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id="heading_id_66">A Time for Buffoons</
>
I
Tyrant Banderas, at the window, pointed his telescope at the city of Santa Fe. “What delightful illuminations! They’re so pretty, aren’t they!”
Cronies and hangers-on gathered around the steps to the stars. The green grimace perched at the top. “The people cannot be denied their bread and circuses. The illuminations are so pretty!”
Muffled shots reached them on a sea breeze from Santa Mónica. “Liberated from pernicious propaganda, the people mean well! And discipline does them good!”
The circle of buddies expanded. Tyrant’s utterances held them rooted to the spot.
II
Tyrant Banderas descended from his pinnacle, entered the circle of aides and hangers-on, and extracted Master Veguillas with a tweak of the ear. “We would like to hear your froggy concert one last time. How’s your throat? Need to gargle?”
The band of toadies lapped up this broadside and laughed grotesquely. Nachito was stunned. “How can you expect a corpse to be tuneful?”
“How very wrong of you not to placate your judges with a ditty! Sirs, this good old friend appears before you accused of treason. Had his trickery gone undiscovered, he might have sunk the lot of you. You will recall how last night, speaking in confidence, I informed you that I intended to bring Colonel Domiciano de la Gándara to justice in light of his subversive activities. And these words, meant only for the ears of Santos Banderas’s closest friends, these words were divulged. Advise me now what the proper punishment should be for this divulger of secrets. The witnesses for the defense have been summoned and, should you agree, will now make their statements. Master V himself has stated that a sleepwalking courtesan, having been hypnotized by one Dr. Polish, succeeded in divining his thoughts. We appear to be embroiled in an episode from a novel by Alexandre Dumas! This literally entrancing doctor who endows flophouse strumpets with prophetic powers must be a descendant of Joseph Bálsamo who has fallen on hard times. Do you remember the novel? A fascinating feuilleton! And we are living it out in the flesh! Take a look: our Master Veguillas rivals the genius of the mulatto Dumas! Now he will tell us where it was he and the rebel Domiciano de la Gándara intended to escape to.”
Nachito whimpered. “All we did was chat on the way out of the establishment.”
“You were both plastered?”
“Boss, it was the fiesta! The whole of Santa Fe was drunk! That joker suddenly panicked while we were chatting and rushed across the street into a house. Some poor soul happened to open the door. I reacted like an idiot, flapping my ears like a frightened llama.
“Could you describe the establishment where you had gone to carouse?”
“Generalito, don’t make me blush. It’s far too profane a spot to mention here in this audience chamber. I’m red with embarrassment in the presence of your noble patrician self.”
“Answer the question. What dive was it that you went to with Colonel de la Gándara, and what did you confide to him in said place? Master V, you knew an arrest warrant had been issued. Drunkenly, you let some word escape that alerted him—and allowed him to escape.”
“Do all my years of loyalty count for nothing?”
“The act may have been unpremeditated, but a state of inebriation is not an extenuating circumstance in the courthouse of Santos Banderas. You are a piss-pot and you spend your nights bingeing in bordellos. Santos Banderas knows your every move. I’m warning you that truth and truth alone will cool my ire. Master V, I would like to give you a hand and drag you from the quagmire where you’re floundering helplessly. You know treason incurs a very harsh sentence under our laws.”
“Mr. President, sir, there are circumstances in life that cause total panic, circumstances that could come straight out of a novel. On the night in question I visited a psychic pussycat.”
“A psychic pussycat that inhabits a cathouse where you court her?”
“Well, that’s what happened last night down at Baby Roach’s joint. I want to make a full statement and clear my conscience. We were both in a state of sin. It was the Day of the Dead last night, Generalito! Gentlemen, I swear on my word of honor that that dark-skinned girl lit a holy candle that revealed all these mysteries. She could read minds!”
“Drunken fantasies, Master V. You were blotto when you took up with the hooker. In vile commerce with a common whore you betrayed me, you disclosed my secrets. Well the first thing you need, in order to cool your burning flesh, is some time in the stocks. Master V, go into that corner, kneel, and lift your thoughts—try!—to the Supreme Being. This crew of select colleagues will then pass sentence on you, and a sentence of death is not at all out of the question. But Master V, the eyewitnesses you have described will speak in your defense, and if their statements exonerate you, I, for one, will be delighted. Colonel López de Salamanca, sir, I request that immediately and by any means necessary you produce the doctor and the whore!”
III
The Honorable Colonel López de Salamanca, who’d been loitering by the doorpost, thrust Dr. Polish into the room. Lupita la Romántica was peering over his shoulder. Tall and bewhiskered, with a broad domed forehead and the locks of a sage, Dr. Polish sported a dinner jacket with two sashes over his chest and a rosette in the lapel. He greeted them with a pompously sweeping bow and tucked his top hat under his arm. “Allow me to render homage to the Supreme Highness of the republic. Michaelis Lugín, Ph.D., University of Cairo and initiate in the secret knowledge of the Brahmins of Bengal.”
