Carlos Fuentes - The Eagle's Throne

I’ve worked with you unconditionally. I knew Lorenzo Terán was terminally ill since the day he became president, in fact. He wasn’t the first ill man to take office. François Mitterrand became president of France knowing he’d die in the Elysée Palace. Roosevelt knew it, too, when he allowed himself to be elected for the fourth time. Perhaps that knowledge gave them the will to survive with the energy we remember them for. And the will to keep their secrets, just as Terán kept his. He trusted me completely. His illness was the reason I began to prepare an inexperienced young man, someone who’d barely started to shave, someone I could mold. He’d take over the presidency if Terán died— he’d be interim president if Terán died during his first two years in office, and acting president if he died in the last four years. But he was only meant to be passing through; Nicolás Valdivia would only be passing through, until your own presidency, Bernal, once your adversary Tácito was eliminated.

Valdivia complied very conscientiously with all I told him to do. But he always believed that when I said, “You will be president,” I meant a full six-year term. He never suspected that I only considered him feasible as acting president because President Terán was ill. A new Emilio Portes Gil. He was obedient and loyal. There were certain things that he — and nobody else — could control. The Old Man Under the Arches. The simpering passion of that soap opera queen Dulce, whatever her name is. The impenetrable mystery of Ulúa. The Moro affair that you and I wanted to make invisible by eliminating it from public discourse, as if it didn’t exist at all, a secret sealed up forever at the bottom of the sea. .

But then again, Valdivia was useful for spoiling the ex-president’s little schemes, not to mention the heinous general Arruza’s plot — we never imagined Nicolás would overtake us and get in with General von Bertrab to find out what Arruza was up to, to say nothing of what he found out about the idiotic pretensions of Almazán, that Yucatecan whore, and Andino, her bottomless pit of economic science and political mediocrity.

All of it under control and all of it in your favor, Bernal. Fate smiled on you. The coast was clear. Onésimo Canabal, the president of Congress, plays the fool, but he’s craftier than a pirate, and he knows which way the wind blows. All of us have our secret vendettas. And Canabal’s vendetta was that of avenging the humiliations heaped on him by the terrible ex, César León (no adversary should ever be underestimated). Eliminating César León has been Onésimo Canabal’s obsession. Andino made him laugh, but not Pepa, because he knew about the Mexican Madame Pompadour’s secret affairs with Tácito and Arruza. Onésimo, sneaky son of a bitch that he is, calculated that these deceitful affairs would end up like the liar and the one-legged man — flat on their faces. Onésimo also knew how to take advantage of our balkanized Congress, so that he could divide and conquer.

What neither you nor I calculated, Bernal Herrera, was that Onésimo, more astute than we gave him credit for, would co-opt a secret agent, an unglamorous old woman, more changeable than a chameleon, a woman who could blend into anything from the Chihuahua desert to the jungles of Tabasco, Paulina Tardegarda, who has the air of a nun, a virgin, a martyr. Not only was she a bottomless pit of information for Onésimo, but she was something far worse, something that, quite frankly, makes me seethe, Bernal.

I promised Nicolás Valdivia: “You will be president of Mexico.”

Subtext: “I will make you president of Mexico.”

It wasn’t like that. The person who made Valdivia president was that convent escapee Paulina Tardegarda. Valdivia can thank Paulina and Onésimo, not you and me, for making it to the Eagle’s Throne.

I’m seething, Bernal, I admit it, and I’m frightened.

Nicolás Valdivia was going to be the don Tancredo, the sitting duck in our monumental bullfight, the immobile buffoon in charge of diverting the bull as it entered the ring, so that the matador could shine. Well, well. Now it turns out that you and I have been the Tancredos and that Nicolás Valdivia owes his position to Onésimo and Paulina, not you and me.

However, you are who you are, my old sweetheart, and your candidacy has the most promise and the best chance to win the 2024 elections. But “life brings us surprises,” as the Panamanian bard Rubén Blades said. Life brings us surprises. Other candidates may appear on the scene. That’s to be expected. In fact, I think we should encourage other candidacies. When I survey the political horizon, I don’t see a candidate stronger than you. In any case, you can breathe easy. Article 82 of the constitution states that any citizen who has served as president of the republic — whether elected, interim, acting, provisional — may not serve in that position again. Under no circumstances, the law says. That was why César León was trying so hard to intimidate Onésimo Canabal into starting that complicated constitutional reform process — because he wanted to scrap Article 82 and become president again. Blessed re-election, Bernal. Nobody has the right to screw us twice.

Except Nicolás Valdivia perhaps?

My creation.

My anointed one, à la mode démocratique.

The docile puppet who was going to deliver us to the presidency without a problem.

Well, look what happened. The maid turned out to have a mind of her own.

No, I don’t think that you’ll be defeated in free, democratic elections. Your victory is assured. But what I am afraid of, Bernal, is that Valdivia will find some way to stay on the Eagle’s Throne. Do you think he’s going to be satisfied with a mere three years? Do you think he isn’t already plotting with that Paulina to see how he can hang on to the throne?

Maybe not. But better to be safe than sorry. Remember always that under no circumstances should we forgive Nicolás Valdivia for deceiving us. But you leave that to me. If you forgive the person who did you wrong, your enemies will take note and screw you over twice as badly.

I’m telling you this, my good Bernal, because you’re the one who always goes around saying, “I can’t be unjust with my enemy.”

You’re wrong. Be unjust. Because your enemy will be unjust with you.

Dear Nicolás, I think you’re covered from all sides. You were wise to leave President Terán’s cabinet intact with the exception of the secretary for public works, Antonio Bejarano, and the communications secretary, Felipe Aguirre. Their corruption was too well known. By sacrificing them you’ll satisfy public opinion and demonstrate your commitment to justice. That’s the system’s weakness: justice. We don’t have a culture of legality, and we resign ourselves to throwing meat to the lions every six years. But the system doesn’t change.

It would be a good idea to reform the judiciary right away in all those states where doing so doesn’t compromise our political power. The public will be paying so much attention to the acts of justice you carry out in Oaxaca and Guerrero, Nayarit and Jalisco, Hidalgo and Michoacán, that they won’t have time to think about Sonora and Baja California, Tamaulipas and San Luis Potosí, where you won’t touch any of those old local bosses. I’ve spoken to all of them. To Cabezas, Maldonado, Quintero, Delgado. They understand your proposal. Low profile. Nothing showy. Invisibility. Local authorities will work with them, do whatever they want, but all with the utmost discretion.

“What do you want, money or fame?” I asked them on your behalf. “Because you’ll have to choose, gentlemen. Fame you’ve got a lot of, and it’s not the good kind. You’ve got a lot of money, too, and you could have more. And bad money is a contradiction in terms. Doesn’t exist. Money or fame. You can’t be political bigamists.”