“Calm down, already! If you get desperate and keep shouting, you’re going to get even thirstier . . . At least we’re out of the sun here . . .”
“We should try to go back to the canal where we were, Jimmy, where Mono Harris left us . . .”
“Right now we need to conserve our energy. Not start rowing like crazy.”
“You think Mono Harris will come?”
“He’s got a motor on his boat. We’ll hear him if he comes anywhere near.”
“You’re right.”
“And if he doesn’t find us in the canal, he’ll look everywhere in the swamp for us.”
“God willing.”
9:12 a.m.
“Hey, Jimmy!”
“What? What happened?”
“We fell asleep.”
“We did.”
“How long has it been, you think?”
“Let’s see . . .”
“The sun is pretty high.”
“It’s about ten.”
“I think it’s past eleven, Jimmy. I’m so hot.”
“No, it’s not that late.”
“Damn, this thirst is unbearable!”
“Look where we are . . . The current has carried us, Clemen.”
“That’s why I woke up, the sun was blasting me in the face.”
“Are we in the same canal?”
“I see the same mangroves everywhere . . .”
“I’ll row into the shade . . .”
“I feel kind of dizzy, Jimmy.”
“It’s the sun. It was more on you than me. Good thing you woke up. Otherwise, you’d have gotten sunstroke.”
“The water is twinkling.”
“We’re in the shade now. You’ll feel better here.”
“Where are we?”
“I have the feeling there’s a way out of this swamp close by, just around the corner, but we’ve just had bad luck.”
“I need some water, Jimmy. Really. I’m feeling terrible . . .”
“I’m going to try once more . . .”
“What?”
“To find a way out . . .”
“You’ve still got energy to row? . . . I can’t.”
“We’ve got to make the effort . . . Anyway, we should take advantage of the current. It’ll have to carry us out to sea . . .”
“Let’s stay under the trees, Jimmy, out of the sun.”
“It’s impossible. Look . . . Some are too low, the branches touch the water . . . We’ll have to go down the middle of the canal.”
“Shh . . .”
“What?”
“You hear?”
“What?”
“Stop rowing and be quiet . . .”
“. . .”
“It’s a buzzing, Jimmy! It’s a motorboat!”
“I don’t hear anything . . .”
“Yes! I hear it perfectly!”
“You’re hallucinating, Clemen . . .”
“No, I’m not hallucinating! . . . Listen! . . . It’s a motor! . . . It’s Mono Harris! . . .”
“Where?”
“Over there! It’s getting closer!”
“You’re right! I hear it now!”
“Row that way, Jimmy, so he doesn’t miss us! . . . It’s Mono Harris! We’re saved!”
“I hear it on the other side! . . .”
“Don’t be a fool! It’s over there, Jimmy! Row over there!”
Haydée’s Diary
Tuesday May 2
Two nights without writing and so much to tell. Yesterday, the government issued an arrest warrant for Chente and some other university students; fortunately, they were forewarned and there were no arrests. They are in hiding; according to Raúl, only the leaders of the Student Strike Committee know their whereabouts. He also explained that the general made the announcement in order to intimidate anybody who might want to commemorate the one-month anniversary of the armed uprising. Raúl is deeply committed to the medical society strike. This afternoon he attended a meeting of doctors called by the director of Rosales Hospital at which they drafted a resolution calling on the government to commute all death sentences and decree a general amnesty for political prisoners. Raúl says the doctors are united and determined, and if the general fails to respond they will halt medical services in San Salvador and will not allow the warlock to execute Dr. Romero. I asked him if this measure would also affect the Polyclinic, or only the public hospitals, and what would happen in cases such as Don Jorge’s; he told me the strike would be general, but that patients in intensive care units would continue to receive medical attention. Poor Rosita is beside herself: again and again she asks herself what she did wrong that her son and her husband make her suffer so, as if it were their fault and not the warlock’s. I’ve tried to reason with her, explain that each of them is acting in accordance with the dictates of his own conscience, that now is the moment for us all to take risks to force that cruel man to leave the country and let us live in peace.
