Tyrant Memory

by Horacio Castellanos Moya

  I asked my parents to lend me Don Leo so he could take us to the wake, Betito came with me, and more importantly to pick us up at night, before the curfew. It was already evening by the time we got there. Don Leo raised his eyebrows to point out the secret policemen stationed around the house. I assumed that few people would attend the wake, out of fear, but I was wrong: many families of officers who’d been executed, both today and fifteen days ago, and also families of prisoners and the condemned, like us, were crowded into the house; groups of young people came and went. I had never met the Gavidia family, only Merceditas. Angelita was sitting with someone who looked to all appearances to be the mother. I offered my condolences. I thought she would be devastated, in a state of collapse, but I was surprised by the composure, anger, maybe even hatred, that I could see in her face. I can’t and don’t even want to imagine the pain of losing two sons in such an appalling way, but I would not be surprised if the desire for vengeance acted at such moments as some kind of salve for the spirit. Angelita explained to me that the families of all three men who were executed wanted to hold their wakes together, in one place, but the general forbade it; she also told me that Pepe, the other Gavidia brother who had been detained, was released this afternoon, as if the warlock had been satisfied with the blood revenge he had exacted from the other brothers in the military. I asked where Pepe was, as I wanted to know if he had seen Pericles at the Central Prison, but it seems Pepe and Merceditas were both resting, they were devastated. I discovered Doña Chayito and Doña Consuelo conversing on the other side of the room. I went over to them. Doña Chayito announced that she would soon return to Lieutenant Marín’s wake, where Doña Julita and some other neighbors were, and she asked if I wanted to accompany her. Doña Consuelo was feeling out of sorts, she had a migraine and would soon return home. I looked for Betito so I could tell him I was going to the Marín family wake, but I couldn’t find him, he was neither in the house nor out on the patio. But I very nearly bumped into Fabito: he had just arrived with two other young people. He greeted me, very solemn and respectful, as always; he is identical to Fabio senior, even the same nasally voice. I asked him if he’d seen Betito; he said he hadn’t. Then I asked after Dr. Romero’s health, because Carlota had told me that her son is in constant contact with the doctors who are attending him in San Miguel. He explained that he is now out of danger, the machete wound on his face is healing, and the goal now is to not let him recover too quickly, to prevent the tyrant from ordering his execution. I noticed that Fabito and Doña Chayito greeted each other familiarly, like long-time accomplices. I asked him, if he ran into Betito, to please tell him I was going to the Marín family wake for a while and would soon return; I went to Angelita and asked her to do the same.

  Doña Chayito was waiting for me out on the sidewalk. It was already getting dark. We had barely walked half a block when Don Leo pulled up alongside us in the car and stopped. This was unexpected, because we had agreed he would return to pick me up at nine at night, and I assumed he was at my parents’ house. As if to excuse himself, he said that Father had instructed him to remain at my disposal. “Get in,” Doña Chayito said quickly; two secret policemen were standing on the corner. I asked Don Leo if he had seen Betito leave. He said that Henry, Flaco, and Chepito had picked him up in Chepito’s car. Halfway there, checking to make sure Don Leo didn’t see her through the rearview mirror, Doña Chayito, without any fuss, put her hand down her belly, under her skirt and her underpants, and pulled out a small piece of paper, which she unfolded and gave to me; it was another communiqué from the university students, a different one than Raúl had brought over this morning, as I could see from the heading. It would have been very difficult for me to read it in that light. I folded it back up and hid it in my brassiere.

  “Things are even worse here,” Don Leo said, stopping the car. There was a National Guard checkpoint blocking the street the Marín’s house is on. I got nervous. A soldier approached the car and asked for our documents; he asked Don Leo where we were going. “To the wake,” I came out with, and I still don’t know where I got the courage. The soldier went over to an officer standing nearby, looked over our documents for a few minutes that seemed to last forever, and wrote our names down in a book. “Two hours ago this checkpoint wasn’t here,” Doña Chayito muttered. The soldier returned and, as he handed back our documents, he leaned over and gave me a sinister glare. “Pass,” he barked. I was in a cold sweat. “There might be one at the other wake by the time we get back there,” Don Leo commented. But according to Doña Chayito, the warlock sending the soldiers here was yet another act of cruelty against the family, because they say he personally tortured Víctor Manuel, but failed to break his will, failed to get him to give anyone else away.

