Beyond the Ties of Blood

by Florencia Mallon

  “Irene!?”

  They jumped apart. When Irene focused her eyes, she saw Eugenia, holding the hand of a long-haired, red-bearded young man who looked like he’d just stepped off the plane from Cuba. For a while no one spoke. Irene recovered first.

  “Well,” she said, casting an eye toward Eugenia’s companion, “it seems we’ve both been keeping secrets from Mamita.

  “Gabriela,” she continued, “this is my sister, Eugenia.” She looked back at the revolutionary poster child. “And who is this?”

  Eugenia gave Gabriela an awkward kiss on the cheek, then took the young man’s hand. “This is Manuel,” she said. Irene and Manuel touched cheeks. In the silence that followed, the rush of the swollen river was distinctly audible in the background.

  “Well, compañeras,” Manuel said, “let me suggest that we adjourn to Eugenia’s and my favorite restaurant, for a bottle of red wine. My treat.”

  They sat inside, at the table nearest the small gas heater. They didn’t have to fight for the choice location, because no one else was there. It was clear that Manuel and Eugenia were regulars, because the waiter brought them a bottle of Santa Rita without even being asked, uncorked it, and poured out four small glasses. “Anything to eat, compadre?” he asked Manuel. They all shook their heads in unison, then nursed their wine in silence. Manuel passed around a pack of black tobacco cigarettes, and the sharp fragrance filled the air as Eugenia and Gabriela joined him. The gas heater hissed quietly in the corner near them, casting a copper glow across the marble tabletop.

  “Eugenia tells me you’re a chemist,” Manuel said to Irene, breaking the silence at last.

  “I guess you could say that,” she answered. “Though I don’t have a degree yet.”

  “And you, Gabriela?” Manuel asked after a few more minutes had passed.

  “We met at the lab,” Irene answered quickly. “Gabriela is a lab technician.”

  The hissing heater, the light clicks of the wine glasses against the table, only deepened the hush that settled upon them after that. Finally the waiter approached to remove the empty wine bottle. “Do you want another, compadre?” he asked. Looking around the table, Manuel nodded. Once the waiter brought the bottle and refilled the glasses, Manuel raised his. “Here’s to all of us. Anybody want a sandwich? I’m treating.” Eugenia and Manuel ordered their usual steak and avocado, but Irene and Gabriela preferred ham and cheese. The familiar routine of ordering helped ease the initial awkwardness that still hovered in the air.

  About halfway through her sandwich and three quarters done with the second bottle of wine, Eugenia looked at her sister. “When you rented an apartment,” she said, “I guess I believed you when you said it was because of your work.” She looked briefly in Gabriela’s direction.

  “Hold on a minute,” Irene said. “The experiments actually do have to be checked at two in the morning, at least three times a week. Besides, there’s no reason that I couldn’t keep my relationship a secret from Mama, just like you are. In fact, it would be a whole lot easier, because I could say we were just friends.”

  “Well,” Eugenia said, “I’d hoped that when you got back we’d be able to distract the police together, if you know what I mean. But now I’m the one running interference again, just like in the old days, and I don’t like it. Before, when Mama and Papa had their huge crisis, you were just waltzing along in your own life, and then you left, and who do you think had to pick up the pieces …” Eugenia caught herself and sat back, taking a deep breath. Manuel and Gabriela were moving their heads back and forth as if following a tennis match. Eugenia’s hand trembled as she lifted her glass to her lips to drink the last remaining drops of the Santa Rita.

  “I think that’s enough wine for now,” Manuel said. “Let’s have some hot tea. Compadre! A pot of black tea and four cups, please! Bring some hot milk, too!”

  They busied themselves with the pouring, adding milk and sugar cubes, stirring, sipping. Everyone but Irene lit up another cigarette. It was raining again outside, though more gently than earlier in the day, and the drops slanting against the window combined with the occasional sputter of the heater to throw a blanket of syncopation over the group’s jangled nerves.

