Tyrant Memory (16 page)

I must get ready for tomorrow: we will all wear black to the
embassy. At this hour of the night, when I lie down in bed, I feel like I’m
floating in the sea, face up, without moving, my eyes closed under the setting
sun, being tossed about in the waves, while Pericles watches over me from the
beach.

Monday April 17

A feverish day, as if the city had woken up in an altered
mood. We arrived at the American Embassy at precisely eight in the morning.
Indeed, just as Uncle Charlie had predicted, Mr. Thurston made us wait only ten
minutes, then welcomed us warmly and was eager to be of assistance; he offered
his condolences to Merceditas and the Maríns’ mother. Doña Chayito was our
spokesman: she gave him the communiqué, explained the situation of the
prisoners, and formally requested that his government and the diplomatic corps
intervene and pressure the general to declare an amnesty for all political
prisoners. The ambassador said the first priority was to prevent more
executions; he would call an urgent meeting of the diplomatic corps so they
could present the general with a unified position; and although they cannot
request amnesty because that is not within the purview of foreign governments,
they can request that the government show “mercy.” I don’t know why, but at that
moment I could clearly hear Pericles saying that the general had always been a
loyal husband and as far as women goes he knows a Concha but no Mercy. The
meeting was brief: a photograph was taken of all of us with Doña Chayito handing
the ambassador the communiqué; as we left through the front door we were
approached by journalists, not only three or four foreign correspondents but
also some from our own newspapers and radio stations shut down by the general,
journalists Mingo had surely informed of the event. Once in the street, and much
to our surprise, a group of students, including Chente, were cheering for us and
chanting antigovernment slogans. We turned our steps to the Central Prison to
again demand the right to visit our family members. Colonel Palma refused to see
us; again he sent Sergeant Flores, who assured us that visits would be allowed
by next weekend. “We want to see them now!” Doña Consuelo shouted angrily; we
all seconded her demand. Doña Chayito gave a copy of the communiqué to the
sergeant and said, “Take this to the colonel. And tell him we just came from the
American Embassy. The ambassador told us that sooner or later you will pay for
your villainy!” Doña Chayito’s boldness impressed me, though afterwards I
wondered what Mr. Thurston would think if he found out what she had said.
Suddenly, the young people started shouting at the sergeant, “Nazis! Nazis!
Nazis! . . .” The expression on the sergeant’s face changed: his eyes filled
with hostility, he ordered us to disperse and threatened to call the National
Guard that very moment to come and arrest us. We realized he wasn’t bluffing; we
left quickly.

María Elena was at home when we arrived; she had just gotten back
from the village. She asked me where I was coming from that I was so agitated. I
brought her up-to-date on the most recent events, including how frightened I was
by Sergeant Flores’s threat. María Elena told me that in her village and in the
entire region around the volcano, people are fed up with the general, nobody can
forgive him for having executed General Marroquín and Colonel Calvo in cold
blood; in addition, squadrons of National Guard troops keep scouring the fincas
and threatening the peasants, they suspect that several people who participated
in the coup are hiding in the area. She told me the dress fit Belka perfectly,
and her whole family sends me their gratitude and best wishes; she brought bags
of fruit and the curdled cheese I love so much. María Elena said that when she
walked out of the bus terminal, she had the sensation that this was the first
day San Salvador had returned to some semblance of normalcy since the coup, but
after what I told her, she no longer felt that way.

I received a phone call from my mother-in-law. She told me
that Colonel Palma called to express his regret that he couldn’t allow visits to
Pericles, but orders are orders, and they come from the very top. I told her he
is a coward for contacting her instead of returning my phone calls. I’ve been
aware that my in-laws have known him for a long time, that there was a certain
intimacy between them, I even suspected there were favors owed. Mama Licha
warned me that the situation continued to be very delicate, it seems that rather
than dissuade the officers from expressing their dissatisfaction, the executions
have had the opposite effect. I was surprised that my mother-in-law would talk
about such things on the telephone, she is always so cautious and circumspect.
Something quite serious must be happening.

