The Law of Love

In Laura Esquivel’s new novel, “The Law of Love,” a cosmic comedy about a Mexico City of the future, three characters pursue across time--and a series of reincarnations--the destinies determined for them in the ruins of an Aztec temple during the Conquest of Mexico. In this excerpt, that journey takes the reader to the home of Isabel Gonzalez, the current candidate from the Americas for Planetary President in the 23rd century.

Esquivel’s novel invokes the power of music in its characters’ lives. Each copy of “The Law of Love” will include a CD of the opera arias and Mexican danzones that the characters use to project themselves into their previous lives, which are illustrated in the novel by the Spanish artist Miguelanxo Prado.

*

Let us rejoice, Oh friends,

And embrace each other here.

Now we walk on the flowering earth.

No one here need put an end

To flowers or songs.

They will live on in the house of the Giver of Life.

This earth is the realm of the fleeting moment.

Is it the same, as well, in that region

Where somehow one still exists?

Is one happy there?

Is there friendship there?

Or is it only here on earth

That we come to know our faces?

Ayocuan Cuetzpaltzin

Trece Poetas del Mundo Azteca

Edited by Miguel Leon Portilla

*

As Isabel’s house filled up with flowers and congratulatory faxes, her heart was seized with fear. Life could not have granted her a greater prize than being chosen as America’s candidate for Planetary President. She had finally attained her dream of reaching the heights of power and gaining the respect and admiration of all. But now she was terrified. A mounting fear prevented her from enjoying her triumph. The more that people showed their support, the more threatened she felt, for she knew that any number of them would love to be in her shoes. Realizing how she was envied and closely watched only made her feel more vulnerable. She considered everyone around her a potential enemy and began taking extreme precautions. Knowing that human beings are by nature corruptible, she trusted no one. Anybody could betray her. She slept with her door locked, was constantly detecting strange odors that only she seemed to notice, and had become hypersensitive to tastes as well. In short, she sensed an imminent physical danger and was convinced the entire world was plotting against her.

As long as she had had nothing to lose, she had lived a tranquil existence, but now that she was on the verge of having it all, she was shaky as a poppy in the wind. She felt the way she had as a child, when she refused to walk in the dark for fear that the bogeyman would jump out at her. She had the same sensation even when watching love scenes in movies, for she knew that they usually preceded disasters. So instead of enjoying the lovers’ kisses, she was anxiously scanning the screen, anticipating the moment when the dagger would come into view and be thrust into the man’s back. It was the same with film music: She knew frightening music always accompanied horror; so instead of enjoying the love theme, she was always listening for the slightest variation in its melody, so she could shut her eyes and avoid the jolt to her soul.

Anyone knew that this kind of constant strain was bad for one’s health. The Department of Public Health and Welfare had even prohibited suspense music in films, which had been linked to liver damage in spectators. Isabel herself had enthusiastically endorsed the measure. Her only regret was that there wasn’t a similar organization to regulate the intrusion of tragedies into everyday life, some means of preventing the fact that from one moment to the next you could pass from wedding bells to an ambulance’s wail; some way of warning people when something terrible was approaching, so that she would be able to shut her eyes in time. The situation Isabel found herself in was pressing her nerves to the limit. Everyone wanted to see her, interview her, be close to her--close, that is, to power. She had to meet every situation head on, with her eyes wide open, be extremely vigilant, trust no one, not leave the tiniest loose end dangling so that one of her enemies could use it to destroy her. She had to be on the alert and to steel her heart whenever necessary. Although she had no problem there. She had already shown herself capable of eliminating her own daughter, so she certainly could do the same to anybody else who got in her way.

That daughter had been born in Mexico City on January 12, 2180, at 21 hours, 20 minutes, under the sign of Capricorn, with Virgo in the ascendant. Her astrological chart indicated she would have many problems with authority due to the opposition of Saturn and Uranus, Saturn representing authority, and Uranus, liberty and rebellion. In addition, the position of Uranus in the sign of Aries indicated extreme assertiveness, so that when this girl decided to be stubborn, she would be single-minded about it, if not impulsive and irresponsible. The position of Uranus in the eighth house suggested that she might become involved in shady dealings in her desire to challenge authority.

With all the subversive traits predicted by this chart, it was almost a given that the girl would grow up to be a perennial thorn in the side, especially for Isabel, who had always planned on becoming Planetary President. And this was not just some pipe dream of hers, for Isabel’s astrological chart indicated it as well, predicting further that when this occurred, an era of peace would finally be established for all humanity. With this knowledge, Isabel did not want to have her own daughter impeding her. So before she could begin to feel any affection for the child, she ordered her to be disintegrated for 100 years, so as not to thwart the destiny of the human race.

From time to time Isabel thought about that daughter. What would she have been like? Would she have been pretty? Would she have looked like her mother? Would she have been slender? Or fat like Carmela, her other daughter? Now that she thought of it, perhaps it would have been a good idea to have had Carmela disintegrated as well. All she ever did was embarrass Isabel. Just like this morning. The first thing Isabel had done upon awakening was to turn on the Televirtual for the broadcast of the interview she’d given following her nomination. She found it very pleasing to watch herself in virtual reality in her own bedroom. How thrilling to think that she had been in houses all over the world. She was told she had been seen by millions of viewers. The only problem was that Abel Zabludowsky had come up with the bright idea of interviewing Carmela. How embarrassing! Her pig of a daughter had also been in all those homes. She just hoped they had found some way of squeezing Carmela in without crowding herself out. Talk about hogging the camera! She wondered what people thought of her. That she was a terrible mother not to put her daughter on a diet? What a nightmare! She didn’t know what she should do about Carmela. And today Isabel was expecting crowds of people to stop by to fawn over her. Preparations were already underway for a press luncheon on the patio. She certainly didn’t want her daughter to be anywhere in sight. But how could she hide her? Now that Carmela had been on the news, they’d all be asking about her. She had to come up with something. Her thoughts were interrupted by her daughter’s voice.

