Conversation in the Cathedral

by Mario Vargas Llosa

  *

  From the doorway he saw Dr. Arbeláez’ small, shrunken face, his bony, rosy cheeks, his glasses low on his nose.

  “I’m sorry I’m late, doctor.” Your desk is too big for you, you poor devil. “I had a business lunch, please excuse me.”

  “You’re right on time, Don Cayo.” Dr. Arbeláez smiled at him without feeling. “Please sit down.”

  “I got your memo yesterday, but I couldn’t come any sooner.” He dragged over a chair, put his briefcase on his knees. “The President’s trip to Cajamarca has been taking up all my time for the past few days.”

  Behind the glasses the myopic and hostile eyes of Dr. Arbeláez agreed.

  “That’s another matter I’d like us to talk about, Don Cayo.” He tightened his mouth, didn’t conceal his annoyance. “The day before yesterday I asked Lozano for information on the preparations and he told me that you had given instructions that it wasn’t to be given to anybody.”

  “Poor Lozano,” he said pityingly. “You probably gave him a lecture, I imagine.”

  “No, no lecture,” Dr. Arbeláez said. “I was so surprised that it didn’t even cross my mind.”

  “Poor Lozano is useful but not very bright.” He smiled. “The security preparations are still being studied, doctor, it isn’t worth taking up your time with them. I’ll let you know about everything as soon as we’ve completed the details.”

  He lighted a cigarette. Dr. Arbeláez handed him an ashtray. He was looking at him seriously, his arms folded, between a desk calendar and the photograph of a gray-haired woman and three smiling younger people.

  “Did you have time to take a look at the memo, Don Cayo?”

  “Of course, doctor. I read it very carefully.”

  “Then you probably agree with me,” Dr. Arbeláez said dryly.

  “I’m sorry to say I don’t,” he said. He coughed, excused himself and took another drag. “The security funds are sacred. I can’t allow all those millions to be taken away from me. Believe me, I’m terribly sorry.”

  Dr. Arbeláez stood up quickly. He took a few steps in front of the desk, his glasses dancing in his hands.

  “I expected that, of course.” His voice was neither impatient nor furious, but he had grown noticeably pale. “However, the memo is clear, Don Cayo. We have to replace all those patrol cars that are falling apart from old age, we have to start work on the police stations in Tacna and Moquegua because they’re going to collapse any day now. A thousand things are held up and prefects and subprefects are driving me crazy with their phone calls and telegrams. Where do you want me to get the millions I need? I’m not a magician, Don Cayo, I can’t work miracles.”

  He nodded, very serious. Dr. Arbeláez was passing his glasses back and forth from one hand to the other, standing in front of him.

  “Isn’t there any way of using other parts of the budget?” he said. “The Minister of the Treasury …”

  “He refuses to give us one penny more, and you know that quite well.” Dr. Arbeláez raised his voice. “At every cabinet meeting he says that the expenses of the Ministry of Public Order are exorbitant, and that you were monopolizing half of our outlay for …”

  “I’m not monopolizing anything, doctor.” He smiled. “Security demands money, what else do you want. I can’t do my job if they cut my security funds by a single penny. I’m terribly sorry, doctor.”

