Mama Fina didn’t hesitate. “We have to warn him.”
“We’re meeting him in two hours.”
They arrived half an hour ahead of schedule. The blue Renault was parked diagonally on the sidewalk a few yards from the door of the church. Much as she wanted to, Julia didn’t feel brave enough to confront her source. They agreed that Mama Fina would introduce the subject and then Julia would quickly describe what she had seen.
Father Mugica was finishing a meeting with a number of couples preparing for marriage. He spotted Julia and Mama Fina and beckoned to them to come and join him in the sacristy.
He was sitting on a bench against the wall. The chasuble he would put on to celebrate Mass hung from a coat hanger on the door of a wooden cupboard. Dressed in his cassock, Mugica sat waiting for them, his hands resting on his knees. He pulled up a wicker chair, gestured to Mama Fina to take a seat, and invited Julia to sit beside him on the bench.
Mama Fina got straight to the point, offering as little explanation as possible and then drawing Julia into the conversation, so that all she had to do was describe what she had seen. Carlos Mugica listened attentively, without a single interruption. When Julia had finished her account, he remained silent for a long time, staring at the floor, breathing heavily.
“Yes, I’ve received threats.” He got up and began to pace the room. Then, smiling almost defiantly, he added: “I’m not afraid of dying. I’m more afraid my bishop will expel me from the Church.”
He started to laugh, then fell suddenly silent. He tried to look elsewhere and avoid what could only be a distressing train of thought.
“I respect Perón, and I know he respects me . . . but there are others who don’t feel the same way.”
He took a few minutes to recover his habitual calm, then said slowly, “It would be a great honor for me to give my life in the service of those who are suffering. The Lord knows that I am ready.”
He opened the door of the sacristy and gave them a dazzling smile. “Thank you for coming. I know you bear great love for me. That is the best gift you could give me.”
9.
THE NIGHTMARE
May 11, 1974
Julia hadn’t slept a wink all night. She got up very early, even though she didn’t have school that day, and went and sat by the fountain in the courtyard while she waited for Mama Fina to wake up. The sound of water chuckling over stone soothed her. She heard the clatter of plates in the kitchen and felt relieved. Her grandmother came out to join her just as a flock of sparrows invaded the courtyard. Mama Fina went up to the birds, the pockets of her apron filled with yesterday’s rice, which she scattered with a practiced hand, then kissed her granddaughter. She too seemed quiet.
“We have to go and talk to him again,” said Julia, on the verge of tears.
“Mi amor, we’ve done our part. He knows what he needs to know, and he is free to choose. If he wants to fight, he’ll have to start by changing his habits. But it’ll only be a reprieve, because the people who want to kill him won’t give up. He’ll have to leave Argentina.”
“Then he must leave. We have to tell him! He’s got no right to die; he has to be alive to help change things. If he dies, he’ll be forgotten.”
“Sometimes it’s the memory of martyrs that gives others the strength to resist. A great nation cannot be built without examples of greatness.”
“But it’s awful to accept death like that, Mama Fina! It’s selfish to sacrifice everything because you want to be a hero. Two years ago no one would have believed that Perón would come back to power. Two years from now maybe the people who are trying to kill Father Mugica will have every reason to want him alive. He’ll have one moment in his life to escape death, one single moment, like Anna and Señora Pilar and Commissioner-Major Angelini, and all the other people you helped. You shouldn’t despise life!”
“Mi amor! Don’t be judgmental. No one can measure someone else’s thirst for life. Knowing what’s in store for us a little ahead of time gives us greater responsibility, not less. Whether it’s now or later, everyone has the same choice in the face of death: to desire it, accept it, or try to escape it. I’m telling you this because it’s important for you to learn not to feel guilty about the choices your sources make, even if you think they’re wrong.”
“I think I’m mad at him more than anything else. I’m disappointed in him. I thought he’d be more of a fighter.”
