Butterfly Winter (32 page)

“Ah,” sighed the Wizard, who had proclaimed himself President for Life of Courteguay, and who, although he had sixteen first names, called himself Pedro Angel Guilermo Cayetano Umberto Salvador Alfredo Jorge Blanco for short.

“If Julio could only have died like Roberto Clemente,” the Wizard lamented. “Clemente was so lucky to die while on a mission of mercy at the height of his career. About the only mistake I have ever made was not allowing his kidnappers to execute Julio Pimental.”

A tabloid headline read:

JULIO
’
S WOMEN GROAN IN DISAPPOINTMENT

Politicians, both friends and foes, lobbied the Wizard to invade Florida. A one-barge invasion they suggested. A quick surrender, the only stipulation of their surrender being Julio’s election to the Baseball Hall of Fame.

“What if I am never elected?” wailed Julio.

“Trust me, I know what I’m doing,” answered the Wizard, who, several times during the following months, burned condor dung and incense in the Presidential Palace, at odd hours of the day and night.

On his first year of eligibility Julio was passed over even though his statistics were far better than a dozen Hall of Fame pitchers, passed over because he was Courteguayan, but more because he never showed the proper respect for the game that the American Press required. He was bitterly resented because he never pitched in an All-Star Game since he refused to throw the ball to anyone but his brother, he was also resented because he spoke, or at least pretended he only spoke, passable English and then as infrequently as possible, resented because women threw themselves at his feet like he was a movie star, while
the sportswriters in their Hawaiian shirts and beer bellies drooled over his success, and cursed him because they couldn’t even pick up the overflow.

On Julio’s second year of eligibility, the sportswriters, feeling he had been punished sufficiently, elected him by a sizable number of votes.

The morning of the day Julio Pimental was to be inducted into the American Baseball Hall of Fame dawned clear and sparkling as the new ruby and crystal epaulets on the shoulders of the President for Life of Courteguay.

Julio, partly for genuine personal reasons and partly in pique that he had never been accorded the respect he felt he deserved, wired the Hall of Fame that pressing business obligations required him to remain in Courteguay. That, of course, did not sit well with the American media.

The tabloid press reported he was at the bedsides of his four brides, (some still said five; the fifth would be a utility player), waiting for the birth of his infield. They reported that the nursery in Fernandella’s mansion was in the shape of a baseball field with a crib waiting at each infield position.

At precisely 10:00
A.M
. a fleet of hot air balloons rose like tropical birds from the steamy jungle outside San Barnabas. The hiss of the balloons was gentle as a baby’s breath. The balloons were all perfectly round, shaped and colored to be exact replicas of baseballs. Some of the gondolas were filled with tropical flowers, the eleven national flowers of Courteguay plus long red lilies, violet and lemon-colored orchids with petals soft as velvet. Other gondolas were filled with waving greenery, tough spindly grasses, carnivorous plants testing the air for food.

President for Life Pedro Angel Guilermo Cayetano Umberto Salvador Alfredo Jorge Blanco and his chiefs of staff rode in the lead balloon, each bedecked in uniforms so stupefyingly gaudy that only science fiction could do them justice.

The one unhappy note on this occasion of jubilance was that the American newspapers all but ignored the eight-page press release,
issued on the thick, cream-colored stationery of the President for Life, its edges bordered by the eleven national flowers of Courteguay.

USA
Today
condensed the eight pages to five short lines:

“Americans have no sense of tradition or spectacle,” grumbled the Wizard, discarding the newspaper. Besides ignoring the Wizard’s titles and names the papers reported only one of the titles bestowed on Julio. Following Great Knight Commander there was Head of the Civil Service Defense Corps, Honorable Air Commodore, Defender of the Avocado, Commander-in-Chief of the Garment Worker’s Union, plus seven more.

In the rose garden the Wizard led the singing of the Courteguayan National Anthem; the Wizard sang while above the mansion nine baseball-shaped balloons sketched an ethereal diamond in the pure blue sky.

Earlier in the day he had taken Esteban aside.

“I have decided to retire from politics and spend the rest of my life concentrating on magical happenings. I think you would make the perfect successor. I think you can govern Courteguay wisely and never be overthrown. You can be El Presidente for life without proclaiming yourself such.”

“What makes you think I would want to be El Presidente?”

“You have all the qualifications. You are overqualified. You speak too many languages. You read books no one else in Courteguay has ever read or even heard of. You support a church that is obsolete in the extreme. Dr. Noir was right about one thing. There is no need for God in a warm climate. However, you are a thoughtful, patient man who longs for justice. You have the stamina for endless cabinet meetings, listening to reports from toadying politicos, and to hours and hours of whining zealots pleading for their often insane
causes—something that is necessary if people are to think they have some say in government.”

“I’m sorry,” said Esteban, “I wasn’t listening,” making a joke, possibly for one of the first times in his life.

The Wizard stared at him in surprise.

“But I looked sincere while I wasn’t listening, didn’t I?”

“I take it your answer is yes?”

FROM INSIDE THE MANSION
the Wizard’s ears discerned the sounds of babies crying, a grandmother fussing, a father’s chest expanding, a grandfather’s brain plotting.

The Wizard breathed the fragrance of the orchids, observed the blue fish darting in the frothing stream, watched the two dozen lemon-and-white cockatoos perched in a row on the rose garden fence, and smiling benevolently at all present decided that when the time was right he himself would negotiate contracts for The Infield.

AT COOPERSTOWN
, Julio, his beautiful wife Celestina by his side, a dark-haired girl baby named Quita in her arms, received his honors with grace and humbleness. He gave a moving speech in slightly accented English, praising his brother for impeccably calling his every game; he praised his family, his loving mother, his inventive father, and his old friend, Jorge Blanco, President for Life of Courteguay.