“Father, Doña Ana brought you some cheese a while ago.”
Clemen and Jimmy remain still and alert, the latter without removing his hand from his nose.
“Which Doña Ana, my child? There are several.”
“From the pharmacy, Father.”
“How nice, because we are going to have two guests for dinner. But how many times have I told you not to open the door to anybody when I’m not here.”
“I’m sorry, Father. ”
“I don’t want it to happen again. Tomorrow I’m going to hear your confession, because the Devil always has his way with you girls.”
Mockingly, Clemen makes an obscene gesture with his right middle finger into a hole made with his left thumb and index finger.
“Father. ”
“Yes?”
The voices sound as if they are right beneath them.
“There are some animals up above. ”
“Where, my child?”
“There, in the roof, Father, in the prayer room. We heard some loud banging.”
“Some rats must have gotten in. We’ll put out some poison. Don’t you worry, my child. Go back to your sister and help her fix dinner. And stay in the back, in the kitchen, until I call you. Don’t disturb me.”
“As you wish, Father.”
The flip-flops walk away. The door to the prayer room has been closed. A moment later they hear a light tapping under the floor of the attic.
“Come down,” the priest says.
Jimmy picks up the board, climbs down through the hole, resting his feet on the wardrobe, then jumping onto the floor; Clemen follows behind him, being very careful; first he places the can on the wardrobe, then jumps down.
“What’s that?” the priest asks, curious.
“I was pissing my pants, Father. Forgive me. I couldn’t hold it any longer. Luckily I found this can.”
Jimmy makes a face of disapproval.
“You have no self-control, Clemen. Take it to the bathroom. Make sure the girls don’t see you from the kitchen.”
Father Dionisio is a tall, hefty, ruddy old man with a gray beard, bulbous nose, and knitted brow.
“Come to my room and I’ll give you some clothes,” he says.
Clemen goes to the bathroom while the other two enter Father Dionisio’s room. The priest opens a wardrobe, takes out a shirt, a pair of trousers, and a pair of shoes, and says to Jimmy:
“We’re about the same height. They’ll be a bit roomy on you, but nothing noticeable. Try on the shoes, those boots of yours stink like the Devil, they’ll scare people away.”
Clemen enters with the empty can.
“You are the same size as the colonel. I brought you two changes of clothes and a pair of shoes,” the priest says, pointing to a brown paper bag on the floor.
Jimmy has already quickly changed his clothes, as if he were getting ready to leave right away; Clemen asks the priest if he brought any cigarettes.
“Look inside the shoes,” the priest says.
Jimmy anxiously asks him what he’s heard about the situation.
“I’ll tell you soon. It’s terrible.”
Clemen has finished getting dressed; he picks some matches up from the priest’s nightstand and lights a cigarette.
“Father, please forgive me,” says Clemen, “but is there any chance for a beer, a shot of something, anything?”
Jimmy turns around and looks at him in astonishment.
“Let’s go to the prayer room. Then I’ll get something for you.”
After closing the door and gesturing to them to have a seat on one of the benches, the priest speaks quietly and in a grave voice: the coup has been completely defeated, most of the rebel officers are in the hands of the dictator, there’s no news of the civilians who took part, the National Guard is patrolling the roads and conducting searches on the least suspicion; everybody is terrified.
“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.”