Tyrant Memory (19 page)

“I’d rather that than drown. No way in hell I’m getting back in a
canoe and back out onto the high seas. If you want to try it again, you can go
to Punta Cosigüina alone . . .”

“. . .”

“It’s true, right, you learned your lesson, too?”

“It was a miracle, Clemen . . .”

“Damn right it was a miracle. If it hadn’t been for that sand bank,
we would’ve drowned. And luckily the upside-down canoe was floating on the empty
water barrel . . . If the canoe had sunk, we wouldn’t have lived to tell
it.”

“That’s not what I was talking about.”

“About how long were we floating around holding onto the
canoe, adrift and about to drown, until we hit the sand bank?”

“I’m telling you it was a miracle because I prayed to the Virgin . .
.”

“At least a quarter of an hour, hovering between life and death. I
still can’t believe it.”

“She heard my pleas . . .”

“What the hell are you talking about, Jimmy?”

“The Virgin answered when I cried out, ‘Virgin of Guadalupe, save
us!’”

“The Virgin answered you?”

“That’s right.”

“You’re crazy, Jimmy.”

“It was just seconds after I prayed for her to save us, after I
shouted out in despair, that we hit the sand bank.”

“But, what . . .”

“You don’t believe me? You didn’t hear me shouting?”

“We were all shouting, scared shitless, Jimmy, don’t be an ass. The
one who shouted loudest was that fat oarsman, the one next to me, who didn’t
know how to swim and was squealing like a pig . . . He almost pulled me under,
the motherfucker. He sure made up for his silence earlier . . .”

“That good-for-nothing, he’s why you didn’t hear me shout.”

“We all asked God to save us and now it turns out the Virgin
answered you. I think it was really bad for you to dress up as a priest . .
.”

“I’m telling you, it was a miracle. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Okay, so the Virgin was right there, in the waves, waiting for you
to pray to her. Really? She appeared to you, without the rest of us seeing
her?”

“Stop making fun of me.”

“So stop talking crap. We were lucky we capsized before we’d
gotten too far from shore. That’s what really happened.”

“You don’t believe in miracles?”

“Yeah, but the miracle wasn’t for you, it was for all of us, and it
wasn’t because you shouted but because we all begged for help. You military guys
think that even God is under your command . . .”

“If we come out of this alive, I’m going to go to the Basilica of
Guadalupe in Mexico to offer up thanks.”

“Just pass me the water, I’m thirsty again.”

“Here . . . Careful! Don’t fall!

“Calm down . . .”

“. . .”

“Jimmy, about what time is it?”

“I lost my watch in the wreck.”

“I know, but you’re good at figuring out the time. You think it’s
about nine?”

“My father gave it to me, before he died.”

“. . .”

“It was my best keepsake from him.”

“I don’t know why we had to get involved in this . . .”

“What are you talking about, Clemen?”

“The coup. The whole thing. Look where we are: in a canal lost in
the middle of a swamp in the bay, in this little boat, without the least idea
what will become of us.”

“We’re alive, that’s what matters most.”

“You know what would be the worst, Jimmy? If after all this they
caught us . . .”

“Don’t even think about it. I’m not going to let them get me. If you
want to surrender, go ahead, but I’ve got this gun.”

“That Mono Harris, what a guy, he even left you his gun.”

“We owe him our lives. He got us this boat, he towed us into this
canal that is difficult to find, and he came back to bring us provisions. He’s
like our guardian angel.”

“My poor mother must be worried to death. And Mila and the kids . .
.”

“Truth is, Clemen, I don’t understand why you got involved in the
coup. You’re not in the military and you’re not even very interested in
politics; you just like to be a radio announcer, work in the theater, drink, the
ladies . . . Why did you get involved?”

“Because we have to get rid of that son of a bitch . . .”

“A lot of people think that but they don’t take the risk and
participate in a coup.”

“And you, why did you get involved?”

“For me, it was simple: I’m in the military, and I swore to defend
the constitution that scoundrel is violating. But you? . . . Don’t start getting
nervous again.”

