The Eagle's Throne

39. MARÍA DEL ROSARIO GALVÁN TO TÁCITO DE LA CANAL

You’re right, Tácito. Down with the masks and up with the curtain. You and Bernal are political rivals and can speak freely to each other. I, however, am not going to lose my temper as you have. Instead I’ll take advantage of this moment, almost as a necessary catharsis, to tell you a few truths. .

You’ve always believed in getting to the top at any cost, but you’ve failed to calculate the price of combat when combat is pointless. For now we’ve run out of ammunition, and your last round was the president.

You were counting on your obsequiousness to buy you a free ticket to the Eagle’s Throne. The whole country has watched you treating the president as if he were an untouchable Japanese mikado. What kind of image could you possibly present to the electorate, my unpresentable friend? Who doesn’t know that you push in the president’s chair every time he sits down to eat, and that then you lick the leftovers off his plate? Who hasn’t seen you standing behind the president as if your sole duty were that of guarding the emperor, making sure nobody touches or listens to him? “Let the president’s hair and nails grow, and I’ll clip them in private, unbeknownst to him, while he sleeps, and then I’ll keep them in a little box. . ”

Yes, Tácito, just like everything you keep. Like stolen goods. Tácito, you specialize in revealing people’s unpleasant pasts. I know perfectly well that you made me the victim of your slander once before, and now you’re threatening to do it again. But now it’s your own past that’s going to haunt you in the middle of the night and rob you of your sleep. You’ve dug up every last secret except for one: your own. Now, your guilty secret is going to be unearthed, and I swear to you, Tácito, it will terrify you, and with luck dispose of you for once and for all.

I won’t be deterred. Mark my words. What you’re trying to do to Bernal and me will rebound on you. I know what you’re up to, and if you touch a single hair on my head the entire world will hear about it. And even if you were to cut off my head, the evidence against you would come to light, with another charge — murder.

There are petty and evil people who know too much, Tácito. But there are also great and good people who know enough to silence that insufferable high-pitched voice of yours that makes you sound like a newly ordained priest. Do you know who you remind me of with that voice and physique? Franco, my dear Tácito, Generalísimo Francisco Franco. But this isn’t Spain, nor is it 1936. You’ve fallen for the ploy that Lorenzo Terán uses to manage his cabinet. He’s made everyone think: “You are my chosen one. You are my natural successor.”

Have you ever gotten inside the president’s head? Been able to imagine what he imagines?

Poor Tácito. You’ve read all the letters the president received from his cabinet ministers and you’ve insinuated that each and every one was proof of their disloyalty to him — until the president himself began to wonder if it was really possible that everyone close to him was disloyal except Tácito de la Canal.

Poor Tácito. You never realized that the more you fawned over the president, the more the public despised you — and the less the president himself trusted you, knowing well enough that in this country the horse you name emperor will kick you to death.

Poor Tácito. Deep down, I don’t harbor you any ill will. I just don’t like you. More precisely, I’d like to see you humiliated. Rich, in exile, but humiliated.

I’m going to hurt you, Tácito, I swear, and I won’t feel the slightest twinge of guilt because I despise you. Then again, perhaps I shouldn’t be so free with my contempt. There are too many who deserve it. Adieu.

P.S. Next time you go around stealing, be a little smarter about it.