Timote: A Novel

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 “Who’s going to give it to him?” Fernando asks, who knows. “You?” Aramburu is eating some uncured ham. There’s also some good country cheese on his plate. He’s drinking Coca-Cola. He doesn’t answer Fernando’s question. After all, they all know. The one who’s going to give a shove to Onganía is him, no doubt about it. Him and all those who are with him. The problem is Gray-Head Lanusse, who’ll not move a finger to save Onganía. But it’s not likely he would get involved with a project in which he’s not the protagonist. Lanusse is too big for his britches. For a good reason. It will be necessary to negotiate with him. Talk to him, give him some proposals. And if he wants the leadership, negotiate it with him. It’s all negotiable except for two things. Peronismo must be legalized. And if it means bringing Perón back, then bring him back. “Even if it gives you an ulcer, GrayHead . Even if it makes you sick. There’s no other choice except to bring him back.” “The uncured ham is very good,” he comments. “Real country style. These things are always ruined by the time they get to the city. It’s the intermediaries. One of the disgraces of this country. They ruin the purity of products—either to make it easier to sell them or to increase their profits.” t i m o t e| | 119 “Or both,” Firmenich says. “Or both,” Aramburu agrees. “But it’s not the intermediaries,” Fernando says. “It’s capitalism . Capitalism is immoral.” “Getting back to Onganía,” Aramburu says, ignoring Fernando ’s comment—which, of course, he does not agree with. “With Onganía overthrown, it’s all very easy. A transition government.” “Another one?” Fernando says. Now he laughs sarcastically. “Not just another one,” Aramburu says. “The last one. If I preside over it, it’s the last one. I give you my word. It will only last a few months. Just long enough to hold elections. With Peronismo part of the bargain. Do you understand? With Peronismo part of the mix. What you’ve been asking for since 1955.” “Part of what mix, General?” Fernando says. Aramburu sets down his silverware. Surprised, he fixes his gaze on Fernando. “What do you mean?” he says. “Part of democracy.” Let us suppose that Fernando says, “Of the democratic party system. Of the regime.” “I’m talking about democracy, not the regime,” Aramburu says firmly. “We already know what all of you mean by democracy, General . When it’s tame, you respect it. When it’s not, you overthrow it. Like Perón.” “Perón wasn’t democracy,” Aramburu says. “At least, not how I conceive it.” “How do you conceive it?” another companion asks. He’s sitting at the table eating. He doesn’t say much. His name will not be recorded. Nobody knows who he is, who he was. It’s no josé pablo feinmann 120 | | matter: we know he was there. We would, if we wanted, choose a name for him. There is no reliable story for what we are narrating . And there won’t be. There are only privileged narrators. Especially Firmenich. He was there and he offered one version of the history. But he often contradicts himself clumsily. He says that Aramburu was gagged when they took him down into the cellar where Abal will kill him. Later he forgot to say that they took the gag out. Or they didn’t take it out or there was no gag. But, how can a gagged man say proceed? So we’ll identify as “Julio” this character they call comrade. In any case, he doesn’t say much. And probably from here on out he speaks less than not much. One or two words. Probably he doesn’t talk. Nevertheless, he’s said something important. “How do you conceive it?” he asks. Perhaps ironically. Because everybody knows that the democracy Aramburu conceives of is not like theirs. Better yet, they don’t give a damn about democracy . They have good reason: they never knew it, it was only a word spoken by the regime to justify its denials and trample the rights of the people. The Yanquis also always go around spouting this word. And they’re the Yanquis. The ones who...