Easter Sunday, April 9
It’s eleven at night. Many of us are awake, our hearts in our mouths. The war council was convened tonight, between eight and nine o’clock, in the Black Palace. The general has not respected the holy day; his apostasy is great, and greater still will be his thirst for revenge. It was meant to be held in the greatest of secrecy, but word spread like wildfire. Everybody knows everything in this city. They say that Tonito Rodríguez and Memito Trigueros are acting as defense attorneys; General Luis Andréu is presiding. The whole city is petrified, sunk in a deathly silence. The ten o’clock curfew and martial law are still in effect. My parents wanted me to stay with them, but I preferred to stay at home. I have said several Rosaries with María Elena. There’s nothing more I can do. And answer the telephone, for we, the families of the accused, can at least offer each other comfort.
I couldn’t get in to see Pericles. By dawn the streets were swarming with National Guard troops and police. The official newspapers and radio stations claimed the government had received information that the communists were planning an insurrection to commemorate the one-week anniversary of the coup; they called on people to remain at home, reminded everyone that today was not a day of processions, and requested that everyone inform the police about any gatherings whatsoever. It’s madness. And there was no way María Elena and I could get to the Central Prison; we couldn’t get past the police barricades. I was in despair. At one particular moment I remembered what my father-in-law had told me, about the imminence of the war council, but in a situation like this, nothing is certain. My greatest fear is that they will send Pericles back to the palace by mistake, because they say some of the coup participants were at the Central Prison for a while; but I quickly remind myself that there can be no confusion about my husband, by now the general must know every single detail of the conspiracy. I remember what happened to Don Jorge and I tremble.
I know nothing about Clemen’s whereabouts. Father insists that if they haven’t captured him by now, he must have managed to escape. I pray this is so. And I try to tell myself that this horrible experience will at least serve to get my son to settle down once and for all, nobody can stare death in the face and then continue along the same path as if nothing had happened.
My trepidation is too great; I find it impossible to continue writing.
(Midnight)
I’m still awake. My nerves fell like red-hot coals. I know I won’t know anything until daybreak, but I cannot sleep. I am certain Pericles is also awake, knowing that the war council is in session, because in the prison they get news directly from the palace that we sometimes never hear. How I would love to hear your voice, my love, explaining what must be going on at the trial, calming my torments.
Monday, April 10
They’ve sentenced Clemente to death! And they executed General Marroquín, Colonel Tito Calvo, and eight more officers! The radio repeats the news over and over again. This is a heavy blow. We are all filled with dismay. The executions were carried out at eight this morning: Marroquín and Calvo were put in front of the firing squad on the patio of the palace, and the others were executed in the cemetery. I thank the Lord my son has not been captured! At this very moment I would be mourning him! Accursed warlock. As soon as they started reading the list of the condemned over the radio, I knew my son would be on it. And there he was. It’s impossible to describe my anguish at that moment. We were in the living room, María Elena and I, listening to the radio. She began to sob, quietly; I simply threw myself back in the armchair and begged Our Lady with all my heart to please help Clemen flee the country. Nobody believed that monster would murder his own people so mercilessly. Not only did he kill Marroquín and Tito, but also their younger brother, Captain Marcelino Calvo. Three sons of the same mother! That poor old woman! That poor family! And here I thought I was the most unfortunate woman because my son is a fugitive and my husband is in jail. They also sentenced Jimmy to death, as well as Dr. Romero, Don Agustín Alfaro, and many others who have so far managed to escape, including Dr. Mario Calvo, Marcelino and Tito’s brother. That brute will exact his blood revenge.
They had only just finished broadcasting the news on the radio when friends and acquaintances began to offer their support. The Alvarados arrived immediately; the phone didn’t stop ringing. The same thing happened at my parents’ house and at my in-laws’. Everybody tells me I should trust in God, Clemen will manage to save himself; some advise me to get Betito out of the country. Father assures me the general will not lash out at a minor who has not done anything; I want to believe him, but at moments I am assailed by doubts. Mother insists we should immediately send Betito to Guatemala City, to my Aunt Lola, who has been living there for many years; she says the border is so close to Santa Ana, and my brother-in-law Armando could drive him. Pati also is begging me to get her brother out immediately, either to Guatemala or San José. Only my mother-in-law reassures me, telling me that nothing will happen to Betito, if I am worried I should send him to their house in Cojutepeque, the colonel will guarantee his grandson’s innocence. I spoke with Betito this afternoon: he said he doesn’t want to leave the country, he doesn’t want to leave me alone under these circumstances, tomorrow he is coming home, my sister and Armando will bring him from Santa Ana.
It seems Mila has completely taken leave of her senses; Ana told María Elena she has been drinking like a fish for several days. I called to ask her to bring my grandchildren here, but I couldn’t reach her; Ana told me they are staying at her parents’ most of the time. But the worst part isn’t that Mila finds solace in drink during such a catastrophe; much more serious is what María Elena told me with shame and sorrow, because she is afraid I will think she is a gossip, but it was with the best of intentions, to spare me from a bigger shock later: she said that Ana told her that the señora talks on the telephone to a colonel by the name of Castillo and frequently goes out with him, and that she speaks disparagingly of Clemen in front of him, and on one occasion she told him on the phone that she believed her husband, “the coward,” was hiding at Father’s finca. I want to find excuses for my daughter-in-law, I want to tell myself she simply isn’t prepared to deal with a situation as extreme as the one we are now facing, but what María Elena has told me tonight defies any justification. Mila is a scoundrel, a traitor. My hand is shaking as I write this. Pericles said as much a long time ago, when Clemen first started seeing her, he said the girl was “shifty” and not to be trusted; Pati also never took to her. I’ve always been the one to remind them not to be so judgmental, to accept people as they are. I’ll make an effort not to think about her until Clemen is safe and sound, I don’t want to be devoured by bitterness.