  “Maybe it’s not my place to get involved,” Gabriela suggested eventually. “Irene and I have known each other less than a month. I don’t know what it’s been like in your family. But I have a sister. She’s the next one younger than me, and we’ve been like twins all our lives, only eleven months apart. We were always finishing each other’s sentences. In high school we covered for each other, you know? When we started hanging out with guys, or smoking behind the school, or taking our first drink, it was like we were figuring everything out together.

  “But in my last year of high school, there was this girl from the neighborhood. She was a year older, had started at the teachers’ college and was still living at home with her parents. We started talking one day at the local store, and one thing led to another. Long story short, my sister caught us one Sunday in the park, pretty much like what just happened today. I’m not sure she’s over it yet, and it’s been three years. And with me going to technical school, then getting this job … well, I don’t think our relationship will ever be the same. Sure, she’s been cool about keeping the secret, she’s loyal to me and everything, but we’ll never be as close again.

  “Running into each other the way we did today, none of us planned it. So maybe we should just be a little patient with each other.”

  Manuel had been listening intently, his head cocked sideways, left index finger rubbing the edge of his teacup. When he finally spoke, his voice was coarse. “Maybe you’ll think this is stupid,” he began, “but listening to all three of you I’m feeling pretty jealous, to tell the truth. No, wait!” He lifted his hand as all three seemed poised to answer at the same time. “I don’t mean to say it’s been easy for you, no. But you’re all talking about having somebody to share the family stuff with. Sure, maybe you’d like things to be different, for the other one to understand you better, support you better, who knows? But at least you have someone.” He took a sip of his tea.

  “I grew up an only child. Whenever there was conflict, I was the only one who stood there and took it, or dished it out sometimes. The big arguments were always my mom and me. We haven’t seen each other since I came to Santiago. I write her now and then, and she writes me back, but I don’t know when, if ever, we’ll get past it. At least you, compañeras, can run interference for each other. That’s the point of having a brother or a sister, it seems to me. And it’s easier for me to see it, maybe, because I never had anyone.”

  September 11, 1973

  Irene didn’t know what woke her at first. The room was still dark, though she could see threads of light through the slats in the venetian blinds. Turning on her side, she saw the numbers glowing on the clock. A few minutes after eleven. Oh, yes. Tuesday. She and Gabriela had stayed in the lab until close to three in the morning. Turning onto her back, she stretched slightly. This was definitely the nicest morning of the week, when they were able to drink coffee in bed, get up when they wanted, and relax over a late lunch.

  She turned in the other direction and found Gabriela’s back, the skin so soft. Irene allowed her hand to linger, tracing the tight curve along the side, over the small mole parallel with the ribs, down to the waist. She nuzzled Gabriela’s shoulder, taking in the musky fragrance of sandalwood and tobacco. It was still so new to her, this deep connection, this predictable familiarity. Every morning reaching out, just in case. And every morning thinking, good. She’s still here.

  But there was something different. Silence. Eleven o’clock in the morning, their apartment overlooking the main avenue downtown. Even though they were on the fifth floor, by this point on a weekday morning there was at least the muffled sound of traffic on the street below. Was it the silence that had awakened her?

  And then she heard it, the sibilant scream of jet engines. So close to downto
wn? She jumped up and, pulling on her bathrobe, went running out to the living room balcony in time to see the next Hawker buzzing by, so close she could almost touch it. Immediately a loud boom, and a cloud of smoke rose a few blocks away. And she knew. After all the waiting, the denial that it could happen in Chile, the pressure from right-wing parties, the military was overthrowing Allende. They were bombing the Moneda.

  She ran back into the bedroom and turned on the radio. Though she kept moving the dial, all she could find was military music. Gabriela stirred.

  “What’s going on, Nenita, let me sleep, okay, I—” Suddenly she was wide awake. “What in the hell?”

  “It’s happening, it’s finally happening. They’re bombing the presidential palace, the jets are coming in right over our building.”

