The 2 12 Pillars of Wisdom
Page 31
Shortly before lunch was served, a helicopter arrived. Von Igelfeld watched it in annoyance from his window. Was it an Italian helicopter, he wondered, made in Count Augusta’s helicopter factory near Bologna? He would ask at lunch, not that he expected to find anybody who knew anything about it, but he could ask. Several men in uniform stepped out of the helicopter and there were further cries of Viva! and even more bustle. Von Igelfeld returned to his book.
He was called to lunch by Dolores Quinta Barranquilla. He had not seen much of her during the morning, and she now appeared in a fresh outfit, a fetching red bandana tied about her neck and secured with a large emerald pin.
‘I do hope that you’re not too bored,’ she said airily. ‘Pedro and I have been very busy indeed. That was a general arriving in that helicopter. He says that the capital is falling – useless provincials – and that the Government is on the point of capitulation to the Movimiento. It’s all happened before, of course, and it doesn’t make much difference in the long run.’
‘But I thought you said they were ruthless guerrillas,’ said von Igelfeld, inserting a bookmark in the book. ‘You implied that they were worse than anybody else. I heard you. You said that. You did.’
Dolores Quinta Barranquilla shrugged. ‘Circumstances change. Look at Pedro himself. He’s really rather well educated. He knows how to behave. I see no reason why he shouldn’t be in the Government. Nobody can run this country, so it may as well be Pedro and his friends who don’t run it.’
Von Igelfeld thought about this for a moment. ‘I was wondering about leaving, Señora Dolores Quinta Barranquilla,’ he said. ‘I must say that I’ve enjoyed being at the villa, but I do have to return home, you know.’
‘But of course,’ said Dolores Quinta Barranquilla. ‘There will be no problem over that. Of course we shall miss you, dear Professor von Igelfeld. I’ll speak to Pedro. Perhaps you can go back to Bogotá in the helicopter, once the city has finally fallen. I don’t expect you’ll have to wait all that long.’
‘That would be very satisfactory,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘I think I have had enough history for one day.’
‘I shall talk to dear Pedro about it,’ said Dolores Quinta Barranquilla. ‘He’s very reasonable, you know. All he wants to do is to help. There are men like that, you know. Not many, of course. But they do exist.’
The kitchen, which had excelled itself the previous night, again rose to the occasion. Further dusty bottles of wine were located in the cellar, and the cook, who was the elder brother of the manservant, retrieved his finest ingredients from the larder, including porcini mushrooms that had been preserved since the days of Dolores Quinta Barranquilla’s father and were approaching their peak of flavour, pickled beans, and dried fish from Cartagena. Von Igelfeld was hungry from the morning’s exertions, and thoroughly agreed with the observation made by Cinco Fermentaciones that battle sharpened the appetite. He made a mental note to mention this in a letter to Zimmermann, who would not be in a position to contradict the proposition and would undoubtedly be very impressed. Indeed there were few people in von Igelfeld’s circle who would be able to make such a comment, a thought which gave von Igelfeld some satisfaction.
There were two extra guests at the lunch table. Von Igelfeld sat next to the Colonel who had surrendered, a charming man, he thought, who had a strong interest in the history of the Jesuits in South America. Then, on the other side of the table, was the General who had arrived by helicopter. He was a large man in a bottle-green uniform on which numerous military decorations had been pinned. He appeared distrustful of Pedro at first, but after the first course they became involved in a protracted political debate which seemed to bring them closer together. The General drank more wine than was necessary, thought von Igelfeld, and he hoped that he would not be at the controls of the helicopter if they were to go back to Bogotá that afternoon.
The Colonel had been informed of von Igelfeld’s central role in that morning’s encounter, and was full of praise for his courage and accuracy with a rifle.
‘I realised immediately that the odds were unequal,’ he said. ‘That shot you fired went straight through the peak of my cap, just like that. I knew that if you could place a bullet so accurately, we would have little chance.’
‘I am glad that we avoided bloodshed,’ said von Igelfeld modestly.
