Pati called to tell me that she and Mauricio are trying to pull strings to get Clemen asylum at the Costa Rican embassy. I explained to her that the problem now is that all the embassies are surrounded by the general’s police, and nobody can go in or out without them knowing; I was going to tell her not to worry, we are dealing with the problem from here, then I remembered Father’s warning. Pati suggested we send Betito out of the country, have him spend some time in Costa Rica. I told her that Betito is a teenager, he is not involved in politics, so nothing will happen to him, even though the truth is that at this moment nobody in this country is not involved, even the children are talking about it.
A few minutes before eight I went to the servant’s room to look for María Elena, to tell her that the radio broadcasts were back to normal and invite her to listen to a new Cuban comedy show with me — we need a bit of distraction in the midst of so much misfortune. I found her on her knees, her face buried in the bed, as if she were praying, but she was actually crying inconsolably. I asked her what had happened. She said it was nothing and she was sorry, she’d soon be fine, and she got up and wiped her face off with a towel. I was very touched by the sorrow in her eyes. I told her not to worry, Clemen would weather this misfortune, God is watching over us. Sometimes you must pretend to be strong, full of faith and hope, even if inside doubts and fears are tearing you apart.
Holy Thursday, April 6
No news of Clemen. Everybody reminds me that no news is good news. But we mothers want some proof that our fugitive child is well, a word from someone who knows he is safe; without that, anguish festers in my heart.
My mother-in-law dropped by unannounced this morning, accompanied by my sister-in-law Bertita, Pericles’s younger sister. They explained that they had left Cojutepeque on the first train, at five in the morning. Mama Licha urged me to quickly prepare everything I wanted to take to my husband; they had come from the station in a hired car that was waiting in front. We soon left for the Central Prison. We had no problem getting in; Sergeant Flores was expecting us. They brought Pericles into the room where we were waiting; I couldn’t control myself, I ran up to embrace him and whispered in his ear that Clemens had managed to escape, and that Don Jorge was still alive; his eyes looked heavy, his clothes were a bit soiled, but he seemed to be in good spirits. “And you, what are you doing here with your rheumatism?” Pericles asked his mother, affectionately and with apparent surprise. All she said was that she’d had an urgent need to see him, to be certain he was doing well, and thanks to God the opportunity had arisen to pay him a twenty-minute visit, but she didn’t mention the colonel’s good offices. During the entire visit Pericles talked as if he was certain that somebody was taking detailed notes of our conversation: he asked after the family, Pati and Betito, Mila and the children, my parents and my sister, but not a word about the colonel or Clemen; he told of the hours of uncertainty he’d spent inside the Central Prison during the coup, prisoners and guards listening to every word broadcast over the radio, and wagers even being placed on who would win, the rebels or “the man”; he mentioned how tense the officers in charge were, how they kept expecting an assault at any moment; under his breath he cheered the outbursts of enthusiasm of a group of guards who dislike the general; he declared scornfully that anybody in his right mind wouldn’t even dream that a couple of cowards like Marroquín and Calvo would be able to defeat “the man”; he expressed sorrow at the fates of some of his acquaintances, and he made reference to several arrests I didn’t know about. I realized that more information is available inside the Central Prison than outside, and my husband, though he spoke in generalities, was surely right in the center of it all. I would have liked to finally ask him if he had foreknowledge of the coup, of Clemen’s participation, but he would never have forgiven such imprudence. We drank coffee and ate sweet rolls; Pericles ate a few bites of the provisions we brought him. The minutes flew by. Colonel Palma, the director of the Central Prison, came personally into the room to inform us that our time was up: he greeted my mother-in-law with a deep bow, then turned to me and Bertita; he exclaimed in a stentorian voice that Pericles had no cause to complain about how he was being treated, and he announced that now that the vicious traitors had been defeated, things would slowly return to normal, adding that next Sunday, Easter Sunday, as proof of the general’s magnanimity, I would be allowed to visit again; then he said it would be his honor to accompany us out. Mama Licha stood up and gave