By the afternoon, I’d made a decision: I wouldn’t go to the embassy but rather to Mr. Gardiner’s house, where Clemen spent the night after the coup, the last place he was seen; that way I wouldn’t compromise Pericles, who doesn’t like the gringos at all (and they don’t think highly of him, either). I called Doña Tracy, Mr. Gardiner’s wife; she knows me from certain social events and also thanks to my family, though we have never been particular friends. I asked her if she might have a moment to spare for me this afternoon, I wished to converse with her in person. Surely she thought this had to do with news about Clemen, for she responded very politely: she said she was at my disposal. I left right away for her house. I had the impression that the servant who opened the door for me, a brunette girl with delicate features, had been eagerly waiting for me: she led me into a living room, where Doña Tracy was talking on the telephone, and offered me a glass of myrtle juice. The vice-counsel’s wife is an outgoing young woman, platinum blonde, who once dreamed of being an actress and likes to socialize with young Salvadoran artists. After our greeting, she asked me if I spoke English, for she prefers to converse in that language; I told her I am quite out of practice, even though I studied it as a teenager. Then I told her the purpose of my visit; she told me she would gladly give a copy of the communiqué to Mr. Gardiner, and she would personally make more copies to distribute among her women friends in the diplomatic corps because it is unacceptable for that “evil man” to remain in power, ruining the country and assassinating its best men. I was surprised by her vehemence. Then, without further ado, she asked me if I had any news about Clemen. I was prepared to broach the subject only if she brought it up, because one never knows what secrets or complications there are in such a situation. I told her the truth: that I know nothing about my son’s situation, and I pray he has managed to leave the country and find a safe haven. Then she asked me, with a mischievous look on her face, if I had heard that Clemen had hidden in that house after the coup failed; I answered that I had heard something to that effect, but that I understood one mustn’t inquire, one must be discreet about such delicate matters. She recounted the long night they’d spent, she and Mr. Gardiner, conversing with Clemen about the ins and outs of the coup; she went into great detail about how they snuck him out disguised as a domestic servant; she made affectionate reference to his wonderful sense of humor and his thespian talents. At that point the servant girl, whom she called Indalecia, entered; she served us more myrtle juice. It was because of Indalecia’s friendship with Clemen, Doña Tracy said once she’d left the room, that he’d had no trouble getting into the Gardiners’ house. On the way home I felt lighthearted, happy, content, not only because I had carried out my duty effectively but also because those affectionate words regarding my son soothed my spirit, so wounded by Mila’s infamy.
I invited Carmela and Chelón and Mingo and Irmita to dinner. I told them to come early, at six, so we would have more time, because the curfew begins at ten. María Elena and I made the ripe plantain empanadas filled with refried beans that Chelón is so partial to; also chipilín tamales and pupusas stuffed with cheese flavored with loroco flowers. I suppose I longed for some conviviality in the midst of so much misfortune, needed to feel my husband through his closest friends, even if he couldn’t be present. Pericles has always said that Mingo is an excellent poet pretending to be a journalist, and Chelón a great painter pretending to be a poet. We dined to the tune of political gossip, nobody talks about anything else in this city; we also laughed at Serafín’s expense, the poor man still hiding out at the Guatemalan embassy. Carmela brought some delicious cashew-apple butter for dessert. After dinner, Mingo told a story that made all our jaws drop: Major Faustino Sosa, the air force squadron commander who was executed by a firing squad on Monday on the patio of the Black Palace along with General Marroquín and Colonel Calvo, was, in fact, innocent, had absolutely nothing to do with the coup; the rebel officers who took over the airport under the command of Jimmy, Angelita’s son, had even locked Sosa up in a barracks because he refused to support them and was critical of their disloyalty to the general. So why did they execute him? we asked. Nobody knows whose idea it was to include his name among the rebel leaders that were listed on the circular they sent to the regional commanders to demand their support, Mingo explained, and the poor man remained locked up, never suspecting that he was implicated in a rebellion he opposed yet would nevertheless cost him his life. Once the coup had already failed, Mingo continued, and the cavalry troops Jimmy commanded were being forced to retreat from the airport by the contingents loyal to the general, Major Sosa was freed, but nobody knows if he was warned that they had used his name in the communiqué; in any case, the innocent man went happily to meet the government troops, not knowing that they would immediately place him under arrest. Carmela said she simply couldn’t understand: if Sosa hadn’t participated, and if everybody knew he hadn’t participated and that the rebels had used his name without his consent, why was he executed? Mingo shrugged his shoulders: he said it seems the general wanted to make him pay for the betrayal of the pilots who had flown into exile, taking all the planes with them, and leaving the general without an air force.
Not a single meal with Mingo and Chelón can end without them getting embroiled in a discussion about the occult, while we wives, who are Catholic, barely pay attention and carry on with our own concerns, especially because they make sour faces if we offer our opinions on the subject. Pericles greatly enjoys playing the role of devil’s advocate and provoking them. Mingo knows a lot about theosophy and is now an implacable critic of it, whereas Chelón declares himself an agnostic, affirming that all theories regarding the spirit are pointless, and the only thing that matters is one’s own personal experience. Last night, fortunately, they didn’t get into thorny subjects, discussing instead the general’s malevolence: how can a man who pledges to respect all things spiritual be such a cruel and perverse murderer? I maintained what I always do: there must be some hell where this man will pay for all the evil he has done us.