Felix got off the elevator and, almost running, still soaked and breathless, reached the Director General’s reception room. The secretary was an extravagant bleached blonde with large breasts and small hips. She tried to disguise the red moles on her face by painting them black.
“Good evening, Licenciado.”
Felix closed his eyes. With a great effort he recalled, this is Chayo, the conceited secretary her two envious colleagues had been discussing that morning at the cashier’s window.
“How’s everything, Chayo?”
He awaited her response. There was none. Impossible to tell whether or not she recognized him.
“I have an appointment with the Director General.”
Chayo nodded. “Please take a seat, it will be just a moment.”
“I get fed up with the Latin vice of never being on time, Chayito,” Maldonado commented as he sat down. “It bothers me much more than it does the people who have to wait for me. You understand what I mean?”
Chayo again nodded, and continued typing to the rhythm of her chewing gum, or vice versa. A buzzer sounded and Chayo stood up, wriggling her bust instead of her nonexistent hips. “If you’ll come with me, please.” Maldonado followed her down a long cedar-paneled corridor decorated with photographs of former Presidents of the Republic beginning with Ávila Camacho.
Three times Chayo pressed a red button beside the door; it lighted, and she pushed open the door. Felix entered the dimly lighted office of the Director General. Chayo disappeared, and the door closed.
Felix had difficulty locating the Director General in the vast, deliberately murky penumbra of the windowless office, where an occasional lamp seemed strategically placed to blind the visitor and protect the Director General, whose photophobia was well known.
Finally, Felix was able to make out the reflection of tinted lenses. Pince-nez had been the trademark of the number-one villain of modern Mexican history, Victoriano Huerta, and only the Director General would dare wear them. But he had the excuse of his extreme sensitivity to light.
His host’s voice guided him; also an additional gleam in the darkness, a gold wedding band. The pale hand beckoned, “Sit down, Licenciado, I beg you; here, please, facing me at the desk.”
Hastily, Felix sought the place indicated by the Director General and, equally hastily, replied, “I hope you’ll forgive me. Being late drives me up the wall. I put myself in the place of the person who’s waiting, and hate myself as much as I hate anyone who makes me wait. The wait-that-exasperates, you know.”
The Director General laughed hollowly, a dry laugh that stopped abruptly at the very crest of the merriment. As usual, he passed without transition from laughter to severity. “We know that you are always punctual, Licenciado Maldonado. You are a man of many virtues. Some say too many virtues.”
“Since when is virtue a defect?” Felix asked, speaking only to cover his intense desire to kneel before the Director as before the Pope, and to kiss his ring; for the first time in this entire day, a member of the Ministry staff had spoken his name, Maldonado.
The Director General swiveled his chair slightly. Felix’s superior favored a military haircut, and in the light of the desk lamp his round head bristled like a white porcupine. He consulted a blue card before him.
“You also have too many lives, Licenciado. We know you as a distinguished economist with a degree that earned you your title, an efficient and punctual bureaucrat, n’est-ce pas? an individual gifted in his amorous encounters, a man of sudden tempers, isn’t that true? a disciplined member of the National Party, a devotee of political breakfasts, a friend of certain influential people, a convert to Judaism, a husband and…”
“We have no children,” Felix interrupted, fearful of the next assessment his conjugal life might provoke, irritated by the repeated lack of respect for his privacy evidenced throughout the day. “But we hope to have a child soon.”
“As soon as you achieve a more stable economic and social position, isn’t that right?” smiled the Director General.
“Yes,” Felix agreed nervously, “and my wife wouldn’t have married me if I hadn’t converted to…”
“What a varied existence. It reflects your personality well, cold and passionate, adept and excitable.”
“Do you pretend to know me so well, sir?”
“Why not?” The Director General wagged his head and then rested his chin on clasped hands. “You give yourself the luxury of being all things, Machiavelli and Don Juan. A bit of Al Jolson, and a bit more of Othello…”
“Al Jolson? You’re joking.” Felix laughed weakly.
“A Jew disguised as a black, a Mexican disguised as a Jew. Where’s the difference? You’re a well-entertained and entertaining man, Licenciado, a courtier and a politician, at home in the salons of the wealthy and in…”
“We all lead several lives.” Maldonado interrupted again, now with open irritation. “Don’t you?”
“Licenciado,” the man with the crew cut spoke glacially. “It is not I who is being judged.”
“I am?” Felix parried.
“No, you are not being judged. You have already been found guilty.”
The Director General saw Felix’s face and laughed his high, thin, abruptly suspended laugh. “Don’t be irritated. Don’t take it so to heart.”
“How do you want me to take it?” Felix swallowed the thick, bitter knot in his throat.
“Listen carefully. Pay close attention.”
“Only as you merit, sir.”
“Good. Let us suppose that a superior official orders a subordinate official to invite, and if necessary compel, a third official, inferior to the second, to commit a crime.”
“I’ll suppose it if you wish, but I don’t know what you’re getting at. Why beat around the bush?”
“To avoid a series of difficulties.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“We prefer to obtain the desired results without need for extensive proceedings or troublesome, at times even cruel, interrogations, n’est-ce pas?”
“And if the second official fails to persuade the third, or if he cannot force him?”
“Then the second official will be guilty of not having known how to persuade or to force.”
“In that case, is the third official exonerated of blame?”
“He is not.”
“Then there must necessarily be a culprit?”
“No. There must only be a crime. Understand this clearly. We have nothing personal against you.”
“Imagine if you did.”
“Don’t attempt irony. Understand that we wish to help you.”
“To achieve that more solid economic and social position you mentioned a moment ago?”
“Why not? I repeat: understand that we wish to help you. Allow us to … forget you.”
“Sir, I don’t understand a single word of what you’re telling me. It’s as if you were talking to another person.”
“The fact is that you are another person. Don’t complain, man. You have many personalities. Discard one of them and keep the rest. What harm is there in that?”
“I still don’t understand. What makes me uneasy about all this is that you’re talking to me as if I were someone else.”
“Have you forgotten the very purpose of this interview? Is it possible you don’t remember what I’ve been saying to you?”
“That would be serious?”
“Extremely.”
“What do you recommend?”
“Do nothing. Be calm. Situations will present themselves. If you are intelligent, you will recognize them, and will act accordingly.”