“Did they do things better before — I mean, in your day?”
“People were given some measure of security. There were rules, and everybody knew them. Everything was predictable. The public was spared the anguish of making their own uncertain decisions. I invented the institution of ‘the sealed envelope.’ All it took was a sealed envelope with signed instructions from me. Whenever a governor, a congressman, a local president received the sealed envelope he did exactly as I said.”
He stopped, looking like a pirate about to attack a galleon from the Indies filled with Spanish gold.
“ ‘Propose the candidacy of X.’ The rest was easy. The candidate I’d selected, the candidate in the sealed envelope, garnered general and widespread support. Woe to the strongman who dared dissent. Woe to the rebellious governor. Woe to the congressman with the independent spirit.”
He licked his crooked teeth.
“They would be eliminated from politics forever. And if any of them dared protest my decision, I’d just remind him, ‘You’ve had your pleasure. Now crawl back to the hole you came from. I’m telling you for the sake of your health.’ ”
Is it possible that someone could deliver such terrible threats so agreeably? Clearly, steely resolve and serenity went together. Lesson learned, María del Rosario.
The Old Man pressed down on his dentures.
“Envelopes sealed, ballot boxes stuffed in advance, carousel voting, and other methods for sending voters from polling site to polling site, raccoons running all the electoral fraud — we performed whatever alchemy was necessary to win an election in advance with double, even triple votes. And in the end there were more votes for the PRI than there were registered voters, what with all the citizens we dragged out of the cemeteries, all the voting booths we stole, and all the dissenting votes that were destroyed — if and when it was called for, of course. And all this, Mr. Valdivia, was presided over by his sovereign majesty the president who, from the Eagle’s Throne, declared to his designated successor, ‘You will be president.’ ”
The parrot said, “I swear to uphold the laws. .” and then fell silent as if expecting the Old Man to gaze at him with affection, the green, yellow, red, and blue bird perched atop his shoulder, the shoulder of a political pirate.
“. . the laws of the republic,” the Old Man solemnly intoned.
“The written laws?”
“The unwritten ones, Mr. Valdivia. Think of how easy it was. The unwritten rules of authoritarianism were clear. Just look at the current uncertainty and the chaos it has caused. How could I not feel nostalgic for the calm old days of our benevolent PRI dictatorship?”
Before I could even respond he interrupted himself, raising a stiff finger in the air to keep me quiet.
“In reality, our vices were virtues. But let’s just say that I’ve resigned myself to change. I always knew that the system would come to an end one day. Still, the question remains: What will we replace it with?”
“Everything was better in the past,” I said with melancholy.
“Yes, despite some pretty stupid politicians.”
“Who were the wise ones, then?”
“Not who, my friend, but how.”
“How, then?”
“Everyone kills fleas in their own way, Valdivia. Excessive ambition either fails, or else it comes at a very high price. Some men have made it to the presidency feeling that Mexico owed it to them and then relinquished their positions feeling that Mexico didn’t deserve them, and that’s why they feel they deserve to return to power one day.”
“Are you thinking of someone in particular?”
“I’m thinking of myself. I did nothing to get to the Eagle’s Throne. That was my strong point. I got there with no strings attached, no favors to pay back.”
“A process of elimination of sorts?” I dared to ask, with only a hint of impudence. He didn’t pick up on it.
“I got there just like Jesus,” he said, extraordinarily still, like an icon. “How many prophets and pseudo-messiahs were on the loose in Judea just like the son of Mary?”
Then, out of nowhere, he began to sing a line from an old Spanish zarzuela:
“Ay va, ay va, ay vámonos para Judea. . ”
At that, the parrot picked up on the tune in his shrill voice. “Ay ba, ay ba, ay Babilonia que marea. .”
I ignored these eccentricities.
“Yes, but that isn’t the rule, Mr. President.”
“Shut your mouth! Each president creates his own reality, but since the law against re-election forces him into retirement, this reality fades away and historical legend takes its place.”
He looked as if he were swallowing bile. Even the circles under his eyes seemed to be turning green.
“What happens? The ex-president is left with no power, but he’s still surrounded by ass-kissers. He doesn’t have to fool the people anymore. Now his aides want to fool him. They offer him the temptation of revenge. They intoxicate him with the idea that he’s incomparable, a cross between Napoleon and Disraeli.”
“¿Dónde vas con mantón de Manila? ” the parrot began to sing, and the Old Man whacked him so hard that the poor bird nearly went crashing to the floor.
“It’s like the old story about the whale and the elephant. The thing is, the poor slob ends up treating his allies like he treated his enemies. It’s a waste of time. Destroying them isn’t worth the effort. A lot of energy for nothing.”
He let out a sigh that the parrot didn’t dare respond to.
“Better to be alone and respected, even if they think I’m dead.”
There was a pregnant pause, as the Anglo-Saxons would say.
“Look at me here, drinking coffee and playing dominoes. I escaped the sad fate of most ex-presidents. I escaped the vicious cycle. And do you know why, Valdivia? Because I didn’t become president believing I’d be getting into bed with my own statue.”
He smiled as the parrot, having taken his punishment, sat once more on his shoulder.
“Don’t let that one get out. It’s the truth.”
“Mr. President, you were famous for shielding yourself with silence, for answering without speaking, for elevating the gesture into a sign of political communication, for turning the elliptical response into an art form, and the authority of your gaze into gospel.”
I looked him in the eye.
“I don’t want to waste time, Mr. President. I’ve come here for your guidance through the labyrinth of the presidential succession.”
Did I glimpse affection in his expression? Was he grateful for my attention, my respect, my interest? The look in his eyes seemed to say, I’ve known the depths of misery and disaster, and I’m the only one who left the palace without being disillusioned. . because I didn’t have any illusions in the first place.
“I never became disillusioned because I didn’t have any illusions in the first place,” he said, uncannily echoing my thoughts.
At that moment María del Rosario, your words came into my mind like a flash of lightning: “You will be president, Nicolás Valdivia.”
And I felt dizzy, as if I were on the edge of a cliff, seeing myself reflected in the Old Man. Was that how I’d end up as well, in a café in Veracruz, playing dominoes with a busybody parrot perched on my shoulder?
The vision sent me into a cold sweat in the middle of the sticky heat of the Gulf of Mexico.
The Old Man brought me back to reality.
“Do you think I didn’t know what kind of people I’d have to deal with as president? Damn it, Valdivia, the only cure for a hunchback is death, and in politics there are legions of them, all crooked, all of them incurable. They never straighten out, not even when they die.”
I was uncomfortable now. I scratched my back, I couldn’t help it— the Old Man’s tone of voice was so solemn, so gloomy, even fatal.