The sudden movement of the coffee table awakened the minister. Aureliano’s sense of self-preservation peaked for just a moment as he peered around the room. Everything was as it was, where it was. He took a deep breath as he tried to relax. The quiet ticking of the grandfather clock in the background matched his pulse.
Glancing down at his glass, he saw he’d had enough to drink. His rough hands grasping the glass, he walked over to his cabinet and put the bottles away, locking the doors and sliding the key into his vest pocket. Next to the cabinet, he clasped a brass chain and tugged down; the lamp flicked off.
“So we are going to converse in the dark then.”
He tugged the lamp back on; his sharp eyes did a once-over, but registered nothing. He went back to his desk.
Fanning his pen between his forefinger and thumb, struggling to put words on paper, Aureliano, Mexico’s finance minister, had his back soaked with sweat. Writing was not usually a difficult task for him. He was very proud of his ability. It was a gift he had received from his mother.
His mind flooded with memories when he’d held his fathers lifeless body coming off a train from a Yaqui attack, his face and shirt soaked in blood. He thought he could hear the cries from his sister, Rosa, trailing far away.
Light from his open office door cut through these memories and the sound of his daughters’ little feet slapping the ground broke his trance.
“Look at you. How pathetic.”
Aureliano narrowed his eyes as he, for just a moment, felt his heart in his throat. He peered around the room, thinking he heard someone, but saw no one. Sitting forward, leaning on the armrest to his right, he ran fingers through the top of his hair, trailed them down to touch the grays that prickled from his upper lip. Once again, nothing again out of the ordinary. For a moment he thought to pray. As he could see nothing, the notion felt silly.
Tiny pearls of sweat began to stud his brow and drip down to the pages he had begun to write. Further thoughts of his father forced him to drop his pen. Struggling with memories from the Mexican revolution: his double-agent dealings, hiding from assassins, a corrupt president trying to kill him—he was no stranger to the evils of men. So why was Aureliano so afraid to write this book?
His heart pounding, he resigned to inner despair and walked back to his liquor cabinet, an escape lying just behind a pair of glass doors. Retrieving an oblong bottle from the top shelf, he readied his glass and began to pour. Turning to take a sip, he glanced over at the photos of his children, the faces he’d sworn to protect. The smell of brandy was welcoming, as if he were meeting an old friend. With suspenders hanging loosely, he stood facing the photos of his family. Wouldn’t they suffer? he thought to himself. The ones he treasured the most? Yet what were three lives compared to millions?
Grabbing his bottle, Aureliano poured, and shrugged himself to his couch. The cushions granted him such relief that he forgot about his ledger for the moment. He leaned his head back, feeling the air glide across the room from the open window, gently flicking his hair across his forehead. His heart began to slow and his worries melted away.
A tired mind permitted the wind to seduce Aurelaino, letting her drift him far away.
A light flickered. A cigar smoldered and a man appeared sitting before him in a high-backed chair.
“Who are you?” Aureliano stuttered, jolting sharply upright and hitting the oak stand in front of his sofa. The pain jutted through his leg for only a moment. His heart beating frantically, Aureliano demanded, “What is it you want!”
“Oh, come now…” The man in the chair snapped his fingers and the lights dimmed. “That’s better.” The cigar smoke gave the room an orange aura. The man stared at Aureliano with amusement. Aureliano didn’t believe what he was seeing—the thick white mustache that covered his lip, the black suit and small glasses resting on his bridge—the mirror image of himself was startling. I must be losing my mind. He watched the familiar creature puff the cigar. His surroundings distorted. How could he be standing before his own self?
The reflection stared at him and the cold eyes that peered outward were frightening. Darkness flowed through the room slowly, like a snake through reeds.
“You are not welcome here!” Aureliano’s tone had deepened, body tense and shoulders squared.
“I am as welcome as you allow me to be,” the man whispered with a grin. “We have plenty to discuss.” He pointed to the desk with his cigar. He snapped his fingers and the pages flew through the air into his hand. Opening the ledger he scanned through unfinished pages.
“Garbage, garbage.…” Thumbing through and shaking his head. “Garbage. These words of counsel will mean nothing to the people of this country.” He rose with a slight grin. Before retreating to the high-backed chair, the demon handed the pages back to Aureliano. “Your choice is simple. You must destroy it.”
Aureliano was stricken with the memory of the Mexican people begging for the freedoms they were willing to trade for power.
“Between us, Aureliano,” the demon chortled, “the people will read this and be angry with you.”
Aureliano leaned against the mantle of the fireplace, closing his eyes for just a moment. His fire had awakened inside; a battle stood before him and in no way would he let this dark manifestation win.
The demon’s mouth in a crooked smile, “Do you even know what you stand for anymore, Minister?”
Aureliano was firm. “The past ten years I have watched the regression of mindsets. Those happy for the change revolution brought them also desired the government to be responsible for their happiness.” He paused. “The people cannot preach ‘independence’ and then demand to be coddled.”
“And you intend to re-enlighten them of why their original desires were ideal and ‘pure’.” The demon scoffed
“The original desire was to pull away from the greed of Porfirio Díaz. False promises to over-take property from its citizens, selling the lands of the natives to line the wealthy authorities’ billfolds.” Aureliano felt his anger rise as he vigorously spoke.
