Tyrant Memory

by Horacio Castellanos Moya

  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.

  When I got home, I went to my bedroom, closed the door, and cried. Once I’d unburdened myself, I tried to call Clemen at the radio station, but he wasn’t there. Then Betito arrived, I told him about his father’s transfer, and we ate in silence; my poor boy is so angry and finds no way to express it. I think perhaps I shouldn’t tell Pati, it might adversely affect her pregnancy. My sister Cecilia called me quite dismayed, she asked if I wanted her to come from Santa Ana to keep me company. I thanked her but told her there was no need, she mustn’t worry. This time I called Clemen at home. Mila answered, she sounded drunk, was completely beside herself, and began cursing my son and warning me that he had gotten himself into who knows what kind of a fix, he was out partying with the Castaneda brothers, who knows in which whore house, he almost never comes home. My daughter-in-law is an ordinary woman; I once heard rumors that she had committed adultery. My son is no better. I pray for both of them, and for their children.

  As I look back over this day in the silence of the night, feeling calmer now only because I am utterly exhausted, I reproach myself for clinging to that foolish hope yesterday that Pericles would be freed, and now it seems as if I was carrying that hope for a long time, as if an eternity rather than a mere twenty-four hours had passed. My greatest comfort was a visit from Carmela and Chelón: we dined together, Chelón spoke about the new book of poems he plans to publish, he proposed jokingly that I should let him dig around in Pericles’s papers, taking advantage of his absence to find the verses he writes in secret, which he so categorically denies doing. And then, when Carmela mentioned that yesterday morning she had seen Clemente leaving the Letona Building, Chelón tried to mimic the way Mariíta Loucel recites her poems. We almost died laughing, because the truth is it seemed he was mimicking Clemen, that clown, mimicking Mariíta. They were particularly amusing, as if they had deliberately set out to entertain me, offer me a pleasant respite, talk about other things; I am so grateful to them.

  A few moments ago, just as I was finishing up writing about my day in this diary, I received a strange telephone call; it was General Alfonso Marroquín, leader of the First Infantry Regiment. He asked to speak to Pericles, as if he didn’t know that he was still under arrest and had been transferred to the Central Prison. I brought him up to date. He said nothing; he apologized for disturbing me so late at night, then hung up. General Ma
rroquín is a close friend of “the man”; Pericles considers him a cruel and contemptible general.

  Saturday, April 1

  There’ll be no more privileges, that’s what Pericles told me this afternoon while we were talking in the room where the other prisoners also receive family visits. I felt disoriented, I didn’t know whom to turn to, how to ask for a minimum of privacy, unnerved by the fact that my husband and I were being treated like common criminals, disoriented the moment I had to stand in line, show my documents, be searched, and wait like everybody else, when my mentioning Sergeant Flores served no purpose whatsoever, for they informed me that he didn’t work today, nor had he left any instructions; on the other hand, I was quite impressed by the solidarity among the families of the prisoners, the camaraderie among people of differing social classes who all seem to be victims of the same great injustice. Pericles told me that he was doing fine there, that he shares a cell with two students, by the family names of Merlos and Cabezas, who have also been arrested for political reasons and who show my husband great respect and consideration, as I myself could ascertain when they approached us with their respective families to introduce themselves. As I commented to my parents later, Pericles seemed genuinely animated, even optimistic, as if contact with different kinds of people was his oxygen. He told me the routine is almost like in the military, it feels good to exercise in the early morning in the prison patio, his conversations with the young students have been stimulating, and the most outrageous rumors are circulating about the imminent fall of “the man.” Then I told him as discreetly as possible about the strange late-night phone call I had received from General Marroquín; he sat thinking for a few moments but didn’t say anything. I’m concerned about the hygiene of the facilities, because in the Black Palace he had access to the officers’ washrooms, whereas in the Central Prison he must use the same toilets as all the other prisoners. As I was leaving I asked the guards if I could visit him tomorrow at the same time, but they told me the prisoners who are allowed a family visit on Saturday are not allowed one on Sunday, and vice versa. I asked to speak to the man in charge, but, just as I suspected, to no avail. I came home quickly to get the personal telephone number of Colonel Palma, the director of the Central Prison, to request authorization to visit tomorrow and to request some kind of clarification of the situation before the Holy Week holidays; his wife answered, she told me the colonel was not in and promised to give him my message. I didn’t hear from him all day. My father tried to get in touch with that general, Chaquetilla Calderón, to see if he could personally intercede to get permission for me to visit daily, but it seemed Chaquetilla hadn’t been seen since noon at the Military Casino after he had already ingested half a bottle of whiskey. Fortunately, I brought Pericles food for two days.