“I have a lot of admiration for Father Carlos. I’ve seldom seen anyone so passionate. I can assure you he doesn’t despise life. On the contrary, I think he holds it dearer than anybody else. But I also think he’s made a fundamental choice, namely to give his life for others. Leaving the comforts of the Recoleta neighborhood to go into the slums is as powerful a cry of freedom as refusing to be afraid.”
“He could refuse to be afraid and park his car somewhere else.”
—
They left together, knowing exactly where they were going without the need for discussion. They made their way through La Boca, boarded a bus in San Telmo, and drove past the Obelisk as far as Plaza San Martín, where they got off and walked the rest of the way to Villa 31.
Father Mugica was playing football with a group of teenagers on the vacant lot behind the church. It had rained the previous day, and the ball kept stopping dead in puddles. The players were spattered with mud from head to toe. Large covered trucks moved along cautiously, swaying from side to side across the huge holes that littered the dirt road. Small children covered in soot, bare chested, and wearing battered shoes, backed away laughing and holding their noses, caught in the cloud of black smoke coming from the vehicles. A few older women stood looking on, hands on hips.
Mama Fina and Julia soon reached the health center. There was no one there. Julia began to make an inventory of the drugs while Mama Fina went through the account books. The routine tasks masked the horrible sensation of watching over a person condemned to death.
In the afternoon they went back the way they had come, to attend Father Mugica’s service. Sitting in the very last pew of San Francisco Solano, they observed every new arrival at the church. They stayed there until the little blue Renault had left calle Zelada. They took the same route each day that week, careful to keep out of sight so they wouldn’t cause trouble for Father Mugica.
On Friday Theo was waiting for them as usual in Mama Fina’s kitchen with cups of bitter maté. He usually got there before them, found the key in the flowerpot, and made himself at home. He had added a few leaves of fresh mint to the boiling water and was stirring it with a bombilla. As always, they ended up talking about politics.
“You never know what to think,” said Theo. “Take Allende’s death, for example . . .”
“We’ll never know if it was an accident, suicide, or murder,” Mama Fina replied.
“The justice system will never know because it doesn’t want to know. But the people know.”
“It’s not impossible that he decided to kill himself, you know,” Mama Fina added. “Perhaps he’d already considered it, and when he was faced with the facts, he took it as confirmation of what he’d planned.”
“I don’t believe that. There were far too many reasons for him to carry on living. The people loved him. . . .” Theo paused, then went on: “Closer to home, take the death of Juan García Elorrio. It was apparently a car accident. But a lot of people wanted to silence him. He was the editor of Christianity and Revolution. Either way, the magazine didn’t survive his death.”
“So your theory is that he was assassinated?”
“Yes. Everyone knew he was very influential. He was the one who named the first Montoneros cell after Camilo Torres.”
“Camilo Torres?” asked Julia.
“Yes, the Colombian priest. He joined the guerrillas but was gunned down by the army during their first ambush.”
Julia began to sweat profuse
ly, even though it was a cool evening. Theo and Mama Fina exchanged a knowing look and put her to bed. Theo said good-bye, feeling worried.
The next day Mama Fina and Julia spent the morning at the Villa 31 cooperative. Señora Pilar had resigned, and they urgently needed to find someone to replace her. Mama Fina was backing one of her former recruits who had applied for the position, but the woman clearly did not have the respect of her coworkers. The matter dragged on.
Julia was growing impatient. It was a gorgeous day, and she didn’t want to be stuck indoors. Besides, she was keen to watch a football match that the villeros were playing in Retiro that same day, Saturday, May 11. The match was due to start at half past two and she had just enough time to get there. She gathered up her things and left a note for Mama Fina.