The demon spat. “You are a coward. You ran like your fearless leader Carranza.”
Regret filled Aureliano’s heart. He’d had to run. Díaz had sent assassins when he was discovered siding with Carranza. Still, knowing there was nothing he could do, the idea of hiding in Spain still pained him. “Carranza knew how to re-establish economic growth and to help those regain lands that were stolen.”
“The leaders of old had power,” the demon argued. “Díaz threw carrots to obtain more than he promised. This ‘morality’ the new government possesses shows the citizens that their futures are their own responsibility.” He smirked. “We know that is a lie, Minister.”
Shifting his stance, Aureliano glared at the demon. “Morality is usually compromised, often with the promise of a reward. The farce being that promise of rewards often ends with the citizens resigning what they most hold precious.”
“And what would that be, Minister?”
“Their own civil liberties.” Aureliano’s face softened. “Lest we forget that while the Bolsheviks preached certain rewards if there was resignation of inalienable rights, that is not how God intends us to live. And even still, with all that we have regained as a country, there is a regressive mindset that plagues the people. Eventually, if the event is not spoken of often, the revolution will be for nothing. History will repeat itself.”
“You are not as smart as you think you are, Minister.” The demon’s irritation was present. “You often questioning your own beliefs. I should know. I live inside you. The image of your father on that train being shot in front of your sister. Doesn’t the dampness of his blood on your shirt still plague you? How could you just stand by and let it happen?” The voice turned velvet-smooth once more. “Tell me, Aureliano. Do you still hear Rosa’s cries at night?”
Aureliano tried to block the words to gather his thoughts. Why was he listening to this? There was nothing he could have done. The scene would play over and over; there was no outcome where his father could have lived. A single shot from a Yaqui pistol sealed his father’s fate. Aureliano turned to the mantle and waved the demon’s questions away as if he were swatting a fly. This was not about his father, this was a distraction intended to plant doubt.
The words in his ledger would remind the people that they were the key to prosperity—not reliance on a corrupt system. These words were what the country needed to reset itself.
One hand gripping the mantle, the other gripping the pages around his fingers, he stared at the photo on the mantle, Carranza and Obregón. This ledger would be a reminder for them and their successors.
He nodded his head in resolve. He could not destroy it. He would not.
The demon grew angry.
“You are treacherous!” Aureliano yelled. He turned around to meet the demon, nose to nose.
“Your family will pay for your words.” The demonic snarl sent the smell of decomposing flesh into Aureliano’s nostrils. For a moment, the minister wavered, the putrid smell causing him to lose his balance.
The demon ripped the ledger from Aureliano’s fingers and stepped to the fireplace, roaring where it had previously rested, smoke billowing out of its protective grates.
The minister stood and watched the demonic image of himself firmly grasping the sheets, fanning them over the flames, the edges starting to char—a twisted image of his face as ash from the paper began to float up to the ceiling. “I have already planted the seeds of doubt.” The demon stared Aureliano down with his dark eyes before speaking in a forced whisper: “Let us finish it!”
As the finance minister stood, knowing that this battle was different from those he had fought before, he accepted that he held the capacity to face himself. Standing for a moment and searching his heart, Aureliano remembered prayers being answered. The love that surrounded him when he had returned from Spain. Words had been a refuge, even if this were all for nothing, he still had to finish. Closing his eyes, Aureliano focused his thoughts on his Father in heaven. His heart, filled with warmth as he prayed to God: “Padre, destierra mis miedos. Y tráeme la paz. Amén.”
The silence deafened. He opened his eyes. The demon that had held the ledger over the fire had disappeared. The fireplace had regressed to a smolder, and a quick glance at his desk revealed the ledger back where it laid. Nothing was out of the ordinary. The feeling of darkness had gone and his glass, empty. Not a drop had poured.
Each slow breath he took, his fears dissolved.
Aureliano stepped over to his windows to shut them, standing for a moment, pondering if everything that had happened were real.
The moments had felt real, the sounds, smells, the feeling of fear that had overwhelmed him—how could he have imagined it? Stepping back after closing the curtains, he turned his lamp off and headed to his office door.
A small light flickered out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head just as he grabbed the knob. What he appeared to see was a leftover cigar butt still burning in the ashtray on the coffee table. Staring for a moment, Aureliano quickly walked over and took it, smashing the ash end into the glass.
After pulling on his jacket and glancing once more around the room, he felt a new sense of appreciation. With one foot in front of the other, he left to follow the sound of his daughters giggling down the hall.
My great-grandfather, Aureliano Mendivil, was considered a double agent in the Mexican Revolution. Aureliano fled to Spain when Porfirio Díaz found him to be working for Carranza and sent an assassin. After the fall of Díaz, he became the Finance Minister of Mexico in 1919, helping establish the National Bank of Mexico. In 1929, he wrote Inter Nos, which is held in four different university libraries on the North American continent.
Lindsay Handley is a professional child wrangler currently residing in Arizona. She has three boys and one girl that keep her life full and busy—along with her geode cakes. Lindsay is thankful for those that assisted with child management in order for her to be part of this amazing project.