A whole detachment of policemen is in front of our house keeping surveillance on us. I fear they will arrest Betito; I’ve asked him to be very careful. Mother has suggested he stay at their house until the situation returns to normal; Betito has said he doesn’t want to leave me alone. Don Leo came by with the car this morning to drive him to school and brought him back in the afternoon, along with the news that as of tomorrow classes are cancelled until further notice. Betito said he and his classmates will spend all their time working to support the strike; there’s nothing I can do to stop him. Last night I realized that Chente’s disappearance has left me without a direct link to the university movement, and that it’s imperative I find a way to safely funnel the funds Father collects to the strikers. Raúl told me he would communicate my concern to the students so they can designate someone. I called Doña Chayito but didn’t find her. This morning I went to the Figueroas’; Fabito doesn’t appear on the list of students on the arrest order, and I thought I might find him at home. No luck. Carlota promised me she would tell her son I was looking for him, though she warned me that sometimes Fabito doesn’t even come home to sleep, he is always running around, working on organizing the strike. I was surprised that Carlota as well as Luz María are now quite receptive to the struggle against the general, the latter even admitting to me that she and her friends are forming a group to visit their friends and persuade them to close their shops when the strike is called. Carlota assured me her husband also supports the ultimatum the medical society gave the general, and he will do everything possible to stop the general from executing Dr. Romero, her gynecologist.
I told my parents about Dr. Ávila’s offer to Pericles. Father said my husband did the right thing to refuse; Mother called Doña Tina yesterday to wheedle information out of her, but she didn’t seem to know anything about it. I haven’t wanted to get involved because Pericles would never forgive me, though I’ve been chomping at the bit to call Don Ramón. My visiting day at the Central Prison is supposed to be Saturday; I have tried and failed to get in touch with Colonel Palma to get him to authorize a visit before then, that way I can find out if any other member of the government had gotten in touch with my husband or if Dr. Ávila has returned. I would like to discuss with my in-laws the offer he made to Pericles, but I would have to go all the way to Cojutepeque — it’s too dangerous to talk about it over the phone.
This afternoon I stopped by Hispania stationers to look for a beautiful notebook, one similar to my diary from Brussels, but I had no luck: there were several for schoolchildren, not convenient to write in. I asked Don Sebastián if by chance he had any notebooks in his storeroom; he said everything he had was on display. He asked after Pericles, his favorite client, as he calls him, because my husband is a fanatic about paper, pens, and ink; I told him about my visits to the Central Prison, about how arbitrary the authorities are acting, about my despair and my hope. Then I asked him what he thought about the strike as a way of forcing the general to step down, if he will support the effort and close his shop.
He answered that he fears reprisals from the government, but if all the shops on the block close, he will also, and he’ll join the strike. I bought this notebook, the one I’m writing in now, which is fairly ordinary, on the condition that in his next order he get me a diary as lovely as the one I bought in Brussels.
Don Sebastián’s stationers is located on the same block as the Estradas’ notions store. I took the opportunity to go and talk to Carolina. She told me the same thing as her neighbor: she would close her shop if the others did, because if everyone doesn’t do it at the same time it will get them in trouble with the general and they’ll lose money, all for nothing. She’s right. I decided to tell her that the students have probably already decided on the date to start the strike, and that hopefully they will let us know soon. I took Don Sergio’s taxi at the Plaza Morazán; I asked him his opinion about the strike, but that man is as silent as a tomb, the very soul of discretion.