  When we got out of the car, I feared my legs would buckle under me; I grabbed on to Doña Chayito’s arm. Just a few family members were there; I had already met some of them outside the Central Prison and also at Sunday Mass. I gave my condolences and went to sit next to Doña Julita and her daughter, Leonor. The atmosphere was more infused with terror than mourning. I couldn’t hold out any longer, and asked where the washroom was. While I was taking care of my business, I took out the communiqué I’d hidden in my brassiere; I tore it up into little pieces and flushed it down the toilet. I returned to the living room. Doña Chayito was complaining about the checkpoint, explaining that many people would refrain from coming to offer their condolences as a result of it. I accepted a coffee. I calmed down a little. I watched the Maríns’ mother, the poor dear was weeping incessantly, and then would suddenly burst into sobs. I got chills wondering if they’d tortured Lieutenant Alfonso as they had his brother, Víctor Manuel. I told myself probably not, everybody says the general lashes out more violently against civilians. I felt like I was drowning, as if they had just notified me that Clemen had been captured. I took out my rosary beads and began to pray, trying to chase away those dreadful thoughts. But I was unable to lessen my agitation, the pounding in my heart and temples. I was determined to finish my rosary. Then I told Doña Chayito I wasn’t feeling well and would soon leave; I asked her if she would be staying at the Maríns’ or if she wished us to take her someplace else. She asked me to take her to Captain Piche’s house. I felt somewhat guilty saying goodbye, so few people were in attendance, and the crushing density of the sorrow was felt acutely in that almost empty room. It was dark when we went out to look for Don Leo. I prayed to God we wouldn’t have any trouble getting through the checkpoint. We passed without any difficulty, I didn’t even see the soldier with the sinister eyes; I felt lighter, now that I wasn’t carrying that communiqué, though I knew a migraine was hovering, about to attack and lay me low at any moment. Doña Chayito gave Don Leo directions. The city felt dismal, as if the wind were fear, blowing through the streets. There were no soldiers in the area, only secret policemen snooping around. I told Don Leo I would stop in only for a moment to offer my condolences, and we would leave in less than a quarter of an hour. There were the same amount of people here as at the Gavidias’. Angelita was near the door, greeting people; she told me she had just arrived, she had heard about the checkpoint in front of the Maríns’ house, and she unfortunately wouldn’t be able to make it there tonight. Then with some urgency she pulled me over to a corner and asked me if I had any news about Clemen. My heart skipped a beat. “No, why, my dear?” I managed to stutter. She told me she’d just been assured that Jimmy is fine, but they didn’t give her any details, and she wanted to know if I had heard anything she hadn’t. I told her the men in my family and Pericles’s family share the opinion that life-and-death secrets should not be shared with women, so I was totally in the dark.

  I returned home even more unsettled, and still now, after writing down all the events of the day, anxiety is gnawing away inside me, as if something important were happening right next to me without my being aware of it. Fortunately, the migraine has passed. Betito was dropped off a while ago; I scolded him for having di
sappeared without letting me know. He told me that when he returned to the Gavidias’, I was already gone, and he and his friends had some other things to do. I saw in his eyes the fervor of someone who has embarked on an adventure; I warned him to be careful. Only now do I realize, with a heavy conscience, that I haven’t thought about Pericles even once all day. My poor husband.

