Giles Blunt - Breaking Lorca

“Yes, it does. Cuban refugees are very welcome. Also refugees from North Korea or Cambodia. The United States is hostile to those countries and likes to embarrass them by accepting their refugees. The people of El Salvador, however, are another matter. The United States is on friendly terms with the government of El Salvador. Obviously, she could not be on friendly terms with a government that persecutes its own people. Therefore, there is no such thing as a political refugee from El Salvador.”

Tell that to the real Perez, Victor thought, the dead Perez. “But …. suppose you were tortured. Suppose you were held by the Guardia or the army and they tortured you. What if you could show scars?” His scalp wound. He could say they clubbed him.

“It makes no difference. There is no asylum for Salvadorans, period. Believe me, I wish it were otherwise. There are people I want to help, and I cannot.” Viera lit another cigarette and regarded his client thoughtfully, assessing the damage his information had wrought. “Don’t be too downcast. Perhaps you will fall in love and marry an American girl. That would solve all your problems. Notice, please, that I am not advising you to fake a marriage, or to pay someone to pretend to marry you. That would be illegal. All I am saying is that if you have a real marriage-a real marriage, notice-with an American citizen, you will get your green card and eventual citizenship. Short of such a marriage, however ….”

“There’s nothing I can do?”

Viera spoke more softly. “Don’t take it so hard. People live here illegally for years. The INS does not come looking for individual immigrants. Even if someone were to telephone them tomorrow morning and say Ignacio Perez is in this country illegally, at such and such an address, they are not going to come banging down your doors to deport you. They are interested in sweatshops, factories-places that employ hundreds of illegals. Your job is a good place to be, Mr. Perez. Hang on to this job.” Viera started folding papers and organizing files on his desk, signalling that the consultation was over. There were no other clients waiting, however. Finally he said, “Well, Mr. Perez-was there something else?”

“Yes. But I–I don’t know how to say it.”

“Take your time. Say what you want. It’s what lawyers are for. We’re a bit like priests, you know.”

Victor took a deep breath. “I knew your sister in El Salvador.”

“My sister.” Viera’s tone suddenly went cold. “Which sister?”

“Lorca, her name was. Lorca Viera. We were in jail together.”

“If you are a fucking rebel, you can get out of here right now.”

“No, no. I was not a revolutionary. Far from it. I told you, I was an administrator. But I was in the same jail as your sister.”

“Well, then you know what happened to her.”

“I thought they took her out and shot her. That’s what they said. They said they took her out and shot her. But I heard-I heard a rumour that she was alive. Is it true?”

“Where did you hear this?” Viera asked sharply.

“It was just a rumour. Prisoners hear things from new prisoners.”

“Bullshit. How do I know you’re not from the Guardia yourself?”

“The Guardia-me?” Victor laughed.

“You said you worked for the government. Exactly what branch of the government?”

“Agriculture. I told you.”

“Then tell me why-if you worked for the government-would you be a prisoner?” The lawyer in Viera came alive now, cross-examining him, badgering him even, but Victor had rehearsed his answers.

“Why was I a prisoner?” He looked Viera in the eye as he spoke. “I made the mistake of taking my job seriously.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

“In El Salvador, there is no land reform. For a campesino, to be given a deed of land is a death warrant.”

“True. I have heard this.” Viera sat back, looking Victor up and down, as if trying to judge his weight. “Frankly, Mr. Perez, I find it hard to believe you were in the same place as my sister. You are in much better condition.”

“So she is alive, then. The rumour was true?”

“I did not say that,” Viera said harshly, and turned away, clearly angry at himself.

“I understand,” Victor said. “You are right to be careful.” The Captain would have been proud of him for catching the lawyer out, but he felt a little ashamed. He had tripped a brother up in his love for his sister-where was the achievement in that?

As if to compensate for his lapse, Viera fired a volley of demands across his desk. “Describe the jail, please.”

“It was a former school. A good one, built of brick. By missionaries, I believe.”

“How many rooms?”

“Six cells, a guardroom, a kitchen, an office, I think. And the interrogation room.”

“How many soldiers?”

“I believe only four. The squad was four soldiers and a captain. There were regular soldiers guarding the perimeter, but they never came inside, as far as I know.”

“What was your cell like?”

“Concrete blocks. I think the cells were an addition to the school. Maybe six feet by four feet.”

“How many prisoners?”

“I don’t know. At least eight. There may have been many more.”

“Where was it located?”

“The school? A little way west of San Salvador. Maybe fifteen miles.”

“Very good, Mr. Perez. But prisoners were blindfolded at all times. How could you possibly know all these details-unless, of course, you were a guard, not a prisoner?”

A tremor went through Victor. “On my last day there, they took the blindfold off. Cleaned me up. Gave me new clothes. They used me in a show they set up, pretending to give away land. The press was there, everybody. They even promised me a deed, as if I had been working on a plantation or something. I knew what that meant. Several of the men I had helped to press such claims had been murdered. When I realized my job was a fake-worse than a fake, a trap-that’s when I quit. And that’s when they threw me in jail.”

“If you were in that stinking place with my sister,” Viera said, “kindly explain for me why you are in such good condition.”

“Your sister suffered. Me, they just wanted to soften up for that show of reform.”

Viera lit yet another cigarette, squinting at him through the smoke. “My sister never mentioned any Perez.”

“We were not acquainted. Mostly I was in a cell across from her. She would not have known my name.”

“How do you know her name?”

“Later, I was thrown into a cell with others. We whispered to each other. We promised that any of us who lived would contact the others’ families. Do you know what it’s like to know that your parents, your wife, your children, have no idea what happened to you? We promised to help each other this way.”

“I see. Well, you had a bad time there, I’m sure.”

“Everybody did. Your sister, though-your sister was brave.”

“Is that some kind of joke? You think that’s funny?”

“I would not joke about such a thing. Your sister suffered for days and days and told them nothing. All the prisoners knew this. She was the bravest person in that place.”

“Really,” Viera said. “Interesting.” He lapsed into a silence.

Fine, Victor thought. Her brother doesn’t want us to meet. That’s fine. Victor had made his attempt to meet her, get to know her, somehow make amends. Few men would have done as much. Perhaps now the nightmares would stop. Perhaps now he could live his new life with a-if not a clear conscience, then a viable one. He rose to leave. “Thank you for your help on the immigration, Mr. Viera. Perhaps you will tell your sister that one who admires her courage was asking after her.”