‘I only wish that our own professors were so brave,’ remarked the Colonel. ‘I cannot imagine that they would be much good. But then, I suppose you haven’t met many of them.’
‘Oh, I have met them,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘There were a number at a meeting of the Academy of Letters which I recently attended.’
The Colonel put down his knife and fork and turned towards von Igelfeld. ‘The Academy? In Bogotá? You’re a Member?’
‘I am a Corresponding Fellow,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘I have only been to one meeting so far.’
The Colonel looked thoughtful. ‘As a Corresponding Fellow,’ he began, ‘would you be entitled to propose new members, I wonder? Would you be entitled, do you think?’
Von Igelfeld looked down at his plate. He was becoming used to South American ways and perhaps there was no point in protesting. If this was the way in which the country worked, then he should perhaps accept it. No one person can change the mores of an entire nation.
‘I should be pleased to propose you, Colonel,’ he said. ‘I am sure that your scholarship merits it.’
‘Oh, thank you! Thank you!’ enthused the Colonel. ‘The Academy! Thank you so much.’
‘Not at all,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘We can pick up the proposal papers when we get back to Bogotá. Then I shall sign them immediately.’
‘You’re an excellent man,’ said the Colonel. ‘Now would you like a further glass of wine? I must say that the Señora keeps a wonderful cellar, doesn’t she?’
Their conversation was interrupted by Pedro, who rose to his feet, glass in hand. One of his men had slipped into the room and had whispered a message. Pedro, having dismissed him, made a sign to the General, who nodded.
‘Señora, Gentlemen,’ began Pedro in formal tones. ‘I have this minute heard from my intelligence officer. The Government in Bogotá is no more. The President of the Republic has decamped to Miami and the instruments of Government have been placed in the hands of our Movement. The way is clear for us to return to the capital and assume our rightful place in government. I now ask you to join me in drinking to the health of the new Government!’
They all rose. ‘To the Government!’ said the General in a loud voice. ‘To the Government and la Patria!’
‘And to our dear Pedrissimo!’ added Dolores Quinta Barranquilla. ‘How fortunate that day – only yesterday, I believe – that you joined us at the Villa of Reduced Circumstances!’
‘Thank you,’ said Pedro, ‘my dear friends. We have great works ahead of us, believe me. But we shall accomplish these with alacrity and take the country forward into a new age of prosperity and achievement. That is what I believe. That is the policy of the new Government.’
‘A very fine philosophy,’ whispered the Colonel to von Igelfeld. ‘Exactly the same philosophy as that professed by the last Government, and the Government before it.’
‘And did they achieve what they set out to achieve?’ asked von Igelfeld.
‘Good heavens, no,’ said the Colonel. ‘But then governments don’t run this country. This country is run by narcotraficantes and the like. Governments are window-dressing in this part of the world.’
‘I find that very hard to believe,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘Surely you could not have a country run by criminals. Surely that is impossible.’
‘Au contraire,’ said the Colonel, reaching for a tooth-pick. ‘That is exactly what happens. And our friend Pedro and his cronies know it full well. Just wait and see. Just you wait and see.’
They were told at the end of lunch to prepare themselves for departure to Bogotá. Dolores Quinta Barranquilla had decided to stay behind, in spite of be
ing invited to go to Bogotá and join the new Government. She had a responsibility for the villa, she explained, but she would like to have them all out for a literary weekend – the entire Cabinet– as soon as possible. Pedro thought this a good idea and got out his diary to check dates. So with Dolores Quinta Barranquilla staying behind, Cinco Fermentaciones, von Igelfeld, Pedro, the General and the Colonel, would all fly down to Bogotá in the General’s helicopter.