All the players on Father Mugica’s team, La Bomba, had found themselves uniforms. They looked good. By the time Julia arrived the match had already begun, and the atmosphere was festive. The whole neighborhood had turned out. Street vendors were selling fried food and soda. Small groups of stout middle-aged women were standing around, bundled up in sweaters. Old men, beers in hand, smoked with an air of rediscovered youth, while children played alongside them, throwing an imaginary ball to each other and performing amazing acrobatics. Everyone had managed to wear something in their team’s colors. The fans were going wild, waving banners and chanting insults about the opposing team. La Bomba broke every record and Father Mugica played like a professional, weaving in and out, sidestepping, and jumping better than the younger players.
He left after the match, dripping with sweat and obviously in a hurry. He teased Julia as he went by with a “Hello, my guardian angel!” which made her blush. All the same, she took the opportunity to tell him she would also be coming to the seven o’clock Mass that evening.
“Like you have every day for the past month,” he said, giving her a wink. He was in an excellent mood. He took her by the shoulders and walked some of the way with her. “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “It’s too beautiful a day for it to be my last.”
—
Julia was about to leave for Villa Luro when Mama Fina opened the door. She came in like a whirlwind of energy, wanting to hear all about the match. Mama Fina took football very seriously, even local amateur games. She had witnessed the growth of the Boca Juniors, nicknamed Los Xeneizes, in her own neighborhood and had long been a member of La 12, the team’s barra brava.* Julia checked her watch. It was ten minutes to seven. With a bit of luck, they would get there before the service ended.
It was already dark by the time they got the bus to Villa Luro. The traffic was moving slowly. Julia hadn’t accounted for that possibility. As they neared the church, they realized something had happened. Police cars blocked the street. Bystanders were talking about a murder attempt. Father Mugica had been taken in an ambulance to Salaberry Hospital in Mataderos. He was still in the operating theater. People were saying the outlook wasn’t good. A growing murmur filled the street. Agonized members of the congregation were explaining to the many curious passersby that he had been riddled with bullets by an unknown man as he left the church after evening Mass. The man had fired his submachine gun at point-blank range and wounded two other people in the process. A woman who seemed to relive the scene as she talked described the stranger as a man with a Chinese-style mustache.
Father Mugica’s death was announced to the crowd at ten o’clock that night. The multitude that had gathered outside the church of San Francisco Solano made no move to leave, frozen in stubborn, irrational expectation. Finally, at midnight, a few members of the Movement of Priests for the Third World, which Mugica had belonged to, said Mass in front of the ever-growing crowd, which stayed there until the following day.
At dawn Julia made her way to the d’Uccellos’ house. Tears stuck strands of her hair to her face, but she made no attempt to remove them. Mama Fina wiped Julia’s cheeks before knocking on the door. She looked straight at her with her clear eyes. “You did everything you could.”
Julia shook her head. “No, I should have been there.”
10.
THE COUP D’ÉTAT
March 29, 1976
Julia and Theo found a room to rent in the Saavedra neighborhood, in a boardinghouse run by an old woman who was sullen and uncommunicative at the best of times. Rosa had told them about the place. The rent was cheap, and the window of their room looked out on a pretty little square with a solitary tree, huge and beautiful, and a bench.
After Father Mugica’s death, Julia and Theo’s life took an unexpected turn. The press reported that Mugica had had a public quarrel with Mario Firmenich, the leader of the Montoneros, a few weeks before he was murdered. Public opinion immediately turned against the organization, and its leaders began to be persecuted. With the death of Perón three weeks later, at the beginning of July, the situation worsened. He was replaced by Isabel Perón in her capacity as vice president, and El Brujo took control behind the scenes. The Triple A stepped up its criminal activity, and the number of disappearances increased.
In September 1974 the Montoneros went underground. Julia and Theo found their lives turned upside down. Friends were arrested by the security forces and then disappeared. Sinister stories began to spread; there was talk of torture and murder. It was said the Triple A was being trained by former Gestapo officers. The order was given to compartmentalize information, to minimize contact between members of the organization, and to change addresses.