  At that instant, Irene’s constant moving of the radio dial paid off. It was Allende’s voice. “Surely this will be the last time I will address you …” Irene turned on the bedside lamp. The two women sat on their bed, holding hands, then putting their arms around each other, as they listened to their president say good-bye through the crackling static and the occasional screech and boom until, finally, he was done.

  They sat quietly, each feeling the other’s tears on her neck. For several months now, street fights between Allende’s supporters and the increasingly confident right wing had become a daily routine. Then, a few weeks before, organized women of the Right had roamed through the city, scattering chicken feed at the doors of all the top Army generals, symbolically taunting them to take action against the government. Days later, the commander-in-chief of the army, the last holdout known for his democratic leanings, had resigned.

  After a few more jets shrieked down over their building, delivering their murderous message a few blocks away, an eerie silence settled over downtown Santiago. No cars or buses, no voices seeping in from the street. Then Gabriela tensed and sat up straight.

  “Ay! Papa! I have to call home! He had orders from the union!”

  “Gabita, the phones won’t be working.”

  “Have to try! Maybe I’ll be lucky …” Her voice faded away as she ran into the living room to pick up the phone. Then, after a few seconds: “Hello, Mamita, it’s—yes, we heard him. And Papa? Oh, no, and when did he—do you think you’ll—yes, we’ll be here. No, when he finished we—yes, you’re right, we’ll put on one of the other stations, at least we’ll—yes. And Mamita? If you hear anything, anything at all about Papa, you call right away. Promise? Yes, mi amor, me too. I’ll tell her.”

  When Gabriela got back to the bedroom she collapsed against Irene.

  “Where’d he go?”

  “Just as I thought, he went to union headquarters. He left hours ago. Mamita was beside herself! At least she has sense enough to know there’s no point to going out looking for him.”

  “What do you think we should do?”

  “You heard me. There’s really nothing we can do right now.”

  “So I guess all we can do is wait.”

  “That’s right, Nenita. But what about Eugenia and Manuel? And your mother?”

  “At their new place where they had to move last week, they don’t have a phone. So I think it’s best to wait and see what they’re saying on the radio. Depends on whether they let us out on the streets, plus I don’t want to lead any spies directly to Manuel. I guess I really don’t know what to do. As for Mamita, I’m sure she’ll be fine, since this is what she’s been wanting all along. But I’ll give her a call since the phones are working, just to make sure.”

  After Irene got through to doña Isabel and made sure everything was fine, there was really nothing else they could do. On the radio, everyone was being ordered to stay home. Anyone on the street would be considered a subversive, the announcers insisted. After three o’clock in the afternoon, they would be shot on sight. Luckily, they had just done some grocery shopping a couple of days before.

  They showered and dressed, then made some coffee. They raised all the blinds in the apartment and spent time on the balcony, looking out at the smoke that hung, shroud-like, over the presidential palace. The mist settled grey and heavy upon the street, its humidity gathering like tears on the sidewalks. Even after the fog dispersed, the plumes spreading out from the palace, rancid with electric smoke, obscured the sun and made it hard to breathe. Every now and then a jeep full of soldiers zoomed down the avenue, and occasionally they heard gunfire, shouts, or screams. Radio and television spewed military music, punctuated by orders of the day. Occasionally lists of names were read, people who were supposed to give themselves up immediately to the authorities. There was no sunset that day, only a sudden falling from ash to black.

  Sometime after dark, when they had forced themselves to sit down and eat a little bread and cheese and were finishing a bottle of red wine left over from the weekend, the phone rang. Gabriela answered.

  “Mamita? What—oh, thank God! When did he—yes, all right. No, of course not. And Mamita, please, just listen a moment. Yes. He shouldn’t step out anymore now, okay? What? You’re right, it’s hard to believe that Papa would ever say anything like that. But I think he’s right, Mamita, and I think maybe you should think about joining him. Yes. Well, at least it’s something to think about. And don’t worry, me and Nenita, we’ll talk to Dr. McKinley and see what he says. Yes. I’ll call you back when I have some news. I’m not sure, but probably not before tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Sounds like good news,” Irene said when Gabriela came back into the kitchen.

