions. Or you could have kept the child and set me free, free and doubly condemned for having frustrated your ambitions and abandoned our child. Or we could have done what we did: Put him in an institution, visit him now and then — increasingly less often, let’s be honest, increasingly less connected to that fateless fate, increasingly worried that that defenseless creature with a face tender and happy yet distant and indifferent, that child whose future holds nothing but premature death, will wrench our lives away from us in exchange for nothing.
These were our reasons and we’ve kept the secret for fourteen years. I warned you, María del Rosario, that I was never to receive the bills from the institution at my office. I’m so scrutinized and besieged, I’m so surrounded by spies working for my enemies (who are also your enemies, don’t forget) that the least little oversight can and will be used against me — and you.
So it has happened. Guess who saw the bill from the institution and sniffed out the truth. Do you think I don’t know? My friends claim to despise Tácito — but I can only suspect they say the same thing to him: “We are your friends. We despise Herrera. We’re with you all the way.”
The schemes you and I have to use to test the people around us are occasionally useful, usually useless, and always detrimental to one’s peace of mind. Eventually you decide that friends and enemies can conceivably be friends among themselves, and, whether you want to or not, you end up repeating that sentence by Stendhal you taught me, “How difficult it is to bear this continued hypocrisy!”
How many times have you and I pondered together one of the central issues of political life: How should one treat the enemy?
Appease him?
Attack him outright?
Use violence, sever his head?
Defeat him first, only to honor him immediately afterward? Betray him, without letting the ignominy of your victory come crashing down on your own head?
Chop off his head first, never forgetting, “That could have been my own head”?
Turn your defeated enemy into your protector and friend, erecting statues and plaques in his honor — as long as he’s dead?
I’m very worried, María del Rosario. Your rash behavior violates the law of political justice. The political executioner should be invisible. By responding to your purely feminine, maternal emotions you’ve violated your own laws.
Tácito has forced our hand. He’s forcing us to reveal our game, to publicly condemn his shady dealings with MEXEN. Now, more than ever, we have to be extremely careful as we consider our opportunities for attack. Tácito knows we know because you, my impatient friend, told him so without considering the consequences. You tasted the sweet nectar of victory before it was yours. Mistake number one. And Tácito, in his response, has very skillfully proven himself worthy of our own rule: In politics, never make your intentions clear. Act.
You know, Marucha, I’m a man who always has a court in session inside his head. The judge is a “we” and sometimes a plural “you.” Today, the judge sitting in on our case is an “I-you” and he’s telling me, “You trusted this woman with a secret that is the key to my success and my rival’s defeat. But if this woman — my ally — reveals the secret, my rival will destroy both of us.”
That’s exactly what he’s done by going to the press and telling them about our retarded son. Face it, understand it: I, the pre-candidate for the presidency and you, the most renowned female politician in the country, have been reduced to a pair of heartless parents, despicable and callous ogres, two cruel monsters. .
You can breathe easily, María del Rosario.
The president has personally contacted the heads of the five or six major media organizations to tell them:
“Make no mistake. The child is mine. The result of a very old love affair with María del Rosario Galván. Look in the mirror, each one of you, and tell me you don’t have a secret love affair in your past. Kill the piece. I’ve never asked any of you for personal favors in the past. But I’m doing it now because it involves a lady. And, of course, as you well know, the office of the president.”
“But, Mr. President, the person who leaked the news was Mr. De la Canal, your chief of staff. . ”
“Ex-chief of staff. Mr. De la Canal handed in his resignation this afternoon.”
“Mr. President, your interior secretary, Bernal Herrera, has just announced his resignation as well.”
“That’s right, gentlemen. Tácito de la Canal and Bernal Herrera have resigned from their governmental positions so they can devote themselves fully to their respective presidential campaigns. And I’d like to thank both of them for their tremendous service to their country and to me. I think this news is a bit more important than prying into my personal life.”
“You’re absolutely right, Mr. President.”
“Let me reiterate my respect for the integrity and hard work of these two close aides who are leaving us now. They were trusted advisers who were loyal and steadfast to the end. That is the real news of the day.”
“We’ll treat this with the utmost discretion. Say no more.”
“Thank you, gentlemen.”
So proceed with a cold heart, María del Rosario. Remember who we have for a president, and let Tácito start his campaign before exposing the MEXEN scandal. Compose yourself for a few minutes, please, and remember what you said to me the day we decided to keep the boy a secret: “No. If I confess my disgrace, I’ll lose all respect. And even love.”
And I replied, “Never punish yourself for being happy. Don’t forget, we got where we are because we never let feelings drag us down.”
P.S. This tape will be delivered to you personally by Jesús Ricardo Magón, the young man who recently started working alongside your little protégé, the undersecretary of the interior, Nicolás Valdivia, who trusts him implicitly. Once you’ve listened to the cassette, destroy it, just as, as I know, you’ve destroyed all the other recorded messages I’ve sent you. And, María del Rosario, please don’t make me doubt you as I did when I first met you. .