Silvia’s salon was filled to overflowing, as if we were all afraid the strike would catch us with our pants down, so to speak. I waited half an hour, chatting with the other clients: rumor has it that several ministers think the general should resign, and if he doesn’t in the next few days, they will. Mingo doesn’t think they have enough guts. “They are afraid of what people will do to them if the general is toppled, so they send their wives out to spread rumors about them wanting to resign, but once they’re face-to-face with the warlock, they start shaking in their boots,” he said as we enjoyed the chocolate cake with walnuts on the front porch of Carmela and Chelón’s house in the late afternoon. He also said, jokingly, that with the bankers spearheading the strike, all the shopkeepers will join, because there’s not a single one who doesn’t owe money or need a loan, “and if the people with all the money throw themselves off a cliff, we’ll all follow because we’ll figure there’s more money down there.” It’s amazing how friends can end up resembling each other so much, because that comment could have come out of Pericles’s mouth, as I told Irmita, who was looking much more hale when she came over with Mingo this afternoon. What I’m worried about is the possibility that if the strike starts tomorrow, the authorities may decide to suspend visits to the prison on Saturday; Chelón was the one who brought that up, with some concern. God willing, that won’t happen.
Betito returned home early tonight; I thanked him for minding me and sparing me the worry. But he and his friends are going full steam ahead, according to what he tells me, they haven’t stopped working on the strike for the last two days: they have groups visiting every shop, block by block, trying to persuade the owners to close their shops tomorrow; other groups are working to persuade the bus, streetcar, and taxi drivers to join the walkout; he says a secret committee of university students is coordinating all their efforts, and he and his friends are in constant touch with them. Betito’s eyes shine as he talks, he is bursting with enthusiasm. It is obvious women my age are superfluous when there’s so much energy and youth, to the point where even Father used him today as a messenger to distribute the funds, and he lent him Don Leo and the car to make a few visits, which Betito calls “operations.” He showed me a few of the strike circulars they have distributed all over the city. I never tire of repeating to him that he should be careful.
I have prayed to Our Lady of Perpetual Succour from the bottom of my heart for the strike to be effective, for the warlock to step down without more bloodshed, for nothing to happen to Clemen, and for our family to soon be reunited. Tomorrow I will go to Mass at El Rosario Church with Doña Chayito and the other ladies. I am going to try to get some sleep because tomorrow will be a very nerve-racking day.
Friday May 5
What a day! My goodness! So many emotions, hopes, fears. The beginning of the strike has been a success! The city is paralyzed; the warlock gave a speech on the radio a while ago, at seven at night, to be precise, and denounced the strikers as “Nazi agitators” who are trying to wage “a war of nerves.” Well, he has the nerve!? He must be in deep trouble; if he weren’t, he wouldn’t have spoken on air, with that horrible voice of his, but instead would have delegated it to Don Rodolfo or some other minister, so people would see that he couldn’t care less about the strike. But that’s not what happened. How I long for Pericles at these moments, how I miss his explanations of the general’s secret thoughts and his state of mind based on the intonations of his voice over the radio . . .
At precisely nine o’clock this morning, María Elena, Betito, and I, all of us dressed in strict mourning, arrived at El Rosario Church. We walked there, even though a few streetcars and buses were still running, because the strategy is that nobody should use public transportation to make the drivers join the strike. The church was packed; there were groups of young people in the park and everywhere around. Expectation filled the air. We stayed near the entrance; I recognized several friends and my fellow committee members; I chatted with Angelita, Luz María, and Doña Chayito. But several minutes passed and Mass didn’t begin. We soon learned that the priest was not going to come, he had not been authorized to celebrate the Eucharist. Everybody started talking about it, outraged. Then a student leader, speaking from the atrium of the church itself, announced between cheers and applauses that the general strike and walkout had begun. Groups of young people, including Betito and his friends, fanned out around the downtown area to persuade the owners of the few shops that had opened to close them immediately. On our way home, María Elena and I saw for ourselves that the banks and the large department stores along our way were shut, as were pharmacies, the Ministry of Health offices, and dentists’ and lawyers’ offices. But many people were in the streets, and everybody seemed excited and happy, as if it were a holiday, as if we all wanted to see for ourselves that the strike was real; hours later, however, the streets had emptied out; all the circulars stressed the importance of people remaining at home.