“My father is in prison. Doesn’t that count? There’s no freedom
anymore.”

“You’ll excuse me for saying so, Clemen, but you aren’t anything
like my uncle. He’s a politician, a serious man who maintains a strong stand in
opposition to the general . . . But there’s no way I can see you as a politician
. . . Did you think this was some kind of adventure that would turn you into a
hero?”

“Man, dressing up as a priest really did mess you up . . . Now you
want to confess me . . .”

“There’s no way to have a serious conversation with you.”

“The only thing I know is that I’ll never get involved with anything
to do with the military again. You guys are a fiasco.”

“Don’t let’s start on this again.”

“Defend the constitution . . . ? Don’t make me laugh, Jimmy. You
think I’m going to believe you that a turd like Tito Calvo or that mama’s boy
General Marroquín got involved in the coup to defend the constitution? Who knows
how much money Don Agustín offered them, not knowing they wouldn’t have the
balls to do it right . . .”

“Stop defaming the dead.”

“I hope that strike works, the one Mono Harris told us about.”

“If we couldn’t bring him down by force, there’s no way it can be
done with a strike.”

“So then what? The motherfucker will be in power for the rest of his
life?”

“That’s why we should leave any way we can.”

“What about the gringos? Why don’t they get involved once and for
all and finish off that Nazi?”

“I already told you what Captain Masey told me: ‘You put him in, you
take him out.’”

“How convenient for them, as if they didn’t have anything to do with
it . . . Look at those clouds, Jimmy: really weird . . .”

“You’re right.”

“A storm . . . That’s all we need.”

“No. It’s fog, a fog bank’s coming this way.”

“Along the coast? That’s strange. That only happens in the
mountains.”

“Well, here it is.”

“Now there’s a breeze. I really can’t see anything, Jimmy. It’s so
dark . . .”

“Shhh . . . Quiet . . .”

“What’s going on?”

“Listen . . .”

“What?”

“A noise . . .”

“It’s the waves.”

“No, listen.”

“. . .”

“I’m going to row us into the mangroves.”

“Go on, then.”

“Lower your voice . . .”

“I don’t like this foggy air; it gives me goose bumps.”

“We’ll stay here behind the branches. Here we’ve got cover and we
can see if anyone is coming up the canal.”

“Jimmy, I can’t see anything.”

“Keep your voice down. Don’t you understand?”

“This is like a nightmare. I’ve never been somewhere like this, it’s
so creepy . . .”

“It’s just fog. Try to control your fear . . .”

“At any moment some vermin can attack us from these branches. They
say the bats in the mangroves are savage.”

“Something’s approaching . . .”

“Where?”

“Over there, at the entrance to the canal.”

“Fuck!”

“Shhh . . . Sounds like a canoe. You see the glow? They must have a
lamp on the floor.”

“Maybe it’s the soldiers?”

“I told you, Clemen, we can’t trust . . . Let’s hide.”

“They might be fishermen . . .”

“I don’t think so. They’re staying on the other side of the canal.
If they were fishermen, they’d go down the middle.”

“Don’t shoot, Jimmy.”

“Shh . . . Here they come.”

“I can’t see anything.”

“I can only see one silhouette. That’s it.”

“The soldier with the gold tooth?!”

“If it were him, there’d be two of them. A soldier never goes alone,
they’re always in pairs . . .”

“I saw him, Jimmy!”

“Maybe the other one is hiding on the floor of the canoe. That’s it:
we can’t see the other one, but he must have his rifle at the ready in the bow
and we can only make out the one in the rear.”

“It’s not a soldier, it’s a woman . . .”

“How could it be?”

“Look at that hair.”

“It’s a helmet.”

“No it’s not, it’s a woman’s hair.”

“You’re hallucinating, Clemen.”

“Did you hear?”

“I hope they leave . . . I hope they leave.”

“It was a laugh . . .”

“Quiet . . . They’re going past us.”

“The woman is laughing.”

