“And now,” I announced to the waiting voters-and to the camera, “the voting will begin!” There was a lot of cheering and cries of “Harapo’s the one!” and “The Avenging Terrier will strike!” and this sort of thing as I and de Torres marched into the town hall, followed by our alert bodyguards.
My name was found in the voting register, I signed in the indicated spot with a flourish-then went forward into the polling booth with all eyes upon me. I reached up and pulled the handle that closed the privacy curtain and actuated the machine. Since this was a oresidential election there were only two levers on the board. One for each party. I reached out and pressed down the Harapo lever. The mechanism whirred, a panel lit up saying VOTE RECORDED, and the curtain opened behind me. I stepped out and made way for the marquez.
“And how does this apparatus work?” I asked the election official in charge of the registration book. He looked about, not wanting to be seen talking to me, but could not avoid an answer.
“It is all electronic,” he finally said. “Your vote is recorded in the machine’s memory bank. When voting is over for the day the central computer automatically connects through to this machine, and one by one to every other machine, and reads the memory and enters it into the central memory bank. When all of the voting stations have been reported in, the final vote is counted and displayed.” “How do we know that the central computer won’t cheat? That it hasn’t been programmed to let one side win?” “Impossible!” he said with what appeared to be hearty conviction. “That would be illegal. The man with the most votes will win.” “Well you are looking at him!” I reached out and pumped his reluctant hand. “This is the day when a new broom sweeps clean the foul nest of dictatorship that has locked a slimy metal hand on the bloodstream of the country. Victory!” Cheered on by this masterpiece of mixed metaphor I exited with de Torres to the cries of the happy voters. We reboarded the cars and swept off towards the castle.
“That’s that,” I announced. “Nothing more to do until the polls close at six. I hope that the chef has prepared a good lunch.” “No more canvassing?” Bolivar asked.
“No more getting out the loyal voters?” James added. “Unless something is done there is going to be a landslide for Zapilote. “ “How interesting,” I mused, a secret smile on my lips. “I do hope that there will be a fish course. It goes so well with the white wine.” It was indeed a wonderful lunch and I must admit that I dozed a bit after the liqueurs. Politics can be so trying. The sun was low on the horizon when I opened my eyes-to see Angelina silhouetted most attractively before its radiant disc.
“You’re a vision!” I said. “What time is it?” “Time for you to wake up. I have told the boys everything. They greeted the plan with great joy, and left with the convoy at the appointed time. The polls are just closing now.” “Wonderful,” I said, standing and stretching. “Let us go listen to the results.” The forces of darkness wasted no time. The preliminary results were already coming in when we joined the marqu6z. He was pacing back and forth, shaking his fist at the TV screen as he went.
“A landslide, that is what they are predicting. That criminal has terrorized the electorate. They are afraid to vote against him.” “I think the answer is really simpler than that. All of his electioneering is just window dressing. He who controls the computer can bring in the final vote any way that he likes. That’s why it would have been a waste of time to do any more campaigning.” “Then we have lost.” “I think perhaps we are going to win. It all depends on how angry Zapilote is. Look-this might be the news that we have been waiting for!” The announcer, a very oily type with a pimp’s moustache, was waving a fistful of computer printouts at the camera, while at the same time he was working up a pseudo-enthusiasm.
“This is wonderful, absolutely wonderful. A landslide for our dear General-President. A spontaneous outwelling of loyalty from the people he holds so dear. An affirmation of their faith despite the efforts of wreckers and other vermin to undermine this grateful affection that has grown with the years. Wait-just a moment-yes, the final results have just been handed to me, the results that we all have been waiting for.” “You can say that again,” I said, then said it again. The announcer smiled greasily and held up a sheet of paper, then lowered it and read from it.
“The results just in from the town of Tortosa, in the Central Region. This town is next to the estate of an individual named de Torres, the so-called Marquez de la Rosa. Charges are being pressed against this malignant individual for defamation of character and treason. But meanwhile his name has remained on the voting machines as a vice-presidential candidate, along with that of a sick deviant called Hector Harapo who is so misguided that he thinks he has a chance of being elected president. But we live in a democracy, ladies and gentlemen, where even the lowest can lust for the highest position. And these two are the lowest, let me tell you. In fact-let me prove it! Figures don’t lie.” He waved the paper again and I muttered “Get on with it, you cretin.” He must have heard me.
“But let us get on with it, the suspense is almost unbearable. In the town of lortosa, where these thugs voted and used dire threats on the happy villagers to make them vote for them, in what they thought was their very own territorythe results are quite amazing. They are... General-President Zapilote... five thousand, three-hundred and twelve. While the vote for the traitors Harapo and de Torres is...” He extended the silence for long seconds, before screaming into the microphone.
“Two! They voted for themselves-and no one else, not a single person voted for them. This is loyalty indeed. The landslide marches on and there is no doubt now that our dear President will be re-elected by acclamation...” “The swine!” de Torres shouted as he kicked the TV set to bits. “We saw them vote, we know how they voted! Lies, just lies!” “Of course,” I said. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.” I thumbed on the command radio at my elbow and Bolivar’s voice issued from it. “All ready here.” “Then roll it. The results were even better than we expected. “ The marquez crunched a few last TV components under foot and looked at me as though I were mad.
“We are going to make a broadcast to the world very soon. Just as soon as the convoy returns...” “Convoy?” “Let me explain. You deserve to hear it before everyone else does. We now have Zapilote exactly where we want him. In his greed for revenge he has played right into our hands!”
Chapter 29
It was only fair to let the marqu6z have the big picture ahead of the rest of the world. He was kicking fitfally at the shattered remains of the r\t. set when I handed him the computer printout.
“The answer to all our problems is right here in the constitution,” I said. “Read this.” He did, with patient attention, word for word. And as he did so his scowl faded away, to be replaced by a wider and wider grin until, at the very end, he burst into a roar of laughter, hurled the printout away and seized me in a bearlike embrace.
“You are a genius, a genius I say!” I did not want to argue, although I did writhe in his grip and eventually managed to escape, but only after he had kissed me fervently on both cheeks. There are some cultures I will never understand. I was so involved in this little drama that Angelina’s voice on the radio was a welcome interruption.
“The convoy is on the grounds now and inside the defense perimeter,” she said. “The tapes will be here in a few minutes.” “Wonderful! The marquez and I will slip into our best uniforms so we can fire the final shot after the recordings are played. “ We all gathered in the library before the big projection TV. The interrupter link to the satellites was set up and ready to go at the press of a button-and I held the button in my hand. The camera was pointed at me as I stood beside the bound edition of the planetary constitution, my fingertips resting reverently upon the open page. The TV screen was filled with scenes of repulsive enthusiasm as Zapilote’s followers indulged in an orgy of self-congratulation. The sound was turned down to a mutter, since looking at this nonsense was bad enough.