Tyrant Memory (3 page)

I had planned to go to the bank then to visit Carmela after the
worst heat of the day had passed, in the afternoon, but I chose to stay home
until Clemen woke up; I feel uncomfortable leaving him alone with María Elena.
He woke up an hour and a half later, complained that I hadn’t woken him up
earlier, and rushed off to the radio station. I begged him not to stop on the
way to quench his thirst with a beer. The reasons we have the children we have
has always been a mystery to me: who could have predicted, when Clemen was a
baby, that he would have so few of my traits, or those of Pericles or his
grandparents, and instead would inherit all the good and the bad of his Uncle
Lalo, my father’s youngest brother, charming and scatterbrained, always on the
lookout for revels and women? I have accepted God’s will and have made my peace
with it; Pericles has had a more difficult time doing so. My father claims that
since Uncle Lalo was killed just a few weeks before Clemen was born, his spirit
entered him.

Thursday, March 30

Pati called to tell me that she is pregnant; the doctor
confirmed it this morning. She is happy, though she says that Pericles’s
situation casts a pall over the joyous news; I warned her against confounding
her feelings: one thing is her sadness over her father’s imprisonment and quite
another the happiness that he himself will have when he hears the good news. And
so it was: Pericles was delighted when I told him. What I didn’t tell him is
that I have hopes he will be freed tomorrow, Friday, two weeks from when he was
arrested, because then comes Palm Sunday and the Holy Week, and it is reasonable
to expect the general to soften up and order his release before going on
vacation; and I didn’t mention this to my husband because he has a particular
dislike for creating false hopes, for what he calls weak minds who believe in
“pipe dreams,” whereas he believes only in the facts.

My parents were also very gladdened by the news of Pati’s pregnancy.
I stopped by their place after my visit to the Black Palace. My father shares
the hope that Pericles might be released tomorrow; he said that if this happens,
we’ll have a big party on Sunday at the finca and invite the whole family, to
celebrate both events: my daughter’s pregnancy and my husband’s freedom. The
next day, on Monday, my parents will leave for Guatemala, where they like to go
for the Holy Week; when I was a teenager, I loved going with them to see the
carpets of flowers in the streets, the massive processions, especially the one
for the Holy Burial.

When I got back home, I told María Elena we must make the house
spotless for Pericles’s return, there shouldn’t be a speck of dust in his study
or on his bookshelves; we discussed the best dishes to make for lunch, for I
expect they’ll release him in the morning, as has been the case on other
occasions. We will make a watercress and bacon salad and the spinach lasagna
with cheese that Pericles likes so much; for dessert we’ll have
dulce de leche
. We’ll finally bring out the new
flowered tablecloth my sister gave me.

I think it’s a splendid sign that the rosebush in the garden has
bloomed precisely today; no more being alone. Tomorrow morning early I’ll go to
the beauty salon for a cut, shampoo, and styling. I want my husband to find me
beautiful and elegant, he deserves nothing less, without a trace of the anguish
and loneliness that I can now see on my own face.

I wonder if tomorrow, when Pericles is again by my side, I’ll have
the need and the steadfastness to keep writing in this lovely notebook, and I
tell myself that surely I won’t, I must consider this diary a friend who came to
visit me from far away, who keeps me company and comforts me during these
moments of solitude, and once her duty is done, she’ll leave, though with some
wistfulness, the same wistfulness I’ll feel when I return this notebook to my
memory trunk.