“Do you subscribe to the teachings of Allan Kardec?”
“No, I am a modest disciple of Mesmer. Kardecian spiritualism is a childish travesty of ancient necromancy—the art of summoning the dead that derives from Egyptian papyrus and Chaldean masonry. The word designating these phenomena derives from two Greek ones.”
“This doctor of ours expresses himself very doctorally! And does your renown as the prophet from Cairo allow you to earn your bread?”
“President, sir, my merit, such as it is, is not manifested through money or wealth. My mission is to propagate the doctrines of theosophy and to prepare people for the next era of miracles. The shadow of New Christ walks the paths of the planet.”
“Do you admit to employing magnetism in order to put this girl into a trance?”
“I admit to conducting the occasional experiment. It is a remarkable field.”
“List each and every experiment you have conducted.”
“President, sir, if you so wish, you can see the programs of experiments I have conducted in the coliseums and academies of St. Petersburg, Vienna, Naples, Berlin, Paris, London, Lisbon, and Rio de Janeiro. Recently prestigious publications in Chicago and Philadelphia have been devoted to debating my theories on karma and bio-magnetic suggestion. The Havana Club of the Theosophical Star has conferred the title of Perfect Brother on me. The empress of Austria does me the honor of regularly consulting me about the meaning of her dreams. I possess secrets that I shall never reveal. The president of the French Republic and the king of Prussia tried to bribe me when I performed in their capital cities. To no avail! The path of theosophy teaches one to scorn titles and wealth. If I have your permission, I will place my photograph albums and press cuttings at the disposition of the president.”
“And how come somebody so versed in such austere doctrines and so highly initiated into theosophy happens to be bingeing in a bordello? Would you be so good as to scientifically illuminate and justify such apparently aberrant behavior?”
“Mr. President, sir, allow me to call upon my medium. Señorita, overcome your natural modesty and tell these gentlemen whether concupiscence mediated at all. President, sir, a scientific interest in bio-magnetic experiments, without ulterior motives, regulates my activities. I visited the bordello because people had told me about this young lady. I wanted to meet her and, if at all possible, lift her life to another, more perfect circle. Señorita, did I not offer you redemption?”
“Pay my debts, you mean? No, it was Master V who rattled on about that all night.”
“Señorita Guadalupe, do you not remember how with fatherly concern I proposed that you come with me on my pilgrim’s path?”
“Go on stage, you mean!”
“And demonstrate to incredulous audiences the occult, demiurgic powers that slumber within our human clay. You rejected my proposal, and I was forced to withdraw and lament my failures. President, sir, I think by now I must have allayed any suspicion regarding the purity of my actions. In Europe the most renowned men of science are engaged in research on these phenomena. Mesmerism is widely studied in German universities.”
“You will now repeat, step by step, the experiments you engaged in last night with that girl.”
“President, sir, I am completely at your disposal. Yes, I can offer you a select program of similar experiments.”
“As is due to her sex, the girl will be the first to be questioned. Master Veguillas has claimed that at some stage a magnetic flow from the aforesaid allowed her to read his thoughts.”
The girl glanced at the paste jewels on her fingers and said, “If I had powers like that, I wouldn’t be up to my neck in debt to Baby Roach. Master V, you know that.”
“Lupita, you bio-magnetic viper.”
“What are you talking about? After I gave you all that ammoniac!”
“Lupita, confess you were in a trance last night. You read my thoughts while that fool Domiciano was making the rounds on the dance floor. Then you tipped him off with a glance.”
“Master V, both of you were plastered! I just wanted you out of my room.”
“Lupita, you guessed what I was thinking. Lupita, you know how to commerce with the Spirits. Don’t deny that Dr. Polish put you to sleep and you served him as a medium.”
“Yes, indeed, this young lady is a most remarkable case of magnetic lucidity. So that our distinguished audience can better appreciate these phenomena, she will now take a seat in the limelight. Señorita Medium, if you will allow me.”
He took her hand and ceremonially led her to the center of the room. The girl tiptoed, eyes down, innocent as can be, the keyboard of her nails hovering above Dr. Polish’s white gloves.
“Chop-chop!”
IV
The Indian mummy’s sarcastic grimace was evergreen from old age. Dr. Polish plucked his magic wand, forged from seven metals, out of his dinner jacket and touched Lupita’s eyelids. He concluded with the most courteous of bows and a wave of his wand. The strumpet sighed and swooned. Kneeling in his corner, Veguillas waited on the miracle: the light of his innocence was about to shine. The Lupita show bewitched him there and then with the hallowed magic of serial fiction: he hoped in his heart of hearts that those mysteries would return him to Tyrant’s grace and favor. He shuddered. The green grimace champed on the rusty silence. “Chop-chop! You will now repeat, step by step, as I believe I already requested, the experiments you performed on this young lady last night.”