“Mommy, may I come in?”

“Yes.”

The door opened and there was Carmela, all dressed up for the luncheon. She had chosen a beautiful white lace dress because she wanted to look her best on such a special day for her mother.

“Get that dress off!”

“But . . . it’s the nicest one I have.”

“It’s atrocious. You look like an overstuffed tamale. How in the world could you ever choose white, being as fat as you are?”

“But it’s a luncheon, and you’ve always told me black is only for evening.”

“You remember what I tell you well enough when it suits you, don’t you? Try suiting me for a change. Get on another dress! And when you come back, show me the purse you’ll be using, too, so I can see if it goes with your dress.”

“I don’t have a black bag.”

“Then go find one somewhere! I don’t want you coming down without a purse. Only whores parade around like that. Is that what you want, to look like a slut? Is that what you had in mind? To make me look like a complete fool?”

“No.”

Carmela could not hold back her tears any longer. Extracting a tissue from her pocket, she dabbed at the stream running down her cheeks.

“What is that? Don’t you have a handkerchief? How could you think of going anywhere without one? When have you ever seen a princess blowing her nose in a tissue? From now on, I want you to learn to behave appropriately for the daughter of someone in my position. Now get out of here, you make me furious”

Carmela turned to leave, but before she reached the door, Isabel stopped her.

“And remember to keep out of range of the cameras.”

Isabel was outraged. She was sick of dealing with young people. They always wanted to have their own way, disobey, impose their own wishes, challenge authority--that is, challenge her. She didn’t understand why she always had the same effect on everyone. They couldn’t see her as their superior without immediately wanting to rebel. Well, right now she had better see if her employees had set up the patio exactly as she had told them.

The patio resembled a frenetic beehive, with countless workers scurrying all over the place under the direction of Agapito, Isabel’s right-hand man. Agapito had had to work more frantically than ever to please his boss, because considering the importance of-the function, she’d given him almost no time to organize it. Isabel hadn’t any reason for holding a luncheon this soon. Her nomination had only been announced the day before, so nobody could have expected her to be prepared to have so many people; but she wanted to impress everyone with her organization. Agapito had taken charge with great efficiency, to assure that everything was perfect. The tables, tablecloths, floral arrangements, wines, food, service, invitations, press, music--all had been coordinated personally by him. No detail escaped him. He had at his fingertips the press clippings concerning the nomination, as well as a list of everyone who had called to congratulate Isabel. He knew only too well that the first thing she would want to know was who was on her side--and, by default, who was not, so that she could have them placed on her list of enemies.

As soon as he saw Isabel approach, Agapito felt a surge of apprehension. Having exerted himself to the fullest so that everything would be just right, he was in sore need of his boss’s approval. Isabel glanced around the patio. Everything seemed to be in order, but then suddenly her eye was drawn to the center of the patio, where the tip of an ancient pyramid had poked up through the tiles. It was not the first time this problem had occurred. Now again Isabel had to remind them to cover it up, since it would not be at all convenient for the government to find out her house was sitting atop a pre-Hispanic pyramid. In such cases the State invariably ended up nationalizing the property. Then archeologists would arrive on the scene to begin their excavations and, in the process, were likely to unearth a part of Isabel’s past she preferred to keep buried deep beneath the earth.

“Agapito! Why haven’t they covered the pyramid?”

“Well . . . we thought it’d be good for your image if people saw your concern for our pre-Hispanic past . . . .”

“We thought? Who’s we?”

“Well, the boys and I . . . .”

“The boys! The boys are idiots who can’t think for themselves--they’re supposed to follow your orders. If you can’t control them, then what good are you? I’ll just have to hire somebody who can make them obey.”

“They obey me. It was my decision . . . .”

“Then you’re fired.”

“But . . . why?”

“Why? Because I’m sick and tired of playing school- teacher to a bunch of morons. I’ve told you a million times, anyone who doesn’t do as I say can get the hell out!”

“But I did everything you told me to . . . .”

“I never told you to leave that pyramid like that.”

“But you didn’t say to cover it, either. It’s not fair to fire me for one slip-up. Everything else is perfect, you can see for yourself . . . .”

“The only thing I see is that you’re not a professional, so I want you out of here right now. Tell Rosalio to take over.”

Rosalio isn’t here.”

“Not here? Where did he go?”

“Downtown.”

Isabel brightened at this news and whispered to Agapito, “To get my chocolate?”

“No, you gave him permission to take his papers to the Consumer Protection Agency.”

“Well, fire him, too. I’m fed up with both of you!”

Isabel cut short her screaming and put on her most charming smile the second she saw Abel Zabludowsky arriving with his cameras and crew. She was terrified. Had he heard her screaming? God, she hoped not. That for sure would kill her image. Just in case, she patted Agapito on the back to seem like she’d been joking with him. Then her heart nearly froze as she saw Carmela steaming in, all 660 pounds of her. Isabel had to prevent Abel Zabludowsky from giving her another interview, let alone spotting the tip of the pyramid.

Agapito was sharp enough to divine Isabel’s thoughts and came up with a brilliant solution that won him back his job and completely restored Isabel’s former confidence in him.

“What if we sit Carmela right there on top of the pyramid and tell her to stay put?”

And thus it was that the voluminous Carmela, black bag in hand, came to the rescue, preventing anyone from discovering that in the midst of her mother’s patio, a pyramid was about to be born.