Or he’d be spurred on by ambition. He was under no illusions. I was working for you. But politics is “what a man does so that he can hide what he is and what he doesn’t know.” And Nicolás Valdivia was clever, daring, and beautiful enough to understand this proposal. All or nothing.
It turned out to be all. He’s going to be acting president. Don’t look at me like that, my love. I have to be able to keep a secret or two. No woman can be denied that right. Have you ever noticed how easily we get secrets out of men? From the old “If you don’t tell me, I’ll get angry” to the “Keep your secrets, I’m leaving.” Bernal, you knew about my relationship with Lorenzo Terán. He was the one who protected our poor doomed son. I wanted to thank him. We had only a few weeks of love when I went to the United States. We met in Houston. He showed me the X-rays. Bernal, I always knew the president was going to die. I didn’t know when or how, but we had to be prepared. I did it for you, my love. If the president lived through the 2024 election, Valdivia would watch our backs in Los Pinos. But if he died in office, who more malleable than Valdivia, our creation, to be acting president while we prepared for your election? That was my plan. Yes, politics is “what a man does so that he can hide what he is and what he doesn’t know.” And with Valdivia it was a win-win situation. From the office of the president to being undersecretary of the interior to being in charge today. Forgive me if I made mistakes. Let’s share our success. Congress will have to name an acting president. We have our man. Valdivia. We groomed him for this. He’ll call for elections in July of 2024 and you will once again be the people’s candidate. Who elects the president of Mexico? Seventy percent of the population claim no party affiliation. Who can possibly challenge you? Tácito has been eliminated. Andino isn’t man enough for the job. Nobody in that “cabinet of champions,” as they called it at the beginning of the century, has got what it takes.
There are temptations: the military. There’s the mystery of Ulúa and the Old Man Under the Arches who won’t reveal it, even if he’s tortured. He’ll take that secret to his grave. Torture could kill an old man like him, and anyway, it would be a reprehensible act of cruelty. Then there’s the question of the unfortunate Miss de la Garza, who still writes love letters to the dead presidential candidate Tomás Moctezuma Moro.
In short, Bernal, you need to find yourself a rival. López Portillo was the last president who ran uncontested, and remember how that turned out. His vanity and arrogance were all-consuming.
Who will be your opponent in the 2024 elections, Bernal?
That’s what should concern us, not your mad serenades of love. You’re fifty-two, Bernal, and I’m forty-nine, let’s face it.
As the funeral prayers were being said in the cathedral, you whispered to me, “María del Rosario, we’ve put off our marriage for a quarter of a century. We know why. But now. . think of how important it is for a presidential candidate to be married.”
“President Terán was a bachelor. . ”
“But he lived like a monk, everyone knew that. He was irreproachable. But two in a row, María del Rosario, two in a row, come on— they’re going to think I’m a queer.”
I hid my laughter behind my black veil.
“Find another woman, then, Bernal.”
“Marucha, you’re the only woman I’ve ever loved.”
Forgive me. I didn’t mean to break the rosary I had in my hand. The beads scattered noisily all over the place.
“Let’s talk about this later.”
“No. Now.”
“In the communion line, then. We’ll have to whisper.”
What did I say to you, Bernal, as we waited in the long, slow line for communion? What did I tell you? Let’s put it on record:
“All men fear women who are able to think and act for themselves. All men fear women who are strong and able to fend for themselves. I choose to act of my own accord and not inspire fear in a husband. I’m telling you this for your own good. That’s why I never married you when we were young. Don’t ever pity me. Would you ask a man to give up his friends? His restaurants, his habits? I would never accept it. Why should I force someone else to be what I don’t want to be? Let me be my own woman. Don’t forget, I’m the daughter of a man who inspired fear, and I feel justified in behaving in the political world just as he did in the business world. I justify myself, Bernal, by saying that he had an evil energy — he didn’t just want to make money, he wanted to be money— whereas I am inspired by the common good, in a devious way, you could say. Laugh if you want, but you’d better do it silently because we’re in the middle of the Te Deum. Think about it, though, and remember, I have one great fault. I don’t know how to be a good wife. I don’t know how to share, to laugh, to soothe. The only thing I know how to do is scheme, but that—j’espère—I do with a certain style well worthy of my allies. I may not know how to love a man. But I do know how to respect a friend, like you. . ”
On our knees, side by side at the high altar, we received the body of Christ from the hands of the archbishop of Mexico, Pelayo Cardinal Munguía.
As the service came to a close, you offered me a ride in your car. As you drove you told me that I hadn’t helped solve your problem. A man needs a first lady by his side at Los Pinos. The president has to be able to say, “I have a private life.”
I had to laugh at that.
“We all have the right to a private life. As long as we’re able to pay for it. If I were to marry you, no amount of money could compensate for our unhappiness.”
“You’re the only person I can confide in outside politics, do you realize that?”
“I feel the same about you. Let’s just leave things as they are. To be married would be a lie.”
“Isn’t the political life a lie?”
“Yes, and that’s why it’s so demanding.”
“What do you mean?”
“That lying successfully requires an enormous amount of time and attention. The successful cultivation of lies is a full-time job. Which is precisely what the political life allows for.”
“Have you still got the energy?”
“Look at yourself in the rearview mirror, Bernal. Let’s both look. Do you think we’re the same people we were twenty years ago? What does that little mirror tell you, Bernal?”
Your voice sounded so sad, my love.
“That we can’t turn back the clock.”
Chapultepec transformed into a shrine to rock music, quavering from all the benefit concerts, so noisy that some people claim to have seen the sleepless ghosts of Maximilian, Carlota, and the boy soldiers who died there rising up from the dead and wandering through the throngs of Mick Jagger fans. Mick Jagger’s here to celebrate his seventy-seventh birthday — he’s less of a rock star than a constipated old hag, like all aging hippies.
And finally Los Pinos, the presidential residence and office where all the foreign heads of state, ambassadors, and political groups have come to mourn. Who’s there to receive them? Naturally, the president of Congress, Onésimo Canabal, the president of the supreme court, Javier Wimer Zambrano, and the interior secretary, Nicolás Valdivia. The election of the acting president will not take place until the memorial ceremonies in honor of President Lorenzo Terán have concluded and the foreign politicians have gone home — although Fidel Castro says that he plans to visit Chiapas “with a very important announcement to make.”