“Luckily, they’re going toward the other end of the canal. If they
come back this way, I’ll take them by surprise.”

“Didn’t you hear the laughter, Jimmy?”

“What laughter? You’re nuts.”

“This makes my hair curl . . .”

“That’s from the humidity. You’re letting fear get the better of you
. . . They’re leaving.”

“I swear I heard a laugh.”

“I just hope they don’t come back . . .”

Haydée’s Diary

Friday April 21

Doña Chayito came over very early this morning, just as I
was sitting down to breakfast. I wasn’t expecting her. I asked her if there was
an emergency. She said this was the best time of day to shake off the police who
are tailing her, even the ones prowling around my house hadn’t come on duty yet.
I invited her to have breakfast with me; she said she’d already eaten, but she
would love a cup of coffee. She explained that the time had come to show our
opposition to the general’s intransigence, that if we allow ourselves to be
intimidated, who knows when we will see our imprisoned family members again, we
must seize the opportunity, take advantage of this climate of deep unrest the
students’ arrests have generated throughout the society. She then said that we
must call all our supporters to join the protest march from the El Calvario
Church to the Central Prison on Sunday after ten o’clock Mass, but we must be
sure to spread the word as discreetly as possible, keep it a secret, so we can
take the general by surprise. She said it would be best if those who attend the
earlier Mass or go to a different church not change their plans, to avoid
raising suspicions, and they should arrive at El Calvario at precisely eleven
o’clock, the time the march will begin. She explained the plan with excitement
and great precision, as if she’d gone over and over it in her head. She said we
should all wear black, and the men should wear black ties; we should all carry a
piece of folded white cardboard in our handbags as well as a thick marker to
write our slogans demanding freedom for our family members during the last few
minutes of Mass without running the risk of being stopped by the authorities and
caught red-handed on the way from our houses to church, and that after the march
we can leave the signs in front of the Central Prison. I asked her whom we will
ask to join us; she said everyone who supports our cause, but it is important we
invite each person individually, not en masse, that way each person will take it
upon him or herself to come and the secret will be kept, and we should never
talk about it over the phone.

In spite of her doubts, Rosita has agreed to join the march. We went
together to talk to Dr. Moreno’s wife, Doña Juana, who not only seemed excited
about it but also acted like a seasoned veteran and had very strong words
against the general; then we went to see Dr. Salazar’s wife, Doña Cleo, who was
exactly the opposite and rekindled Rosita’s doubts, afraid that her
participation in the march would hamper her son’s release. I had to remind them
of my experience with Pericles, and especially that of Doña Chayito and the
other mothers who have suffered with their sons, who are also students, being in
jail for weeks now already; I tried to help them understand that the situation
of our loved ones has gone from bad to worse, and the general has turned a deaf
ear. I warned all three not to speak on the telephone about our plans or mention
anything to anybody else, as there are spies and informers everywhere.

I had two surprises this afternoon. The first was a call from
Angelita, Pericles’s first cousin; we console each other over our lack of news
about Clemen and Jimmy. It was a normal conversation, chatting about this and
that, until she asked me if I knew anything about plans for a protest march in
support of political prisoners. She caught me off guard, but I managed to react
appropriately: I said no, I had heard nothing about it, and I asked her to tell
me what she had heard. She told me that a rumor had reached her, and she thought
that since I was in the group of families of political prisoners who had met
with the ambassador, I would know about it, and she said if she heard anything
more she would call to let me know. I told her that so many political rumors are
circulating one no longer knows what to believe.