  “Papi walked in half an hour ago. He got to about two blocks from union headquarters and saw a military truck speeding off in the other direction. There were people in the back, with soldiers guarding them. He got the message and ducked into a side street. He’s been hiding in the shadows since then. I can’t believe how lucky he was.”

  “What was that about talking to McKinley?”

  “Seems Papi’s had enough. He doesn’t want to live in a country where soldiers can do what he saw in the streets today. He says he wants to get out. I said we’d talk to Dr. McKinley about the Canadian embassy.”

  As soon as the curfew lifted, Irene and Gabriela went to the lab. Dr. McKinley was talking excitedly on the phone. After he hung up, he came over to them, giving them each a hug.

  “Am I glad to see you’re all right,” he said in his slightly accented Spanish. “The phones have been ringing off the hooks. Because I’m Canadian, everyone thinks I can help them get out of the country. I was worried that all the experiments would fail due to lack of attention.”

  Gabriela looked down at her hands, smiling ruefully. “I should have known,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Dr. McKinley, my papa … he was in a union, you know? He tried to get there yesterday, but thankfully turned back in time. He’s at home now, and when my mama called yesterday, well … they were hoping you could help get him into the Canadian embassy. But I can see now that—”

  “Wait a minute, hija.” Dr. McKinley’s voice turned deeper, more determined. He put his large, beefy hand on her shoulder. “Of course I’ll help your papa. I do have contacts in the embassy, and I am helping people. My God, I can’t believe even the few things I’ve seen right around here, just looking out the windows! But I hope you understand that it’s easier right now to get foreigners out than Chileans. He’ll have to wait his turn and, by the way, we have to be very careful what we say when we talk on the phone, all right?”

  The phone began ringing again, and as he went to answer it he spoke to them over his shoulder. “Could you just check that the experiments are all right? Between that and the phones, I think we will have our work cut out for us over the next few days!”

  By the end of the week they had worked out a routine. In the mornings, while one of them tended the experiments, the other one would help Dr. McKinley make phone calls to his contacts in the Canadian embassy. The lines were so busy that it took hours to get through, and someone had to be c
onstantly redialing the numbers. There were so many people seeking asylum that even when they got through, they would have to wait, sometimes several days, for Dr. McKinley’s friend to call back and tell them, in code, what to do next.

  In the afternoons, before the curfew began, Gabriela would go home to her family and check on her father. She tried to assure her increasingly anxious parents that yes, they were in the asylum queue, and would be notified when their turn came. Irene would drop by her mother’s house. One day, when she arrived for tea, her mother told her that Eugenia had called.

  “Where is she?” Irene asked. “Is she safe?”

  “Ay, Nenita, who knows. I knew, of course, that before the military takeover she was living with someone. I always suspected the worst. And now it’s been confirmed.”

  “And how’s that?”

  “Well, she said she’s fine. I’m glad about that, of course. But she said she couldn’t come home now, that she had to help a friend. It’s her boyfriend, right? He must be running from the police. Do you know this boy?”

  Irene refilled her cup of tea. “I’ve met him. Don’t make him out to be a criminal, because he’s not. Now, with what’s going on, who knows what the Army is doing to people!”

  “Don’t start with that, my dear, because I won’t have it. Whatever they’re doing, it must be for good reason. Things were completely out of hand here by the end, so don’t try to justify—”

  “Did Chenyita say where she was living?”

  “Are you kidding? I was lucky to hear from her at all! How did this happen to her? She’d always been such a good girl … I just don’t understand what’s happening in this country.”

  For several days after that, Irene wondered if she should go by the room she knew they’d rented a few days before the coup, just to see if they were all right, to make sure everything looked normal. On the second-week anniversary of the coup, after finishing at the lab, she finally decided she would.