He glanced at Enrico, who quietly stood guard at the front door, then looked around the room and found Perón’s cigar case. When he opened it, it was empty.
“I’ll be a sonofabitch,” Clete said again.
“May I offer you a cigar, Don Cletus?” Nulder asked, extending his cigar case.
No, thanks, you perverted sonofabitch.
I don’t want anything to do with you, including taking one of your fucking cigars.
“Yes, thank you. Very kind of you.”
“Not at all.”
When Clete had finished the ritual of cutting and then lighting the cigar, Nulder said, “That sort of thing happens from time to time.”
—
When Perón came out of the bedroom five minutes later, he was in an immaculate uniform.
“Evita has a suggestion, Cletus, that I’d like your opinion of,” Perón said.
“What’s that?”
“I thought, Cletus,” Evita said, “that if I put some of my makeup base on that dreadful bandage it would make it less conspicuous. What do you think?”
The first thing I think, from your tone of voice, is that somehow we’ve become pals.
“Well, I’m sure it would, but what’s the point?”
“When we appear on the balcony of the Casa Rosada, the bandage might cause comment,” Evita said.
What the hell is she talking about?
“When are you going to appear on the balcony of the Casa Rosada?”
“Just as soon as we have our chat with President Farrell,” Perón said. “Evita says there are somewhere over two hundred thousand descamisados . . .”
“My shirtless ones,” Evita said with quiet pride.
“. . . in the Plaza de Mayo already, and that once she gives the word, which she will do as soon as you and I leave for the hospital to meet with Farrell, at least another hundred thousand will be there by the time we get to the Casa Rosada.”
Evita smiled. “What do you think about my makeup base covering Juan Domingo’s bandage, Cletus?”
I think it’s an absolutely stupid idea!
But this is not the time to disturb the new, and fragile, peace between us.
“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Clete said quickly, then asked, “Does President Farrell know you’re going to speak from the Casa Rosada?”
“Of course he does. What I want to speak with him about is making sure he doesn’t do anything foolish with Fernando Lopez and the others involved in the assassination plot.”
“How are you going to get from the hospital to the Casa Rosada?” Clete asked. “Do you want me to take you in the station wagon?”
Perón considered that for a moment, and then said thoughtfully, “No.”
Good. Then after the meeting with Farrell, I can go home.
By now, Dorotea is climbing the walls wondering where the hell I am. And I don’t even want to think what my grandfather is doing.