Mario Vargas Llosa - The Discreet Hero

Don Rigoberto shut himself in with his books, records, and etchings to read Fonchito’s composition. “Liberty and Evil” was very short. It maintained that God, when He created man, probably had decided he wasn’t an automaton like plants and animals, whose lives were programmed from birth to death, but a creature endowed with free will, capable of deciding his actions on his own. This was how liberty was born. But this faculty with which man was endowed allowed human beings to choose evil, even, perhaps, to create it, doing things that contradicted all that emanated from God, and this represented the devil’s reason for being, the basis of his existence. Therefore evil was the child of liberty, a human creation. Which didn’t mean that liberty was evil in and of itself; no, it was a gift that had permitted great scientific and technical discoveries, social progress, the elimination of slavery and colonialism, the birth of human rights, etcetera. But it was also the origin of the terrible, never-ending cruelties and suffering that accompanied progress like its shadow.

Don Rigoberto was concerned. It occurred to him that all the ideas in the essay were somehow associated with the appearances of Edilberto Torres and his fits of weeping. Or was the essay the result of Fonchito’s conversation with Father O’Donovan? Had his son seen Pepín again? Just then Justiniana burst into his study, very excited. She’d come to tell him that the “newlywed” was on the phone.

“That’s what he said I should tell you, Don Rigoberto,” the girl explained. “‘Tell him the newlywed is calling, Justiniana.’”

“Ismael!” Don Rigoberto jumped up from his desk. “Hello? Hello? Is that you? Are you in Lima? When did you get back?”

“I haven’t returned yet, Rigoberto,” said a playful voice, which he recognized as belonging to his boss. “I’m calling from a place, but naturally I won’t say where it is, because a little bird told me your phone is bugged by you know who. A very beautiful place, so eat your heart out with envy.”

He burst into very joyful laughter and Rigoberto, alarmed, suddenly suspected that yes, his ex-boss and friend was in his dotage, hopelessly senile. Were the hyenas capable of paying one of those agencies to interfere with his phone? Impossible, the gray matter couldn’t take that in. Or perhaps it could.

“Well, well, what more could you wish for,” he replied. “Better for you, Ismael. I see that your honeymoon is going full speed ahead and you still have some wind left. I mean, at least you’re still alive. I’m glad, old man.”

“I’m in fine shape, Rigoberto. Let me tell you something: I’ve never felt better or happier than I have during this time. And that’s the truth.”

“Fantastic, then,” Rigoberto repeated. “Well, I don’t want to give you bad news, least of all by telephone. But I suppose you’re aware of what you’ve caused here and the trouble that’s raining down on us.”

“Claudio Arnillas keeps me up to date with plenty of details and sends me newspaper clippings. I enjoy reading that I’ve been kidnapped and am suffering from senile dementia. It seems you and Narciso have been complicit in my abduction, isn’t that right?” He burst into laughter again — long, loud, and very sarcastic.

“How nice that you can take everything with so much good humor,” Rigoberto grumbled. “Narciso and I aren’t enjoying this as much, as you can imagine. The brothers have driven Narciso half crazy with their intrigues and threats. And us as well.”

“I’m very sorry for the bother I’m causing you, brother.” Ismael tried to smooth things over, and became very serious. “I’m sorry they’ve interfered with your retirement and that you’ve had to cancel your trip to Europe. I know everything, Rigoberto. A thousand apologies to you and Lucrecia for these problems. I swear to you it won’t be for much longer.”

“What do a retirement and a trip to Europe matter compared to the friendship of a grand fellow like you,” Don Rigoberto said sarcastically. “I’d better not tell you about the judicial summonses that compel me to testify as a presumed accomplice in your concealment and abduction; I don’t want to ruin that lovely honeymoon of yours. Well, I hope all this will soon be something we can laugh over and tell anecdotes about.”

Ismael guffawed again, as if it all had little to do with him.

“You’re the kind of friend that doesn’t exist anymore, Rigoberto. I always knew it.”

“Arnillas must have told you that your driver had to hide. The twins have set the police on him, and given how unstable they are, I wouldn’t be surprised if they also send in a couple of hired killers to cut off his you-know-what.”

“They’re very capable of it,” Ismael acknowledged. “That black man is worth his weight in gold. Reassure him, tell him he shouldn’t worry, that his loyalty will have its reward, Rigoberto.”

“Are you coming back soon or will you continue your honeymoon until your heart explodes and you drop dead?”

“I’m finishing up a little matter that will amaze you, Rigoberto. As soon as it’s settled, I’ll return to Lima and put things in order. You’ll see, this mess will disappear in the blink of an eye. I’m really sorry for the headaches I’ve caused. That’s why I called, no other reason. We’ll see each other very soon. Kisses to Lucrecia and a big hug for you.”

“Another one for you and kisses to Armida.” Don Rigoberto said goodbye.

When he hung up, he sat staring at the phone. Venice? The Riviera? Capri? Where could the lovebirds be? Somewhere exotic like Indonesia or Thailand? Could Ismael be as happy as he said? Yes, no doubt, judging by his juvenile laughter. At eighty he’d discovered that life could be more than work — it could also mean doing mad things. Running off, savoring the pleasures of sex and revenge. Better for him. Just then an impatient Lucrecia came into his study.

“What happened? What did Ismael say? Tell me, tell me.”

“He seems very happy. He’s laughing at everything, believe it or not,” he told her. And then he was struck again by the same suspicion. “Do you know something, Lucrecia? What if he really has become senile? What if he doesn’t even realize the crazy things he’s doing?”

“Are you serious or are you joking, Rigoberto?”

“Until now he’d seemed absolutely lucid and clearheaded to me,” he said hesitantly. “But as I listened to him laughing on the phone, I started to think. Because he thought everything going on here was incredibly funny, as if he didn’t care at all about the scandal or the mess he’s gotten us into. Well, I don’t know, maybe I’m a little touchy. Do you realize the situation we’ll be in if it turns out that Ismael has been stricken overnight by senile dementia?”

“I wish you’d never put that idea into my head, Rigoberto. I’ll be thinking about it all night. Too bad for you if I can’t sleep, I’m warning you.”

“It’s sheer nonsense, don’t pay any attention to me, it’s a kind of magic charm so that what I say might happen, doesn’t,” Rigoberto reassured her. “But the truth is, I didn’t expect to find him so unconcerned. As if this all had nothing to do with him. Sorry, I’m sorry. Now I know what’s going on. He’s happy. That’s the key to everything. For the first time in his life Ismael knows what it means to have a real fuck, Lucrecia. What he had with Clotilde were conjugal diversions. With Armida there’s a little sin in the middle and the thing works better.”

“Again your dirty talk,” his wife protested. “Besides, I don’t know what you have against conjugal diversions. I think ours work wonderfully well.”

“Of course, my love, they’re marvelous,” he said, kissing Lucrecia on her hand and her ear. “The best thing for us is to do what he’s doing and not give the matter any importance. Load up on patience and wait for the storm to blow over.”