The 2 12 Pillars of Wisdom (41 page)

Von Igelfeld pursed his lips. ‘I shall not countenance this,’ he said crossly. ‘Take this document away.’

The official nodded. He had not been too hopeful of getting the declaration of war approved, but it had still been worth a try. But he was angry, and he felt spiteful towards von Igelfeld.

‘I shall have to ask the next President,’ he said. ‘He will be in office soon, I imagine.’

‘Oh?’ said von Igelfeld. ‘When?’

‘Two or three weeks,’ said the official. ‘After the
narco-traficantes
have disposed of Your Excellency.’

Von Igelfeld looked at the official. ‘Disposed of me?’

The official looked sympathetic. ‘Your Excellency is a brave man,’ he said quietly. ‘But then perhaps nobody has told Your Excellency why you were chosen for this office by Señor Pedro. He’s the one who’s running the country back there – Your Excellency is merely, how shall I put it delicately? – the figurehead. Señor Pedro knows that the
narcotraficantes
will assassinate whoever is President, and that’s why they put Your Excellency in this position.’ He paused, studying the effect of his words on von Igelfeld. ‘I thought that Your Excellency would have known.’

‘Of course I knew,’ said von Igelfeld sharply. ‘Any fool could work that out. Now please leave me alone. I have to telephone the German Ambassador to arrange to pay a State Visit next week.’

It was a very curious feeling arriving back in Germany as the President of Colombia. The German Ambassador had been most supportive, and had stressed to the German Foreign Ministry that the President did not wish to be greeted with excessive pomp, but nonetheless there were certain niceties to be observed and von Igelfeld was obliged to inspect a guard of honour and stand at attention for several minutes while the national anthems of the two countries were played. Then, after a brief talk with a German Minister, who seemed to be particularly interested in selling him a nuclear reactor, von Igelfeld insisted on being driven to the Institute. They had been notified, of course, and everybody was lining the steps when he arrived. They never did this when I was not a president, he thought bitterly, but that was human nature, he supposed.

Surrounded by his Colombian diplomatic officials and his aide-de-camp, von Igelfeld drank a cup of coffee in the coffee room with his old colleagues.

‘My aunt will simply not believe this,’ said the Librarian. ‘I told her that you had become President of Colombia and she became slightly confused, I’m sorry to say. In fact, the doctor was a little bit cross with me for telling her this as he said that she should not be subjected to excessive excitement.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘That is very true.’ But he sounded as if his mind was not on the Librarian’s tale, and indeed it was not. He had made his decision, and now he would implement it. The moment had come.

‘I wish to make a speech,’ said von Igelfeld to his Colombian staff. ‘Make sure that somebody writes down what I have to say.’

‘Certainly, Señor Presidente,’ said his private secretary. ‘We shall do as you order.’

‘Good,’ said von Igelfeld, clearing his throat. ‘Dear colleagues, dear civil servants, diplomats, colonels, military attachés et cetera et cetera. In recognition of the close ties of friendship between the Republic of Germany and the Republic of Colombia, it is my pleasure today to invest our dear German hosts with well-deserved honours of the Colombian state.’

‘Professor Florianus Prinzel, I hereby confer on you the Order of the Andes, First Class. This is in recognition of your contribution to scholarship, and its first-class nature.’

Prinzel smiled, and bowed to von Igelfeld, who nodded in acknowledgment and then continued: ‘And on the Librarian, Herr Huber, I have great pleasure in conferring the title of Honorary Corresponding Librarian of the Colombian Academy of Letters.’

Herr Huber was too overcome to do anything, but his gratitude was palpable, and so von Igelfeld proceeded to the third task.

‘And now, on Professor Detlev Amadeus Unterholzer, in recognition of his contribution to scholarship, I now confer the Order of the Andes . . .’ There was a moment of complete silence, a moment in which von Igelfeld confronted one of the greatest temptations of his moral life, far greater than any quandary which had confronted him in the heat of the Colombian revolution. It would have been easy, oh so easy, to say,
Third Class
, as the Belgians had said to him. That would have taught Unterholzer. That would have paid him back for using his room without his permission; but no, he said instead, with a flourish,
First Class
, and Unterholzer, weak with emotion, stepped forward and took his hand and shook it.

All that remained for von Igelfeld to do was to resign as President of Colombia, which he did immediately after carrying out these last generous acts of liberality. His resignation speech was short, and dignified.

‘I have served Colombia to the best of my ability,’ he said, ‘but now the torch must be handed to another. I therefore appoint dear Señor Pedro as my successor, with all the powers and privileges of the office. May he discharge the duties in an honest and decent way, remembering that in a bad country – and, please, I am not for a moment suggesting that Colombia is a bad country – there are many ordinary people who will be counting on those in high office to remember their suffering and their aspirations. My place is here. This is where I have been called to serve.
Viva el Presidente Pedro
!
Viva la Patria
!’

And with that he sat down. There was, of course, a certain amount of confusion amongst the Colombian officials, but they soon recovered their composure and went off to lunch in a restaurant which Herr Huber was able to recommend to them. Then von Igelfeld went to his room and began to attend to his mail. There was so much to read, and he would be busy writing letters all that afternoon and well into the following day.

He looked about him. Were there signs of Unterholzer having been in his room? He thought that some of the books had been moved, although he could not be sure. He stopped himself. He remembered being at a window, looking down an avenue of trees, and waiting for an army to advance. He remembered Dolores Quinta Barranquilla standing beneath the rising helicopter and waving to them as the blades of the aircraft cut into the thin Andean air. And he heard again the cries of
Viva
! and the expression of sheer relief on the faces of the guerrillas and the soldiers as they realised that nobody was going to ask them to die after all. And he realised then that there were more important things to worry about, and that we must love those with whom we live and work, and love them for all their failings, manifest and manifold though they be.