Héctor Enrique Almendro

Héctor Enrique Almendro, known among his friends as El Cerdo or the Pig, is a Mexican essayist, novelist, and poet whose local standing has carried him from publishing into high government cultural office. His importance in this episode lies in a collision of roles: he is Rodolfo Alatorre’s benefactor and senior friend, an ambitious official attentive to his own prospects, and the unexpected host of Benno von Archimboldi, a German writer who has vanished from public view. Almendro’s actions make a fleeting meeting possible, but neither his influence nor his questions can turn it into an explanation of the disappearance.

Identity and Position

Almendro is in his forties and is not yet fifty. Outside Mexico City, his work is little known; in the capital, and in some American universities, his name is familiar, even overfamiliar. The difference in scale matters: he is neither an internationally celebrated literary figure nor a mere outsider to cultural power. His standing is concentrated in particular institutions and networks, where literary recognition, publishing experience, and government access overlap.

Before becoming one of the new government’s senior cultural officials, Almendro had headed a publishing house. Three years before the encounter with Archimboldi, he had tried to publish The Berlin Underworld, only to discover that the rights already belonged to a publisher in Barcelona. The failed attempt shows both his prior work in publishing and the limits of his reach: even with professional standing, he could not secure a book whose rights were held elsewhere.

The Meeting in Mexico City

The account reaches the European critics through Alatorre, who says that a friend of his had met Archimboldi only the other day. That friend is Almendro. The story begins with a midnight telephone call. After speaking briefly in German, Almendro dresses and drives to a hotel near the Mexico City airport, arriving after one in the morning.

At the hotel, Almendro presents credentials identifying him as a top government official and goes with a policeman to a third-floor room. There he finds an old German sitting barefoot on a bed, dressed in a gray T-shirt and jeans, with his hair uncombed. Two other policemen are present: one watches television, while the other smokes against the wall. The officer who arrived with Almendro turns off the television and orders the others to follow him; when the smoking officer demands an explanation, he is told to keep quiet.

Before the police leave, Almendro asks the old man in German whether they have stolen anything. The man says they have demanded money but taken nothing. Almendro answers, “That’s good,” and adds, “That’s progress.” The exchange offers a dry measure of what his intervention can accomplish. He can make the policemen leave and address the man in his language, but the encounter has already involved a demand for money, and nothing in the account suggests that Almendro can undo that fact.

Once they are alone, Almendro apologizes. The German silently gets up and goes into the bathroom. Almendro writes to Alatorre that the man is enormous—nearly seven feet tall, or at least six foot six—and imposing. When the German comes out wearing shoes, Almendro asks whether he would like to drive around Mexico City or go out for a drink. He offers to leave immediately if the man is tired. The German explains that his flight leaves at seven in the morning. Almendro checks his watch: it is already after two.

An Official, a Host, and an Ambitious Writer

Almendro is unsure how the German obtained his telephone number, and he does not expect an answer when he wonders aloud who supplied it. Yet asking seems to make him happy, filling him with a feeling that vindicates him as both a person and a writer. The summons has made him feel that he matters to someone whose work he barely knows. Almendro admits that he and Alatorre have read little of Archimboldi; Spanish translations of the books were published in Spain and arrived late in Mexico. His excitement is therefore less the response of a devoted reader than the recognition that the vanished writer has reached out to him.

Almendro accepts the invitation he has effectively made and takes the German to Plaza Garibaldi. The plaza is sparsely populated at that hour: most tourists have returned to their hotels, leaving drunks, night owls, people on their way to supper, and mariachi bands rehashing the latest soccer match. Shadowy figures linger on the streets leading into the plaza. Almendro fingers the pistol he has begun carrying since entering government service. He orders pork tacos; the old man drinks tequila, and Almendro has a beer.

The setting prompts Almendro to compare his present position with his life less than ten years earlier. In the same bar, he thinks, speaking German to a gangling old man would once have drawn an insult or provoked offense on the slightest pretext. Then he would have had to apologize, explain himself, or buy a round of tequila to prevent a fight. Now nobody bothers him. He attributes the change to the aura conferred by carrying a gun under his shirt or holding a high government post, an aura even killers and drunks can sense. His private contempt for the people who leave him alone sits beside his awareness that authority has altered how he moves through the city.

While his guest eats, Almendro’s thoughts turn to Voltaire, then to an ambition he has been considering: an ambassadorship in Europe, or at least a cultural attaché post. With his connections, he thinks, the least he should receive is an ambassadorship. But the position would offer only a salary. The scene thus places his literary identity alongside practical calculation: his access can protect a visitor and open doors, but he is also evaluating the material rewards and limits of an official appointment.

Alatorre and the Story’s Transmission

Almendro’s relationship with Alatorre is described as something like teacher and student, or older brother and younger brother. Almendro obtained the scholarship that sent Alatorre to Toulouse. It was an expression of regard, but also a modest use of Almendro’s influence: he could have arranged more prestigious scholarships or appointments as a cultural attaché in Athens or Caracas. Alatorre would have gratefully accepted such a post, though he did not disdain the Toulouse scholarship, and he expects Almendro to be more generous next time.

The meeting with Archimboldi therefore passes through a relationship already shaped by patronage. Alatorre recounts the encounter to Jean-Claude Pelletier, Manuel Espinoza, and Liz Norton, who later telephone Almendro. He confirms the story to Espinoza in broad outline. Asked how Archimboldi obtained his number, Almendro supposes that the source was the German editor Mrs. Bubis, whom he had met at a Berlin party with German editors. The explanation is presented as his belief, not as independently confirmed knowledge. Even the chain of access remains partly conjectural: the writer reached Almendro, but the route by which he did so is not established.

Departure and Narrative Significance

At some point in their conversation, Almendro asks whether the old man was supposed to have disappeared. The German looks at him and smiles politely. The question names the episode’s central contradiction: a writer thought to have vanished is physically present, yet remains guarded and unexplained. The polite smile does not resolve the contradiction or supply Almendro with an account of the disappearance.

Almendro accompanies the German to the departure gate, using his identification to gain access, and gives him a card before they part. He offers it in case the old man runs into trouble; the German thanks him. The card is a small, practical remainder of a meeting built on access, hospitality, and incomplete knowledge. Almendro can intervene with the police, offer a night out, and escort his guest toward a flight, but the encounter ends at departure rather than disclosure. In that limited role, he links Mexico City’s cultural bureaucracy to the international literary search for Archimboldi while leaving the mystery of the vanished writer intact.