The Revolutionaries Try Again (21 page)

—

The Fat Albino's here.

Cristian? We must be at the right party.

The rightwingers party.

Who here isn't?

Jacobito?

Rightwinger at heart, reject at the door.

Made it in.

So did we.

If Jacobito were president he would sell the country to be let in at the right parties.

So would his father.

You think Jacobito will fight the Albino tonight?

Circle him. At best.

Why is your grandpa saying only whores and marihuaneros voted for my dad?

Because only whores and marihuaneros voted for your dad?

Let's see your Loco impression, Microphone.

Here there's no whites, blondes, blue eyes. Here there's blacks, cholos, Indians, the poor of the land.

I'd forgotten how many blondes show up to these parties.

That's because they wouldn't talk to you when you lived here.

Blondes love me in San Francisco.

I was talking about women.

Women are like cockroaches, Julio once said.

Speaking of charmers . . .

–Look who's here. The dynamic duo from San Javier.

Never a pleasure.

Good to see you, Cristian. Yesterday your grandfather and I were just . . .

–Didn't know you were back, Drool. Last time I saw you you were I guess dancing in Miami Beach?

At Liquid? Don't remember seeing you.

–Your sidekick here had a plastic orange jumpsuit on and . . .

Antonio's always been excessive.

–He was convulsing wildly on the dance floor by himself. I asked Julio what was wrong with him. Ecstasy, he said.

Haven't tried it. No need to dumb myself down. Unless I'm forced to talk to people like you.

–Very clever, Drool. I'll tell everyone here to avoid you so you don't have to dumb yourself down. Hey Pili, look, we're having an infestation. What? I don't mean Jacobito, bobaza, that's too obvious. I mean these two lerdos over here. What? Hold on, let me . . .

Love school reunions.

Who doesn't?

Chivas?

Nobody in San Francisco drinks Chivas.

Kahlúa?

A round of Chivas it is.

Double?

Neat.

