Mauro Cardenas - The Revolutionaries Try Again

—

You’ve worn your most expensive black suit in the humidity and the heat merely to witness Leopoldo’s envy, Antonio thinks, although perhaps another interpretation could be that, given that he’d hastily shuffled through his wardrobe options in the closet the night before, he’d actually picked his black suit at random, although he knew he’d hastily shuffled through his options not because he didn’t care about what he was going to wear for his first meeting with Leopoldo but because he needed to fabricate the evidence that he hadn’t picked his most expensive suit to elicit envy, or that he hadn’t picked his most expensive suit because he knew you couldn’t find anything like it in Ecuador, and yet all along he’d known Leopoldo would know why he’d worn this suit. It wasn’t the first time he’d flashed his meager advantages to his friend. Leopoldo had grown so used to it that he’d turned his reaction into a skit, countering Antonio’s flaunts by acting like a father resigned to the pettiness of his wayward son. That Antonio equated resignation with approval allowed him, twelve years after not seeing Leopoldo, to do this to his friend again. He could tell Leopoldo that even at a considerable markdown he’d barely been able to afford this goddamn suit. That month after month he consumed every cent of his paychecks at high end department stores. That to afford orange Italian nylon pants he had to limit his grocery shopping to Chinese noodles and ground beef. That because of his shopping habits he only had enough savings to last him six months. But how to say this to Leopoldo without patronizing him? Even if he found a way he knew he was likely to betray himself with an ostentatious aside.

—

MICROPHONE

:

Doctor Drool.

DROOL

:

Mister Microphone.

MICROPHONE

:

Economista.

DROOL

:

Do you mind if we start over?

MICROPHONE

:

Reenact your mom and dad in the act of Drool conception?

DROOL

:

Greet each other differently.

MICROPHONE

:

You’re asking if we can be something other than what we are?

DROOL

:

I’ll start. All these years I’ve been imagining this reunion and here we are at last, Leo.

MICROPHONE

:

You would never say that. You would punch me in the shoulder, feign a demure stroll toward me, shake hands like portly congressmen.

DROOL

:

I wish we would’ve gone to Stanford together, Leo.

MICROPHONE

:

I haven’t thought about you in years.

DROOL

:

We could’ve spiked our Who’s Most Pedantic with courses on phenomenology, econometrics, nonretrogradable rhythms.

MICROPHONE

:

Only what ends continues, pig.

DROOL

:

I would’ve been happier staying in Guayaquil with you and arguing with you about everything.

MICROPHONE

:

Yet another half truth.

DROOL

:

I’m sorry Leo I. .

MICROPHONE

:

You really think you have to confess all this to me?

DROOL

:

Everything’s implicit and not implicit.

MICROPHONE

:

Do you feel better now?

DROOL

:

Momentarily. No.

MICROPHONE

:

How many times do you have to reimagine a heartfelt reunion until it replaces the memory of our paltry reunion?

—

Let’s shut the door.

Aren’t we expecting company?

They can knock.

They?

Julio. Others will join later.

Why is that lastre even a part of this? Bet you a sopa de bollo Julio won’t show. Popcorn’s out hunting for hoyos / so pay up for the sopa de bollo. Does that door even shut?

Of course it does.

Leopoldo tries to shut the door but the frame’s too big for the door and the door doesn’t have a handle. After much fumbling Leopoldo settles for the least ajar option, changing his mind and searching for a chain and a lock behind the counter. The business of locking the door is a clattery one. Leopoldo can’t find the key to open the lock so through the hole in the door handle and the hole in the wall he fastens the chain like a bow.

Is this some kind of secret meeting?

Allow me to select a seat for you, sir.

Antonio sits and Leopoldo playacts at searching his pockets for his proclamation but of course he’s kidding because clearly he doesn’t need a piece of paper to proclaim anything, although he does need to pace up and down the cramped length of the place as if deliberating about matters of great importance.

Still flatlining the currency at the Central Bank, Leo?

We’re gathered here today, Leopoldo begins, but of course he’s kidding. Our country is at a crux, he says, the annals of history, he says, checking the door as if worried he will be found out. Leopoldo’s speech goes on in this vein for quite some time.

Bravo, Microphone. You’ve convinced me. Again. Now tells us about our plan.

The plan is for Julio to run for president. Leopoldo and Antonio would act as his invisible advisers. Say what you want about Julio but the guy has charisma. Everyone likes him. Plus the price of tuna is up. He can fund the campaign with the surplus of his father’s tuna fish empire.

Very funny, Microphone.

And yet Antonio can tell Leopoldo is not kidding. At San Javier Leopoldo often found ways to include Julio, the oldest son of one of the wealthiest men in Ecuador, for years a close friend of Antonio, or at least Antonio had thought so. Antonio isn’t about to admit he doesn’t mind Leopoldo has included Julio. Just as he isn’t about to admit he’s relieved Leopoldo’s plan isn’t bolder.

Try again, Microphone. We’re at a crook. .

Someone rattles the door. Hangar te sésamo, someone shouts. Putative puerta del carajo.

Leopoldo’s blocking Antonio’s view of the door. As soon as the chain drops Antonio recognizes the poultry voice.

I reckoned you’d be maggoting here. You Pharisee piece of crap.

Leopoldo steps aside so that Facundo can see Antonio.

Why so miffed, Facundito? The Microphone didn’t share his homework with you?

Drool?

Maid Killer!

Antonio jumps up and hugs him. Facundo seems taken aback and does not reciprocate the embrace. Even with his broken nose Antonio can smell sardines and motor oil on him.

What boomeranged you back to the village? Missed the smell of garbage?

A garbologist of folklore, indeed.

Garrrrrboooologiz.

Missed the smell of guayaba, ceviche de concha, your mother. What’s with the bloody elbows, Facundito? Getting potatory on me so early?

Pota what?

Tory.

Chanfle. That’s a good one. If potatory means betrayed by your potato headed pal over there then the answer’s affirmative.

Indignantly Facundo tells Antonio what happened earlier at the municipality.

Leopoldo listens to Facundo’s story as if it’s simply vaudeville, although every time Facundo raises his voice Leopoldo eyes the door uncomfortably.

You’re working for León? I thought you were chief economist at the Central Bank. How come you didn’t tell me this? How come no one told me this?

The gringa wanted daily updates?

I think so.

Why’s he dressed like a narco?

To harrumph the natives?

To collect funds for his goodwill foundation?

Against droolitis.

Droolcephalitis.

Droolnorreah.

Facundo and Leopoldo shake their heads at Antonio. Facundo punches Leopoldo on the shoulder. Leopoldo pretends to be injured and then slaps the back of Facundo’s head.

Don’t turn on me again, capullo.

Next time coin me for the newsflash, sorullo.

Check, check, the Microphone to the microphone.

Enough of this nonsense, children.

I have to run, fellows.

Off to clock the maidens?