Some of Theo’s fellow engineering students at the University of Buenos Aires had been detained. Fear gripped the campus. It was clear that the government was carrying out a raid, and the students were the first in line. Theo dropped out and Julia began looking for a job. They decided to live together, not only to obey orders but also to protect Mama Fina. Julia and Theo moved in together in September 1975, exactly one year to the day after the organization had gone underground.
Mama Fina insisted on celebrating Julia’s eighteenth birthday before she left the family home. She wanted to mark the occasion, not only because Julia had come of age but above all because her granddaughter was about to start life as part of a couple, and without getting married at that. It wasn’t a question of propriety as far as Mama Fina was concerned. She understood that the younger generation had made freedom in love their credo. But she was convinced that one’s choice of partner was a fundamental decision that necessarily involved a change of identity. This change was not confined to a new name, as people were inclined to believe. It involved primarily a transformation in the personality of each partner. To become one with another through love required a process of reflection. And the ceremony, the vows, the preparations, the family gathering—all of it helped construct this new identity. From experience, Mama Fina believed that words exchanged at crucial moments of life worked in a mystical way, as shields against adversity or catalysts for doubt and difficulty. She would have liked Julia and Theo to have this time for reflection, not so they would have the opportunity to back out but so they could become grounded.
For this reason she was adamant that Julia should at least receive a priest’s blessing. She wanted to see them start their new life bathed in words that would protect them in their love, surrounded by people who would do them good. Mama Fina invited the whole family, as well as a crowd of neighbors and villeros. Neither Gabriel’s school friends from the days of the meetings with Father Mugica nor Theo’s college friends were invited. Mama Fina made a point of keeping politics out of it. Only Rosa made the cut, because she arrived on Gabriel’s arm.
—
The girls from the cooperative had filled the house with yellow roses and hydrangeas. The courtyard had been arranged for dancing and strung with blue and yellow streamers that fluttered in the wind. The tables were decorated with pretty baskets filled with mixed candies dusted with powdered sugar. Mama Fina was wearing her midnight blue dress and a flower brooch set with yell
ow amethysts and diamonds. She had hired a youth from the neighborhood football club to be in charge of the record player. He came dressed in the colors of the Boca Juniors.
Julia knew Mama Fina hadn’t done it on purpose, but it wouldn’t have taken much to make her think she was at a gathering of the hinchada. It was a good thing she had chosen not to wear the blue flowered dress the cooperative had given her: she would have felt like part of the decor.
Theo stood off to the side, watching her. Julia looked sublime. She was wearing a red satin dress that flared at the hips, emphasizing her bosom and waistline. With her pearly skin and black hair, she was bewitching. He asked her to dance, determined to keep her to himself for the rest of the evening. Julia spotted Mama Fina deep in conversation with her father in the living room. She slipped away when the next dance ended and went to join them, out of breath. Crouching down beside them, she kissed their hands.
“You are our most precious treasure,” her father told her. Theo tugged at her arm and then she was back in the courtyard, dancing on a cloud. The stars were aligned that day.
Anna and the twins arrived shortly afterward, escorted by a group of musician friends. The young people took over the courtyard and sang Mercedes Sosa songs until dawn.
Julia’s father came to see her at Mama Fina’s a few days later. They spent an entire afternoon strolling around together, hand in hand. He wanted to convince her to enroll at the college and study medicine. Julia came straight out and told him her fears: even though she had never committed any acts of warfare, she was considered a member of the Montoneros, and Theo was the head of their network.
The previous year, Theo’s cell had been asked to collect information about the movements, habits, and daily routine of the brothers Juan and Jorge Born. They later realized that this information had been used to facilitate the brothers’ kidnapping. The Borns were the majority shareholders in one of the country’s largest grain companies. Two people had been killed during the operation: the Borns’ driver and a friend who was with them when they were kidnapped. The Montoneros had secured an enormous ransom of more than sixty million dollars for their release, and now the military was after them.
The Blue Line Page 7