—

On the other hand if someone were to ask Leopoldo about his pilgrimage to Cajas, where according to everyone the Virgin Mary had been appearing to a sixteen year old girl from Cuenca, Leopoldo wouldn't assume a resigned facial expression or shake his head as if about to relay an unfortunate incident that happened to some other studious teenager from San Javier but instead he would claim, in his most matter of fact voice, or perhaps in a voice that conceded how ridiculously unbelievable what he was about to claim was but also underscored how commonly accepted phenomena like gravity or photosynthesis were kind of unbelievable too, that he didn't care if what he'd witnessed in Cajas had been real or not, didn't care if it had been mass delusion, as some had called it later, he'd been there and had seen the sun move, thousands of believers who had pilgrimaged from Guayaquil, Quito, Cuenca, Machala for what had been
announced as the last apparition of La Virgen del Cajas had gathered in a cold altiplane in the cordillera and had seen the sun move (how many times does the Virgin Mary need to appear to remind us of what we already know? how many times do we need to induce ourselves into believing she has come to warn us again that we're on the wrong path? in how many places around the world does she need to appear for no one to disbelieve anymore? or are her recurrent appearances what perpetuate disbelief?), and because so much time has passed since Leopoldo and thousands of believers saw the sun move, he has had plenty of time to think of ways to describe it to those lucky enough not to have been there (because their first question is likely to be what exactly do you mean the sun moved?), searching for the most accurate descriptions by associating the sun's movements with everything in the world, no, this isn't true, he hasn't been able to associate it with anything, or perhaps he has not associated it with anything because he doesn't want to steer it away from the world of phenomena and into the world of metaphors, or perhaps he doesn't need to associate it with anything because tracing stochastic patterns in the air with his index finger would probably be enough to describe to others how the sun moved, and on the bus on his way to Julio's party he still doesn't feel the need to associate it with anything, the sun moved and that was that, the sun as agitated as a firefly, no not like firefly, he hasn't even seen a firefly up close, as if the sun were angry, as if the sun had burned itself on a stove, as if the sun wanted to remind everyone below that the lord was among them and that the lord can manipulate his creation whichever way he pleases for the benefit of those who'd come to venerate the mother of his only son (what ever happened to those thousands of people who'd arrived in Cajas after an interminable uphill procession on that cold mountain? to those thousands of people who had been waiting for something celestial to happen and who had seen the sun move and who had cried like he imagines mothers must cry upon the irreversible death of their children? — bless me, Father, she pleaded, Father we are dying — what ever did those thousands of people do with their lives? did they disseminate her message through good deeds or did they,
like Leopoldo, simply — simply what? what have you done with the memory of what was given to you? — forget her?), and yet since the people who might ask him about his pilgrimage to Cajas are likely to be or have been devoted Catholics, they aren't likely to disbelieve him too much or probe him further about this concept of mass delusion, a concept he has, surprisingly, never researched, although perhaps it isn't surprising he hasn't researched it because what difference would it make to him to discover that indeed scientists have concluded that when thousands of believers gather in one place expecting the same unbelievable event to happen, that same unbelievable event is bound to happen, the same sun moving inside everyone's heads at the same time, the same process inside everyone's heads unearthing devotional images from documentaries about the Virgin of Lourdes or Fátima or Guadalupe or Medjugorje or from those thousands of hours praying the rosary out loud, when you were sure you could sense her presence nearby, the same process so overwhelming that on that cold altiplane it triggered the same delusional process in one person, and in the next person, and then in Leopoldo, and then in Antonio, who had been there too, who was crying and had embraced Leopoldo after the sun moved and later was to say we must do something to change these situations of dramatic poverty, Leopoldo, everyone crying as the sun moved (why were they all crying? because god had finally appeared or because all those hours imagining a personal relationship with god had not been in vain?), no, he didn't know why and didn't care to know why he was also crying and embracing everyone nearby, searching for his father who'd insisted on this pilgrimage but instead finding Antonio and embracing him, thousands of people on a cold altiplane in the Andes crying at the same time, embracing at the same time, sure, he knew it was possible a few hysterics had cried first, leading everyone else to cry as well, and it was also possible a few Catholic lunatics had shrieked and said look the sun's moving, leading everyone to believe the sun was indeed moving, and although he doesn't remember too many particulars of his pilgrimage to Cajas, for instance how he arrived there or how he descended from there or what his father was thinking during the entirety of the trip or whether
the sun moved before or after nothing happened during the specified hour in which the Virgin was supposed to appear for the last time to a young Patricia Talbot from Cuenca (that silent hour in which the Virgin was supposed to appear and him not seeing or feeling anything and yet seeing and hearing people around him convulsing as if Mary had touched them and him wondering if they were the typical Catholic lunatics for whom everything's a sign from god or if Mary just didn't love him?), he does remember what followed the week after, when he returned to San Javier, the intensity with which Leopoldo and Antonio disseminated her message, for instance, a message he doesn't remember anymore and yet that he doesn't remember her message doesn't diminish the memory of the intensity with which Leopoldo and Antonio disseminated her message, organizing daily rosary prayers during recess, promulgating to their classmates that joining the apostolic group was imperative not only to their salvation but to the salvation of the world, how are we to be Christians in a world of destitution and injustice, teaching catechism in Mapasingue, debating with Antonio the specifics of their duty to her and god and the future of their country, and then one day it was over, one day like any other day that intensity, which had expanded inside of them as if making room for everything god wanted from them, went away, leaving behind so much empty space that even in dreams they couldn't escape what later Father Lucio told them was called desolation, which is a test from god, he said, omitting that this test might never end, as in fact it hasn't, a test they were too young to handle or perhaps no age is a good age to handle desolation, and yet it wasn't true that Leopoldo had forgotten her: one day you're building a pyramid of sand and pebbles inside a cave in Punta Barandúa, one day you climb a mountain and see the sun move, one day you're on a jampacked bus en route to Julio's party to meet up with your dear friend Antonio, who will not ask you if you remember what happened to them because of Cajas, although if they were both women they would be allowed to bring it up and cry about the love they felt and the love they lost, and yet I haven't forgotten her, Leopoldo would say, I just didn't know what
to do with her after I graduated from San Javier so I relegated her to the farthest possible space, where she's probably still shining her Llama de Amor, which is what the Catholic lunatics came to call the intensity they'd felt, although this isn't quite right, Leopoldo would say, I didn't relegate her anywhere, I didn't participate in her banishment or at least I wasn't aware of my participation, this is just how it happened and is still happening, and if I could talk to Antonio about it I'm sure he would understand why it makes no difference to know what scientists have discovered about mass delusion, you feel what you feel and that is that, Antonio would say, thousands of people witnessing the sun moving and then descending from that mountain and then rejoicing at the inexpungible mud on their soles and then a year later prostrating themselves in complete desolation, but don't exaggerate, Antonio would say, don't make it sound like we suddenly found ourselves inside a dark place wailing and despairing, it wasn't that bad, we didn't really spend weeks prostrate in bed, or we did but not anymore, Antonio would say, we, having no alternative, went on, flattening what happened to us into the daily inflow of our lives, and yet what would be the point of asking Antonio about Cajas except to bring it all back so that once again they'll be forced to suppress what is likely to surface in their chest and face and eyes? (I know you aren't supposed to be able to look into the sun but that's just how it happened, Leopoldo would say, of course I wouldn't believe it either and would be actually glad to concede it was mass delusion but what good would that do me if I still have all these feelings I don't know what to do with or do know what to do with, which is nothing?)

—

Julio, where is?