Von Igelfeld packed his suitcase and made his way out to the helicopter. Climbing in, he noticed, to his relief, that the General was not proposing to pilot the aircraft, but that a moustachioed pilot in dark glasses was seated at the controls. Soon they were all strapped into their seats and with a great whirring of blades the helicopter pulled itself up into the mid-afternoon air. Down below, holding onto her hat in the breeze from the rotors, Dolores Quinta Barranquilla looked up and waved. Von Igelfeld waved back. She had been a fine hostess, and a brave one too. They would meet again, he hoped, perhaps in the not-too-distant future. And it was then that the thought occurred. You should marry her. He smiled. Impossible. No, it would not be.
They hovered over the villa for a moment, as if acknowledging the cheers of the guerrillas and soldiers down below. Then, swooping off, away from the mountainside behind the villa, they set off for Bogotá and for the political destiny that awaited them. Von Igelfeld closed his eyes. Soon he would be back in Germany, back in the Institute. He would be talking to Herr Huber over coffee. He would be inspecting his room for signs of intrusion by Unterholzer. He would be passing on Zeitschrift articles to Prinzel for checking. South America, and its revolutions, would be many miles away, a dim memory of a life which he had glimpsed and which had embraced him so wholeheartedly in its contortions. On balance he was glad that all this had happened, though, that he had been a man of action and come through it, alive. Now there was even less reason to read Hemingway. It would all seem too tame, too unrealistic.
Von Igelfeld spent that night in Cinco Fermentaciones’s house in the centre of Bogotá. It was a noisy evening, as the population was out in full strength to celebrate the new Government. Fireworks were exploded and there was singing, but von Igelfeld succeeded nonetheless in sleeping well. The following morning, over breakfast, he announced to Cinco Fermentaciones that he would need to consult a travel agent about his return flight.
‘I don’t think that would be wise,’ said his host.
Von Igelfeld raised an eyebrow. ‘And why not?’
‘Because Pedro expects you to stay,’ said Cinco Fermentaciones. ‘He telephoned me last night, after you had gone to bed. We are both to be in the Government.’
‘That is quite unacceptable,’ said von Igelfeld sharply. ‘I have many other things to do.’
‘It won’t be for all that long,’ said Cinco Fermentaciones. ‘These governments don’t last all that long. Eight, nine months perhaps. A year at the outside.’
‘I still do not want to do it,’ said von Igelfeld.
Cinco Fermentaciones sighed. ‘In that case, I have no future.’
‘I don’t see what you mean,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘What’s it got to do with your future?’
‘If you’re not in, then I’m not in,’ said Cinco Fermentaciones. ‘And if I’m not in the Government, then my enemies will kill me. By saying that you won’t join, you’re signing my death warrant. I shall have to make a will.’
Von Igelfeld was alarmed. ‘But, please,’ he said. ‘I would not wish that to happen.’ He paused. Perhaps he could serve in the Government for a short time and then resign. That might save Cinco Fermentaciones from his fate. He proposed this to Cinco Fermentaciones, who agreed that it would be a good compromise.
‘Give it a month or so,’ said Cinco Fermentaciones. ‘Then you can resign. I’ll be safely entrenched by then. Even better, I shall have myself appointed Ambassador to Paris or somewhere agreeable like that.’
Von Igelfeld agreed, reluctantly, of course, and his agreement cheered Cinco Fermentaciones, who had been looking rather despondent. Then, once they had finished their breakfast, they stepped out of the house into the large black limousine which Pedro had despatched to collect them. This took them through the streets of the Old Town to the Government Palace where Pedro, now wearing a handsome bottle-green uniform, very similar to the General’s but distinguished by the addition of several extra gold stripes, met them on the steps.
That morning the Cabinet was sworn in and had its first session. Von Igelfeld did not say much, but he noticed that many members seemed to defer to him on difficult points; and he nodded or shook his head, almost at random, but nonetheless with a firmness of purpose which seemed to impress his fellow Ministers. Then they adjourned for lunch, at which large quantities of the country’s finest wines were served. The company at the table was congenial, and members of the Cabinet moved from chair to chair between courses, so that everybody could have the chance to talk to one another. It was after one of these changes that he found himself sitting next to Pedro.
‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you, Professor von Igelfeld,’ he said. ‘If it weren’t for you, there might have been a terrible battle, which we might not have won.’