I went to my parents’ house after dinner. I asked Father about the strike date. He told me the students had wanted businesses to start shutting down yesterday, but business owners have asked for a little more time to prepare, so most likely the work stoppage will begin on Friday, though meetings are still being held with representatives of the associations and the guilds, especially with small businessmen, who are the most cautious, and among them, the Chinese and the Turks, who are afraid the general will throw them out of the country. The signal of the beginning of the strike will be the closing of the banks, Father said, and the biggest challenge will be to paralyze all public transportation, bring all trains, streetcars, buses, and taxis to a standstill. I told him that because of the warrant for Chente’s arrest, I have been left with no contact in the student movement, so I have no way to collaborate or get them funds, should the need arise. Father told me not to worry, the shop owners and the students are well connected, and I needn’t take risks, I should focus on convincing all my acquaintances to close their shops when the moment arrives; then he went to meet with his friends. I stayed a while longer talking with Mother, who told me how outraged she was yesterday, on the road to Santa Tecla, when she saw Mila riding in a car driven by a man she thought must be that Colonel Castillo. I frowned, but said nothing. I have no reason to allow my life to be embittered by that woman any longer. If the strike is successful, and the warlock and his minions are forced to leave, I will be satisfied — if and only if, of course, nothing happens to Clemens and Pericles.
As I write, a little before eleven at night, I wait for Betito, with fear and uneasiness, for although the curfew has been lifted, policemen and soldiers are swarming in the streets. I will scold him, for his own good, because under these circumstances, at his age and with his enthusiasm, if I give him an inch he will take a mile.
Wednesday May 3
Events are hurtling forward. A few minutes ago I got back from the Alvarados’. Raúl was in the living room with two other doctors; they were drinking whiskey and talking, fiercely indignant. I recognized Dr. Salazar. The other was Dr. Luis Macías, until a few hours ago the director of Rosales Hospital and the head of the delegation that met with the general this afternoon to give him the memorandum demanding he rescind the death sentences and declare a general amnesty. Poor Dr. Macías was quite upset: he was going from the fiercest indignation to terrible shame, from nervous laughter to horror, with astounding ease. He told me what happened at the Presidential Palace: the warlock made them wait for an hour, then he received them, coldly, in his office, told them to remain standing and silent; he took from his desk drawer the memorandum they had given a few minutes earlier to his private secretary and, without uttering a word, picked it up gingerly as if it were filthy, lit a match to it, and threw it on the ground in front of them. “Treason, gentlemen, does not go unpunished in this country,” he said in a threatening voice. “Cowards cannot set conditions for my government, and if you fail to carry out your oaths as doctors, you will pay the price,” he warned them before ordering them to leave and without letting them utter a single word. By the time they got outside, they were trembling, one was on the verge of passing out, and Dr. Macías decided to resign immediately his position as director of the hospital, because after the humiliation he had suffered at the hands of the warlock, he doesn’t feel worthy of leading the doctors in the strike that will be declared any minute now. Raúl and Dr. Salazar insisted he shouldn’t resign, but I understand his reasons, and his actions seem courageous to me, which is what I told him.
The whole day has been hectic, starting early this morning. While I was eating breakfast I suddenly remembered that tomorrow is Carmela’s birthday; with all my running around I’d completely forgotten. Neither Carmela nor Chelón likes parties, they prefer to celebrate their birthdays privately, have a simple meal, but Pericles and I always arrive in the evening with a cake and a gift. I went to the Bonets’ patisserie to order a special chocolate cake with walnuts. Montse waited on me; she told me to come pick it up in the afternoon because she’d heard that the strike will start tomorrow or Friday, and they are not going to open the patisserie. Then I went quickly to La Dalia department store: I bought a lovely brocaded handkerchief for Carmela; Don Pedro told me he’s heard rumors that the warlock plans to execute Dr. Romero on Friday at dawn, he said he will close his store starting tomorrow, it simply isn’t possible to allow that evil man to continue to execute decent people whenever he feels like it. When I returned home, I quickly called the beauty salon; I don’t want to look like a fright for Carmela’s birthday or for my visit to Pericles. Silvia said she’ll be open tomorrow, and she’ll expect me in the morning.