  Clemen showed up before dinner, tipsy again, and unusually agitated. I asked him what he had been up to in the last few days; I complained that I’d been trying to get in touch with him at the station and at home and hadn’t been able to. He acted very mysterious: he admitted he was deeply involved in something of utmost importance, but he couldn’t yet reveal any information. I didn’t insist because it makes me furious to see how easily he lies, another characteristic he inherited from his Uncle Lalo. We spoke about his father’s situation; he told me he knew about the transfer, he regretted not having been able to accompany me either yesterday or today to the Central Prison, but we must remain vigilant, he said, for soon that swine of a general would get what was coming to him. I told Clemen that if I manage to get permission to visit his father tomorrow, it would be good if he came with me, at the Central Prison there aren’t the same restrictions as at the Black Palace, others can also visit the prisoner. He told me I shouldn’t get my hopes up, there are rumors that this Sunday is going to be a dangerous day, and it would be best if I stayed home. There was a certain excitement, a fervor in his eyes that worried me. I preferred to ask him about the children. Then he ranted and raved against Mila: he can’t stand her anymore, she accuses him of being a drunk when she’s the one who never puts the bottle down, she spends all her time playing poker with her friends and does nothing to educate the children or improve their home, he is sick and tired of her reproaches and that’s why he goes home only late at night to sleep. After he was done letting off steam, María Elena came into the living room and asked if he would like a cup of coffee. My poor son left me with a rather nasty taste in my mouth.

  Betito left this morning for the beach in Zunzal with his school friends; most of them will stay there the whole week, but Betito will return on Monday so he can accompany me to the Central Prison to visit his father. My father has to go to the finca, as he does every Sunday; my mother will stay home so we can attend Mass then have lunch together; she says she wants to cancel her trip to Guatemala rather than leave me alone during Holy Week with Pericles in jail. I’ve told her several times that there is no need for her to cancel her vacation.

  At eight at night, María Elena and I sat in the living room listening to the America Radio Drama; the program was quite interesting, and we enjoyed it immensely. I’ve been trying to read, but I am oddly uneasy, as if the uncertainty about Pericles’s release were pinching my nerve endings, as if I were entering a new stage of life I am not prepared for and which I would prefer not to have to confront. I must pray more fervently.

  Palm Sunday, April 2

  Coup d’état! Clemen is involved up to his eyeballs: he was the one who announced the beginning of the uprising against the general on the radio this afternoon, and he is one of the announcers who continues to report the events, calling on the people to support the coup. I couldn’t go to the Central Prison to see Pericles because the military is patrolling the streets. The air force has bombed the area surrounding the Black Palace; now I thank God my husband was transferred. Father is at the finca and Betito is at the beach; there’s been no way to contact them because all communications within the country and the routes into and out of the city have been cut off. Clemen announced that the rebels have taken over the National Telephone and Telegraph Company. María Elena and I have come to my parents’ house, and we will spend the night here. Fortunately, I brought my diary with me; I am now writing in what was my bedroom when I was a teenager, by the light of a candle, because the entire city is in blackout. It is eight o’clock at night. Hope is spreading, but more so, confusion.

  The day began with bad omens: I wasn’t able to get in touch with Colonel Palma to have him authorize a visit to Pericles; on the phone, his wife said the colonel had left that morning, and she had given him the message but he had left no reply. “You know how these men are, Doña Haydée,” she said, as if to apologize. Then I received a call from Pati in Costa Rica: she was alarmed to learn that her father was still in jail and that we have no idea when he will be released; I had a guilty conscience because I had to lie when she asked me if anything had changed. Mother and I went to eight o’clock Mass; in his homily, the priest again criticized those who distance themselves from the Catholic Church and promote exotic religious doctrines that are far removed from the true faith, all this an allusion to the general’s occultist beliefs. Friends stopped to talk as we were leaving church; nobody had the vaguest notion that the coup d’état would begin this afternoon: there have been so many rumors flying around for so long. I went to the Central Prison later in the morning, with new provisions for Pericles and the hope of seeing Sergeant Flores or convincing the officer in charge to let me enter and at least give the basket directly to my husband. It was the visiting hour for common criminals; they didn’t let me in, a guard with a roguish face told me that he would give Pericles the provisions, and I returned home with a horrible feeling of impotence, and despair.

