Horacio Castellanos Moya - Tyrant Memory

I think it’s a splendid sign that the rosebush in the garden has bloomed precisely today; no more being alone. Tomorrow morning early I’ll go to the beauty salon for a cut, shampoo, and styling. I want my husband to find me beautiful and elegant, he deserves nothing less, without a trace of the anguish and loneliness that I can now see on my own face.

I wonder if tomorrow, when Pericles is again by my side, I’ll have the need and the steadfastness to keep writing in this lovely notebook, and I tell myself that surely I won’t, I must consider this diary a friend who came to visit me from far away, who keeps me company and comforts me during these moments of solitude, and once her duty is done, she’ll leave, though with some wistfulness, the same wistfulness I’ll feel when I return this notebook to my memory trunk.

Friday of Sorrows, March 31

Oh, the horror of it! The general has ordered Pericles transferred to the Central Prison. There’s no judicial writ, no legal process, that evil man is simply taking revenge on my husband, who knows for what reason. I found out late this morning after I returned from the beauty salon when I called the Black Palace, hoping to hear of Pericles’s imminent release. There was a tone in Colonel Monterrosa’s secretary’s voice — evasive, and he refused to give me any information — that made me wary, then afraid that my husband was going to remain behind bars; my wariness turned to suspicion when Don Rudecindo refused to take my call. “Colonel Monterrosa isn’t here,” his secretary told me, and by the way he enunciated each word I knew the colonel was there but didn’t want to talk to me. So I hung up and dialed the palace again, but this time I called the receptionist and asked to speak to Sergeant Machuca, for I was certain he would tell me if something had happened, not only because of his respect for Pericles but also because he owes my father-in-law more than one favor. And so it was. The minute he took the phone, he began speaking in an undertone so nobody would overhear him tell me that if I wanted to see my husband I shouldn’t wait till noon, I must hurry to the palace at that very moment, because he heard that Pericles was going to be transferred. I asked him where they were taking him, and why. But Sergeant Machuca said he had to hang up, and told me not to tarry. I didn’t waste a second. I asked María Elena to call my parents and my in-laws immediately to let them know that Pericles was being transferred to another prison, and that I was on my way to the Black Palace to find out what was going on. Fortunately, my mother had lent me Don Leo, their chauffeur, to help with the morning chores; I asked him to drive me there as quickly as possible. He asked me if there had been an accident; as we drove across the city at full speed, I told him about Pericles’s imminent transfer, how on other occasions these transfers had been a way of masking the general’s secret intention to do away with his political rivals. We soon reached the palace. I ran upstairs to Don Rudecindo’s office; the secretary tried to stop me, but I had already pushed open the door. The colonel was talking on the phone, and his face changed when he saw me. I stood right in front of him and demanded to know where my husband was. Don Rudecindo covered the mouthpiece with his hand, asked me to have a seat and wait a moment, then motioned to his secretary to leave the office. After hanging up, he looked me in the eyes and said, “This morning, the president called me personally and ordered me to transfer Don Pericles to the Central Prison.” I was in a rage, possessed. I told him, between clenched teeth, that this was a travesty, that carrying out an unjust order was an act of cowardice, and I would cling to my husband and force them to take me with him. Then Don Rudecindo, glancing up at the clock on the wall, as if he hadn’t even heard my insults, said that perhaps at that very moment Pericles was entering the Central Prison. I became quite distressed because I had assumed that my husband was still in the cell in the basement, but it turned out that shortly after Sergeant Machuca had hung up, Pericles was taken to the vehicle that transported him to his new location. I stood up and, as if spitting out my words, muttered: “What is he going to do to my husband, that.!” I was going to say “so-and-so warlock,” but I controlled myself, even mentioning him was degrading, so I stared with profound disdain at the general’s portrait hanging on the wall behind Don Rudecindo. He told me that nobody was going to do anything to my husband, the president’s intention was to gather in one place all those arrested on charges of acting against the political order while the prosecutor’s office completed the legal procedures and filed formal charges, and I would be able to visit him as prescribed by the law. I turned my back on him and left.