This afternoon rumors started circulating that Dr. Romero has been
captured. I didn’t believe them. I received phone calls from many people;
everybody in the street was talking about it. I heard wildly different versions:
that he was shot while being arrested, that they applied the law of flight —
which allows them to shoot fleeing prisoners — that they are torturing him at
the Black Palace. But it wasn’t long before there was a news bulletin on the
radio. First it was announced only that he had been captured, and more details
would be given soon. Then there was a government press release stating with
great fanfare that the “communist leader” Arturo Romero had been captured by a
peasant patrol in the eastern part of the country, very close to the Honduran
border; it said the doctor attacked his captors in an attempt to escape, and he
was wounded in the ensuing struggle and taken to a hospital in the city of San
Miguel. I froze: that scoundrel will execute Don Arturo, I said to myself. It
was as if we were all thinking the same thing, because immediately a kind of
silent wave of outrage rippled through the city. By then it was late in the
afternoon. Betito and I went to the Alvarados’ house; we were lucky to see
Chente, who just happened to have stopped by to pick up some clothes and
sandwiches because he was going to spend the night at the university. He told us
a student delegation from the medical school was going to take the train to San
Miguel as soon as possible to safeguard Don Arturo, for the National Guard
troops who captured him had assaulted him brutally with machetes, he has a very
deep wound on his face, and the doctors at the San Miguel hospital are doing
everything possible to save his life; he also told us that preparations for the
university strike are moving along, and that’s what he’s going to spend the
night planning. Then he left quickly. All poor Rosita could do was ask God to
watch over him and sit there biting her fingernails.

We returned home. Betito went to Henry’s; I asked him to be very
careful. Doña Chayito called to tell me she had just spoken to the ambassador,
who said the doctor’s arrest was bringing things to a head, the entire
diplomatic corps approved the request for immediate clemency for all coup
participants who are under arrest and requested a meeting with the general for
the afternoon, and as soon as she had heard anything she would call me; she said
we should meet at eight in the morning in front of the Central Prison. I assured
her I would be there. I had just hung up when Raúl and Rosita came over to
invite me to dine with them, then Mingo also arrived, asking me to tell him
every detail of our meeting with the ambassador. In the end we stayed in: Rosita
went to get the fried plantains and beans she had made, and María Elena served
some meatballs left over from lunch. I was surprised by Raúl’s sudden change; he
is very upset by Don Arturo’s capture, he said the entire medical society would
do everything possible to prevent his execution, his friends are in contact with
colleagues in San Miguel, and once they get him out of immediate danger they
will stretch out his treatment as long as possible to prevent them from taking
him to the prison hospital. He also said that on this first day of classes the
political ferment among the university students has been intense, in classes
nobody talks about anything besides the executions and how the general should be
thrown out, and everybody’s nerves are on edge.

Betito didn’t return until a few minutes before ten; I was already
getting worried. I scolded him: it is irresponsible to run the risk of being
caught on the streets after curfew. He told me that he and his high school
friends are getting better organized so they can join the university protests
that will take place in the next few days. I warned him not to neglect his
studies, whatever the circumstances, and not to misbehave at school: he is still
a minor who must do as he is told, and he knows how strict his father is.

I’m exhausted, but my spirits are good. I hope I’ll soon fall
asleep. I don’t want to stay awake thinking about Don Arturo’s fate, because
then I will grow worried about Clemen and Pericles. The one who is staying up
all night is Chente, along with his classmates; he looks so inoffensive with his
glasses and scrawny body, but that boy has turned out to be quite tenacious.

Tuesday April 18

A detachment of National Guard troops had taken up
position on the street in front of the Central Prison with orders not to allow
us to approach. The atmosphere was charged: I was afraid and decided to return
home to wait for the other ladies. Doña Chayito called a bit later: she said
she’d verified that the guards would surround the prison indefinitely to prevent
us from approaching; she also confirmed that the representatives of the
diplomatic corps were received last night by the general and they presented him
with their request for clemency, though they received nothing but an assurance
that everything would proceed according to the law. And again I could hear
Pericles saying, “That’s the only clemency the man knows: the National Guard.”
We will meet tomorrow at Doña Consuelo’s house.

I spent the rest of the morning grocery shopping, feeling a bit
guilty when I thought of the unpleasant things Pericles must have to eat. María
Elena accompanied me from store to store; everyone is mumbling hateful insults
against the general under their breath, though fear abounds. In Plaza Morazán we
took Don Sergio’s taxi; he says he misses my husband, his favorite client.

Then I went to the beauty salon — I was in a sorry state, I
have been taking such poor care of myself, as if punishing myself for Pericles
having to remain in jail. Silvia, the one who brushes my hair, told me she had
just waited on Doña Tina de Ávila, the wife of Don Ramón, minister of foreign
affairs, who swears that her husband and several other ministers would like to
resign, but they don’t see how or when, and they don’t agree that there should
be more executions and would rather the sentences be commuted, especially Dr.
Romero’s, but they are afraid to raise their voices because then the general
would accuse them of treason and retaliate. I am certain this is the case.