  To cheer me up, Mother convinced me to eat with her at the Casino; she even made me drink a rather strong aperitif. We ate a delicious paella, and for dessert, an exquisite guava tart. After coffee we decided to leave, despite the insistence of some friends that we stay to play cana
sta; now I can only thank God for watching over us. Mother dropped me at the house, where I found María Elena getting ready to go out: she was on her way to a three-o’clock show at the Teatro Colón. I laid down on the sofa to take a nap. Half an hour later, María Elena woke me up, frightened, to tell me that she had turned on the radio and heard there had been a coup d’état. I’d been in such a deep sleep, and I was so lethargic, at first I found it difficult to react. She explained how she couldn’t get downtown because there were troops everywhere, how she soon started to hear the rat-a-tat-tat of machine guns and saw war planes flying over the city and dropping bombs. Then I heard Clemen’s voice on the radio: he announced exuberantly that the dictator was dead, the air force and the infantry have joined the rebels and the only resistance left are the police and the National Guard; then, other professionals and radio announcers took turns at the microphone, most of them friends of Pericles, and the most important words were spoken by Dr. Romero. When I finally understood the magnitude of the events, I thought of my husband and what might be happening at the Central Prison. I tried to call Clemen to get more information, but I couldn’t get through; nor could I communicate with Mother or my in-laws. I told María Elena I would go to the Central Prison to see what was happening there, perhaps they had already released Pericles; she warned me it was most likely extremely dangerous to be on the streets at that moment, but she said she’d accompany me. I told her she should stay home in case anybody called; she insisted on coming with me. The Central Prison is located about seven blocks from the house. People were walking quickly down the street, everybody very tense. In the distance I saw airplanes flying toward downtown. Many people were standing on the sidewalks in front of the open doors of their houses, waiting, their radios blasting, celebrating the general’s death. Two blocks from the Central Prison, a group of soldiers stopped us in our tracks and ordered us to go back the way we had come. I protested. But there was no way to convince them. Also, just at that moment, two airplanes flew very low overhead and loud explosions could be heard coming from near the Black Palace. Then I got frightened. I told María Elena that it would be better for us to walk toward my parents’ house. There were no streetcars. I ran into several acquaintances in the street; there was tremendous excitement. It was God’s will that Mingo drove by at that moment. I told him we knew nothing about Pericles’s situation in the Central Prison. He explained that nobody knows anything about anything, the situation is very confusing; people knew only what Clemen and the other rebels were reporting on the radio: that the First Infantry Regiment was battling the police in the area around the palace, the general was dead, and the air force was supporting the coup. He told me he would drive me quickly to my parents’ house, and I should call him if I needed anything at all. Mother was beside herself: Don Leo had gone to get me and found nobody at home, she had not been able to get in touch with Father, and Clemen’s voice on the radio made her fear the worst. Slowly, she began to calm down. Soon a few phone calls got through, from friends who live in other parts of the city, and we spoke with the neighbors. We found out that the airplanes had missed their target, the bombs didn’t fall on the Black Palace but rather on the block of the Casino, and there were fires and many dead in the streets. Mother explained that we have only God to thank that the three of us are alive, because the Teatro Colón, where María Elena had been headed, is on the same block, and it is still in flames now, late at night. Later, one of the Castaneda brothers, Clemen’s friends, announced on the radio that the general is not dead, he’s barricaded in the Black Palace. “That warlock is going to win!” my mother cried out in horror. I hushed her, told her not to repeat those words for they would bring bad luck. I was stupefied when I realized what could happen to Clemen and Pericles if the coup failed: the general’s rage, his need for revenge. God help us!