Before noon I went to eat lunch at my parents’ house. It was a hotbed of activity: against Mother’s will, Father and his friends had converted the house into a kind of “center of operations,” as Uncle Charlie called it several times, where family acquaintances came and went with information about the strike and to report the latest rumors; whiskey was flowing and the telephone didn’t stop ringing. When I entered the living room, Father was talking on the phone to Don Milo Butazzoni, the owner of the Milán grocery store, the most important one in the San José district, who was refusing to close his business; Don Milo is an old grouch, an admirer of Mussolini and the general, but he gets along well with Father, that’s why Father took on the task of calling him, if not to support the strike, then at least to lower the metal grate in the afternoon. I spent some time in the kitchen helping Juanita prepare sandwiches for all the visitors. Mother was unable to contain her pessimism, and she kept saying that the strike will plunge the country into chaos and the warlock will remain on the throne. I learned that the bankers and the coffee growers were applying enormous pressure on the civilian members of the cabinet for them to resign this afternoon if the general did not tender his own resignation, but the general’s response was the aggressive speech he gave on the radio, and as of tonight, as far as I know, there have been no resignations. Betito, Henry, Flaco, and Chepito showed up after dinner; they brought in their beer and were wearing their passion on their sleeves; they showed us the new circulars announcing that students and doctors in other cities, such as Santa Ana and San Miguel, had joined the strike and that many government offices, including the Customs Administration, are closed. Uncle Charlie said the greatest challenge is to bring the trains to a standstill, and the fact that the railroads are run by foreign companies means it will not be an easy task to do so; Betito and his friends talked about the difficulty they were having convincing the taxi drivers to support the strike, for most of them are police informers. At one moment, in the midst of all the enthusiasm and activity, I felt useless; I wondered how Doña Chayito and my other fellow committee members were contributing — what I could do, other than helping to prepare sandwiches and nervously biting my nails, because all my friends had already closed their shops and businesses, and I had nobody else to talk into joining the strike. After we ate, Uncle Charlie went to the embassy to find out firsthand, he said, the Americans’ impression of the strike and to encourage them to offer their support. I decided to come home. Mother insisted on Don Leo driving me, because she didn’t think the streets were safe. It was then, as we were crossing Arce Street, that the idea came to me as if a light bulb had gone on in my head: I told Don Leo to drive toward Plaza Morazán, I needed to run an errand in the vicinity. I felt like I had been hit by a lightning bolt, possessed by a burst of energy that was leading me along with a clear head and a precise purpose. When we got to the plaza, I asked Don Leo — without the slightest hesitation — to take me to the taxi stand, as I was eager to carry through with the task I had set for myself; I then instructed him to stop next t
o Don Sergio’s taxi, told him to wait there, and said I trusted his discretion to say nothing to my parents. Don Leo understood immediately; all he said was: “Be careful, Señora.” I got out of the car and entered the other one. Don Sergio greeted me, a bit surprised, but clearly pleased by my appearance, it seemed I was the first customer of the day. “What a miracle, Señora Haydée. Tell me, where can I take you?” he said. I told him to take me to Dr. Figueroa’s house, located on the same block as Rosales Hospital, but I asked him to go very slowly, because I was early, and that way I could use the opportunity to talk to him. He turned to look at me in astonishment. “Talk to me? . . .” Yes, Don Sergio, I told him, with inspiration from who knows where, and straight to the point, I launched into my speech: I said I didn’t understand how they, the taxi drivers, can be so ungrateful, so insensitive to injustice, how they can refuse to support a strike the whole society is participating in, aren’t they part of that society, don’t they care about the future of their children, their families, their country, because if they are willing to go against the will of the entire people, who will stick their necks out for them when the general leaves? Who will help them? Where will they get the bank loans all respectable people need? Who will fix their cars? Who will renew their drivers’ licenses? What doctor will attend to them? What professional will offer them their services? With what scorn will the average person view them? I told him it was shameful that even justices of the peace and many other