What ever happened to Bastidas, by the way?

Computer programming business. He's quite the entrepreneur. We barely see him. He's rector at the Polytechnic, too.

I stayed with him when he was studying in Paris years ago. It was awkward and . . .

He won one of those rare government scholarships to study in Paris, yes.

Why did he come back?

Terms of the scholarship required you to come back and . . .

I'm sure he could have found a way out of it.

Not everyone's like us.

Bastidas was always uneasy about being part of the Who's Most Pedantic clan.

Aced it on Who Knows Knows though.

With or without the answers?

Jennifer's here look.

Where? With Rafael?

Doesn't date him anymore.

Didn't know that.

Of course you didn't.

They were so perfect for . . .

She wanted to marry him and he didn't, then he wanted to marry her and she didn't, then she left him and he couldn't . . .

–Antonio is that you?

Jennifer!

Remember the Microphone?

Leopoldo Hurtado at your . . .

–Of course. Rafael always talked about you two. Seen Rafael yet?

He's here? I thought he hated these kinds of parties.

Mazinger inspects enemy territory before he . . .

–He must have known you were coming, Antonio. He missed you, you know?

I called him as soon as I arrived but he hasn't returned my . . .

The Drool here thinks he can just call people he hasn't talked to in years and they'll magically . . .

That's not what I . . .

–Rafael's outside. He saw me across the room and he . . .

He's going to Zumbahua for a year to teach the . . .

Really? Does he even know Quechua?

–Go talk to him, Antonio. It'll be good for him to see you before he leaves.

—

The girl in the gold encrusted dress, Leopoldo thinks, presumably Jacobito's girlfriend, who's sitting patiently in front of Julio's white piano, as if waiting for someone to listen to her sad story of how when she was little her mother couldn't afford piano lessons for her, although of course no one in Julio's living room will come near this dark girl with the gaudy sequined dress, except those in Jacobito's coterie or Jacobito himself, whose father once or more than once told an impressive crowd of supporters look at my son, this sad boy with so much extra weight because when he was seven years old León kicked him in Panamá, crushed his head when they handcuffed me, accusing me of international drug trafficking, Jacobito, my son, I have returned, and indeed if his father was allowed to return Jacobito wouldn't be relegating himself by the grand piano to argue with his coterie about whether to remove the flower arrangements atop the piano so they can raise the lid and listen to his girlfriend, wouldn't be laughing uncomfortably as his bodyguard or his sidekick picks up an arrangement of black orchids and pretends he's going to carry it off, or at least Leopoldo doesn't think that's what Jacobito would do, and as the speakers inside Julio's living room transmit a remix of Who Killed
JFK
, an old techno classic that Antonio's elbowing Leopoldo about, Leopoldo wonders what exactly would Jacobito do differently if his father had already returned and won the elections, because it seems implausible that Jacobito, for instance, would hurl those black orchids to the sons and daughters of our dignitaries on the other side of the room (the sound of the ceramic vase crashing on the floor would be magnificent), implausible that he would go around the room badgering the sons and daughters of our dignitaries who've openly called his father a crook and an uncultured lowlife (in other words Jacobito would have to badger everyone in the room, which would take way too long, unless he'd brought a long stick), no, what seems more plausible is that, on the one hand, Jacobito would continue
to meekly antagonize the sons and daughters of our dignitaries by performing their idea of how the son of a Middle Eastern smuggler would behave at a party he wasn't invited to, or rather Jacobito would continue to do nothing at all and the sons and daughters of our dignitaries would continue to think he's behaving like an animal, and on the other hand, it seems more than plausible that the sons and daughters of our dignitaries, the ones who wouldn't mind profiting from dealing with Jacobito if Jacobito's father were president (in other words everyone in the room) would approach Jacobito by the grand piano to congratulate him and invite him for a round of Chivas on their side of the room, except perhaps the Fat Albino, who, like his grandfather León, has had no qualms about dealing with El Loco or El Loco's people as long as no one finds out (in other words what the Fat Albino would do is send his sidekick to secretly invite Jacobito to his house, something the Fat Albino has never done and will never do with Leopoldo), and although earlier, upon spotting the Fat Albino, Leopoldo had worried that Antonio would spill the story of how they were running for office, a story that would lead to León sacking Leopoldo from his job and banning him from any future jobs in government, Leopoldo, upon spotting the Fat Albino again, told himself he didn't care if the Fat Albino found out, just as he doesn't care that the girl in the gold encrusted dress, presumably Jacobito's girlfriend, who was sitting patiently in front of the white piano, has stood up to go to the bathroom, has smiled at Antonio (who's trying to make Leopoldo laugh by dancing like a robot to a remix of Who Killed
JFK
), and has briskly crossed Julio's living room, where the people are snickering at the trail of sequins she's left behind.