  *

  There were other kinds of little jobs too, sir, but they did them, not Ambrosio. That night we went out, Mr. Lozano said, tell Hipólito, and Ludovico in the official car, sir? No, in the old Ford. They told him afterward, sir, and that’s how Ambrosio found out: follow guys, make a note of who goes into a house, get arrested Apristas to confess what they knew, that’s where Hipólito got the way Ambrosio had told him about, sir, or maybe Ludovico invented it all. When it got dark Ludovico went to Mr. Lozano’s house, got the Ford, picked up Hipólito, they went to a crime movie at the Rialto, and at nine-thirty they were waiting for Mr. Lozano on the Avenida España. And on the first Monday of every month they went with Mr. Lozano to collect the monthly payoff, sir, they say that’s what he said. Naturally, he came out wearing dark glasses and he huddled down in the back seat. He gave them cigarettes, cracked jokes with them, what a good mood he gets into when he works for him, Hipólito commented later, and Ludovico you’ll say so when he has us working for him. The monthly payment, the dough he got out of all the whorehouses and shack-up joints in Lima, pretty slick, right, sir? They started on the Chosica road, the little house hidden behind the restaurant where chickens were for sale. You get out, Mr. Lozano said to Ludovico, if not, Pereda will hold me up for an hour with his tales, and to Hipólito let’s take a little drive in the meantime. He was doing it on the sly, sir, he probably thought that Don Cayo didn’t know anything, later on when Ludovico went to work with Ambrosio he told Don Cayo in order to get in good with him and it turned out that Don Cayo knew all about it. The Ford started up, Ludovico waited for it to disappear and pushed open the gate. There were a lot of cars lined up, all of them with only their parking lights on, and, bumping into fenders and bumpers trying to see the faces of the couples, he got to the door where the sign was. Because what was there that Don Cayo didn’t know about, sir? A waiter came out and recognized him, wait a minute, and Pereda came right away, what’s this, where’s Mr. Lozano? He’s outside, but he’s in a big hurry, Ludovico said, that’s why he didn’t come in. I’ve got to talk to him, Pereda said, it’s very important. By going along with Mr. Lozano to collect the monthly payments, Ludovico and Hipólito got to know night-walking Lima, here we’re kings of whoredom they said, you can imagine how they took advantage of it, sir. They walked to the gate, waited for the Ford, Ludovico got behind the wheel again and Pereda got in back: get going, Mr. Lozano said, we can’t stay here. But the real wild one had been Hipólito, sir, Ludovico was mainly ambitious: he wanted to move up, that is have them put him on the regular list someday. Ludovico drove down the highway and at times would look at Hipólito and Hipólito would look back at him as if to say Pereda’s such an ass-kisser, the stories he was telling him. Hurry up, I haven’t got much time, Mr. Lozano said, what’s so important. Why did they let him put the squeeze on them, sir? So-and-so who came by here this week, sir, what’s-his-name, he brought a certain lady, and Mr. Lozano I know quite well that you know everybody in Peru, what’s so important? Because couldn’t he see that shack-up joints and whorehouses got permission at Headquarters, sir? Pereda changed the tone of his voice and Ludovico and Hipólito looked at each other, now the wailing would start. The engineer had been loaded down with expenses, Mr. Lozano, payments, bills, they didn’t have any cash this month. So either they got it up or he’d take away their permission or fine them: they didn’t have any other way out, sir. Mr. Lozano grunted and Pereda was like jelly: but the engineer hadn’t forgotten his promise, Mr. Lozano, he’d left this postdated check, that didn’t matter, did it, Mr. Lozano? And Ludovico and Hipólito as if saying here comes the bawling out. It matters to me, because I don’t take checks, Mr. Lozano said, the engineer’s got twenty-four hours to settle up because he’s going to be closed down; we’re going to drop Pereda off, Ludovico. And Ludovico and Hipólito said that he even got his cut from the renewal of whores’ ID cards, sir. All the way back Pereda was explaining, making excuses, and Mr. Lozano not a word. Twenty-four hours, Pereda, not a minute more, he said when they got back. And afterwards: a tightwad like that gets my balls all swollen. And Ludovico and Hipólito as if saying to each other Pereda’s killed our night, he got him all worked up on us. That’s why Don Cayo would say that if Lozano ever leaves the police force he’ll become a pimp, sir: that’s his real vocation.

