Tyrant Memory (15 page)

We returned home. I didn’t feel well, as if my blood pressure had
suddenly dropped. I made a cup of black tea with a lot of honey. María Elena
isn’t here: she left early this morning for her village to see her family, and
she will return on Monday; I sent a little dress with her for Belka, I hope it
fits, at that age children grow so quickly. I spoke with Mother, my
mother-in-law, and Carmela, to tell them what had happened. Betito said he was
going out with his friends; I lay down for a while. I dreamed about Clemen, he
was running desperately in the rain, and then I was woken by a loud knocking on
the door. It was Mila, with the children; she told me she needed to leave them
with me for a few hours, she had an urgent appointment, Ana had gone to her
village, and her parents weren’t in town. I was still woozy from my nap. I told
her there was no problem, but she should come get them before three because I
also had an appointment, and María Elena had left with Ana; she assured me she
would come at two-thirty on the dot, and she left in a hurry. Her appearance was
so unexpected — only when I closed the door did my blood start to boil. The
children ran to the patio to play with Nerón. I locked Pericles’s study, placed
all the fragile ornaments on a high shelf in the living room, and checked to see
how much food María Elena had made. A moment later Marianito came into the
kitchen saying he was thirsty.

After preparing them some melon drinks, I sat in the rocking chair
on the porch and watched them play. I realized it’s not healthy to keep what I
feel and think about Mila inside. At that moment I was absolutely certain that
she had left the children with me so she could wallow in sin with that colonel
who wants to murder my son, her husband. I don’t like having such poisonous
thoughts, but this one time I couldn’t get rid of them. Fortunately, Betito
arrived half an hour later; he came with Chente, who asked me for copies of the
communiqué to take to his companions at the university; he told me that they are
organizing a strike and other activities to protest the atrocities committed by
the general, and as soon as they open the university next Monday things are
going to heat up considerably. I gave him my remaining copies of the communiqué,
keeping only one for myself. Chente explained that the students have been
holding secret meetings the whole time the university has been closed, and they
agreed that their top priority was to launch a campaign demanding freedom for
all political prisoners, and he would speak to his fellow students to ask a
group of them to accompany us early tomorrow morning to the Central Prison to
demand visiting rights. I told him I would present his offer to the ladies in
the committee this afternoon, who also had contacts with students, and I didn’t
want to make decisions that weren’t mine to make, and we should talk again at
night. But I still find it surprising that such grandiose words and such
determination can come forth from someone as thin and scrawny as Chente.

Mila came to pick up the children a bit before three. She didn’t
stay for more than a minute: she acted erratically, with all the anxiety of
someone burdened by a great sin that’s eating away at her; she shouted at the
children to hurry up and say goodbye to their grandmother, then she thanked me
and said she was sorry for being in such a rush. I wonder if that woman knows I
know, or if it’s her own sense of guilt that makes her so flustered.

