Before We Were Free (11 page)

Tío Pepe says he drove by the compound today and the whole place
was crawling with SIM. He heard through Radio Bemba, which is how
people are referring to gossip, Radio Big Mouth, that the compound is
now a SIM interrogation center. It makes me sick just to think what
might be happening in my old bedroom.

What about Chucha? I asked. The thought of anything happening to
Chucha . . .

Chucha is fine! Tío Pepe assured me. It seems that the day after he
evacuated us, Chucha also left the compound. She wandered into town
on foot, to Wimpy’s, and has gotten a job there sweeping out the aisles,
which is near impossible to believe. But Wimpy is one of Tío Pepe’s contacts, so maybe Chucha feels that by being there, she is close to us. Who
can tell?

Just the thought of Chucha at Wimpy’s makes me smile.

June
14,
1961,
Wednesday morning, after breakfast

Poor Tía Mari has to think of meals on top of everything else!

For breakfast, she always fixes Tío Pepe’s tray first thing, before the
cook is up, and carries it to their bedroom. So that meal is never a problem. Tía Mari just brings some extra waterbreads and marmalade and
cheese and a pot of coffee and one of milk, and fresh fruits. She locks the
door, and Mami and I slip out of the closet and eat breakfast, taking
turns drinking out of one cup while Tía Mari and Tío Pepe share the
other one.

As for supper, Tía Mari and Tío Pepe used to eat out in the dining
room, but now, with the excuse that they want to listen to the news quietly in their bedroom, they bring their trays in here and we all eat off the
two plates.

The problem is the big midday meal, as the family always eats
together in the formal dining room. So what Tía Mari does is hide a plastic bag under her napkin on her lap, and she serves herself lots of food
and eats slowly so that the little girls and María de los Santos and Oscar
are excused long before she is done, and then quick, she scrapes her plate
into the bag for us. It’s not the most appetizing meal, a bag of mixed-up
food, but when I think—which I don’t want to—of what Papi and Tío
Toni and the other prisoners are eating, I feel grateful and make myself
eat so Tía Mari doesn’t have to worry about getting rid of leftovers.
(Mojo and Maja can only eat so much.)

Tío Pepe likes to tease Tía Mari that she has gotten so good with that
plastic bag, if she ever needs a job, the SIM would surely hire her!

June
15,
1961,
Thursday evening, already two weeks in hiding!!!

Earlier this afternoon, I was in the bathroom writing and I heard the
three little Marías playing out in the yard. I felt such envy for them,
enjoying the warm sun on their skin and the blue sky above.

Then I started thinking how Papi and Tío Toni might not even have
a glimpse of sky and fresh air or a bite of food and all my positive thinking went out the window. I stroked my cheek, but that didn’t help,
either. I burst into tears. So much for the girl who never cried.

Mami caught me crying and began scolding, what is the matter with
you, Anita, you’re going to have to make an effort, please, you’re too
old for this.

Which made me cry even more.

Tía Mari pulled me into the bathroom and shut the door and whispered, Anita, you have to understand that your mother is under tremendous pressure, tremendous pressure, and so take that into account, and
just keep writing, don’t stop. Stay calm. Pray to
La Virgencita
.

My brave and beautiful niece, she added, hugging me.

June
16,
1961,
Friday, after supper

Believe it or not, we get mail here!

Mundín writes out notes that he gives to the ambassador, who gives
them to Tío Pepe, then we answer back by reverse method. It seems so
strange that we should be writing back and forth when we’re only a
house away! Mundín won’t say where exactly he is hidden in case the
note should fall into the wrong hands, but he tells us he is fine, though
very worried about Papi and Tío Toni. Today’s note was just to me. I
guess from his hiding place, Mundín caught a glimpse of María de los
Santos sitting on the gallery with some young fellow, and he wants to
know what I know.

I couldn’t believe that Mundín was thinking about a girlfriend at a
time like this!

But then . . . I’m thinking a lot about Oscar! As Chucha would say,
the hunchback laughing at the camel’s hump!

Tonight at supper, I’ll drop a question about María de los Santos
and see if the Mancinis volunteer any news of a boyfriend.

Mojo and Maja are making it hard for me to write—they climb up
on my lap and chew at my pen. They look like two little waterfalls of
hair, with a pink and a blue ribbon tied in a teensy pigtail on top of their
heads.

Stay calm, I say to them. Keep writing, I say to myself.

June
17,
1961,
Saturday night

Another scene from the movie of my life in hiding:

SETTING: Girl and mother sitting in bedroom with husband and
wife who are hiding them. Radio they have been listening to is turned off.

GIRL: (very innocently) How is María de los Santos?

WIFE:
Muy bien,
she is fine,
gracias
to
La Virgencita María.

GIRL: Does she have a boyfriend?.

WIFE: (shaking her head) When hasn’t that girl had a boyfriend?

HUSBAND: (looking up from shortwave radio, alarmed) What’s
this? I didn’t know you were allowing María de los Santos to have
gentlemen callers.

WIFE: (hand on her hip) Allowing her? Who can tell that girl what
to do? And where have you been that you didn’t notice? Even the Chinese in Bonao know this.

(Soon, a full-blown disagreement is in progress. Mother and girl slip
back into closet, and mother turns on girl.)

MOTHER: Look at what you started, Anita, I hope you’re satisfied, such nice people, after all they have done for us.

(Girl keeps her mouth shut—someone has to keep the peace around
here!)

June
18,
1961,
Sunday, late afternoon, sunny and bright

My least favorite day . . . but today has been tolerable because Tía
Mari invited Mami’s old canasta friends for a Sunday barbecue. Of
course, none of them know we are hiding here. But Mami has been so
depressed that Tía Mari thought that just seeing her old friends secretly
from the window would lift her spirits. It turns out that the whole
canasta group are wives of supporters of the plot.

