This afternoon I went to the Estradas’ haberdashery. I am going to knit a sweater for Belka; the poor dear surely suffers from the cold, that’s why she comes down with the flu so often. The eldest Estrada, Carolina, was in school with me. She showed me a skein of beautiful crimson-red yarn; then she asked after Pericles, she said it’s unacceptable for respectable people to be treated so poorly and that nobody agrees with that evil man’s latest whims. Then I stopped by Mariíta Loucel’s shop, located in the same building, the Letona, next to the Estradas’ shop. To my surprise I ran into my nephew, Jimmy, the son of Angelita, Pericles’s first cousin. Mariíta and Jimmy were whispering secretively in French. When they saw me enter, they stopped, as if I had caught them in flagrante, but then they immediately greeted me, asked after Pericles, and told me a few bits of news and gossip as if everything were perfectly normal. I was still suspicious, however, may God forgive me for thinking badly of anybody; Mariíta is, after all, a year older than I am, and Jimmy is the same age as Clemen. What I mean to say is that Mariíta is known for the positions she’s taken against the general, and Jimmy is captain of a cavalry regiment.
As I was leaving the Letona Building, I ran into César Perotti, the maestro. He asked after Pati, expressed his regrets that her wedding had been in San José and not here, where he would have been delighted to take part, sing his best songs. The maestro used to be Pati’s piano and singing teacher; he gave her lessons twice a week for five years and always praised my daughter’s discipline and musical talents. At times it’s difficult for me to understand that mixture of Spanish and Italian he speaks so haltingly. This time he abstained from moving his hands about so extravagantly, and right there, sotto voce, he told me not to torment myself over Pericles for soon things would change; he said that in all the good homes where he gives classes, people are speaking out against the general, and a situation like this cannot possibly last long. In Plaza Morazán I took the taxi that belongs to Don Sergio, Pericles’s driver, a man of few words, something quite unusual for someone in his profession.
Betito and I ate dinner at my parents’ house. I told them what Pericles had told me. Father said the Nazi warlock is a scoundrel, that he’s now pretending to adopt socialist ideas so he can remain in power and fears my husband will expose the farce; then he again started railing against the increased coffee export tax, a subject that drives him completely mad and makes me fear he will have a fit while he’s eating; he also mentioned rumors circulating about the growing discontent among younger army officers because of their low salaries. Then we started talking about the new house my parents are building in the Flor Blanca district. My father would like to bring stonework directly from Italy, the land of his father, but that won’t be possible because of the war, and he will have to make do with what he can find at Ferracuti’s warehouse. I love the new house, but I am sorry it is out in the suburbs — it’s so much more difficult to get there by foot.
At night, Betito came to my room to give me a notice from school requesting Pericles’s presence to discuss some problems related to my son’s conduct. Wasn’t he ashamed, I asked him, causing such problems while his father was under arrest? He told me it wasn’t his fault, the principal has it in for him. Pericles is extremely strict about discipline, and it infuriates him that neither of our sons has inherited this virtue; only Pati resembles him in that way.
Tuesday, March 28
I listened to Clemen’s shows on the radio as I do every morning. He reads the news on Radio YSP, but he also has artistic, thespian inclinations, and performs in two radio dramas. Pericles was the chief news editor of the station, and he got Clemen his job. Thank God, my son seems to finally be settling down. He didn’t want to study at the university, despite his father’s pressure, nor at the military academy, where his grandfather the colonel wanted to send him; he tried working with my father managing the estate and in the coffee-exporting company, but Clemen has never known how to handle money, and my father ended up firing him under rather unpleasant circumstances. Now, gratefully, he’s been at the radio station for two years.
My mother called after breakfast to remind me about the wedding shower this afternoon for Luz María, Carlota de Figueroa’s daughter, to tell me I mustn’t forget; and she came by in the late morning so we could go together to buy the presents. I took the opportunity to go to La Dalia department store to buy the Cuban cigars Pericles likes; Don Pedro, the owner, is so kind, he made me a gift of a special cigar to take to my husband.
I got to the Black Palace a little before my visiting hour so I could meet with Colonel Monterrosa. Don Rudecindo, as many call him, is from humble origins, like the general, and has a very bad reputation, but he has always been very kind to me. I told him the time had long come for my husband’s release, he has committed no crime other than expressing his opinion in a newspaper article. Don Rudecindo told me his hands are tied, and he advised me to go and speak directly to the general; he also told me it was perhaps better for my husband to remain locked up because there are rumors that the communists are conspiring against the government, and this way Pericles would not be implicated. Evil tongues say the general will never forgive my husband for betraying him, for having become a communist agent. But everyone knows the general accuses anybody who opposes his government of being a communist. I did not tell Pericles what Don Rudecindo recommended: I know all too well that my husband would consider asking “the man” for any favor whatsoever to be the worst possible betrayal. As I was leaving, I gave a few coins to Sergeant Machuca, who is the one who buys newspapers for Pericles early every morning.
Luz María’s shower was at the Casino. My sister came from Santa Ana wearing a new celadon green dress, very elegant; Cecilia is Carlota’s best friend and wouldn’t miss her daughter’s shower for anything in the world. There was an exquisite raspberry tart; some of us stayed afterwards to play canasta. My friends expressed their regrets about Pericles’s situation; they shared the latest jokes about Doña Concha, the general’s wife, a quite ordinary, uneducated woman who has somewhat oddball ideas and is the laughingstock of society. There was also a discussion about whether Dr. Arturo Romero is the most intelligent and handsome politician at the moment; Don Arturo is a gynecologist, urbane and refined, trained in Paris, and is shaping up to be the leader of the opposition. Carlota said she found the doctor engaged in a pleasant chat with Mariíta Loucel in her shop this morning, they were speaking French and the conversation ended abruptly when she entered; this made me think of Jimmy and Mariíta, though I didn’t mention it. My sister seemed worried all afternoon; she came from Santa Ana with Armando, who went straight to Lutecia Bar to drink himself into a stupor.
At night I called my mother-in-law to ask her if she’d had any news from the colonel. She told me that he explained to her that the general is quite angry, furious, in fact, because he is certain that many of his ex-collaborators are conspiring against him and being paid to do so by a group of rich people and the Americans, so it might not be helpful to bring up the issue of Pericles right now and might even make matters worse. Mama Licha said she hopes this storm passes quickly and the general enters his mystical period and orders my husband’s release. Sometimes I can’t tell if my mother-in-law is being serious or speaking in jest. The general is a theosophist, he holds séances, he believes in invisible witch doctors, and he demands that his close circle of friends call him “maestro.” At first, people respected his eccentricities, but ever since he began to give lectures every Sunday in the auditorium of the university, and broadcasting them over the radio, we realized that “the man” isn’t in his right mind. For months now, those broadcasts have been the butt of all the after-lunch jokes at the Club and the Casino on Sunday afternoons.