The other surprise came in the evening at Mother’s house, where the
Figueroas and my sister Cecilia were also visiting. They spoke excitedly about
Luz María’s wedding, which will be held in a month at the cathedral in Santa
Ana, and about the party afterward at the Casino Santaneco. Carlota showed me a
sketch of the gown her daughter will wear and compared it to the one she wore
and those Cecilia and I had worn at our respective weddings, and she complained
that because of the war in Europe it is well-nigh impossible to order an
exclusive design from Paris. She told me there’s been a disagreement in her
family about the guest list, in the wake of the attempted coup and the
executions, because Carlota’s mother’s family has always been involved in
politics — her grandfather was once the president of the republic — and now
several members of her family are repudiating the general and vow not to attend
the wedding if old family friends who have remained loyal to the government are
invited. I also found out that Nicolás Armando’s sons will be groomsmen, about
how excited Cecilia is to make her grandchildren’s suits and attend the wedding
rehearsals; I felt a stab in my heart to think what my poor grandchildren might
suffer because of their foolish mother. Later, while I was in the kitchen making
tea, Carlota came to tell me she is worried about Fabito, her eldest, who is
studying medicine, and who has become deeply involved in organizing protests
against the general, she fears he’ll be arrested at any moment. I told her how
surprised I was, I knew nothing about Fabito’s political involvement, though I
did not think it so odd considering the fact that the general has been attacking
the medical society and medical students. But the conversation didn’t end there:
very secretively, so nobody else would hear, Carlota revealed that Fabito was a
member of a delegation of students who traveled to the hospital in San Miguel to
meet with Dr. Romero and prepare a plan for his escape, he could speak with him
in French (Fabio senior took Carlota and her children with him when he went to
Paris for a residency) and that way outwit the two soldiers stationed in his
hospital room, but Dr. Romero convinced him that the escape plan wasn’t viable,
that it was, in fact, suicidal. I told her it was fortunate Fabito had escaped
the sweep Chente and his fellow students had been caught up in. Then she told me
that’s precisely her fear: Fabito is organizing a march next Sunday to protest
the arrests of the students, and she’s afraid that this time he won’t escape,
and they will take him straight to jail. It was a pity that at that moment Mama
and Cecilia came into the kitchen, along with other friends who had just
arrived, and we couldn’t continue talking.

I dined at Carmela and Chelón’s house. I told them about the plan
for Sunday, how desperate we are because the general is still keeping us away
from our family members at the Central Prison, that this protest march is a last
resort to pressure the government. I asked Carmela to accompany me to ten
o’clock Mass, though I made it clear I was not asking her to join the march,
because I know that she and Chelón abstain from any political activity, but my
best friend’s presence at church would bring me comfort and give me strength.
She said she would, of course, she would be there. I said to Chelón teasingly
that he was off the hook, for if Pericles found out that he had attended Mass,
even to demand his release, he would never forgive the betrayal.

A while ago María Elena told me Betito has not been home since
school let out. It seems he has something cooking with Henry and his other
friends; I wouldn’t be surprised if they too were planning for Sunday, together
with the university students. I will speak with him tomorrow morning early. With
so much commotion, Doña Chayito’s appeal for prudence and secrecy will surely be
to no avail.

Saturday April 22

An intense day, as if there had been electricity in the
air. Seems like everybody and his brother knows about the march, though almost
nobody speaks about it openly. Around mid-morning I ran into Mingo at the
Americana drugstore. Irmita is doing very poorly; I promised to stop by to see
her in the afternoon. Standing at the counter, while the pharmacist was filling
our prescriptions, I was dying to ask Mingo if he had heard about the march, but
I refrained. When we got outside, he beat me to it and told me under his breath
that the university students were planning a protest against their classmates’
arrest, that the situation is very tense; he then told me the good news that
yesterday the government finally gave Serafín safe passage to leave the country
for exile in Guatemala, apparently the Americans applied strong pressure on them
to grant him authorization, and on Monday he will leave under the protection of
the Guatemalan consul. We agreed we’d continue our conversation when I stopped
by his house in the afternoon.