Don Leo had parked and was waiting for me in front of the palace; I asked him to drive me to the Central Prison. Then I thought I should have tried to find Sergeant Machuca to get more information. I couldn’t remember at that moment who the director of that prison was; I would have to go home to make a few phone calls and try to pull some strings. But the most important thing at that moment was to make sure that Pericles was there, that this didn’t turn out to be some kind of ploy to secretly take him elsewhere. The guards refused to let me enter until I mentioned my father-in-law’s name and rank. It seemed as if the prison director was already expecting me, surely he’d been warned by Don Rudecindo. His name is Eugenio Palma; he’s a colonel, ugly as sin, and his manners were quite uncouth. I demanded to see my husband that very instant. He told me those were not visiting hours. I was adamant, I insisted this was not for a visit but rather to verify that Pericles was there. He called an assistant and gave him instructions; he explained to me that he would carry out my request as a special and personal courtesy, but he also warned me that he still didn’t know what the visiting policy for my husband would be, he was awaiting orders, then out of the corner of his eye he looked at the portrait of the general hanging behind his desk. Not even five minutes later Pericles walked into the office, escorted by the assistant. I rushed up to him happily and kissed him on the cheek; I would have embraced him, as one might embrace someone who has been brought back from the dead, but my husband is quite averse to public exhibitions of emotion. The colonel introduced himself with a military bow, he assured Pericles he would be treated with respect and in accordance with the law, and he repeated that the visiting policy had still not been determined, but in the meantime I could leave his food and clothes with Sergeant Flores, the assistant. A moment later the colonel gave the order for Pericles to be taken away. I gave him another kiss on the cheek to say goodbye; Pericles whispered in my ear that Don Jorge had not been transferred, that he was still in the palace basement. Before leaving, I told the colonel I would call him later to find out the daily visiting hour; he informed me that inmates at that prison have the right to one visit a week on the weekends. I argued that Pericles is not a criminal, but rather a prisoner of conscience, who has not even been formally charged. He promised to inform me as soon as he received his orders.

I got into the car and asked Leo to take me to my parents’ house. He asked, quite concerned, about Pericles’s situation; Don Leo is a highly trusted family employee, the son of a mechanic my grandfather brought here from his town in Italy. I told him my husband was well, but that I still didn’t know when I was going to be able to visit him; as I spoke, and watched the people and houses going past the car window, I felt suddenly overwhelmed by an urge to cry, to unburden myself, but I held back. As soon as I entered the house, my father gave me a hug, asked me if I had visited Pericles, how he was, and told me he had just spoken with Mr. Malcom, the British commercial attaché, and he told about the latest vile act the Nazi warlock had committed against my husband; he also spoke with General Chaquetilla Calderón, ex-minister of the interior, to ask him why they had transferred Pericles to a prison for thieves and criminals; General Calderón said he knew nothing about the case, but as soon as he had any information he would let him know. My father has a special regard for General Calderón because he was the military leader in charge of putting down the communist uprising in January of ’32 in the region near the volcano and the family finca; but this man, Chaquetilla, despises my husband, precisely because during the uprising, when Pericles was “the man’s” personal secretary, he expressed his reservations about the excessive cruelty he, Chaquetilla, was using against the indigenous population. I immediately called my father-in-law, who naturally was already aware of the development, and the only thing he said was that I mustn’t worry, perhaps remaining locked up for Holy Week would force my husband to reflect on the advisability of showing some respect for order and authority; I would have liked to answer him with a strong riposte, but I sensed the helplessness and sorrow behind his words; then he asked me about Clemente, if I had any news of my son, which took me by surprise and made me fear that he had been drinking too much again and that news had reached Cojutepeque. But at that moment I didn’t have time to concern myself about Clemen. I called Mr. Pineda, the lawyer, and informed him what was going on; he told me there would soon be a court hearing. Lastly, I managed to get in touch with Ramón Ávila, minister of foreign affairs and justice, who is quite fond of my husband; I asked him to please intercede on his behalf with the general, I told him I was making this request without Pericles’s knowledge because I am very concerned over the direction events have taken; he expressed regret about the situation and told me I could rest assured, he would do everything in his power. I do trust Mr. Ávila, he behaved honorably even when Pericles decided to resign as ambassador to Brussels, whereas that Chaquetilla, I’m certain, is behind the conspiracy against my husband.