Friday of Sorrows, March 31

Oh, the horror of it! The general has ordered Pericles
transferred to the Central Prison. There’s no judicial writ, no legal process,
that evil man is simply taking revenge on my husband, who knows for what reason.
I found out late this morning after I returned from the beauty salon when I
called the Black Palace, hoping to hear of Pericles’s imminent release. There
was a tone in Colonel Monterrosa’s secretary’s voice — evasive, and he refused
to give me any information — that made me wary, then afraid that my husband was
going to remain behind bars; my wariness turned to suspicion when Don Rudecindo
refused to take my call. “Colonel Monterrosa isn’t here,” his secretary told me,
and by the way he enunciated each word I knew the colonel was there but didn’t
want to talk to me. So I hung up and dialed the palace again, but this time I
called the receptionist and asked to speak to Sergeant Machuca, for I was
certain he would tell me if something had happened, not only because of his
respect for Pericles but also because he owes my father-in-law more than one
favor. And so it was. The minute he took the phone, he began speaking in an
undertone so nobody would overhear him tell me that if I wanted to see my
husband I shouldn’t wait till noon, I must hurry to the palace at that very
moment, because he heard that Pericles was going to be transferred. I asked him
where they were taking him, and why. But Sergeant Machuca said he had to hang
up, and told me not to tarry. I didn’t waste a second. I asked María Elena to
call my parents and my in-laws immediately to let them know that Pericles was
being transferred to another prison, and that I was on my way to the Black
Palace to find out what was going on. Fortunately, my mother had lent me Don
Leo, their chauffeur, to help with the morning chores; I asked him to drive me
there as quickly as possible. He asked me if there had been an accident; as we
drove across the city at full speed, I told him about Pericles’s imminent
transfer, how on other occasions these transfers had been a way of masking the
general’s secret intention to do away with his political rivals. We soon reached
the palace. I ran upstairs to Don Rudecindo’s office; the secretary tried to
stop me, but I had already pushed open the door. The colonel was talking on the
phone, and his face changed when he saw me. I stood right in front of him and
demanded to know where my husband was. Don Rudecindo covered the mouthpiece with
his hand, asked me to have a seat and wait a moment, then motioned to his
secretary to leave the office. After hanging up, he looked me in the eyes and
said, “This morning, the president called me personally and ordered me to
transfer Don Pericles to the Central Prison.” I was in a rage, possessed. I told
him, between clenched teeth, that this was a travesty, that carrying out an
unjust order was an act of cowardice, and I would cling to my husband and force
them to take me with him. Then Don Rudecindo, glancing up at the clock on the
wall, as if he hadn’t even heard my insults, said that perhaps at that very
moment Pericles was entering the Central Prison. I became quite distressed
because I had assumed that my husband was still in the cell in the basement, but
it turned out that shortly after Sergeant Machuca had hung up, Pericles was
taken to the vehicle that transported him to his new location. I stood up and,
as if spitting out my words, muttered: “What is he going to do to my husband,
that . . . !” I was going to say “so-and-so warlock,” but I controlled myself,
even mentioning him was degrading, so I stared with profound disdain at the
general’s portrait hanging on the wall behind Don Rudecindo. He told me that
nobody was going to do anything to my husband, the president’s intention was to
gather in one place all those arrested on charges of acting against the
political order while the prosecutor’s office completed the legal procedures and
filed formal charges, and I would be able to visit him as prescribed by the law.
I turned my back on him and left.

Don Leo had parked and was waiting for me in front of the palace; I
asked him to drive me to the Central Prison. Then I thought I should have tried
to find Sergeant Machuca to get more information. I couldn’t remember at that
moment who the director of that prison was; I would have to go home to make a
few phone calls and try to pull some strings. But the most important thing at
that moment was to make sure that Pericles was there, that this didn’t turn out
to be some kind of ploy to secretly take him elsewhere. The guards refused to
let me enter until I mentioned my father-in-law’s name and rank. It seemed as if
the prison director was already expecting me, surely he’d been warned by Don
Rudecindo. His name is Eugenio Palma; he’s a colonel, ugly as sin, and his
manners were quite uncouth. I demanded to see my husband that very instant. He
told me those were not visiting hours. I was adamant, I insisted this was not
for a visit but rather to verify that Pericles was there. He called an assistant
and gave him instructions; he explained to me that he would carry out my request
as a special and personal courtesy, but he also warned me that he still didn’t
know what the visiting policy for my husband would be, he was awaiting orders,
then out of the corner of his eye he looked at the portrait of the general
hanging behind his desk. Not even five minutes later Pericles walked into the
office, escorted by the assistant. I rushed up to him happily and kissed him on
the cheek; I would have embraced him, as one might embrace someone who has been
brought back from the dead, but my husband is quite averse to public exhibitions
of emotion. The colonel introduced himself with a military bow, he assured
Pericles he would be treated with respect and in accordance with the law, and he
repeated that the visiting policy had still not been determined, but in the
meantime I could leave his food and clothes with Sergeant Flores, the assistant.
A moment later the colonel gave the order for Pericles to be taken away. I gave
him another kiss on the cheek to say goodbye; Pericles whispered in my ear that
Don Jorge had not been transferred, that he was still in the palace basement.
Before leaving, I told the colonel I would call him later to find out the daily
visiting hour; he informed me that inmates at that prison have the right to one
visit a week on the weekends. I argued that Pericles is not a criminal, but
rather a prisoner of conscience, who has not even been formally charged. He
promised to inform me as soon as he received his orders.

