The Eagle's Throne Read Free Page A

when you go around giving advice, you never quite know what the outcome will be, and this time, I admit, the whole thing backfired.
    “Put some ideas forward, Mr. President, before the people impose them on you. In the long run, if you don’t come up with some ideas of your own, you’ll be crushed by everyone else’s.”
    “Like yours, for example?” he asked with an innocent’s face.
    “No,” I had the nerve to say. “No. I was thinking of that creep Tácito de la Canal.”
    I wounded his pride, I realize that now, and he ended up doing exactly the opposite of what his favorite, his chief of staff Tácito de la Canal—who is more than a simple lackey, this guy wrote the book on servility—advised him to do.
    One day, my dear friend, you’ll have to sit down and explain to me why a man as intelligent, dignified, and kind as our head of state keeps a fawning sycophant like Tácito de la Canal beside the Eagle’s Throne. Simply watch how he rubs his hands together and humbly raises them to his lips, his head bowed forward, and you will see that he’s nothing more than a depraved man whose hypocrisy is comparable only to the boundless ambition he so poorly conceals behind his false sincerity!
    Behold the paradox, my (favorite) friend: My good advice brings about dismal results, while Tácito’s terrible advice could have averted this whole calamity. But I had gotten complacent, María del Rosario, I had gotten used to giving all that good advice under the assumption that it would be ignored once again. I know that my words stroke the moral ego of our head of state, who just by listening to me feels “ethical” and considers his duty to principles done, which allows him to follow the advice of Tácito de la Canal, the opposite of mine, with a clear conscience.
    Tell me if that isn’t enough to make you despair and want to give up altogether. What’s stopping me? you might ask. A vague, philosophical hope. I may have my shortcomings, but if I’m not there, someone worse—much worse—will take my place. I am the Shimon Peres of the presidential mansion. As bitter as my defeats may be, at least I can sleep at night: I offer my advice honestly. It’s not my fault if they don’t take it. There are far too many voices claiming our leader’s attention. Some sediment of my truth must have gotten into President Lorenzo Terán’s spirit. But on occasions like this, my dear friend, the president would have been better off listening to my enemies, instead of me.

3
    MARÍA DEL ROSARIO GALVÁN TO NICOLÁS VALDIVIA
    You’re so insistent, my beloved and handsome Nicolás. I see that my letter failed to convince you. My lack of persuasiveness troubles me more than your lack of intelligence. That’s why I don’t blame you. I must be thick, clumsy, inarticulate. I tell you my reasons directly, and still you, such a clever boy, fail to understand me. The blame, I repeat, must lie with me. Nevertheless, I must admit that I’m not indifferent to your passion, which almost makes me want to go back on my word. Now, don’t think that with your fervent prose you’ve knocked down the walls of my sexual fortress—as you put it. No, the drawbridge is still up and the chains on the gate are padlocked. But there’s a window, my lovely young Nicolás, one that lights up every night at eleven o’clock.
    There, a woman you desire slowly undresses as if being observed by a witness more human and warm than the cold surface of her mirror. That woman is seen by nobody and yet she undresses with a sensual slowness as if she were being watched. That creature is delectable, Nicolás. And she finds it delectable to undress before a mirror with the slow deliberate movements of an artist of the stage or the court (a fanciful image, I know), pretending that eyes more avid than those of the mirror are looking at her with desire—the burning desire you convey, you wicked boy, you mischievous young thing, desirable object of my desire
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