Tyrant Memory

by Horacio Castellanos Moya

  María Elena was at home when we arrived; she had just gotten back from the village. She asked me where I was coming from that I was so agitated. I brought her up-to-date on the most recent events, including how frightened I was by Sergeant Flores’s threat. María Elena told me that in her village and in the entire region around the volcano, people are fed up with the general, nobody can forgive him for having executed General Marroquín and Colonel Calvo in cold blood; in addition, squadrons of National Guard troops keep scouring the fincas and threatening the peasants, they suspect that several people who participated in the coup are hiding in the area. She told me the dress fit Belka perfectly, and her whole family sends me their gratitude and best wishes; she brought bags of fruit and the curdled cheese I love so much. María Elena said that when she walked out of the bus terminal, she had the sensation that this was the first day San Salvador had returned to some semblance of normalcy since the coup, but after what I told her, she no longer felt that way.

  I received a phone call from my mother-in-law. She told me that Colonel Palma called to express his regret that he couldn’t allow visits to Pericles, but orders are orders, and they come from the very top. I told her he is a coward for contacting her instead of returning my phone calls. I’ve been aware that my in-laws have known him for a long time, that there was a certain intimacy between them, I even suspected there were favors owed. Mama Licha warned me that the situation continued to be very delicate, it seems that rather than dissuade the officers from expressing their dissatisfaction, the executions have had the opposite effect. I was surprised that my mother-in-law would talk about such things on the telephone, she is always so cautious and circumspect. Something quite serious must be happening.

  This afternoon rumors started circulating that Dr. Romero has been captured. I didn’t believe them. I received phone calls from many people; everybody in the street was talking about it. I heard wildly different versions: that he was shot while being arrested, that they applied the law of flight — which allows them to shoot fleeing prisoners — that they are torturing him at the Black Palace. But it wasn’t long before there was a news bulletin on the radio. First it was announced only that he had been captured, and more details would be given soon. Then there was a government press release stating with great fanfare that the “communist leader” Arturo Romero had been captured by a peasant patrol in the eastern part of the country, very close to the Honduran border; it said the doctor attacked his captors in an attempt to escape, and he was wounded in the ensuing struggle and taken to a hospital in the city of San Miguel. I froze: that scoundrel will execute Don Arturo, I said to myself. It was as if we were all thinking the same thing, because immediately a kind of silent wave of outrage rippled through the city. By then it was late in the afternoon. Betito and I went to the Alvarados’ house; we were lucky to see Chente, who just happened to have stopped by to pick up some clothes and sandwiches because he was going to spend the night at the university. He told us a student delegation from the medical school was going to take the train to San Miguel as soon as possible to safeguard Don Arturo, for the National Guard troops who captured him had assaulted him brutally with machetes, he has a very deep wound on his face, and the doctors at the San Miguel hospital are doing everything possible to save his life; he also told us that preparations for the university strike are moving along, and that’s what he’s going to spend the night planning. Then he left quickly. All poor Rosita could do was ask God to watch over him and sit there biting her fingernails.

  We returned home. Betito went to Henry’s; I asked him to be very careful. Doña Chayito called to tell me she had just spoken to the ambassador, who said the doctor’s arrest was bringing things to a head, the entire diplomatic corps approved the request for immediate clemency for all coup participants who are under arrest and requested a meeting with the general for the afternoon, and as soon as she had heard anything she would call me; she said we should meet at eight in the morning in front of the Central Prison. I assured her I would be there. I had just hung up when Raúl and Rosita came over to invite me to dine with them, then Mingo also arrived, asking me to tell him every detail of our meeting with the ambassador. In the end we stayed in: Rosita went to get the fried plantains and beans she had made, and María Elena served some meatballs left over from lunch. I was surprised by Raúl’s sudden change; he is very upset by Don Arturo’s capture, he said the entire medical society would do everything possible to prevent his execution, his friends are in contact with colleagues in San Miguel, and once they get him out of immediate danger they will stretch out his treatment as long as possible to prevent them from taking him to the prison hospital. He also said that on this first day of classes the political ferment among the university students has been intense, in classes nobody talks about anything besides the executions and how the general should be thrown out, and everybody’s nerves are on edge.

