Carlos Fuentes - The Eagle's Throne

“Yes, Cástulo, I did know that. But what does that have to do with anything?”

The old man was flushed with pride.

“A paper that finds its way to my hands is a paper that never disappears, sir.” And puffing out his chest, he added, “In my hands, a document is sacred. It will never be lost, I assure you.”

“Do the people upstairs know about this loyalty of yours?”

“It isn’t loyalty to anyone, don Nicolás. It is my duty to the nation and to history.”

And how were the famous documents classified? Well, those that were available for consultation were filed under “Mexicana de Energía (MEXEN).” The secret documents, under “Privatization Models.” And the ones don Cástulo had hung on to had no title at all, except for the aforementioned breakfast cereal, “shredded wheat.”

I’ve had a feverish night, María del Rosario, reconstructing the shady deals of the MEXEN board. I summarize them herewith. The executives reserve their confidential information for the big investors, keeping the small-time shareholders in the dark. For example: The big investors were once informed that the company owned about a hundred companies that were not going to go public so that they could keep the dividends under wraps, and thereby avoid distributing the profits. MEXEN is a cover, a smoke screen for interconnected investments yielding exponential earnings.

These operations don’t appear on the company’s quarterly balance sheets. MEXEN discloses its profits to its small, highly privileged group of investors, not to the masses of poorly informed shareholders. In short, the company’s main profits favor one group over the other.

The name of the game is confidentiality. But the managers are playing a triple game, because they’re cheating both shareholders and investors for their own personal gain. A matter of hiding certain conflicts of interest. If you invest legitimately in MEXEN, your money may go to a company that doesn’t allow public investment, or one that is the government’s exclusive domain. Neither the small shareholders nor the big investors know this. The former are kept happy with minor earnings and the latter with major earnings. Nobody asks any questions. But the MEXEN managers can be company employees and principal partners at the same time. They distribute 10 percent of the earnings for their shareholders, and keep 90 percent for themselves.

How? By multiplying dual companies. For example, MEXEN Subsidiary A is really a part of Subsidiary B but the directors tell everyone that they’re two different companies. When Subsidiary A takes a dip in profits, alleging failed agreements with Subsidiary B (which is nevertheless a simple mask for Company A), the directors of A keep the real profits and make the shareholders absorb B’s imaginary losses as if they were A’s losses. Meaning: A is not the partner that has been hurt by B. It is exactly the same as B, but makes B take the hit for its losses. The directors and big investors keep the profits. And the losses are passed on to shareholders like Penélope.

But these con men have gone even further, María del Rosario. They created a Company C in order to attract investment and make loans to Company A. Company A promises to issue more shares in the event that C’s investments fall, to keep C solvent. Company B invests millions in Company C, and Company C in turn invests in Company A.

But this is where the mistakes and the catastrophes start piling up. Company A forces Company B to buy stocks at fixed prices in six months to protect itself from an eventual drop in the market. B gets ahead and buys when the price is low, earning millions. Company A protects itself by selling shares to C. But when the value of the shares in fact drops, Company A gives shares to C in order to keep the entire operation solvent. And then Company A begins to issue more and more shares, devaluing those held by people like Penélope.

At this point the big guys have already made their killing, having taken in millions at the shareholders’ expense. This means they’re now free to declare bankruptcy because they’ve already made their astronomical profits. And anyway, at that point, the best thing for everyone is to wrap up the little game and start a new one before they fall into one of their own traps.

It’s like the story of the fox that knows all the traps the hunters have laid out for him, but doesn’t know that the trap he himself laid down to trick the hunters will be precisely the thing that nails him in the end.

María del Rosario, one of the advantages of a bureaucracy like ours is that the archivists never change because nobody ever thinks of them. They’re forgotten pawns or, depending on the circumstance, people who are easily sacrificed on the great chessboard. And the swift bishops of the game know that the pawns are unaware of their own value. What I mean is, they don’t know what they have in their own archives. María del Rosario, the humble archivist don Cástulo Magón has just determined the outcome of the presidential succession in Mexico.

“Where did these documents come from, don Cástulo?”

“Don Tácito de la Canal handed them to me personally.”

“Did he tell you to keep them a secret?”

“No, not at all. He knows he can trust me with anything. Only once did he ever say to me: ‘Destroy these papers. They’re of no consequence. We are going to drown in all these ridiculous papers.’ ”

Don Cástulo ran his hand across the little hair-bridge he combs over his balding head.

I almost said to him, “He could have destroyed them himself.”

Again I thought of Nixon. Of how every last testimony had to be saved, even the criminal kind, even if only for two reasons. Politicians think all their actions have tremendous historical importance. And they are arrogant enough to think they’re above the law. And perhaps, as well, they mysteriously fear they will be discovered as the bureaucrat who destroyed documents. Here, of course, the guilty party would be poor old Cástulo.

But when don Cástulo handed me the pile of incriminating papers, there was yet another surprise. The documents had the name “Tácito de la Canal” written on them, in his own handwriting. And that, my dear lady, was when I had to ask myself, “Why would a criminal ever sign papers that would single him out as perpetrator of a colossal fraud?”

Your information, my cherished friend, is priceless. It makes me want to go running out to the palace balcony, ring the Independence Bell, and proclaim the truth for all the world to hear. In politics, however, timing is everything. In fact, politics is all about knowing how to gauge the moment. Easier said than done. It’s hard to reconcile intelligence and passion in the interest of fulfilling one’s obligations.

You and I have agreed that our task is to prevent Tácito de la Canal from becoming president. And finally, thanks to you, we have the cards we need to play. We can forget about insulting Tácito. People forget insults. Hatred simmers. Irritation boils over. Frustration is unacceptable and unwittingly gives way to chaos, which then causes people to behave irrationally, and that encourages the most dangerous and counterproductive political adventures. In other words, let us proceed according to some kind of method. Our poor country has suffered too long from endemic dysfunction. It has endured almost constant starvation and demoralization. Oh, Mexico: so many wounds, and so little time for them to heal.

I quote our friend Bernal Herrera: “All these evils can be avoided if we create a country with laws that we are prepared to enforce and obey.” This is the point. Tácito de la Canal has flagrantly violated the law. You know him. You’ve worked with him. You know he’s a cruel, miserable man. Perhaps you haven’t yet learned that the most cruel people are also the most insecure. They are cruel because they’re afraid of being nothing. Cruelty gives them an identity. It’s the easiest path for them. To love, to offer your hand to your fellow man, to attend to his needs — that, my friend, requires time and passion. Few people possess those virtues. I must confess that occasionally even I feel I lack them, and must remind myself: “Patience, woman. Stay calm.”