So why aren’t they in hiding, too? I asked Mami.

Their husbands aren’t directly involved, Mami explained. And
we’re in the most trouble because El Jefe was found in the trunk of
Papi’s Chevy.

Suddenly, it struck me that for a whole night, we were living with a
dead body in our garage! It seemed so spooky, as well as dumb. Why
would Papi and Tío Toni leave El Jefe’s body lying around where the
SIM could find it if they searched us?

The plan was to bring Pupo over to the house, Mami explained some
more. Pupo had said he wouldn’t start the revolution until he saw the
dead body.

Usually, Mami starts to cry or gets upset with me when I ask her
about all this stuff, but today she was the calmest I’ve seen her since we
came into hiding. We took turns peeking out the high window in the
bathroom, standing on the toilet. Mami reported on everyone she saw,
Ay, pero
Isa has gotten so thin, and look at Maricusa, she’s cut her hair,
y esa
Anny is going to have twins.

When it was my turn, my eye was caught by a young man, off by
himself, reading. Suddenly, I realized it was Oscar! Maybe it was from
not seeing him for several weeks, but he seemed a lot older and very
handsome. I kept watching him, every time I had a turn.

I’ve decided that I want to read more myself. I’ve been here almost
three weeks now and all I’ve done is page through Tía Mari’s magazines,
play cards with Mami, listen to the radio, and write in my diary. Reading would make the time pass and take my mind off gloomy thoughts
about what is happening to Papi or Tío Toni or us.

So I asked Tía Mari if she’d get me a book out of our old classroom.

Which book? she wanted to know.

I shrugged and told her to get me anything she thought I’d like.

June
19,
1961,
Monday night

Tonight, Tía Mari said, oh dear, I keep forgetting to get a book for
you from the children’s library. Here’s one to start. And she gave me this
book about the life of the Virgin Mary.

I tried to read some of it, but it was not very interesting.

Instead, I experimented with some new hairdos in the mirror, wondering what Oscar would think of a young lady with her hair pulled back
in a ponytail.

June
20,
1961,
Tuesday, late night

I talked to Tío Pepe about how I want to read more, and he said it
was an excellent idea. He told me all about famous people in prisons and
dungeons who did incredible stuff, like this nun way back in colonial
times, who I guess wrote tons of poetry in her head, and the Marquis de
Sade, who wrote whole novels, and someone else who worked on a dictionary, and another person who came up with some new kind of printing press. It was real inspiring, but not for me. I think I’ll just stick to
reading some books and writing in my diary.

Tío Pepe said that one thing all these famous prisoners found while
they were locked up was that it was important to keep a schedule so as
not to go crazy. Right then, remembering how Charlie Price called me
crazy, I decided to draw one up and try to follow it every day.

Anita
de
la
Torre’s
Schedule
in
Hiding:

MORNING:

Wake Up
—Slip out so as not to wake Mami and touch my toes (20 times) and do waist exercises (25), plus the ones that Lucinda taught me so my breasts will grow (do 50 of those).

Shower and Dress
—Brush my teeth for at least a minute so as not to end up toothless like Chucha, shampoo hair twice a week, and definitely do not spend the whole day in my pajamas or muumuu! Tío Pepe said the Marquis de Sade put on his powdered wig and morning jacket while he was locked up. Also, British lords used to dress in their white linens in the jungle and look at how long they ruled the world. I was going to remind Tío Pepe how El Jefe was real finicky about what he wore, too, and look at what a monster he was . . . but I decided I better keep my mouth shut.

During Breakfast
—Try to learn one new thing from Tío Pepe, who must be a genius, as he knows about everything and speaks five languages perfectly.

After Breakfast
—read good book (once Tía Mari remembers to bring me one), write in diary, try not to be bored, as Tío Pepe says boredom is a sign of the poverty of the mind—definitely do not want that!!!

NOON:

Lunchtime
—Try to keep my stomach from growling before Tía Mari comes back with her hidden lunch bag, try to be nice about the eggplant squashed up with the rice and beans and leftover chicken (always dark meat, my least favorite) because, as Mami says, beggars cannot ask for
cebollitas
with their
mangú
. (But I don’t like onions with my mashed plantains!) Most of all, try to be nice to Mami.

AFTERNOON:

Free Time
—Write in diary, talk with Mami about happy times in past. Tía Mari says this will really help improve her spirits. Try not to think about the tanks we keep hearing rolling down the street or the gunshots from the direction of the national palace, the dead quiet once curfew sounds at six.

NIGHT:

Eat Dinner
—Usually the best meal, as Tío Pepe has to have his pasta once a day, which is my favorite food, too. Tío Pepe says I must have Italian blood in me. And, of course, that gets Mami and Tía Mari started on the Family Tree.

After Dinner
—Listen to Radio Swan, try not to think of the sad news, of the 7,000 arrests, of the bodies thrown off cliffs to the sharks, of the army generals in their tanks shooting at neighborhoods where they think people are hiding, and instead . . . think positively! Join in discussions, think positively! Write in diary, look through Tía Mari’s magazines, anything to avoid bad thoughts that might drive me crazy.

Sleep—Lights out around 10 P.M., but I can stay up in the bathroom reading or writing, provided—Mami does love a lecture—that I am very quiet, so as not to bother the Mancinis. Listen politely, try not to roll eyes and make disgusted face at Mami when she gives this lecture every night.

Before Going to Sleep
—Think about Tío Toni and Papi on the beach, try not to think of bodies thrown into the sea, think positively, think of the sand and wind in my hair, and Papi saying, Fly, and Tío Toni laughing as they swing me up in the air.