  Betito didn’t return until a few minutes before ten; I was already getting worried. I scolded him: it is irresponsible to run the risk of being caught on the streets after curfew. He told me that he and his high school friends are getting better organized so they can join the university protests that will take place in the next few days. I warned him not to neglect his studies, whatever the circumstances, and not to misbehave at school: he is still a minor who must do as he is told, and he knows how strict his father is.

  I’m exhausted, but my spirits are good. I hope I’ll soon fall asleep. I don’t want to stay awake thinking about Don Arturo’s fate, because then I will grow worried about Clemen and Pericles. The one who is staying up all night is Chente, along with his classmates; he looks so inoffensive with his glasses and scrawny body, but that boy has turned out to be quite tenacious.

  Tuesday April 18

  A detachment of National Guard troops had taken up position on the street in front of the Central Prison with orders not to allow us to approach. The atmosphere was charged: I was afraid and decided to return home to wait for the other ladies. Doña Chayito called a bit later: she said she’d verified that the guards would surround the prison indefinitely to prevent us from approaching; she also confirmed that the representatives of the diplomatic corps were received last night by the general and they presented him with their request for clemency, though they received nothing but an assurance that everything would proceed according to the law. And again I could hear Pericles saying, “That’s the only clemency the man knows: the National Guard.” We will meet tomorrow at Doña Consuelo’s house.

  I spent the rest of the morning grocery shopping, feeling a bit guilty when I thought of the unpleasant things Pericles must have to eat. María Elena accompanied me from store to store; everyone is mumbling hateful insults against the general under their breath, though fear abounds. In Plaza Morazán we took Don Sergio’s taxi; he says he misses my husband, his favorite client.

  Then I went to the beauty salon — I was in a sorry state, I have been taking such poor care of myself, as if punishing myself for Pericles having to remain in jail. Silvia, the one who brushes my hair, told me she had just waited on Doña Tina de Ávila, the wife of Don Ramón, minister of foreign affairs, who swears that her husband and several other ministers would like to resign, but they don’t see how or when, and they don’t agree that there should be more executions and would rather the sentences be commuted, especially Dr. Romero’s, but they are afraid to raise their voices because then the general would accuse them of treason and retaliate. I am certain this is the case.

  I felt like a new woman when I left the beauty salon. Then I went to my parents’ house. I noticed several young people on the streets wearing black ties. I brought Mother up-to-date on my recent activities; she advised me to be very careful, not depend on the fact that I am a respectable lady, she said, because the worst kind of animal is a cornered animal. I mentioned what Doña Tina had told Silvia at the beauty salon; Mother already knew — she’s friends with Doña Tina and also with Doña Telma de Escobar, the wife of
the treasury minister. She says the situation would be comic if it weren’t so tragic: before each meeting with the general, most of the ministers agree to explain to him the virtues of adopting a more moderate policy and taking into consideration the advice of friendly foreign governments, but once they are face-to-face with him in his office, they all tremble, not one dares express the slightest dissension, least of all regarding the death sentences, and even so, he eyes them with suspicion and contempt, he now trusts only those in the army who remained loyal to him.

  On my way back home I came across more young people wearing black ties. Betito is the one who explained to me, when we sat down to eat, that it’s a form of protest by the university students, an expression of mourning for those executed and for Dr. Romero’s capture. While she served us cannelloni, María Elena mentioned that she had just seen Chente on his way home for lunch from the university, and he was also wearing a black tie. Betito asked me if he could wear one of his father’s ties; I answered that he isn’t a university student, the tie of his school uniform is green, and black doesn’t match, and anyway he doesn’t like wearing ties, he is always complaining about it, and his father doesn’t like other people wearing his clothes. But he insisted. In the afternoon he went out wearing Pericles’s tie.