The Colindres’ house is only a few blocks away from ours. I got
there a few minutes before four. Doña Consuelo told me I was the first to
arrive, she led me into a living room set up with trays of sandwiches, a thermos
of coffee, and pitchers of water and fruit drink; I noticed a beautiful oriental
carpet she had over the back of a sofa. Minutes later Merceditas arrived; she
was still dressed in strict mourning but her aspect was improved: she told us
that the officers and civilians who had been imprisoned in the basement of the
Black Palace, including her husband and brother-in-law, had been moved to the
Central Prison, which is a hopeful sign. Doña Chayito came alone, with regrets
from Doña Julita, who was suffering from a severe migraine; she immediately
suggested to Doña Consuelo that we move to another room or to the patio, because
the windows in that room look right out onto the street, and the police
informers would easily be able to hear what we were saying. Doña Consuelo called
the servant to clean off the table on the patio and help us move the sandwiches
and drinks. Fortunately, the sun had gone down. Doña Chayito said it was urgent
we discuss two issues: the election of the committee board and the request for a
meeting with the diplomatic corps to explain our situation and ask for
assistance. She explained that, due to martial law and the state of siege, it
was impossible for all the families to assemble at once, hence she and Doña
Julita had been holding meetings with small groups, such as this one, and they
proposed that the two of them be designated as the coordinators so they could
speak on our behalf. The three of us agreed, though Doña Consuelo warned that
she had no interest in getting involved in political intrigue, she only wanted
to work for the release of our family members. And also to demand amnesty for
those condemned to death, Doña Chayito added, at which point she turned to look
at Merceditas. Of course, Doña Consuelo said. Then we discussed the second
point: Doña Chayito said we had to form a delegation that would go to the
American Embassy early Monday morning to ask to see the ambassador so we can
give him the communiqué, then request that he, as the senior member and
representative of the diplomatic corps, make a personal request that the warlock
halt all executions and free all political prisoners; she believes the
ambassador will receive us immediately, and said we should call a press
conference. I asked her how many people, in her opinion, should be in the
delegation. She said at least six, among whom could be Merceditas, Doña
Consuelo, the mother of Lieutenant Marín and poor Víctor Manuel, the wife of Dr.
Valiente, she, and I. We all agreed. Then I told them what I had talked to
Chente about earlier, including his suggestion that a group of university
students come to the Central Prison tomorrow to show their support for us. Doña
Consuelo said she had a bad feeling about it, the university students might
create trouble, and we would lose our chance to be allowed to visit our family
members. Doña Chayito explained that she also received offers of support from a
group of students, perhaps it would be best to first meet with the diplomatic
corps, and if the warlock didn’t respond and held fast to his policy of
prohibiting visits, then we could ask the students for support. At that moment
two tears starting running down Merceditas’s face. I understood, painfully, that
she had not seen her husband since they’d captured him, nor had they given her a
chance to say goodbye to her brother-in-law, Lieutenant Gavidia, before he was
executed by the firing squad. Only the enormous lump of rage in my throat
prevented me from falling apart as well. Doña Chayito and Merceditas left
together; I walked home.

Chente came over after dark. I told him what we had discussed; he
said that anyway he and a couple of his friends could accompany me tomorrow if I
would like them to, and they’d promise not to do anything untoward. I told him
it was better to wait till Monday. I was alone in the house, because Betito was
at Henry’s. There was a moment when I thought I saw something else in Chente’s
eyes, a certain passion, some kind of longing, I don’t know, but the fact was I
furrowed my brow and he, blushing, looked away. Even now I’m not sure if it was
all in my imagination. Pericles’s absence begins to wreak havoc in me.

Sunday April 16

Pati called very early today. I told her I had no good
news to report: I know nothing about her brother nor have I been able to see her
father. I went to eight o’clock Mass. I confessed to Father Evelio: I admitted
to feeling a lot of hatred toward a person who has betrayed a beloved member of
my family. The priest asked me if I am sure about the betrayal or if I am
allowing myself to be swayed by hearsay. I explained that it is very difficult
for me to prove the betrayal but I had a serious and trustworthy source of
information. He insisted on asking me if it was a betrayal or an infidelity. I
told him it was a mortal betrayal, and I asked him to advise me how to behave
toward this person. The priest told me we cannot judge others, our Lord is the
only judge, and I should forgive and cleanse my heart; then he instructed me on
what prayers to recite in penitence. I would have liked to give him more
details, but as Pericles says, one must never tell priests names because priests
are also men, and men can never keep secrets.