Then I went to my parents’ house for a while. Father, Uncle
Charlie, and Güicho Sol were drinking coffee on the patio; I joined them. I
wanted to know if Father had heard about the march tomorrow. I didn’t even have
to ask: Uncle Charlie spoke about the need to organize other forms of protest to
remove the Nazi warlock, he said the university students are preparing a strike,
and it would be best to support them, their idea is that everybody will join the
strike until the general understands that nobody in this whole country wants
him; Güicho disagreed with him, he said the warlock understands only the
language of force, and what’s called for is another military uprising but this
time led by officers who aren’t as stupid and cowardly as those who let the
general prevail, and if such officers don’t appear the only choice will be for
American troops to invade. My uncle insisted that the idea of a strike is not
unreasonable, but Güicho replied that with a strike one runs not only the risk
of it being infiltrated by communists but also of them taking over. Then Uncle
Charlie asked what time it was. I told him it was ten to eleven. He asked me to
please move my watch ahead ten minutes, he was desperate for a shot of whiskey,
and he had made a solemn vow not to have his first drink until after eleven in
the morning. That meant that I should stand up and go to the kitchen for the ice
bucket, mineral water, and booze, because they were going to discuss men’s
subjects, which would be inappropriate for me.

Don Leo was loitering about the kitchen, so I asked him to drive me
to the Figueroas’ place. Mother asked if something was going on; I told her I
just wanted to pick up the furniture catalogue Carlota still hadn’t returned, it
would only take me a minute. I asked Juani to bring the drinks to the men on the
patio. On the way to the Figueroas’, Don Leo brought me up-to-date on the war in
Italy; he said the American troops are advancing relentlessly and soon they will
liberate his village, he fears for his nephews who supported Mussolini and who
will now take a beating, though he right away began to rant and rave against
them, as he always does; he also predicted the Americans would occupy Rome
within a few weeks. I noticed several policemen lurking around Carlota’s house,
then I remembered that several government ministers live along these few blocks
of Arce Street, including Dr. Ávila. Carlota was very anxious when she greeted
me. She confirmed that the university students’ march to protest the arrests and
executions will be held tomorrow morning, but she couldn’t tell me if they would
also leave from El Calvario Church, as I suspect they will, because Fabito comes
home only to sleep, he spends all his time plotting against the general and
doesn’t tell Carlota anything, and that’s why she scolds him every chance she
gets for devoting all his time to politics instead of concentrating on his
medical studies. I asked Carlota if she will join the march to demand that they
spare Dr. Romero’s life, for he is a good friend of the family; she answered
that those are men’s problems and she hates politics, it brings nothing but
misfortune, and she cannot imagine running through the streets with the police
chasing after her, she would die of fear. Then I recommended she be prepared
because Fabito could be arrested at any moment, and she would have to come to
terms with the situation, as my neighbors and so many others have had to.
Carlota made a face of despair, then whimpered that hopefully God would spare
her from undergoing such a trial.

I returned to my parents’ house believing that the march tomorrow
would be much larger than what I had thought and that of all of us, perhaps only
Doña Chayito is aware of this. My belief turned into a certainty after I
conversed with Mingo this afternoon: he told me all the journalists know about
the protest march and if the journalists know, so do the general’s secret
police; he told me he wouldn’t be surprised if by morning El Calvario Church and
the entire downtown area is occupied by National Guard troops. Mingo was quite
uneasy. And for good reason: Irmita is doing worse than I thought: she’s having
difficulty breathing, she has terrible back pain, and she’s very pale. She does
not have tuberculosis, the doctors already told her, though they still haven’t
been able to give her a diagnosis. God willing it isn’t cancer.

I admitted to my parents that I intend to participate in the march.
Mother is very worried, she tried to dissuade me, and she asked me to prohibit
Betito from joining the protests; Father warned me to be careful, he told me
about continued rumors of unrest within the army and about the Nazi warlock
getting crazier than ever. I promised them I would do everything possible to
convince Betito to stay home, but I also told them they must understand how
difficult it is to reign in the enthusiasm of a fifteen-year-old boy whose
father is in jail and whose older brother is a fugitive, fleeing from a death
sentence. And that’s exactly what happened at dinner when I told Betito that it
would be best for him to remain at home, not to take any risks — he responded
very decisively that he would not let me go alone, he would stay by my side; I
did not feel I had the moral authority to order him to do anything else.