Horacio Castellanos Moya - Tyrant Memory

“Things are even worse here,” Don Leo said, stopping the car. There was a National Guard checkpoint blocking the street the Marín’s house is on. I got nervous. A soldier approached the car and asked for our documents; he asked Don Leo where we were going. “To the wake,” I came out with, and I still don’t know where I got the courage. The soldier went over to an officer standing nearby, looked over our documents for a few minutes that seemed to last forever, and wrote our names down in a book. “Two hours ago this checkpoint wasn’t here,” Doña Chayito muttered. The soldier returned and, as he handed back our documents, he leaned over and gave me a sinister glare. “Pass,” he barked. I was in a cold sweat. “There might be one at the other wake by the time we get back there,” Don Leo commented. But according to Doña Chayito, the warlock sending the soldiers here was yet another act of cruelty against the family, because they say he personally tortured Víctor Manuel, but failed to break his will, failed to get him to give anyone else away.

When we got out of the car, I feared my legs would buckle under me; I grabbed on to Doña Chayito’s arm. Just a few family members were there; I had already met some of them outside the Central Prison and also at Sunday Mass. I gave my condolences and went to sit next to Doña Julita and her daughter, Leonor. The atmosphere was more infused with terror than mourning. I couldn’t hold out any longer, and asked where the washroom was. While I was taking care of my business, I took out the communiqué I’d hidden in my brassiere; I tore it up into little pieces and flushed it down the toilet. I returned to the living room. Doña Chayito was complaining about the checkpoint, explaining that many people would refrain from coming to offer their condolences as a result of it. I accepted a coffee. I calmed down a little. I watched the Maríns’ mother, the poor dear was weeping incessantly, and then would suddenly burst into sobs. I got chills wondering if they’d tortured Lieutenant Alfonso as they had his brother, Víctor Manuel. I told myself probably not, everybody says the general lashes out more violently against civilians. I felt like I was drowning, as if they had just notified me that Clemen had been captured. I took out my rosary beads and began to pray, trying to chase away those dreadful thoughts. But I was unable to lessen my agitation, the pounding in my heart and temples. I was determined to finish my rosary. Then I told Doña Chayito I wasn’t feeling well and would soon leave; I asked her if she would be staying at the Maríns’ or if she wished us to take her someplace else. She asked me to take her to Captain Piche’s house. I felt somewhat guilty saying goodbye, so few people were in attendance, and the crushing density of the sorrow was felt acutely in that almost empty room. It was dark when we went out to look for Don Leo. I prayed to God we wouldn’t have any trouble getting through the checkpoint. We passed without any difficulty, I didn’t even see the soldier with the sinister eyes; I felt lighter, now that I wasn’t carrying that communiqué, though I knew a migraine was hovering, about to attack and lay me low at any moment. Doña Chayito gave Don Leo directions. The city felt dismal, as if the wind were fear, blowing through the streets. There were no soldiers in the area, only secret policemen snooping around. I told Don Leo I would stop in only for a moment to offer my condolences, and we would leave in less than a quarter of an hour. There were the same amount of people here as at the Gavidias’. Angelita was near the door, greeting people; she told me she had just arrived, she had heard about the checkpoint in front of the Maríns’ house, and she unfortunately wouldn’t be able to make it there tonight. Then with some urgency she pulled me over to a corner and asked me if I had any news about Clemen. My heart skipped a beat. “No, why, my dear?” I managed to stutter. She told me she’d just been assured that Jimmy is fine, but they didn’t give her any details, and she wanted to know if I had heard anything she hadn’t. I told her the men in my family and Pericles’s family share the opinion that life-and-death secrets should not be shared with women, so I was totally in the dark.

I returned home even more unsettled, and still now, after writing down all the events of the day, anxiety is gnawing away inside me, as if something important were happening right next to me without my being aware of it. Fortunately, the migraine has passed. Betito was dropped off a while ago; I scolded him for having disappeared without letting me know. He told me that when he returned to the Gavidias’, I was already gone, and he and his friends had some other things to do. I saw in his eyes the fervor of someone who has embarked on an adventure; I warned him to be careful. Only now do I realize, with a heavy conscience, that I haven’t thought about Pericles even once all day. My poor husband.

