The Good Conscience by Carlos Fuentes Page B

character is just forming should be led among the lowest classes in the city to attend all manner of rowdy fiestas? At the beginning, I tolerated it, for then Jaime was a child. But now that he is sixteen, I find it decidedly unwise. And the fact is not only that you go with him but that you lead him, Rodolfo, exposing him to loose women and every sort of temptation. You have never felt it fit to tell us about these excursions. There must be a very good reason for that. You will pardon my brutality, but have you by some chance also conducted your son to a house of prostitution?”
    The aunt’s exclamation is cut short by Balcárcel’s rhetorical hand. “Frankness is necessary,” he proceeds relentlessly. “Every family must have a head, and I am going to make my authority felt in this one. My first rule shall be that Jaime, like all the young men of our family, must reach marriage pure and chaste and must not know any woman other than the wife God blesses him with. To this end he shall henceforth abandon completely his licentious readings, his degrading friendships, and in one word, his frivolity.”
    While Balcárcel speaks, dark shame buries itself deep in Jaime’s breast. He is also furious because his father remains mute. The defense that the boy waits for should not be merely a protest, but an active and cutting attack, and should begin with the simple statement: “He is my son.” His father says nothing, but merely drops his eyes. Finally Jaime summons up all his strength and says quietly:
    â€œIs that how you speak plainly, uncle? With lies?”
    Balcárcel flings his arm out. “Leave this table! To your room, sir! To your room without breakfast, to see if fasting will cure you of your insolence! Though your father may be incapable of disciplining you, I shall still show you that in this house there is authority and there will be respect for one’s elders!”
    The uncle wipes his fingers with his napkin. Jaime rises, begging his father and his aunt for help. They both look down. The boy walks out, to the narrow white room where the servant has already pushed his bed back against the wall.
    Smells of abundant provincial breakfast. They eat eggs and sausage in silence. Finally Asunción tries to smile:
    â€œOur cousins are trying to steal the cook. I want you to speak with them, for without Felisa I can’t get along.”
    Balcárcel nods. For the last time he consults his watch, and rises and leaves the dining room. The brother and sister go on eating.
    â€œTomorrow is the anniversary of Papá’s death,” Rodolfo says presently.
    â€œYes. The Te Deum will be at ten. Father Lanzagorta.”
    â€œWhat your husband said … that Jaime and I, that…”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œWe used to have such good times together. Now we never have anything to say to each other. We just walk, that’s all. We don’t talk.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œEver since … Asunción, how did he find out? He asked me about Adelina. He told me that I abandoned her.”
    â€œYou promised never to mention her, never!”
    â€œI didn’t mention her. I don’t know how he knew. But it’s your fault. Yes. Why did I abandon her? Because of you.”
    Birds carol outside, building new nests in the thick spring foliage of the ash trees. Old women creep out of the church of San Roque. Vendors of fruits and candies sing their wares. A cock silently struts along the wall, lording it over his meek hens. His crest is as high and stiff as a bullfighter’s flying cloak.
    â€œAnd now I miss the boy so much, Asunción. He is all I have.”
    In his bedroom, Jaime feeds and caresses silence. He mutters the mute words of wounded adolescence. He thinks of rebellion, of running away.
    Breakfast has ended. Don Jorge Balcárcel is now seated in his leather chair in his office, affirming his power over the weak and his