  *

  On Saturday the telephone rang twice in the morning, the mistress went over to answer and there was nobody on the line. They’re playing tricks on me, the mistress said, but in the afternoon it rang again, Amalia hello, hello? and she finally recognized Ambrosio’s frightened voic
e. So you’re the one who’s been calling, she said to him laughing, nobody’s here, go ahead and talk. He couldn’t go out with her that Sunday or the following one either, he had to take Don Fermín to Ancón. It doesn’t make any difference, Amalia said, some other day. But it did make a difference, Saturday night she couldn’t get to sleep thinking. Could the business about Ancón be true? On Sunday she went out with María and Anduvia. They went walking in the Parque de la Reserva, bought some ice cream and sat on the grass chatting until some soldiers came over and they had to leave. Mightn’t it have been because he had a date with someone else? They went to the movies at the Azul; they were in a good mood and, feeling safe, there being three of them, they let two fellows pay their admission. Mightn’t it be that at that moment he was in some other movie theater with? But halfway through the picture they tried to take advantage and the girls ran out of the Azul with the guys behind shouting give us our money back, you swindlers! luckily they found a cop who chased them off. Mightn’t it be that he’d gotten tired of what she was always reminding him about, how badly he’d behaved? All week Amalia, María and Anduvia talked about the men, and one by one they got scared, they’re going to come, they’ve found out where we live, they’re going to kill you, they’re going to, with attacks of laughter until Amalia began to shake and ran home. But at night she would still think the same thing: mightn’t it be that he wouldn’t come to see her anymore? The next Sunday she went to visit Señora Rosario in Mirones. Celeste had run off with a guy and after three days had come back alone, with a long face. He whipped her until he drew blood, Señora Rosario said, and if the guy knocked her up I’ll kill her. Amalia stayed until it was dark, feeling more depressed than ever in the alley. She noticed the puddles of putrid water, the clouds of flies, the skinny dogs, and she was surprised to think that she’d wanted to spend the rest of her life in the alley when her little son and Trinidad had died. That night she woke up before dawn: what do you care if he doesn’t come anymore, stupid, so much the better for you. But she was crying.

  *

  “In that case I’ll be obliged to go to the President, Don Cayo.” Dr. Arbeláez put his glasses on, silver links gleaming on the stiff cuffs of his shirt. “I’ve tried to maintain good relations with you, I’ve never asked for an accounting from you, I’ve let the Department of Security bypass me completely in a thousand different things. But you mustn’t forget that I’m the Minister and you’re under my orders.”

  He nodded, his eyes riveted to his shoes. He coughed, his handkerchief against his mouth. He raised his face, as if resigning himself to something that saddened him.

  “You’d be wasting your time bothering the President,” he said almost timidly. “I took the liberty of explaining the matter to him. Naturally I wouldn’t have dared deny your request without the backing of the President.”

  He saw him clench his fists, remain absolutely motionless, looking at him with a detailed and devastating hatred.

  “So you’ve already spoken to the President.” His jaw was trembling, his lips, his voice. “You no doubt presented things from your point of view. Naturally.”

  “I’m going to speak frankly to you, doctor,” he said, with no ill humor, no interest. “I am Director of Security for two reasons. First, because the General asked me. Second, because he accepted my conditions: to have at my disposal all the moneys necessary and not to have to report on my work to anyone except him personally. You have to excuse me for putting it so bluntly, but that’s how things stand.”

  He looked at Arbeláez, waiting. His head was too big for his body, his myopic little eyes raked him over slowly, millimetrically. He saw him smile, making an effort that disfigured his mouth.

  “I have no doubts about your work, I know that it’s been outstanding, Don Cayo.” He was speaking in an artificial and panting way, his mouth was smiling, his eyes scorching him without cease. “But there are problems to be resolved and you have to help me. The security budget is exorbitant.”

  “Because our expenses are exorbitant,” he said. “Let me show you, doctor.”

  “Nor do I doubt that you make use of your allotment with the greatest responsibility,” Dr. Arbeláez said. “It’s simply …”

  “The cost of having loyal leaders in the unions, the network of information in working-class centers, universities and the administration.” He recited that as he took a folder from his briefcase and put it on the desk. “The cost of rallies, the cost of finding out about the activities of the enemies of the government here and abroad.”

