“Welcome, Mr. President.”
El Presidente smiles warmly. “So good to see you again, Don Pedro,” he says. He glances over my shoulder. “You have prepared a great feast for me, I see.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“You shouldn’t have gone to such trouble, Don Pedro,” El Preidente says in a gentle voice.
“It is to do you honor, Mr. President,” I tell him.
“Most generous of you. My deepest thanks.”
I bow. “Would you like to dine now, Mr. President?”
El Presidente smiles. “The trip has been a long one, Don Pedro. And yes, I think I would prefer to have dinner now. We can have our talk later.”
“As you wish, Mr. President.”
“You have no idea how I look forward to our conversations,” El Presidente says.
“I am sure you look forward to them no more than I, Mr. President,” I tell him. I turn and lift my arm to guide him toward the table. He steps only a little way in front of me.
“A beautiful place, El Caliz,” El Presidente says. “So peaceful and beautiful.”
“Yes.”
“But I suppose all the world looks peaceful and beautiful from a great height, would you say so, Don Pedro?”
“It can give that illusion, Mr. President,” I tell him.
“Yes. Yes, it can.”
I lead him to the table and pull out his chair.
“Please, Don Pedro,” El Presidente says graciously. “You sit first. You do me too much honor.”
I take my seat at the table, and El Presidente slowly lowers himself into the chair next to mine. He looks at the table admiringly.
“So bountiful,” El Presidente says. “The world is so bountiful, is it not?”
“Yes, it is, Mr. President.”
“And so beautiful. A poem. A physical poem, don’t you think?”
“In some ways, yes.”
El Presidente laughs lightly. “Always modifying every Statement, Don Pedro,” he says gently. “You are too much the careful scholar.”
“There is much to study,” I tell him. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
“Only a small amount, please?” El Presidente replies.
I pour a small amount of red wine into his glass.
El Presidente glances at the villagers who stand admiringly a short distance away. He stands up and opens his arms. “Come,” he says in Spanish, “Come, my dear fellow-citizens, and join me at this table my good friend Don Pedro has prepared.”
Each year when he comes, it is the same display of generosity. Each year he insists on the presence of the villagers. Each year he dines with them under the watchful gaze of the guards.
Shyly, the villagers begin to stagger forward, finally gathering themselves around the many tables that have been prepared for them under the striped tent.
El Presidente turns to me. “I hope it is no great burden to prepare for so many. But I love to have the people around me. It’s improper for them to stand and watch, when the Republic has so much to share with them.”
I nod. “Yes, quite right. It is improper.”
El Presidente takes my glass of wine with one hand and the bottle with the other. “Please, Don Pedro, let me serve you, my dear friend.”
“Most gracious, Mr. President.”
El Presidente smiles and pours my glass to the brim with wine. He laughs softly. “I suppose it is easy to be generous with other people’s wine, is it not?”
“My wine is your wine, Mr. President,” I tell him.
El Presidente lifts his glass. “May I make a toast, Don Pedro?”
“I would be honored.”
“To our great friendship. May it last forever.”
I touch my glass to his. “Most generous of you, Mr. President.”
“It is you who are generous, Don Pedro,” El Presidente says. He tastes the wine, placing the rim of the glass only lightly to his lips. “Excellent vintage,” he says.
“I had hoped you would approve.”
“Yes, excellent,” El Presidente repeats. He places the glass softly on the table. “When I was in England — during the period of my education, actually — well, I remember how difficult it was to enjoy a wine. Do you think perhaps it is the climate of Great Britain — all that rain and fog — that dulls the flavor, Don Pedro?”
“Perhaps,” I say. “Did you ever have the same wine in France?”
El Presidente laughs. “Ah, dear Don Pedro, such an empiricist. Of course, that would be the way to come to a decision on the matter. A test. Yes. Drink the same wine in both countries. Excellent. Yes, that would be the way to discover the truth of my proposition, would it not?”
“Of course, you could never drink exactly the same wine,” I tell him.
El Presidente nods knowingly. “Yes, I see. The experiment could never be exact.”
“No. Never exact.”
“Yes, that’s true,” El Presidente says. He lifts the glass again. “Well, in any event, the climate of the Republic does nothing to harm the bouquet. Here we can indulge ourselves in the finest wines of the world.”
“True, El Presidente. That is one of the many charms of the Republic.”
A servant steps to El Presidente’s side and offers him the roast pork. El Presidente nods. “Yes, thank you. That looks superb.” He smiles paternally at my servant. “I trust you will be having some too, my friend.”
The servant grins and nods his head.
El Presidente glances at his plate. “It looks marvelous, Don Pedro.” He slices a small piece of the pork and puts it delicately into his mouth. “Excellent. Superb.” As the servants pass, he takes small amounts of certain vegetables. “Superb. Superb.”
The dessert is flan with a light cream topping. When it is offered, El Presidente declines. “No, please,” he says with a smile. “I must watch my weight.” He pats his stomach. “No one admires an obese head of state.”
“Would you like a cigar?” I ask.
“No, thank you, Don Pedro. But I believe that I would like to stroll with you by the river. Our conversation, you know, the one I so look forward to each year.”
“I would be honored.”
We rise and leave the table, all eyes watching our departure, the villagers even interrupting their assault upon the food. When we are safely away, they return to their plates, noisily sucking at the food and drink.
At the bank of the river, El Presidente tucks his arm gently in mine and we walk leisurely side by side.
“A beautiful place you have here, Don Pedro,” El Presidente says. “You are very fortunate.”
“It is an honor to live in the Republic.”
“I am honored that you think so highly of our country,” El Presidente says. “In the developed world they have curious ideas about our country.”
“They have curious ideas about their own, as well,” I tell him.
El Presidente laughs. “Ah, Don Pedro, it is always such a joy to speak with you. Do you know, no matter how weary I become, I always know that I can come here and be refreshed?”
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
“And of course it is not only the food and drink, superb though they are. It is the conversation, Don Pedro. I get so little interesting conversation in the capital. It is always business there, never anything that engages the mind.”
“Please come to El Caliz as often as you like, Mr. President. You will always be welcome.”
“Ah, if only I could come as often as I like, Don Pedro,” El Presidente says with a weary sigh. “But I’m so busy. Once a year is about all I can spare, I’m afraid.”
“Well, my invitation is always extended to you.”
“Thank you, Don Pedro,” El Presidente says. He looks about, his eyes finally resting on the nursery. “How are your orchids, Don Pedro?”
“Not as well as they might be,” I tell him.
“Really?”
“Something has afflicted them.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”