Von Igelfeld waved a hand in an airy fashion. ‘It was really nothing,’ he said. ‘Just one shot.’
‘One shot,’ echoed Pedro. ‘But one shot was enough to bring down a rotten government.’
‘Well . . .’
‘And because of that,’ went on Pedro, ‘I have decided that the right thing to do is to ask you to perform a special duty. It will not be too onerous, I hope, but it will be special.’
‘I am at your service,’ said von Igelfeld. Presumably this would be something to do with the Academy of Letters. Perhaps the General wanted to be proposed for membership now, or Pedro’s cousin perhaps.
Pedro laid a hand on von Igelfeld’s shoulder. ‘I should like you – we would all like you to become President of the Republic.’
Von Igelfeld stared at him in complete astonishment. ‘President?’
‘Yes,’ said Pedro. ‘And I can see from your expression that you accept! Thank you! Thank you!’
Turning from von Igelfeld, Pedro jumped onto a chair, glass in hand. ‘Fellow Ministers!’ he shouted. ‘Silence for a moment! I ask you now to rise to your feet and toast the new President of the Republic of Colombia, President Coronel Professor von Igelfeld! Viva! Viva! Viva!’
Von Igelfeld did not know what to do. He heard shouts of Viva! about his ears and his back was slapped by several enthusiastic Ministers. Then somebody slipped a broad red sash over his shoulder, and a band struck up somewhere in the background. He looked down at his plate. What time would it be in Germany now, he wondered? What time would it be out in the rational world?
The following two weeks were very tedious for von Igelfeld. Installed in the presidential Palace, he had been given a comfortable office and a team of adjutants and secretaries. But there was really very little to do, apart from signing decrees, which were placed, ready-drafted in front of him on his desk. Occasionally people came to see him, but he found that they did not expect him to say anything, and so he merely sat there behind his desk and struggled with boredom and irritation while they spoke their piece. Occasionally he read the decrees that were placed before him, and once or twice he had to refuse to sign and sent them back to the officials with a stern note.
One such occasion was when a large elaborate document was placed before him and a pen put in his hand. He brushed aside the anxious official for a moment and began to read the text. As he did so, he became more and more alarmed.
‘What is this?’ he said at last. ‘This document purports to be a declaration of war with Ecuador! What is the meaning of this?’
The official laughed nervously. ‘It is not important, Señor Presidente. I suggest that you sign it. It is not important.’
‘A declaration of war is not important?’ snorted von Igelfeld. ‘Is that what you’re telling me?’
‘So this document does not create a state of war between us and Ecuador?’ asked von Igelfeld. ‘Is that what you’re telling me?’
‘Well, not exactly,’ said the official unctuously. ‘Technically we shall be at war with Ecuador, on the side of Peru. You may recall that they have had a long-standing dispute over the ownership of the Amazon Basin. Nothing really serious, of course, but they do go to war with one another every so often. If we join in, we will make a few incursions into Ecuador and perhaps blow up a few bridges. Not much more than that.’
‘But,’ said von Igelfeld, ‘why on earth should we get involved in the first place? What’s the point?’
The official smiled. ‘El Presidente will be aware of the fact that our air force is a little under strength. In fact, none of our planes works. Not one. Peru has offered us four new MIG fighters – four! – if we’ll join them in a war against Ecuador. It’s an absolute bargain.’
Von Igelfeld pursed his lips. ‘I shall not countenance this,’ he said crossly. ‘Take this document away.’
The official nodded. He had not been too hopeful of getting the declaration of war approved, but it had still been worth a try. But he was angry, and he felt spiteful towards von Igelfeld.
‘I shall have to ask the next President,’ he said. ‘He will be in office soon, I imagine.’
‘Oh?’ said von Igelfeld. ‘When?’
‘Two or three weeks,’ said the official. ‘After the narco-traficantes have disposed of Your Excellency.’
Von Igelfeld looked at the official. ‘Disposed of me?’