From
his Caribbean zenith the politician watches his universe through the window of
its presidential office. His hands are intertwined in his back. He contemplates
the vast Atlantic Ocean at his feet. The glass window fogged with saltpeter
reflects the spectral image dressed in exquisite fabrics and in a custom-made
suit from a prominent tailor of haute
couture. With regal air, he fixes his twisted tie, and the sparkle of his
wristwatch distracts him from the view for a moment. He grins. Wallowing in his
success while comparing himself to God has been his habit. He knows how to
blend. His fears of living in poverty have gone to oblivion. His father has
finally realized that he is a winner, an ace handling political matters.
Despite his short height, he feels almighty. Untouchable. He gets lost for a
moment remembering the adulation: Welcome, don Hipólito. How can we help
you? None of that. We'll take care of the bill. How much do you want? Sure, Mr.
Senator. Of course we won't say a word. That's impossible. Yes, I know you will
help me with your legislative work. But that is too much; I don't have that
amount of money.
No one dared to cross him or snitch on him.
Imbeciles, he says. Invertebrates.
I do my job; if they want benefits, they must pay. It’s all fair. I also
have paid my dues. It has not been easy rising to where I’m at. No one will
dare go against me. These rotten investors have more than they need; they will
learn how to share it.
But
someone did complain.
The
blows to the door bring him back. He frowns. Looks at his watch. It's twelve
o'clock noon.
—Don't
interrupt me, Elena. Have lunch and take your time. We will fix it later.
The
door opens, and two uniformed stalwarts, wearing aviator sunglasses storm into
the office. They're wearing caps with the initials FBI.
—Mr.
Hipólito Ferrer, we have a search warrant and a court order for your arrest.
You're being charged with extortion, money laundering and public corruption.
Please, don't touch anything and let us do our job without major setbacks.
—That's
impossible! I don't know what you're talking about. You cannot charge me with
anything. This is a farce and a political vendetta orchestrated by your ADA.
Her lies will not sustain in court. I have not committed a single violation of
law in my whole life.
The
politician struggles to avoid being handcuffed. Another agent twists his arm. A
third agent ties his hands while Hipólito watches the vast Atlantic Ocean
vanishing at his feet. The politician eyes distill the hatred that he felt
toward the agents.
—You
have nothing on me. I'm innocent.
Don Hipólito walks down the stairs with the same arrogance that
he has walked them up from the moment he took office. Again fear haunts him.
He
swore by his dead mother to no avail. He was stripped from his exquisite
fabrics, and lost his flashing wristwatch. Flattery turned to mockery. His
cronies vanished when he was brought to justice. No lawyer wanted to defend
him. He ran out of money. His Christ-like attitude was useless. He was
ostracized. Everyone betrayed him. Why him? Everyone was doing it. It was jealousy. They will pay. Like a phoenix I will rise again
from my ashes. They will see. He became a faceless character among those
who lived together in the supposed reformatory that he himself once ordered to
be built. He was humiliated. The spectrum mirrored in his urine reflected the
cowardly man that he always hated.
Due
to such unsustainable smelly Hades and lacking the opulence that he amassed
from his pinnacle, he opted to snitch on the ringleader that raped him and was
responsible for the disappearance of many inmates. His honest gesture earned
him a reward: he descended to the Malebolge. Soon after his progeny arose.
