Horacio Castellanos Moya - Tyrant Memory

“But we’re safe here, aren’t we, Father?” Clemen asks.

“You are not safe anywhere, my son.”

“I’ve got to get out of the country,” Jimmy says. “If the general gets his hands on me, I’m a dead man.”

“We are too far away from the border,” the priest says.

Then he tells them that the head of the National Guard in Cojutepeque is an old enemy of the colonel, and even though the colonel is the governor of the province, he wouldn’t be surprised if the chief were keeping an eye on the colonel, knowing that Clemen participated in the coup and might try to seek protection from his grandfather.

“We must find somewhere else to hide you, farther away from the city.”

“But here on the outskirts, nobody would suspect anything,” says Clemen, swallowing hard and taking a few final deep drags off the cigarette.

“The head of the Guards is shrewd, and a lout,” the priest says and points to the plate under the candlestick where he can stub out his cigarette. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he suspected me because of my friendship with your family, and took advantage of my absence during Mass to come and search the house.”

“I have plans to leave as soon as possible,” Jimmy says.

The priest turns to him in surprise.

“Very good, son. You’ll tell me all about it while we eat dinner, anxiety stimulates my appetite,” the priest says as he gets ready to open the door, then adds, “This will be your last meal down here. From now on you must remain above, I’ll leave your food on the wardrobe, and you can come down at dawn and at night, once the house is all locked up, to take care of your business.”

“What about the girls?”

“Don’t worry about them. They are my goddaughters. They talk only to people I give them permission to talk to, and they never go out without me. I will forbid them from coming into the prayer room. And they won’t know you are here. Anyway, they spend most of their time in the back of the house, in the kitchen, the washroom, and their quarters.

The priest goes out onto the patio and claps several times, his signal that dinner should be served; Jimmy and Clemen pass into the dining room and sit down across from each other at the rectangular table.

“The refreshments, Father?” Clemen asks.

“All in due time, son,” the priest says.

He opens a cabinet and takes out a bottle of rum; Clemen’s face lights up. The priest pours out three glasses and sits down at the head of the table.

Two girls, just barely adolescent, short and thin and with indigenous features, enter the dining room carrying plates of food. They say “good evening” but keep their eyes down, not daring to look any of the men in the face. They place beans, rice, fried plantains, cheese, cream, and tortillas on the table.

“What if someone knocks on the door while we’re eating?” Jimmy asks, worried, once the girls have left.

“Everybody in the congregation knows not to disturb me during dinner.”

“What about the National Guard?” Jimmy insists. “Is there a back exit through the patio?”

The priest, who at that moment was helping himself to some plantains, suddenly looks at him with fear; Clemen gulps down his whole glass of rum.

“You would climb into the loft immediately and without making a sound,” the priest says after recovering his composure. “But I don’t think they’ll come tonight; they’re only now getting organized. Eat quickly, then go up.”

Nervous, but without saying another word, they eat their fill.

“What’s the plan you mentioned, my son?”

“To go east as soon as possible, Father. My idea is to reach the Gulf of Fonseca. I have a couple of friends at the American base there.”

“The roads are all blocked,” the priest explains. “National Guard soldiers are patrolling in pairs and the regional forces are everywhere, demanding documents from anybody they don’t know, and they check the names against the list of coup participants that was wired to all the command bases in the country this morning. Your names are on that list, that’s what the colonel told me.”

“May I pour myself another one, Father?” Clemen asks; from the look on his face it’s clear he is undergoing a panic attack.

“Last one. Otherwise you’ll have to relieve yourself in the middle of the night.”

“We have to find a way for me to leave,” Jimmy says.

“For you to leave together,” the priest says, still with his mouth full.

Jimmy and Clemen look at each other in surprise.

“I don’t want to leave, Father,” Clemen says.

“And I don’t want him coming with me,” Jimmy adds.

“You won’t be able to be up there for long without being discovered, son,” the priest warns Clemen, as if he hadn’t heard what Jimmy said. “This house receives many visitors. Then we’d all be in trouble, even your grandfather. We must find a way for you to leave together.”

Jimmy takes a sip of rum.

“With all due respect, Father, I think the military should go one way and civilians another. It would be best if Clemen found a new hiding place and I continued on my way. It won’t be easy to reach the gulf, I might encounter dangerous situations, and my cousin here simply isn’t prepared. ”

One of the girls enters with more tortillas. They stop talking. She asks the priest if she should bring three cups of coffee. He nods, without looking at her, and keeps chewing.

She leaves quickly, her sandals making the same slapping sound as she walks away.

“Maybe you know a guide you trust, Father, someone who could take back roads to the train tracks in the middle of the night?” Jimmy asks in a low voice, sidling up to the priest, as if he fears the girl has stayed behind the door listening.

The priest wipes the plate with a piece of tortilla, sopping up the remains of the beans and the cream; he scrunches up his face, as if mentally searching through the roster of his congregants to find the man Jimmy needs, then he places the piece of tortilla in his mouth and shakes his head.

“Wouldn’t do you any good,” he says, once he finishes swallowing. “There’s a pair of soldiers on every train, and they inspect every car.”

Clemen nods in agreement with what the priest has said, throws Jimmy an I-told-you-so look, then takes a tiny sip of rum, hoping this way it will last all night.

“What’s up with you?” Jimmy says irritably. “The rum already went to your head, didn’t it?”

“No, I just think you’ve got to be nuts to want to go out in the middle of the night and get caught by a patrol.”

“If I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it, you hear?”

“Well, just in case you wanted it. ”

“Boys,” the priest interrupts them, having heard quite enough. “Right now it would be best for you to finish eating, take care of your business, and climb back up to the loft. There’s nothing like a good night’s sleep for the Lord to enlighten us with new ideas.”

At that moment the girl comes in, her head still down, carrying three steaming cups of coffee; Clemen watches her carefully, and as she leaves, he checks her out from behind.

2

“Jimmy, are you awake?. What was that?” Clemen whispers.

The other keeps snoring.

“Jimmy. ”

Clemen gropes around in the darkness until he touches Jimmy’s shoulder; he gives him a few pokes.

“Jimmy. ”

Jimmy opens his eyes like a frightened animal; it takes him three seconds to realize where he is and with whom.

“What’s going on?” he whispers.

The darkness is almost total: the filthy skylight lets in barely a trace of the night’s glow.

“Did you hear that noise outside?”

“No.”

“Sounded like soldiers marching.”