Adam in Eden

Chapter 22

I observe Góngora’s movements. I don’t let on that I know about his apparent affair with my poor wife, nor do I publicly declare myself opposed to his violent and arbitrary security measures.

I observe him and bide my time.

I know he’ll seek me out: he seeks me out.

I don’t know what he wants: he wants something. His attitude is a little smug. And more than a little threatening.

With courtesy and an undaunted face, I meet him in my office.

It’s harder to look neutral, however, when Góngora approaches me with the treacherous intention of hugging me. As the reader knows (and if the reader doesn’t, he or she is about to learn that), in Mexico a male hug is an essential rite of friendship, and Góngora doesn’t want to miss out on that. But my deepest instincts warn me to reject him, not so much because I don’t want to touch this guy — after all, politeness forces me to accept his hug — but because I suspect that Adam Góngora suffers from an advanced case of halitosis. A stench of malodorous indigestion precedes him, as if this poor devil who talks out of his ass also shits through his mouth. I find him suspicious. He approaches with the smells of street-fair corn, thick and nauseating shots of pulque, a foul burp, a dirty rag on his tongue, and a rotting animal on his gums.

But how am I going to avoid him?

I can’t. I give in to politeness. My suspicions are confirmed. Adam Góngora stinks. He seems to flaunt his smell of intestinal corruption. His presence fills me with horror and doubt. How can my wife Priscila, who may be a fool but is at least a clean fool, stand such a stench? And the doubt. Is Góngora aware of his stench, and does he cultivate it as another aspect of his power? Come on, let’s see if you’re man enough to get close to me without holding your nose. And by the way, your health and life depend on it, you miserable excuse for a worm.

We embrace then, and I take all the precautions that the reader might imagine.

Anything to get to the point.

“What brings you here today?”

“Look, Gorozpe, my work in security entails responsibilities that are sometimes unpleasant, although necessary. I’m not trying to trick you. .”

“Oh.”

“For example, friendship. How do you like that?”

“Oh, of course.”

“I try to avoid mixing my responsibilities and my friendships in the same sandwich. How do you like that?”

I smile. “Onions over here, tomatoes over there”—Góngora doesn’t laugh—“but once you attain power. .” He cracks a smile at that last word.

“Power? Don’t you believe it. Power. . Come on. .! Power. . Don’t kid yourself.”

He cuts me off: “Power imposes responsibilities that are not the least bit pleasant, you know? How do you like that?”

“I know, I know. Wouldn’t that be the sort of thing I’d know?”

“For instance, yesterday’s friend is still today’s friend, but. .”

“But what. .? C’mon, tell me. .”

“Now I know things about yesterday’s friend that I didn’t know about today’s friend. How do you like that?”

“Such as?”

“Whoa now, don’t make me get ahead of myself.”

“Señor Góngora, you are my guest. I wouldn’t make you do anything.”

“Well there you go. Just yesterday, I was a private citizen with a good reputation. . How do you like that?”

I abstain from smiling.

“Even if my enemies don’t believe me.”

“What about your friends?”

“Counselor, are you my friend?”

“I’m not your enemy, if that is what’s worrying you.”

“No, I’m asking are you my friend?”

“I wouldn’t aspire to so much.” I smile again, and pray the Lord not wipe away my smile, because that would give my interlocutor great pleasure.

He moves his lips in a creepy way. “So, it would only be halfway, so, so—”

“You know that a man like me deals with a lot of people. With courtesy, when they deserve it; rarely with friendship.”

“And with disrespect?”

“Never, never. I was brought up right, know what I mean?”

Góngora was made of iron. He didn’t react to my hint at all.

“Would it be foolish,” he asked, “to attack a man with whom, just yesterday, we spoke so courteously?”

“Did we dine at your father-in-law’s house?” I interjected with malicious ambiguity.

He didn’t catch my drift. “Suppose that upon reaching a position of power, one feels the responsibility to investigate a man who only yesterday was, well, if not one’s friend, then without doubt a respected acquaintance.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“And suppose that, upon reaching power, facts become known, evidence is presented that the friend, or acquaintance, as you say, is an evildoer. How do you like that?”

“I follow,” I say, following a line to the wall. “I’m following you.”

Góngora’s metal-rimmed eyeglasses light up.

“What would you do, Señor Gorozpe?”

I put on my most affable expression. “Don’t ask me; obviously this is your problem. I don’t have enemies, you know? How ’bout you?”

“I have a government job. How do you like that?”

My look is a wordless question.

“And sometimes that forces me to take action, despite my nobler sentiments.”

Now I really do offer a look of surprise with an element of mockery.

“Without even good manners,” he confesses in a folksy manner. “How do you like that?”

“What do you intend to do?” I push the fingers from both hands together and raise them to my chin.

“No, not intend, Don Adam Gorozpe, I don’t intend to do, I do.”

“So, what do you do?”

“I fulfill. How do you like that?”

“Who, or what do you fulfill?”

“My obligations.”

“They seem to weigh on you.”

“I even fulfill my obligations to my friends. How do you like that?”

“Your acquaintances.”

“Yes. I can ruin them if I want to. How do you like that?”

“Well, go ahead, Señor Góngora. What’s stopping you?”

He stood up. He said good-bye. He was already leaving my office when I stopped him and gave him a manly hug.

“I don’t care whether they love me or hate me,” he said, and left my office.