Pericles her blessing. When we embraced before parting, he whispered in my ear that I should tell Merlos’s and Cabezas’s families that they are both well, and he kissed me on my ear lobe, which he knows I love. As I watched them lead him out, I held back my tears and felt my heart clenching, as if I had found him after having lost him for a long time, and now they were taking him away from me again. At the large front doors, and with the same false obsequiousness, Colonel Palma sent a respectful greeting to my father-in-law and also to my “dear parents,” as if he knew them personally. I looked around for Doña Chayito and Doña Julita, the students’ mothers, but it was early, and they still hadn’t arrived. My mother-in-law asked me to accompany her to Clemen’s house, she wanted to see her great-grandchildren and say hello to Mila; we all got in the same car, which was waiting for us. As we were driving, I suddenly felt lighthearted, as if a great sadness had lifted; my mother-in-law made a few comments about the procession, about how pretty the carpets of flowers were in the streets of Cojutepeque. A contingent of secret police was posted at the intersection in front of my son’s house; a couple of them approached to sniff around when we got out of the car. Ana, Clemen and Mila’s housemaid, opened the door for us; she said the señora had just gone out and the children were playing on the patio. Mama Licha asked her if Mila would return soon; Ana, who is María Elena’s cousin, said she didn’t know, though I had a feeling there was something she was keeping to herself. Marianito came running up to us, such a lovely child, my favorite, and shouted with joy; Alfredito and Ilse ran up behind him: they’re still upset about Samba’s death; they led us to the patio, showed us the exact spot where the police had killed her. We stayed only a short while. Then my mother-in-law and Bertita dropped me off at my house; they were going to pay a couple of other visits, then return to Cojutepeque on the noon train so they would arrive in time for the procession of Jesus carrying the cross. María Elena greeted me with a message from Doña Chayito, who had been waiting for me in front of the Central Prison. I called to tell her what had happened.
Father was not surprised that we were granted permission to visit Pericles so unexpectedly, thanks to my in-laws. He says that right now the Nazi warlock doesn’t trust any of the younger officers, so he is relying heavily on the older officers like Colonel Aragón, who have always been loyal to him; he also reminded me that the general claims that the wealthy are now his enemy, not those with socialist ideas, and he includes my husband among the latter. Father left at noon for Santa Ana with Betito, who will stay with Cecilia and Armando for a few days; mother insisted on staying with me to keep me company, in case there is an emergency. Father complained that yesterday he had to obtain a pass from the Black Palace; the authorities now require one for all cars leaving the city.
Mingo dropped by this afternoon for a cup of coffee. I told him about our visit with Pericles; he told me that Colonel Aragón’s support had been vitally important to the general during the coup, and surely my father-in-law wants to guarantee that there be no reprisals against Pericles, knowing, as he does, that there is little he can do for Clemen. He confirmed that Serafín has sought refuge at the house of the Guatemalan consul, he is very frightened, the poor thing, afraid the general’s troops will burst in and arrest him; it’s anybody’s guess when the newspaper will appear again. He then began to recount one story that is spreading like wildfire: the general managed to save his own life and defeat the coup because of the efforts of Father Mario, a Guatemalan priest who I think is a good man but Pericles believes to be scheming, ambitious, and unscrupulous. They say that Father Mario was the first to call the general at his house at the beach to inform him of the uprising and warn him of the ambush planned by Lieutenant Mancía, even advising him to return to the city in a different car so he could slip by unnoticed. And that is not the end of it. Mingo asserts that Father Mario himself drove to where the ambush had been laid and convinced Lieutenant Mancía to let the general pass, and that is how he was able to waltz right into the Black Palace. Unbelievable. According to what Mingo said, Father Mario also took it upon himself to convince General Marroquín and Colonel Calvo, not only to call off the tank assault against the palace but also to negotiate with the general through his own mediator, as well as to surrender with the guarantee that the general would spare their lives. How I miss Pericles whenever I hear political gossip such as this: he knows so well how to discern the truth from the fantasy.