public employees have joined the strike whereas they, the taxi drivers, carry on as if nothing were happening, as if the general were going to stay in power forever. Even I was taken aback by my vehemence, and I am even more so now as I review the sequence of events, Don Sergio driving, utterly stunned, speechless, surely imagining the very black future I had just painted for him. Furthermore, I told him, at any moment the ministers are going to start resigning, I had just learned — thanks to those in the know — that in a matter of hours or at most a few days the general will have to leave because nobody can govern a country without money, and they, the taxi drivers, will be left in the lurch. That was when Don Sergio mumbled something to the effect that that’s the problem, they have families to support, and they don’t have the luxury of walking away from their jobs, though, to tell the truth, this was his first ride of the day. I told him there was a solution to this problem, thanks to the fact that everybody supports the strike, honorable people are donating funds for those most in need, and he should tell me how much he earns a day on the average, and I will speak to the boys to get that money for the members of his association, but he will have to persuade his colleagues, explain to them what I had just said to him, and make them commit to a walkout, to going home. Again Don Sergio remained quiet; he was driving slowly, glancing at me from time to time in the rearview mirror. Finally, he muttered that I had convinced him, but I should please not mention it to anybody, it is an agreement between him and me; right away we spoke about amounts. We arrived at the Figueroas; I asked him to wait a few minutes in the car. God heard my prayers, because Luz María herself opened the front door. I quickly explained the situation: we had to find Fabito urgently. She told me it would be difficult because he was running from place to place. Since Luz María couldn’t drive me to where her brother was nor did I want to scare Don Sergio, we agreed I’d go back to my parents’ house where she or Fabito would bring me the money for the taxi drivers. Once back in the car I told Don Sergio that while I was collecting the money, he would return to the taxi stand and begin to talk to his colleagues, one by one, for it is always easier to persuade somebody one on one, and as soon as I had the agreed-upon sum, perhaps in a few hours, I would come find him, and if he got another customer in the meantime he should leave word as to when he would return; he warned me about the risk at the stand, he said it’s being watched by spies and police detectives, and he suggested we arrange a specific time when he would come find me. My parents were surprised to see me back, so excited, and in a taxi; I couldn’t hide the truth from them. Mother got upset, she said I was taking unnecessary risks. But Father was clearly quite impressed: we don’t have to wait for Fabito, he said, I can collect that amount of money from my friends right away. And so he did: he made a few phone calls then left in his car with Uncle Charlie. While we were drinking tea and I was praying that Don Sergio would manage to persuade his colleagues, Mother proposed we let Luz María know that we no longer needed the money, so she wouldn’t make the trip in vain; I said it was better to wait, just in case Father encountered some difficulty obtaining the funds due to the banks being closed. Mother insisted, frowning sternly, that she didn’t think it prudent for honorable women, like Luz María and I, to get involved in the affairs of men and common folks. Father and Uncle Charlie soon returned. We shut ourselves up in his office: we counted out the money that he then gave me in a manila envelope along with some instructions. When the taxi arrived to pick me up, I was so anxious I was perspiring, especially because now that the rush of inspiration had passed, I was haunted by the thought of what could happen to Don Sergio if word got to the police; however, once in the car, and after he told me excitedly that he had persuaded four of his colleagues to join the strike, I again felt determined and full of energy. He also told me that the strike was beginning to take hold at other taxi stands. While he was driving me home, and we saw how deserted the streets were, I explained that in the envelope was the amount of money seven taxi drivers at his stand earn in three days, including him, of course, and this meant they should immediately go to their respective homes and wait, without going anywhere near Plaza Morazán. He asked me if the three days included Saturday. I answered, with an edge of rebuke, that he shouldn’t be such a skinflint, most people were making sacrifices, opposing injustice to follow their conscience and not for monetary gain, and if the strike continues past Wednesday he should come find me. I was thankful the policemen posted on our street had left that morning.