I got into the car and asked Leo to take me to my parents’ house. He
asked, quite concerned, about Pericles’s situation; Don Leo is a highly trusted
family employee, the son of a mechanic my grandfather brought here from his town
in Italy. I told him my husband was well, but that I still didn’t know when I
was going to be able to visit him; as I spoke, and watched the people and houses
going past the car window, I felt suddenly overwhelmed by an urge to cry, to
unburden myself, but I held back. As soon as I entered the house, my father gave
me a hug, asked me if I had visited Pericles, how he was, and told me he had
just spoken with Mr. Malcom, the British commercial attaché, and he told about
the latest vile act the Nazi warlock had committed against my husband; he also
spoke with General Chaquetilla Calderón, ex-minister of the interior, to ask him
why they had transferred Pericles to a prison for thieves and criminals; General
Calderón said he knew nothing about the case, but as soon as he had any
information he would let him know. My father has a special regard for General
Calderón because he was the military leader in charge of putting down the
communist uprising in January of ’32 in the region near the volcano and the
family finca; but this man, Chaquetilla, despises my husband, precisely because
during the uprising, when Pericles was “the man’s” personal secretary, he
expressed his reservations about the excessive cruelty he, Chaquetilla, was
using against the indigenous population. I immediately called my father-in-law,
who naturally was already aware of the development, and the only thing he said
was that I mustn’t worry, perhaps remaining locked up for Holy Week would force
my husband to reflect on the advisability of showing some respect for order and
authority; I would have liked to answer him with a strong riposte, but I sensed
the helplessness and sorrow behind his words; then he asked me about Clemente,
if I had any news of my son, which took me by surprise and made me fear that he
had been drinking too much again and that news had reached Cojutepeque. But at
that moment I didn’t have time to concern myself about Clemen. I called Mr.
Pineda, the lawyer, and informed him what was going on; he told me there would
soon be a court hearing. Lastly, I managed to get in touch with Ramón Ávila,
minister of foreign affairs and justice, who is quite fond of my husband; I
asked him to please intercede on his behalf with the general, I told him I was
making this request without Pericles’s knowledge because I am very concerned
over the direction events have taken; he expressed regret about the situation
and told me I could rest assured, he would do everything in his power. I do
trust Mr. Ávila, he behaved honorably even when Pericles decided to resign as
ambassador to Brussels, whereas that Chaquetilla, I’m certain, is behind the
conspiracy against my husband.

I returned home so María Elena and I could prepare the basket of
food and clean clothes for Pericles. We arrived at the Central Prison just
before noon and asked for Sergeant Flores. They would not let me past the foyer;
only after I persisted did the sergeant come out to see me. He took the basket
and told me I could visit Pericles tomorrow between three and four o’clock in
the afternoon. I asked him if this would be my daily visiting hour; he answered
that he had information only about Saturday, only what he just told me, and
nothing more. I stood there with María Elena in front of the gate of the Central
Prison, stunned, then with deep sadness, because I realized that I might not be
able to eat lunch with Pericles again until he is released.