We went directly from the church to the Central Prison. Mother and
some friends excused themselves, but others accompanied us. We were about thirty
strong, including of course the members of the committee whom Doña Chayito had
summoned to church. Betito hates to get up early on Sundays, but he came with me
to Mass and then to demand that they allow us to visit his father; Chente and
several other young people who had attended Mass also came with us. We walked
the three blocks to the Central Prison. We stood in front of the gates. Doña
Chayito suggested that she and I demand a meeting with the officer in charge. To
my surprise, Sergeant Flores, the assistant to Colonel Palma, the director, who
seems to have gone into hiding and takes nobody’s phone calls, appeared at the
gate before we spoke to the guards. The sergeant said that he regretted to have
to inform us that he had still not received orders to authorize visits, if it
were up to him he would let us in, but we must understand how delicate the
situation is, surely Monday morning, when everything returns to normal, orders
will be issued; he swore on his mother that all the political prisoners were
doing fine and nobody at the Central Prison is being either tortured or placed
before a firing squad. Doña Chayito raised her voice, saying that if we weren’t
allowed to visit our loved ones we would stay there the entire day with our
protest signs, outside the gates of the Central Prison. I didn’t know anything
about the signs nor did I think it sensible to remain there the whole day if it
wouldn’t further our goal of getting them to let us visit, but Doña Chayito had
already spoken. The sergeant warned us that this would have only negative
repercussions for us, all political demonstrations were prohibited because of
the state of siege, National Guard troops would disperse us, and we might even
be arrested. “Better for us to leave, ladies, and wait to see what happens
tomorrow,” I heard Doña Consuelo say behind me. The majority agreed with
her.

Betito and I walked to my parents’ house. We had a family lunch:
Cecilia, Armando, and the children came from Santa Ana; several uncles and aunts
were also there. The clubs, along with the newspapers, remain closed by order of
the general. Mother and Cecilia made paella. I told them what had happened at
the Central Prison; everybody is indignant, they insist this situation cannot
continue, something simply has to happen soon to make that Nazi warlock go away.
“We all want him to leave, but not one of you is doing anything to get rid of
him,” Father said reproachfully. “Hail, Lenin,” responded my Uncle Charlie
jokingly. The men in this family are impossible: they joke about everything.
Without any real information, we live off hearsay: they say they captured
so-and-so, they say there will soon be new executions, they say the gringos are
preparing something big against the general. I told them we are planning to go
to the American Embassy to get the diplomatic corps to support our demand for
immediate amnesty. “Mr. Thurston is waiting for you,” my Uncle Charlie said
somewhat ironically. He is, in fact, good friends with the ambassador. I told
him to stop joking, I was speaking seriously. “I am also speaking seriously,” he
said, with another smile. I don’t know what to think; most likely he’s having
fun at my expense.

Later this afternoon I asked Don Leo to drive me to Mingo and
Irmita’s house. I told Mingo about our plans and asked for his help notifying
the foreign correspondents. He told me very few had remained in the country, but
I can rest assured, he can guarantee that at least two from the American press
will show up. We drank coffee and chatted a while. Irmita seemed worse; in my
opinion she’s suffering from something more serious than just chronic
bronchitis.

Angelita came to visit me: the poor thing is just like me, she
has no information about Jimmy, and her only comfort is knowing he hasn’t been
captured. She had hoped her son had left in one of the airplanes the pilots
escaped in when they saw the white flag flying over the First Infantry Regiment
barracks and were sure the coup had failed; but no, she just found out that the
last pilot to take off was the son of Don Chente Barraza, a young air force
student who had participated in the bombing of the Black Palace, and he had
offered Jimmy a seat in his plane. But Jimmy decided his duty was to stay and
organize the retreat of the cavalry troops he commanded, which were being
surrounded at the airport by troops loyal to the general. That’s what the
Barraza family told Angelita. They also told her that their son Chente flew to
the North American base in Punta Cosigüina, on the Nicaraguan side of the Gulf
of Fonseca, where the few pilots who hadn’t flown to Guatemala had gone, and
now, fortunately, they are all safe and sound in the Panama Canal Zone. Angelita
was in the middle of telling me this story when the Alvarados stopped by for a
visit. They didn’t know each other, but soon they all felt quite comfortable;
all this anguish and uncertainty brings people together. Raúl predicted that
things are going to get more difficult starting tomorrow, the university will be
a cauldron of activism, and tragic events will undoubtedly occur; Rosita
bewailed Chente’s involvement in the protests, she fears the worst should he be
captured, and she confirmed that the students plan to call a strike. Raúl said
he has met with his medical colleagues, all of whom are wondering what has
become of Dr. Romero, two weeks have passed since the coup, and there’s been no
word, except that he was sentenced to death. This is the same situation we are
in with Clemen, Jimmy, and so many others, who are surviving on the lam, who
knows where or under what conditions.