Luz María left a message for me with María Elena: I should stop by her house at two for a cup of coffee so she could show me some sample wedding invitations. I guessed this was about Fabito, because the invitations are already finished. I was right: I talked to Fabito for five minutes because he was in a rush. He told me I should give any funds I collect for the strike to Luz María, she is the safest channel and will always know how to get in touch with him. I asked him about Chente; he told me he is fine, but he couldn’t give me any details. And as to the date the strike would begin, he emphasized that the time had come, there was no reason to wait any longer, they (the students) have already been on strike for a week, and the goal is to create a snowball effect. Then he left. Luz María, who was never the sharpest knife in the drawer, asked what he meant by “a snowball effect”; then she told me — after warning me it was a secret I shouldn’t repeat to anybody — that Fabito is the treasurer of the Student Strike Committee and, according to him, financial support is flowing in generously from all sides.
Doña Chayito came over before dinner with the news that the movie theater employees have already gone out on strike, and they will be closed as of today; she gave me a copy of the communiqué with this announcement and demands for the government to declare a general amnesty. Most of these theaters belong to the general and his family; it will undoubtedly be particularly hurtful that his own employees have been the first to go on strike. Doña Chayito was, as always, her energetic self and expressed confidence that the strike will force the warlock to step down and then our family members will be set free. She expressed regret, however, that the movie houses were closing because — she spoke in an undertone and gave me a wink — sensitive meetings were held in those dark theaters. According to her, the general strike will start tomorrow. And she invited me to a Mass that will be held on Friday at El Rosario Church for the peace of the souls executed by the general.
This is the second consecutive night I finish writing in this notebook and Betito still hasn’t arrived. He didn’t even come home for lunch: he called to say he was at Henry’s and would have dinner at Flaco’s. I don’t like quarrelling with him over the phone. While we were eating breakfast I asked him to be very careful, to come home for meals and early at night, but my warnings went in one ear and out the other. I asked María Elena if she knew anything about his activities, for I spent a good part of
the day out of the house; she said he hadn’t returned since he left in the morning. Right now I have to think of the best way to confront him, try to figure out what Pericles would do in this situation.
María Elena regretted not being able to taste the cake; I also would have liked to have a piece to sweeten the wait for Betito. We both love chocolate, but María Elena collects recipes and asks me to buy ingredients for baking. A few months ago she told me she’d love to work as an apprentice a few hours a week at the Bonets’, if I could ask Montse if that were possible, but with all this turmoil, I simply haven’t had a chance. I admire her efforts to better herself. God willing, Belka, my lovely little girl, will inherit this and other virtues.
Thursday May 4
The first thing I did when I got out of bed this morning was call Carmela and wish her a happy birthday; every year since we became friends at school I’ve done the same thing: we each try to be the first person to wish the other one a happy birthday. Then, in this morning’s newspaper — the official “yellow rag” as Pericles calls it — I learned that the government announced the release of civilians who had remained imprisoned for their participation in the failed coup. I immediately started calling everybody I could think of to make sure it was true, for although my husband didn’t participate in the uprising, the fact that they were freeing the coup participants, who actually attacked the general, meant that they would also free Pericles. None of the other women in the committee knew anything; we were all quite excited, moving heaven and earth to find out what was happening. Until finally Doña Consuelo learned that it was one of the warlock’s tricks: he released those who had been arrested by mistake, those who were still in jail but hadn’t actually participated in the coup and had no record of political activity. I was so outraged I felt sick. How can he play with people’s feelings in such a despicable way?! If I didn’t despair it was thanks to the intense energy and excitement one feels in the streets, in every home, everywhere, a kind of magnetism in the air, and also thinks to the fact that María Elena brought me back to reality when she returned from the market and told me the vendors won’t open their stands tomorrow, they all say the city will wake up at a standstill, without banks or stores or hospitals or pharmacies, and of course without a market, and many people were buying emergency provisions. Mother did so for us: she went in the car with Don Leo and Juani.
Tyrant Memory Page 23