  Tuesday April 25

  A ray of sunshine after the storm! They released Chente and the other medical students who were arrested last Wednesday. The government lifted the curfew; they also authorized the opening of the Club and the Casino. And an assistant to Colonel Palma, the director of the Central Prison, called when I wasn’t home and left a message with María Elena to tell me to appear early tomorrow morning because visits would now be allowed to political prisoners. We were all surprised, happy. I wouldn’t have believed any of it if I hadn’t been at my neighbors’ house celebrating with Chente. God willing they will soon free Pericles, and tomorrow I can bring everything we have packed for him: clothes, food, personal grooming items. Betito will accompany me even if it means he’ll get to school late. My mother-in-law called to tell me she regretted not being able to come, her arthritis has her bent over in pain, and would I please give Pericles her blessing. Doña Chayito and the other members of the group are hopeful that our family members will be released in the next few days; we’ll meet in front of the Central Prison.

  I dined at my parents’ house; Uncle Charlie stopped by, but he only drank whiskey. According to him, the gringos are furious about the executions, and they have made it clear to the general that they are considering sending in the military police to protect American citizens in the event of a new uprising, and it is this threat that has forced him to back down. “He isn’t cowered by a threat like that,” Father commented. Then he said: “That warlock must have something up his sleeve: he’s loosening things up to see who will lift their heads so he can lop them off.” I put in my two cents: I told them that the why and the wherefore didn’t matter, the important thing was that I would be able to visit Pericles and that the students had been released. Mother mentioned that Carlota is happy the clubs are open for there will be no problem now with Luz María’s wedding.

  I have checked and rechecked the provisions I am taking to Pericles several times; I don’t want to forget anything. These twenty days without seeing my husband seem like an eternity. I am nervous, like a girl about to see her sweetheart after a long separation. All these bad experiences I’ve had in the last few weeks have turned a little red light on in my head, a warning light not to get shaken too badly if things go haywire again, if the Devil starts whispering again in the warlock’s ear.

  Wednesday April 26

  Finally, I was able to spend an entire hour with Pericles! I have no words to describe what I felt. At first, while we were being searched, and the guards were rummaging through the suitcase and the basket, I couldn’t contain my excitement, as if I were a little girl about to get the toy I had always wanted, but once I was face-to-face with Pericles, I controlled myself, though I was so happy I kept wanting to jump up and throw my arms around him. The first thing he did, after we greeted each other, was look through the basket to find the cigarettes and he immediately lit one up, then he asked me to pour him a cup of coffee from the thermos. He looked over the other things; he laughed at the after-shave lotion: he said he had made his peace with smelling bad, but the problem would be to keep it away from his fellow prisoners who would want to drink it. We talked about everything; he was very happy they let Betito in. I told him I had no news about Clemen, I told him about the fright we had upon leaving church on Sunday, about Chente’s arrest and subsequent release, and all the political gossip. Betito excitedly told him about the prospect of a general strike led by university students. He told us to be very careful, to remember that one should never confront “the man” head on; he said most of the prison guards treat the political prisoners well, even with respect: among the prison authorities a lot of uncertainty reigns, many are convinced that sooner or later change will come and that “the man” will end up leaving. He asked me to call Pati as soon as we got home to reassure her that he is fine so she doesn’t worry. I told him I would tell his mother the same thing, the poor dear wanted to come but her arthritis was acting up. As the time passed I started to notice the toll imprisonment was taking on him, a twitch in his right eye, his cough worse than ever, his pallor. I told him I would bring some cough syrup next time I came. He chain-smoked during the whole visit; it’s the first time in jail that getting cigarettes has been the biggest challenge, he said. Then he asked after Mila and the grandchildren. I hoped to sound natural when I told him they were fine in spite of her complaints about her economic difficulties; but I’ve never known how to lie to my husband: he threw me an inquisitorial look, turned to Betito, then grew quiet. I told him that yesterday, when I heard about the lifting of the curfew, I called the lawyer, Mr. Pineda, who told me the conditions might now be more favorable for moving his case through the courts. Pericles told me not to build up any hope, that his release will have nothing to do with any courts — it will only come when “the man” orders it or because “the man” isn’t in power anymore. It took all my strength to say goodbye, and hold back the tears. As I left I tried to find Sergeant Flores to ask him when we could visit next, but on the wall in the hallway there was a sign posted that stated that we could return on Saturday morning.