I entered the house for only a moment to ask María Elena if there was any news, then went straight to the Alvarados’. Raúl told me that Dr. Luis Velasco had taken on the directorship of Rosales Hospital this morning, and in order to avoid suffering any further humiliation at the hands of the warlock, all the doctors had decided to go out on strike. He was thrilled because he had been able to see Chente at noon; he says he is doing well in spite of the days he has spent in hiding. Rosita never stops complaining. I asked them if they had noticed that there was no surveillance on our street. Raúl said it seems the general has given orders for the policemen to return to their barracks, perhaps he fears another military uprising in support of the strike.
Then I came home to prepare the things I would take to Pericles tomorrow. I don’t want to think about what God holds in store for us; it won’t do any good to torture myself. I’ve spoken to Doña Chayito: she has assured me that all the ladies in the committee will show up at the Central Prison to demand our visiting hour; strike or no strike, it is our right. I’m not sure if I’ll tell Pericles about my adventure this afternoon; it may only make him worry. I’ll decide once we are together.
(10 at night)
I have just learned that an important meeting is being held tonight at the Alcaine compound: many people have gathered there to form a government to take over when the warlock falls, which will happen soon, in the next few hours, they say. God willing. Betito told me all about it, he came home a while ago, all in a flurry, rushing in then out. He saw Father there, and Uncle Charlie, and many of their friends, and Fabito and Chente, Dr. Velasco, Mingo, and even Doña Chayito, among other people we know. I was quite moved: my son was upset that they didn’t let him into the meeting; only one representative from the group of high school students was allowed in, and Chepito was chosen. I reminded him to be very careful.
Saturday May 6
I’m dead tired, exhausted, as if the fatigue of the entire week has suddenly crashed down on me. All I want to do is sleep. The strike is growing, but the warlock has counterattacked. Fathe
r says Monday will be the decisive day, the showdown.
I wasn’t able to see Pericles. No visits were allowed; neither the director nor Sergeant Flores showed his face. The moment we arrived, early this morning, the guards warned us no visits would be allowed for the political prisoners, it would do us no good to wait or voice any complaints, they were only following orders. Doña Chayito and a group of students took the opportunity to pass out circulars and make speeches in favor of the strike to the dozens of families of prisoners who had gathered in front of the Central Prison. There were cheers, clamors, shouts of defiance. As if we had all shed our inhibitions.
At last night’s meeting at the Alcaines’, a Committee of National Reconstruction was formed, which will take charge of negotiating the warlock’s departure; Dr. Alcaine himself is on the committee and is the bankers’ representative, and Dr. Velasco represents the professional associations, according to what Father told me. The strike is going full-steam ahead: city employees, those in the Vice-Ministry of Public Works and in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, have all decided to walk out on Monday, when it is hoped that other government offices will follow suit and join the strike. I mentioned that poor Dr. Ávila will have no choice but to resign, but Mother was not so certain after speaking with Doña Tina.
The whole day has been filled with rumors, meetings, to-ing and fro-ing. They say delegates from the Legislative Assembly and members of the cabinet itself have shown up at the presidential palace, trying to persuade the general to step down, but he will not budge, on the contrary, he has begun to apply pressure on business owners to reopen their shops, using circulars, telephone calls — an unknown group was even banging on the doors of La Dalia department store and issuing threats. The latest rumor is that hordes of peasants armed by the government are congregating at the army barracks, ready to enter San Salvador and force businesses to open. God willing, this is only a rumor.
Tyrant Memory Page 24