  I had plans this afternoon to have coffee with Carmela and Chelón, but I got a very bad migraine. I slept for a while. I woke up with cramps, my spirits very low, and with an overwhelming desire to cry and stay in bed alone. The beginning of my period made me feel like I was being crushed by a huge log, so heavy was the load of nervous exhaustion I was carrying. I didn’t leave my bedroom even for dinner; María Elena brought me tea and sweet rolls. Betito came in a while ago to ask me how I was and tell me that Chente said that six soldiers are guarding Dr. Romero at the San Miguel hospital, the delegation of medical students is already there to protect him, and they are looking for a way to help him escape once his health improves. I am not in as much pain now, but I don’t know if I’ll be in any shape tomorrow to attend the meeting at Doña Consuelo’s house.

  Wednesday April 19

  Things have blown sky high: they’ve arrested Chente. There was a confrontation between the police and the students; several were arrested. The rector has decided to shut down the university. Raúl and Rosita are out of their minds with worry. It happened late this morning. I was lying on the sofa, a hot water bottle on my belly, when the radio reported the riots, the arrests, and the suspension of classes until further notice. I immediately had an intuition that Chente was among those arrested; afterward I became even more alarmed, imagining that Betito might have decided to skip school and join the university students. María Elena tried to reassure me: she said the radio newscasters hadn’t mentioned anything about high school students or minors, and Betito was surely at school. But I was still worried; I even forgot about the discomfort of my period. I called his school to ask. Everything was fine, the principal told me. Then I called the Alvarados’ house. I was right: Raúl had just called Rosita to tell her of Chente’s arrest. The poor thing was crying her eyes out; and she was scolding him under her breath: she had warned him, but that boy is so stubborn, they’re going to mistreat him, she can’t understand why children don’t pay attention to their mothers; she said what we often say as a defense against pain and fear. For a moment I thought she’d turn against me. But no; instead, she begged for help. She said that Raúl and the other professors were on their way to the Black Palace. I called Doña Chayito. She already knew, and she told me she had just spoken to the American ambassador to ask him to take a stand on this issue, and she said most of the students who’d been arrested were medical students, and the board of the Salvadoran Medical Association had made an urgent request for an audience with the general; she told me she’d have more news at the meeting that afternoon. I stayed to keep Rosita company until Raúl arrived; some neighbors came to visit, to offer their support; and two more plainclothes policemen have appeared on our street to watch us, as María Elena pointed out to me. At one moment, Rosita lost control: she let out some bloodcurdling screams, as if Chente were dead; she rued her bad luck, recalling the tragedy of her daughter Dolores, who was two years older than Chente and died of fulminating peritonitis, weeks before her fiesta rosa, her fifteenth birthday celebration, a girl we never had a chance to meet but whose photos I’ve seen on a kind of altar on a shelf in the Alvarados’ living room. Thank God Raúl arrived when he did, because we couldn’t find any way to comfort Rosita; the poor man looked quite shaken when he arrived but quickly pulled himself together, gave her some tranquilizers, and managed to convince her to lie down. Then he told us that the police had provoked the confrontation in order to arrest the students, taking advantage of the fact that the campus is only one block away from the Government Palace; he assured me that the board of the Salvadoran Medical Association remains in a state of emergency, and he said that final year students, who work as interns at the hospitals, are threatening to go on strike.