Tuesday April 25

A ray of sunshine after the storm! They released Chente and the other medical students who were arrested last Wednesday. The government lifted the curfew; they also authorized the opening of the Club and the Casino. And an assistant to Colonel Palma, the director of the Central Prison, called when I wasn’t home and left a message with María Elena to tell me to appear early tomorrow morning because visits would now be allowed to political prisoners. We were all surprised, happy. I wouldn’t have believed any of it if I hadn’t been at my neighbors’ house celebrating with Chente. God willing they will soon free Pericles, and tomorrow I can bring everything we have packed for him: clothes, food, personal grooming items. Betito will accompany me even if it means he’ll get to school late. My mother-in-law called to tell me she regretted not being able to come, her arthritis has her bent over in pain, and would I please give Pericles her blessing. Doña Chayito and the other members of the group are hopeful that our family members will be released in the next few days; we’ll meet in front of the Central Prison.

I dined at my parents’ house; Uncle Charlie stopped by, but he only drank whiskey. According to him, the gringos are furious about the executions, and they have made it clear to the general that they are considering sending in the military police to protect American citizens in the event of a new uprising, and it is this threat that has forced him to back down. “He isn’t cowered by a threat like that,” Father commented. Then he said: “That warlock must have something up his sleeve: he’s loosening things up to see who will lift their heads so he can lop them off.” I put in my two cents: I told them that the why and the wherefore didn’t matter, the important thing was that I would be able to visit Pericles and that the students had been released. Mother mentioned that Carlota is happy the clubs are open for there will be no problem now with Luz María’s wedding.

I have checked and rechecked the provisions I am taking to Pericles several times; I don’t want to forget anything. These twenty days without seeing my husband seem like an eternity. I am nervous, like a girl about to see her sweetheart after a long separation. All these bad experiences I’ve had in the last few weeks have turned a little red light on in my head, a warning light not to get shaken too badly if things go haywire again, if the Devil starts whispering again in the warlock’s ear.

Wednesday April 26

Finally, I was able to spend an entire hour with Pericles! I have no words to describe what I felt. At first, while we were being searched, and the guards were rummaging through the suitcase and the basket, I couldn’t contain my excitement, as if I were a little girl about to get the toy I had always wanted, but once I was face-to-face with Pericles, I controlled myself, though I was so happy I kept wanting to jump up and throw my arms around him. The first thing he did, after we greeted each other, was look through the basket to find the cigarettes and he immediately lit one up, then he asked me to pour him a cup of coffee from the thermos. He looked over the other things; he laughed at the after-shave lotion: he said he had made his peace with smelling bad, but the problem would be to keep it away from his fellow prisoners who would want to drink it. We talked about everything; he was very happy they let Betito in. I told him I had no news about Clemen, I told him about the fright we had upon leaving church on Sunday, about Chente’s arrest and subsequent release, and all the political gossip. Betito excitedly told him about the prospect of a general strike led by university students. He told us to be very careful, to remember that one should never confront “the man” head on; he said most of the prison guards treat the political prisoners well, even with respect: among the prison authorities a lot of uncertainty reigns, many are convinced that sooner or later change will come and that “the man” will end up leaving. He asked me to call Pati as soon as we got home to reassure her that he is fine so she doesn’t worry. I told him I would tell his mother the same thing, the poor dear wanted to come but her arthritis was acting up. As the time passed I started to notice the toll imprisonment was taking on him, a twitch in his right eye, his cough worse than ever, his pallor. I told him I would bring some cough syrup next time I came. He chain-smoked during the whole visit; it’s the first time in jail that getting cigarettes has been the biggest challenge, he said. Then he asked after Mila and the grandchildren. I hoped to sound natural when I told him they were fine in spite of her complaints about her economic difficulties; but I’ve never known how to lie to my husband: he threw me an inquisitorial look, turned to Betito, then grew quiet. I told him that yesterday, when I heard about the lifting of the curfew, I called the lawyer, Mr. Pineda, who told me the conditions might now be more favorable for moving his case through the courts. Pericles told me not to build up any hope, that his release will have nothing to do with any courts — it will only come when “the man” orders it or because “the man” isn’t in power anymore. It took all my strength to say goodbye, and hold back the tears. As I left I tried to find Sergeant Flores to ask him when we could visit next, but on the wall in the hallway there was a sign posted that stated that we could return on Saturday morning.