Roberto Arlt - The Seven Madmen

Yet the newcomer did not give him a favourable impression. He was a tall, pale-faced man with jet-black eyes. What disturbed Erdosain was the way his lower lip seemed constantly curled in a disdainful sneer, and the three creases where his long, hooked nose met his forehead. A silken moustache covered his red lips, and after being introduced he scarcely seemed to give Erdosain more than a cursory glance before he sank down on to a hammock, leaning back against a post with his sword between his knees and a lock of hair plastered to his flat forehead.

For a few minutes, none of them spoke, as they observed each other uneasily. Sitting close to the entrance to the summer-house, the Astrologer lit a cigarette and weighed up the men he was to call his “chiefs”. All at once he lifted his head and, taking in the five men sitting round the table, began to speak:

“I don’t see any point in repeating what we all know already and have agreed on in individual meetings … that is, the plan to organise a secret society to be paid for out of both moral and immoral ventures. We are all in agreement on that, aren’t we? What do you think (I have a liking for geometry) if we call the groups of our society ‘cells’?”

“That’s what they’re called in Russia,” said the Major. “And those in any one cell should not know the members of any other.”

“What … the leaders wouldn’t know each other?”

“No, the ones who would not know each other are not the leaders, but the members.”

The Gold Prospector butted in:

“That would make things impossible. If that’s so, what links the members of the different cells?”

“But it’s the six of us who are the links of the society.”

“No, sir … it’s me who is the society,” the Astrologer objected. “But to be serious, I would say that all the members make up the society … apart from a few restrictions concerning myself.”

The Major wanted his say:

“I think this discussion is pointless, because as I see it there will be a perfectly well worked-out system of promotion. And each promotion will bring a cell member into contact with a new leader. There will be as many promotions as there are cell leaders.”

“How many cells are there at the moment anyway?”

“Four. I’ll be in overall charge,” the Astrologer went on: “You, Erdosain, will be our Industrial Chief; the Gold Prospector” — a young man sitting at the corner of the table nodded in acknowledgement — “will be in charge of our camps and mining operations; the Major here will be responsible for spreading our society in the army; and Haffner will be the Chief of Brothels.”

Haffner stood up to protest:

“I beg your pardon, but I’m not going to be chief of anything. The fact that I’m here has no special significance. I’m simply doing you a favour by drawing up a budget for the brothels. If you’re not happy with that, I’ll leave.”

“No, stay,” the Astrologer apologised. The Melancholy Thug sat down and went back to doodling with a pencil. Erdosain could not help admiring his arrogance.

There was no doubt however that it was the Major who was the centre of everyone’s attention, due to the prestige of his uniform and the remarkable fact of his being there at all.

The Gold Prospector turned to him: “So what brings you here? Are you hoping to spread our secret society among the army?”

Everyone sat upright in their chairs. This was the big surprise of their meeting, the coup de théatre planned in silence. Beyond a shadow of doubt, the Astrologer had what it took to be a leader. The only shame was that he kept the workings of his mind such a secret. But Erdosain felt proud to be associated with him. Everyone was leaning forward in their seats to hear what the Major had to say. The Major studied the Astrologer’s face, then began:

“Gentlemen, I have carefully weighed what I am about to say. Otherwise I would not be here. This is the position: our army is full of disgruntled officers. There is no point going over the reasons for this; they would be of no interest to you. Ideas of a ‘dictatorship’ and the recent political and military events in both Spain and Chile have led many of my colleagues to think that our country might also be fertile ground for such a dictatorship.” His listeners’ jaws dropped in utter astonishment. What they were hearing was completely unexpected.

The Gold Prospector wanted to know:

“So you think then that the Argentine army … I mean, its officers, would be open to our ideas?”

“Of course they would … provided you can present them properly. I can tell you from the outset that far more officers than you would think possible are fed up with democratic theories, parliament included. No, don’t interrupt me. Ninety per cent of the parliamentarians in our country could not match an army lieutenant in terms of education and culture. Accused of participating in the murder of a governor, one politician hit the nail on the head when he replied: ‘to govern a nation requires no more skills than those of a ranch foreman.’ What he said is true of all Latin America.”

The Astrologer sat rubbing his hands with obvious glee.

The Major looked at each of them, then went on:

“The army is a superior state within an inferior society, since by definition we are the country’s strength. And yet we are subject to the government’s resolutions … but what exactly is the government? … the legislative and executive powers … in other words, people chosen by rag-tag political parties … and what representatives they are, my friends! You know better than I that to get into parliament you need to have made a career of lying, starting out as a malingerer in committees, then doing deals and communing with shysters of every description: in short, a life beyond the bounds of the law and the truth. I’ve no idea if the same happens in more civilised countries, but that’s the way it is here. In our congress and senate there are members accused of usury and murder, rogues in the pay of foreign companies — people of such crass ignorance that the parliamentary system here is the most grotesque farce ever to have sullied the life of a nation. The presidential elections are funded by United States capital, on the basis of promises to grant concessions to firms which want to exploit our national riches. I am not exaggerating when I say that in this country of ours, the contest between the political parties is no more than a squabble between salesmen vying to sell the nation to the highest bidder.” 2

They all sat gaping open-mouthed at the Major. Beyond the wooden lattices and the clusters of honeysuckle the morning sky was a bright blue, but not one of them noticed. Later, Erdosain confided in me that none of those present at that Wednesday meeting had been expecting anything half so sensational. The Major dabbed his lips with a handkerchief and went on:

“I’m glad my words have struck a chord. There are a lot of young officers who think as I do, and even some recently appointed generals … what you must do — and don’t be surprised by what I am about to say — is to give the society a completely communist slant. I’m saying this because there’s no such thing as communism in Argentina — I wouldn’t describe a bunch of carpenters talking sociological nonsense in some hall where nobody takes their hats off as communists. I’d like to explain my ideas to you as clearly as possible. Every secret society is like a cancer in the community. Its mysterious processes upset the proper functioning of its host. Well … we cell leaders must make sure that those processes are entirely bolshevik” — this was the first time that the word had been uttered in the meeting, and despite themselves, everyone glanced at each other nervously — “This will attract a lot of crackpots, and help the cells proliferate. That way we can create a fictitious revolutionary force. We’ll specialise in terrorist attacks. Even a half-successful one brings out all the dark, ferocious forces in society. If we repeat the attacks over a year, accompanying them with anti-social leaflets inciting the proletariat to set up ‘soviets’ … do you know what we will have achieved? Something as striking as it is simple. We’ll have created a state of revolutionary agitation.