  Chente came over in the afternoon; I thought his time in jail would have dampened his enthusiasm, but he has again plunged head first into organizing the strike. He said his fellow prisoners have also left jail even more resolved to struggle against the tyrant. Today, he informed me, final-year students who work as interns in the hospitals, legal assistants in the courts, employees of the Ministry of Public Works, and assistants in dental clinics will all go on strike. And he explained that he is part of the group responsible for raising funds to help students who work in public sector offices who have gone on strike and who have families to support. I offered to lend him a hand in whatever way I could. Later, I went to my parents’ house; I explained the situation to Father. He told me he believes it will not be difficult to find honorable men who want to contribute to the strike fund to help defeat the warlock as long as their names, of course, are never revealed.

  When I arrived home, María Elena was waiting for me with the news that Mila has let Ana go and begun to pack up the house, she will turn it over to the owners next Friday so they won’t charge her for an additional month, and she will move into her parents’ house. I felt wretched, as if the day had suddenly been spoiled. But there is nothing I can do: that woman is driven by the red-hot sin burning between her legs and nobody can stop her. What will become of Clemen when he finds out? I told myself I must focus on the tasks at hand and the memory of my meeting with my husband to avoid having bad thoughts. Fortunately Carmela and Chelón came by for coffee a while later, to find out in detail how Pericles is, what his living conditions are; they asked me if they could come with me for a brief visit once the visits become regular, just to say hello and have the pleasure of giving him a hug, without intruding for long on our privacy. I told them they could, of course, but that I hope Pericles will be freed before they allow regular visits. Then we spoke about the strike and I showed them the leaflet Chente had given me; they had a different one, also a typed carbon copy, more or less saying the same thing, calling on everybody to stop cooperating in any way with the government, nobody should go to the movie theaters the warlock owns, or buy lottery tickets, or pay local taxes. Both leaflets call for a boycott of the government newspapers and a large show of passive resistance, but the one Chente brought me asks everybody to always wear a token of mourning as a way of showing that they condemn the executions. Chelón commented that there doesn’t seem to be any sign of the government re-authorizing the publication of opposition newspapers.

  A short while ago, Betito told me he believes the high schools will soon cal
l a strike, today there was an intense discussion on the subject at his school. I warned him not to use the excuse of a strike to miss classes if other students are attending, the struggle against the general is serious and there’s no excuse for taking advantage of it in order to party with his friends; I know my sons all too well.

  It has been an intense and gratifying day; to be with Pericles was like a gift from heaven for which I am deeply grateful.

  Thursday April 27

  Once again, intimidation and violence! The general is counterattacking rather than relenting. We were about to begin the novenas of mourning for Lieutenant Marín when the National Guard troops burst into the church. Doña Chayito had summoned me to attend: she said our presence was important to show our solidarity with the family. I didn’t think twice about it. But when I arrived I realized there was a big crowd, even Chente and Fabito were milling around in the atrium, so I assumed this was an act of both solidarity and denunciation. What I never thought possible was that the warlock would dare to send his troops into the church with orders to evict us. He is sacrilegious, an apostate. Fortunately, the boys saw them coming and took off in time to avoid confrontations and arrests. I am still furious. This is the last straw. Lieutenant Marín’s wife and his mother are both primary school teachers, and they have decided to go on strike with the support of many of their colleagues.

  The day began with excellent good news. Mingo dropped by the house to find out how Pericles is doing, and he took the opportunity to tell me that the Americans have already firmly turned their backs on the general, yesterday the ambassador rejected the government’s proposal for the United States to send officers to reorganize the air force, which was virtually dismantled after the attempted coup. “Such a rejection means they’ve lost all trust in the government,” Mingo explained to me with great excitement. I went straight to Father with the news. He told me he’d speak with Uncle Charlie to confirm. By noon everybody had heard that “the man” is being left out in the cold.