“I’ve come to discuss the MEXEN affair,” I said to him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The MEXEN shares.”
“But you don’t know anything about that, do you?”
“Excuse me?” I admit I was shocked, but I knew what he was playing at, and said, “No. That’s why I’ve come here. To find out about it.”
“If I were you, I’d stay in the dark. You’ll be better off.”
“Why?” I persisted.
“Because it’s secret,” he conceded for a moment, like a fisherman dangling a worm in front of a fish, and then ended by saying, “And it’s best to leave it at that.”
“Secret?” I said, giving away my shock. “Secret for me, who made it all possible with my signature?”
“You were just a tool,” he responded, barely hiding his scorn.
“For what purpose?”
“For keeping the deal secret.”
He looked straight through me, as if I were a window.
“Don’t lose your grip, Mr. De la Canal.”
“But I. .”
“Thank you. Goodbye.”
I haven’t given up, Mr. Almazán. I spoke to one of the press barons. He owes me, a man who always found the doors to President Lorenzo Terán’s office open, thanks to me.
I’ll be brief.
When I asked him to defend me, at least by publishing a favorable profile of me, and maybe launching a personal rehabilitation campaign, he said, “A good journalist should never annoy his readership by eulogizing. He should only attack. Praise is boring.”
I admit I was furious, Andino.
“You owe me a lot.”
“True. The powerful always need charity.”
“All it takes is an order to one of your lackeys. . ”
“Mr. de la Canal! I’ve never done anything like that! My contributors are independent!”
“Do you want me to prove the opposite?” I shouted, indignant. “Do you want me to bribe one of your journalists?”
I expected a cold stare from the businessman. Instead, he looked at me with the charity he’d just mentioned.
“Mr. de la Canal. My journalists are not dishonest. They’re incapable of being dishonest.”
I know that what I’m transcribing could damage me and tarnish my image. But I haven’t got many rounds of ammunition left, Mr. Almazán.
In truth I have only one.
Let me be frank. I’ve come to respect and admire you — and your family. You’re lucky to have a devoted wife, Josefina, and three lovely little girls, Teté, Talita, and Tutú. What you don’t have is much of a bank account. You live off your salary and your wife’s inheritance— what remains of one of the old agave fortunes of the Yucatán’s “Divine Caste.”. .
I have a proposition. The fact that the MEXEN deal failed doesn’t rule out the possibility of other profitable ventures. Perhaps my political fortune is in the doghouse right now, but a good deal is always a good deal. And although I’m no longer in power, you still are — in charge of public finances, no less — which means that you can generate the kind of money required for something one might call an investment opportunity.
This is my plan.
Through a publicly held company you and I will offer investors with good credit ratings the chance to acquire mortgages that have been preapproved by the authorities (that is, you, Mr. Secretary) with the promise that, as of a certain date, they may be sold to any bank at a profit of two percent. In other words, guaranteed profits and very little risk. There won’t be any shortage of sharks or sardines for this venture because before the first period of investment’s up, you and I will recruit new investors, and with the money we get from them, we’ll pay the dividends to the first group, who’ll be very happy — and taken in.
The first group of investors will be grateful for the profits and will help us recruit new partners. The new partners will inject the necessary money to pay the dividends out to the previous group of investors.
This way, Andino, we’ll ensure a financial pyramid in which we attract new investment because of the profits of the existing investors, and quickly build up capital.
Unfortunately, the number of investors isn’t limitless, and once people stop investing in the pyramid it’ll collapse like a house of cards.
You and I, however, will have made our pile by extracting the profits at each stage of the operation. Then the company will be declared insolvent, we’ll be in the hands of the bankruptcy laws, and the company will be given an administration order rather than going into liquidation.
In other words, you and I can’t lose. We win every step of the way. Moreover we don’t even have to show our faces. Felipe Aguirre, communications secretary, and Antonio Bejarano, public works secretary, will do that for us. They’re ready to be our front men. Since Valdivia’s going to get rid of them, they’re eager for revenge and want our acting president to start off with a scandal. They’ll take their share, and if it occurs to Valdivia to accuse them of embezzlement while working for the government, nobody can be judged twice for the same crime. It’s a question of weighing the risks, Andino, and being willing to spend a short time in Almoloya prison in exchange for millions waiting for us in bank accounts in the Cayman Islands.
You and I, prudent as we are, will have saved our earnings offshore, so that in Mexico we pass for bankrupt and the minimum is seized from the company.
I do hope you’ll consider my proposal. And don’t forget to discuss it with your dear wife. We shouldn’t do anything, you and I, without involving Josefina. After all, we’re talking about your future well-being, and Teté, Talita, and Tutú’s. I don’t think Valdivia will keep you on in his new cabinet, Mr. Secretary. And it isn’t right that you and your family should be watching the public parade of advantage and wealth from behind the window.
And remember: You’re an honorable man, and principles must always be good servants to bad masters.
Yours ever, T
54. THE OLD MAN UNDER THE ARCHES TO CONGRESSWOMAN PAULINA TARDEGARDA
My beloved disciple and favorite friend, I turn to you with a sense of urgency, yes, but also with the reflection and deliberation that you know me for. “Slow and steady wins the race” has been my motto since the fig tree blossomed and Felipillo was made a saint — a real Mexican saint, crucified by the brutal Japanese in the sixteenth century, not like that third-rate Juan Diego de los Nopales.
Well now, just think, the fig tree is about ready to topple over with ripe fruit and the lonely nopal is flowering at last. Ah, the nopal, my darling Paulina. The symbol and the strength of our nation, for if in our emblem it is the eagle who rules and the serpent who suffers in its beak, the eagle still needs something to stand on so that it doesn’t fall into the waters of the lagoon.
I suppose I’d rather come off as a sly but ignorant old man, because the well-educated politician doesn’t inspire the trust of the common man. In the United States, Adlai Stevenson wasn’t accepted because he was too educated. “Egghead,” they called him. Bill Clinton had to hide his education from the public while Little Bush, on the other hand, actually showed off his ignorance. You know that sitting here in Veracruz I like to make the most of my francophobia, but the truth is, like everyone else, I grew up reading French novels. Dumas, Hugo, Verne — most of all Dumas and two novels, the one about the man in the iron mask, twin brother of the king who sent him to prison to eliminate any doubts as to who was in charge. Thrones have to be for one man only (or woman: sorry, Paulinita) because power depends on legitimacy for its authority. The Man in the Iron Mask, of course, and The Count of Monte Cristo, yes, unjustly imprisoned for years and years in a castle remarkably similar to our Ulúa, here in Veracruz. .