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be
affected by the current political unrest? Varamo said that he wasn’t aware of
any unrest, but whatever happened, he didn’t think that the fiancé’s position
would be affected by changes of that kind. “When there’s a revolution, it’s the
senior public servants who are replaced, not the drivers.” Th at’s what the Góngoras had thought as well, but
they were worried for another reason, which they proceeded to explain, choosing
their words with care. What they couldn’t understand was how there could be
ministries in the city of Colón, although it wasn’t the national capital. Maybe
they were provincial or municipal or regional ministries? “No, they’re
national,” said Varamo without hesitation. Th ey
nodded. Th at was what they had always thought,
what they had always assumed: the ministries were the ministries of Panama. But
who had ever heard of an executive government with its ministries based outside
the national capital? Th ey weren’t talking about
a satellite city that was bound to be swallowed up by urban sprawl eventually
and become part of the same agglomeration. No, Colón was on the opposite coast,
separated from the capital by the full width of the isthmus. Th ey were speaking with an effusive fervor; they
had clearly pondered this question at length. Varamo was at a loss for words; it
had never occurred to him that there was anything odd about the situation. But
he saw what they meant. Once again he was struck by how the inexplicable can lie
hidden within what we have always taken for granted. Noting his ignorance and
his interest, the two ladies set out the hypothesis that they had developed in
the course of their cogitations: Colón must have been a capital of sorts twenty
years earlier, before independence, or even before the establishment of the
Colombian Republic. In any case, it must have possessed a ministerial system
that would have been onerous and inconvenient to transfer to the new capital;
but, of course, having the ministries so far away was even more inconvenient, so
there must be a plan afoot to move them to their natural place. It was hardly
surprising that nothing had been done to implement the plan in two long decades,
given the country’s general inefficiency. But sooner or later it would happen;
in fact, these long-delayed initiatives provided an easy way for politicians to
boost their popularity and appear to be dynamic men of action. Th e opening of the linked highways from one coast
to the other, which was to be celebrated in the coming days, could be a logical
first step. Th ey looked at him again,
expectantly. He didn’t know what to say: the problem seemed both very far away
and very near. Far away like all those things we have never really stopped to
think about; near like the very same things as soon as we begin to consider them
and realize how they affect us. If there was a relocation, he might be obliged
to choose between moving and resigning. He had never left Colón, the city of his
birth, and moving away was out of the question, for his mother if not for him.
But he couldn’t survive for long without a job. In any case, faced with the
sisters, he could only confess his ignorance and promise to look into it. Th ey nodded and said they would stay in touch:
“After all, we’re neighbors.” Th eir interest in
the matter was purely altruistic or maternal: they wanted to make sure that
their ward’s future husband had a good, steady income. Th ey didn’t mind that he was black. And they couldn’t have been
aware (oddly, for ladies who seemed so worldly-wise) that he had a number of
lucrative sidelines.
    In the ensuing conversation, which was more relaxed,
it became clear that the sisters were practical women, with sound business
sense. Th is emerged in a rather indirect way. Th ere were noises outside, and the Góngoras
reacted: they went to their rooms, first one, then the other (they took turns so
as not to leave Varamo unaccompanied), and came back