  At lunchtime, Betito brought a leaflet from the university students that called for the overthrow of the general; though as yet there was no mention of the arrests of the morning, it ends with a sentence I will never be able to forget: “We must act like men, not dumb beasts: throw off the yoke of the tyrant.” He offered to type up a copy I could take to our meeting in the afternoon. But there was no meeting: Doña Consuelo called, sounding very frightened, she told me the tea for Leonor had been canceled, she was very sorry, she would explain later, for now it would be better if we didn’t pay her any visits. I assumed the general’s spies had insolently positioned themselves in front of the house, intimidating her. Doña Chayito confirmed this when she came over this afternoon, having been alarmed by the number of policemen watching the committee members; she warned me that we must be extremely careful about what we say over the phone, it would be best to find ways of arranging our meetings when we are face-to-face or through messengers. For a brief moment while we were having coffee and cemita cakes in the living room, she looked overwhelmed, exhausted, as if she no longer knew where to go from here; I felt frightened because at that moment I understood that a large part of my own self-confidence to stand in the street and demand Pericles’s freedom came from this woman, from her determination and drive, this woman who is not a friend of mine and doesn’t even belong to my social circle. Fortunately, Doña Chayito quickly returned to her usual high spirits: she said we mustn’t despair, these new arrests will rebound in our favor because our movement will grow, and we must be prepared for this to happen, for now I should focus on getting the Alvarados involved, and she would come visit me tomorrow, Friday, at noon, or would send Leonor, Doña Julita’s daughter, with precise instructions.

  I would have liked to go to my parents’ house, but after Doña Chayito left, my period and its attendant discomforts obliged me to take to my bed again: I felt overwhelmed by sorrow and despair, morbid forebodings about Clemen, Pericles, and Chente, until I fell fast asleep. María Elena woke me up when she entered the room with a cup of tea; she told me it was time for dinner, said it wouldn’t be good for me to spend the whole night with an empty stomach, and that Raúl had come a while ago to ask how I was. I asked if he had given her any news about Chente; he is still being held at the Black Palace, that is all she knew. It took a great deal of effort to get on my feet. Betito had stayed at my parents’ house to eat, she said; then she insisted on forcing me to eat something even though I wasn’t the least bit hungry. That’s how María Elena is: based on her age, she could be my daughter, but sometimes she acts like my mother.

  Two other doctors were at Raúl’s house; when I arrived they were carrying on an animated conversation. Raúl introduced me; they were Dr. Salazar and Dr. Moreno, the fathers of two other students who had been arrested. All three men seemed anxious and were drinking whiskey; Rosita looked improved, though her gaze was unfocused, as if lost. Dr. Salazar told me he knew Pericles and Clemen, and he expressed his regrets, but he sai
d it seemed the general had made a point of having at least one member of every family behind bars. I asked after the boys. Raúl told me they were being held at the Black Palace, but the director, Colonel Monterrosa, had given assurances to the board of the Salvadoran Medical Association that they would not be mistreated and that normal due process would be followed, though he warned that because they had violated the provisions of the state of siege, the students could remain detained for as long as the authorities deemed necessary. Dr. Moreno explained that the general hopes the Salvadoran Medical Association will lose heart and therefore cease to appeal for clemency for Dr. Romero, whom he plans to put in front of a firing squad as soon as his injuries heal. Raúl told me they have already organized a team of lawyers from the same university to defend the students, and they have received authorization to visit them tomorrow morning. Rosita cried out passionately that the only thing she wanted was to see her son, touch him, have absolute proof that they haven’t done anything terrible to him. That is what we all wish for most, I told her. I then told the doctors about the difficulties we are having visiting our family members at the Central Prison, the ways we are working together to demand visiting rights, and the threatening and harsh responses we’ve gotten from the general, including all the ladies in the committee being under police surveillance. I wished them luck getting in to see their sons tomorrow and said it would be good in any case to support each other, combine our efforts, which — as they must surely already know — have the support of the American ambassador. Dr. Moreno said certainly, we could count on them, tonight they would speak to their wives and would have them get in touch with me and Rosita; Dr. Salazar agreed. Then, after discussing the reports of Dr. Romero’s health, they threw back their whiskeys and left. “Who would ever have guessed we would find ourselves in such a situation,” Raúl said as he saw me to the door; Rosita broke out in tears.