  Dr. Arbeláez had not looked at the folder; he was listening to him, fondling a cuff link, his little eyes still slowly hating him.

  “The cost of placating malcontents, jealous people, the ambitious people who rise up every day within the government itself,” he recited. “Tranquillity isn’t just a matter of billy clubs, doctor, it has to do with money too. You’re frowning and you have every right to. I take care of all these dirty things, you don’t even have to know about them. Take a look at the papers there and tell me later if you think you can economize without jeopardizing security.”

  *

  “But do you know why Don Cayo puts up with Mr. Lozano and his smart tricks with the shack-up joints and whorehouses, sir?” Ambrosio asked.

  No sooner said than done, Mr. Lozano had lost his good humor: everybody in this country tries to be a sharpy, it was the third time Pereda’d come up with that story of a check. Ludovico and Hipólito, silent, looked at each other out of the corner of their eyes: God damn it, as if he’d been born yesterday. It wasn’t enough for them to get rich by exploiting people’s hot drives, they were trying to exploit him too. They weren’t going to get away with it, the law would be enforced with them and then see where the shack-up joints would end up. They were already at the Claveles development, they had arrived.

  “Get out, Ludovico,” Mr. Lozano said. “Bring Gimpy out here to me.”

  “Because thanks to his contacts with the shack-up joints and whorehouses, Mr. Lozano knows all about people’s lives and miracles,” Ambrosio said. “That’s what that pair said at least.”

  Ludovico was running toward the wall. There wasn’t any line: the cars kept going around the block until one came out, then they would park in front of the gate, a signal with the lights, they’d open up for them and they would drive in. Everything was dark inside; the shadows of cars going into the garages, rays of light under the doors, the shapes of waiters bringing beer.

  “Hello, Ludovico,” Gimpy Melequías said. “How about a beer?”

  “No time, brother,” Ludovico said. “The man’s waiting out there.”

  “Well, I don’t know exactly what they found out, sir,” Ambrosio said. “What woman was cheating on her husband and who with, what husband on his wife and who with. I imagine it was something like that.”

  Melequías limped to the wall and took down his jacket, grabbed Ludovico by the arm: be my cane so I can move faster, brother. All the way to the Pan-American Highway he didn’t stop talking, the way he always did, and always about the same thing: his fifteen years on the force. And not just as a simple auxiliary, Ludovico, on the list, and about the hoodlums who’d fucked up his leg with their knives that time.

  “And that information was very useful to Don Cayo, don’t you think, sir?” Ambrosio said. “Knowing intimate things like that about people, he had them right in the palm of his hand, don’t you think?”

  “You ought to thank those hoodlums, Melequías,” Ludovico said. “Thanks to them you’ve got this soft little job right here where you must be lining your pockets.”

  “Don’t you believe it, Ludovico.” They watched the cars humming by on the Pan-American Highway, no sign of the Ford. “I miss the force. A sacrifice, yes, but that was living. You know, brother, you’ve got a home here whenever you want. Free room, free service, even free drinks for you, Ludovico. Look, there comes the car.”

  “That pair thought that Mr. Lozano worked his blackmail with
the information he got from the shack-up joints,” Ambrosio said. “That he got his cuts too so that people could avoid a scandal. A good man for that kind of business, right, sir?”

  “I hope you haven’t come to me with any sad tales, Gimpy,” Mr. Lozano said. “Because I’m in a bad mood.”

  “What an idea,” Gimpy Melequías said. “Here’s your envelope with best regards from the boss, Mr. Lozano.”

  “What do you know, that’s more like it.” And Ludovico and Hipólito as if saying he’s got him completely tamed. “What about that other matter, Gimpy, did the subject show up here?”

  “He showed up on Wednesday,” Gimpy said. “In the same car as last time, Mr. Lozano.”

  “Fine, Gimpy,” Mr. Lozano said. “Well done, Gimpy.”