Carlos Fuentes - Adam in Eden

To quote Góngora’s frequent punctuation: “How about that?”

Over the remains of old feelings that evaporated a long time ago, we construct reasons out of illusions. We are free to reconstruct the history of our love lives with the delusions permitted us by time. We embellish with ribbons what is in fact no more than a tree that has been dried up for twenty-one years. We—

I resist the movement of my soul, which awakens today and sets off toward Priscila the way it did, perhaps, twenty-one years ago. It’s just that twenty-one years, malgré the philosophy of tango, indeed count for something, and I run the risk of inventing a sentimental life that I could never justify, because it had nothing to do with the start (and continuation) of my relationship with Priscila.

“You were never in love with her,” I mentally reprimand myself. “You just wanted to climb the social ladder. You wanted security. You wanted the protection of a rich Priscila, that’s all, you shameless son of a bitch. .”

This self-flagellation ends when I tell myself that, whatever my initial motivation may have been to marry Priscila, the fact is that I have lived with her for more than two decades. We are a couple . We are married . We are understood as such, and as such we are invited to parties, we are seated at the table, and we are forgiven — ugh! — Priscila’s foul airs because — she needs no other license! — she is Adam Gorozpe’s wife, which gives her the right to fart whenever and wherever she chooses. .

But then, how to reconcile this sentiment with another that strikes me with a vengeance, unwanted, hidden in the secret depths of my life: my relationship with L? Can I reproach Priscila for her (alleged) love affair with Góngora while I devote myself to my (proven) love affair with L?

I am seized by fear. Following my line of reasoning, I overlooked the most important condition of my life. If you study my words (and I urge you to do so), you will note that, in the beginning, I said that Góngora seems to know that I am not faithful to Priscila and that my wife has the right, and so on. . But no, Góngora has no way to know about my relationship with L. I have kept it absolutely secret; nothing in Góngora’s attitude indicates that he knows about my life with L, nothing .

Or everything ? Does he know everything, the innermost details? Can we keep no secrets from Góngora? Does he have us all caught in his dark fist of silver and amethyst rings?

Nothing, nothing gives me the certainty to assume that Góngora knows. And nothing indicates beyond any doubt that Góngora doesn’t know.

Could this be the real treachery behind Góngora’s visit to my office? To torture me by letting me imagine that he may or may not know about L? Because he can sleep with Priscila, and I can remain unmoved (that would be my aim, if it were so). He knows he can go after my financial interests, and I will remain unmoved because I am impervious to any local attack: my fortune is well safeguarded in places and instruments that I don’t need to reveal here.

L is my weakest flank.

If Góngora attacks me there, he would be able to wound me. . fatally, to the extent that he can’t attack L without hurting me. .

Another nightmare:

Adam González enters my dream.

He is a fat man with dark skin, curly hair, and a trumpet-player’s lips.

This time, my nightmare happens very quickly, and the events unfold one after the other in flashes across the screen of my dream.

Adam González compiles a list of his enemies.

Slowly, he locks them up, one at a time.

He accuses one person of disrespecting our nation’s flag, another of raiding the public trust, a third of abusing power, a fourth of insulting the omnipotent public figure Adam González.

In my dream — I am not fooled, this time I know it’s a dream —those accused by González defend themselves.

“He attacks us just to humiliate us.”

“He’s sending a message to all citizens.”

They understand the pronouncements. “Nobody is safe from my arbitrary decisions.”

“Nobody better think of turning against me.”

“Nobody better protest, and nobody better ask for nothing.”

The families of the detained state their cases.

“We haven’t been allowed to see my father.”

“My husband is in solitary confinement because he’s guilty of being a flight risk.”

“I know the jail cells. They measure two square meters. Nobody can lie down without bending their knees.”

“I’m the governor. And they’re going to take away the job that I was elected for.”

“I’m a student. They locked me up for going to a demonstration.”

“I’m the mayor. I’ve been waiting six years to be sentenced.”

“We’re guilty of treason, of rebellion, of sedition.”

“We’re disqualified.”

“We’re guilty.”

“That’s what Adam González says.”

“If he says that, it must be so.”

“God bless Adam González.”

I return to L the way a parched man in the desert comes upon an oasis. Only now I am afraid. Have I been followed? Do they suspect anything? What does Góngora know? Are his bloodhounds on my trail?

Whereas before I saw only innocent glances, I now see suspicious glares. Actions that once would have seemed normal to me now seem the diversions of spies.

Why do all my associates wear dark sunglasses?

Why do I return to L, putting my lover in harm’s way? Is Góngora following me? Does he know about my affair? Why am I going back? Just to say: “The situation has become very dangerous. We have to take a break for a while”?

And even as I compose the words, I’m not sure if they’re true.

I’ve never told L a lie. L knows my life in detail: my feelings, my desires, and my fears. I love L because we can discuss what I would never dare let anyone else know. My relationship with Priscila and her family is — or has been up until now — strictly conventional. When my associates and I are finished discussing business, I become silent as a tomb.

L.

Only L knows all.

How am I going to say: “You have to understand, we need to take a break for a while,” without having to answer the question,

“Why?”

“Why, Adam?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“You can’t. .? I can’t believe my ears.”

“I can’t see you for a while. I promise, it’s for your own good.”

“For my own good? Then why don’t you give me a reason, Adam? What are you trying to pull?”

“I’m not trying to pull anything. I swear that I love you, and I swear that I don’t want to put you in harm’s way—”

“In harm’s way? I know how to take care of myself.”

“Look, this sounds like a Rorschach conversation. Just accept my reasons and—”

“But you’re not giving me any reasons. You’re only telling me ‘we need to take a break for a while,’ which means ‘We’re breaking up,’ don’t you understand? Why do you say such stupid things? Do you think I’m an idiot? Do you think that before I met you I never had any lovers? Do you think I never had a lover leave me? Do you think you’re the first, you slime bucket, or the only one?”

L has never treated me this way, has never insulted me before. I have said it and repeated it from the beginning: our relationship is one of mutual respect, we tell each other everything.

Everything? When L rebukes me—“slime bucket”—I suddenly realize that I tell L everything, and L tells me nothing . What do I know about L? Where does L come from? Who are all these lovers L has been with?