I felt like a new woman when I left the beauty salon. Then I went to
my parents’ house. I noticed several young people on the streets wearing black
ties. I brought Mother up-to-date on my recent activities; she advised me to be
very careful, not depend on the fact that I am a respectable lady, she said,
because the worst kind of animal is a cornered animal. I mentioned what Doña
Tina had told Silvia at the beauty salon; Mother already knew — she’s friends
with Doña Tina and also with Doña Telma de Escobar, the wife of the treasury
minister. She says the situation would be comic if it weren’t so tragic: before
each meeting with the general, most of the ministers agree to explain to him the
virtues of adopting a more moderate policy and taking into consideration the
advice of friendly foreign governments, but once they are face-to-face with him
in his office, they all tremble, not one dares express the slightest dissension,
least of all regarding the death sentences, and even so, he eyes them with
suspicion and contempt, he now trusts only those in the army who remained loyal
to him.

On my way back home I came across more young people wearing black
ties. Betito is the one who explained to me, when we sat down to eat, that it’s
a form of protest by the university students, an expression of mourning for
those executed and for Dr. Romero’s capture. While she served us cannelloni,
María Elena mentioned that she had just seen Chente on his way home for lunch
from the university, and he was also wearing a black tie. Betito asked me if he
could wear one of his father’s ties; I answered that he isn’t a university
student, the tie of his school uniform is green, and black doesn’t match, and
anyway he doesn’t like wearing ties, he is always complaining about it, and his
father doesn’t like other people wearing his clothes. But he insisted. In the
afternoon he went out wearing Pericles’s tie.

I had plans this afternoon to have coffee with Carmela and Chelón,
but I got a very bad migraine. I slept for a while. I woke up with cramps, my
spirits very low, and with an overwhelming desire to cry and stay in bed alone.
The beginning of my period made me feel like I was being crushed by a huge log,
so heavy was the load of nervous exhaustion I was carrying. I didn’t leave my
bedroom even for dinner; María Elena brought me tea and sweet rolls. Betito came
in a while ago to ask me how I was and tell me that Chente said that six
soldiers are guarding Dr. Romero at the San Miguel hospital, the delegation of
medical students is already there to protect him, and they are looking for a way
to help him escape once his health improves. I am not in as much pain now, but I
don’t know if I’ll be in any shape tomorrow to attend the meeting at Doña
Consuelo’s house.

Wednesday April 19

Things have blown sky high: they’ve arrested Chente.
There was a confrontation between the police and the students; several were
arrested. The rector has decided to shut down the university. Raúl and Rosita
are out of their minds with worry. It happened late this morning. I was lying on
the sofa, a hot water bottle on my belly, when the radio reported the riots, the
arrests, and the suspension of classes until further notice. I immediately had
an intuition that Chente was among those arrested; afterward I became even more
alarmed, imagining that Betito might have decided to skip school and join the
university students. María Elena tried to reassure me: she said the radio
newscasters hadn’t mentioned anything about high school students or minors, and
Betito was surely at school. But I was still worried; I even forgot about the
discomfort of my period. I called his school to ask. Everything was fine, the
principal told me. Then I called the Alvarados’ house. I was right: Raúl had
just called Rosita to tell her of Chente’s arrest. The poor thing was crying her
eyes out; and she was scolding him under her breath: she had warned him, but
that boy is so stubborn, they’re going to mistreat him, she can’t understand why
children don’t pay attention to their mothers; she said what we often say as a
defense against pain and fear. For a moment I thought she’d turn against me. But
no; instead, she begged for help. She said that Raúl and the other professors
were on their way to the Black Palace. I called Doña Chayito. She already knew,
and she told me she had just spoken to the American ambassador to ask him to
take a stand on this issue, and she said most of the students who’d been
arrested were medical students, and the board of the Salvadoran Medical
Association had made an urgent request for an audience with the general; she
told me she’d have more news at the meeting that afternoon. I stayed to keep
Rosita company until Raúl arrived; some neighbors came to visit, to offer their
support; and two more plainclothes policemen have appeared on our street to
watch us, as María Elena pointed out to me. At one moment, Rosita lost control:
she let out some bloodcurdling screams, as if Chente were dead; she rued her bad
luck, recalling the tragedy of her daughter Dolores, who was two years older
than Chente and died of fulminating peritonitis, weeks before her
fiesta
rosa
, her fifteenth birthday celebration, a girl we never had a chance
to meet but whose photos I’ve seen on a kind of altar on a shelf in the
Alvarados’ living room. Thank God Raúl arrived when he did, because we couldn’t
find any way to comfort Rosita; the poor man looked quite shaken when he arrived
but quickly pulled himself together, gave her some tranquilizers, and managed to
convince her to lie down. Then he told us that the police had provoked the
confrontation in order to arrest the students, taking advantage of the fact that
the campus is only one block away from the Government Palace; he assured me that
the board of the Salvadoran Medical Association remains in a state of emergency,
and he said that final year students, who work as interns at the hospitals, are
threatening to go on strike.