“President, sir, telepathy can assume three temporal forms: past, present, and future. This triple phenomenon is rarely present in a single medium. It is usually dispersed. Señorita Guadalupe’s telepathic powers do not extend beyond the circle of the present. Past and future are sealed to her. Telepathically speaking, the nearest yesterday is the remotest past for her. This young lady is absolutely unequipped to repeat a previous experiment. Absolutely! This young lady is somewhat underdeveloped as a medium. An uncut diamond! I await the president’s orders so I may offer him a select program of similar experiments, insofar as it is within my powers.”
A sour grimace wrinkled Tyrant’s face. “Doctor, don’t seek to dodge your obligations to me. It is my wish that she repeat every one of last night’s experiments in the cathouse.”
“President, sir, I can only perform similar experiments. The medium cannot look back into time. In that sense, she really is quite limited as a clairvoyant. She can read thoughts, witness an event at a distance, or even guess a number the president might care to think of.”
“A bitch as clever as all that, and she’s a pro in a whorehouse?”
“The great neurosis of hysteria as described within modern science could afford a most likely explanation. Señorita, the president will deign to think of a number. You will take his hand and say the number out loud so we can all hear it. Loud and very clear, Señorita Medium.”
“Seven!”
“Seven as in seven daggers! Chop-chop!”
Nachito moaned from exile. “That was the spell you used to read my thoughts yesterday!”
Tyrant Banderas swiveled around, ever the sarcastic sourpuss. “Why do you visit evil dives, mon vieux?”
“Boss, even the Psalms say man is frail.”
Tyrant resumed his saturnine pose and stared suspiciously at the hussy. She was swooning in her chair, hairpins loose and topknot slithering like a black cobra.
Tyrant Banderas stepped into the circle of cronies. “As kids we were all treated to similar miracles for a few pennies: so many diplomas and sashes and so little to show for them. I’m beginning to see just what a phony you are, and I’m going to have those flowing Germanic locks chopped off. You have no right to them.”
“President, sir, I am a foreigner and an exile who has taken shelter under the flag of this noble republic. I teach the truth to the people, steering them away from materialist positivism. My little experiments give the proletariat a tangible notion of the supernatural world. The people are ennobled when they can look down into the abyss of mystery!”
“Don Cruz! As he’s got such a silver tongue, only shave half his head.”
Tyrant’s grimace rippled biliously. His tame sweeney’s black bunched fingers handed him a hairy hodgepodge. “It’s a wig, boss!”
V
The whore sighed as she came around, reemerging with a spasm on the frontiers of this world while the Indian mummy, from the pinnacle of his steps, aimed his telescope at the city. The wildly winking illuminations harbored a tumult of explosions, fire and bells and urgent blasts from military bugles. “Chop-chop! We’ve got action! Don Cruz, lay out my military apparel.”
The watchman in the tower had unclipped his bayonet from the moon and was shooting at the shadows full of alarums. The cathedral bells chimed midnight, and Tyrant issued orders from the top of his steps: “Major del Valle, take some men with you and go see if the garrison began the shoot-out.”
At the door, Major del Valle ran into the grinning valet bearing the general’s uniform and saber, and the saber clattered noisily to the floor. Tyrant bellowed and stamped, beside himself with rage. The steps shook and the telescope tottered. “Idiots, don’t touch it! What an omen! How do you read that, Dr. Magic?”
In a flash of inspiration, the mountebank took in the room, the fear spreading on every face, and Tyrant’s rampant superstition. He responded, “Under these circumstances, my oracle is dumb.”
“And couldn’t this honest young girl, who on other occasions has displayed clear vision, tell us what’s going in Santa Fe? Doctor, sir, please put Señorita Medium to sleep and interrogate her. I’m off to put on my uniform. And nobody touch my saber!”
A loud clash of weapons echoed down the moonlit cloisters. Troops arrived to reinforce the palace guard. The dark-skinned girl sighed in response to the bald mountebank’s magnetic powers. Her eyes rolled up to contemplate the mystery. “Señorita Medium, what do you see?”
VI
The cathedral clock falls silent. The twelve chimes still echo in the air, terrifying the combs of the weathercocks. Cats on the roofs query one another and bodies in nightgowns peer down from attics. The Portuguese Mothers bell clangs crazily. A string of bulls and oxen butt around the arcade in full flight, cowbells tinkling. Gunpowder blasts. Military bugles blast. A gaggle of bald, nightshirted nuns rushes at the profaned convent door, screaming devoutly. In remote reaches, crossfire crackles. Restless horses, turmoil, panic, fear. Conflicting tides of humanity. Escaped, bright-eyed tigers lick the cornerstones of houses. Two fleeting shadows drag a black piano across a moonlit terrace. Behind them, smoke billows out of the open trapdoor between tongues of fire. The two shadows, clothes alight, run, holding hands, across the parapet of the terrace and hurl themselves into the street, still holding hands. And the moon, wearing a patch of dark cloud, plays blindman’s buff with the stars above the revolutionized Santa Fe de Tierra Firme.
VII
Lupita la Romántica sighs in a magnetic trance, the whites of her eyes fixed on mystery.