On my way back home I came across more young people wearing black ties. Betito is the one who explained to me, when we sat down to eat, that it’s a form of protest by the university students, an expression of mourning for those executed and for Dr. Romero’s capture. While she served us cannelloni, María Elena mentioned that she had just seen Chente on his way home for lunch from the university, and he was also wearing a black tie. Betito asked me if he could wear one of his father’s ties; I answered that he isn’t a university student, the tie of his school uniform is green, and black doesn’t match, and anyway he doesn’t like wearing ties, he is always complaining about it, and his father doesn’t like other people wearing his clothes. But he insisted. In the afternoon he went out wearing Pericles’s tie.
I had plans this afternoon to have coffee with Carmela and Chelón, but I got a very bad migraine. I slept for a while. I woke up with cramps, my spirits very low, and with an overwhelming desire to cry and stay in bed alone. The beginning of my period made me feel like I was being crushed by a huge log, so heavy was the load of nervous exhaustion I was carrying. I didn’t leave my bedroom even for dinner; María Elena brought me tea and sweet rolls. Betito came in a while ago to ask me how I was and tell me that Chente said that six soldiers are guarding Dr. Romero at the San Miguel hospital, the delegation of medical students is already there to protect him, and they are looking for a way to help him escape once his health improves. I am not in as much pain now, but I don’t know if I’ll be in any shape tomorrow to attend the meeting at Doña Consuelo’s house.
Wednesday April 19
Things have blown sky high: they’ve arrested Chente. There was a confrontation between the police and the students; several were arrested. The rector has decided to shut down the university. Raúl and Rosita are out of their minds with worry. It happened late this morning. I was lying on the sofa, a hot water bottle on my belly, when the radio reported the riots, the arrests, and the suspension of classes until further notice. I immediately had an intuition that Chente was among those arrested; afterward I became even more alarmed, imagining that Betito might have decided to skip school and join the university students. María Elena tried to reassure me: she said the radio newscasters hadn’t mentioned anything about high school students or minors, and Betito was surely at school. But I was still worried; I even forgot about the discomfort of my period. I called his school to ask. Everything was fine, the principal told me. Then I called the Alvarados’ house. I was right: Raúl had just called Rosita to tell her of Chente’s arrest. The poor thing was crying her eyes out; and she was scolding him under her breath: she had warned him, but that boy is so stubborn, they’re going to mistreat him, she can’t understand why children don’t pay attention to their mothers; she said what we often say as a defense against pain and fear. For a moment I thought she’d turn against me. But no; instead, she begged for help. She said that Raúl and the other professors were on their way to the Black Palace. I called Doña Chayito. She already knew, and she told me she had just spoken to the American ambassador to ask him to take a stand on this issue, and she said most of the students who’d been arrested were medical students, and the board of the Salvadoran Medical Association had made an urgent request for an audience with the general; she told me she’d have more news at the meeting that afternoon. I stayed to keep Rosita company until Raúl arrived; some neighbors came to visit, to offer their support; and two more plainclothes policemen have appeared on our street to watch us, as María Elena pointed out to me. At one moment, Rosita lost controclass="underline" she let out some bloodcurdling screams, as if Chente were dead; she rued her bad luck, recalling the tragedy of her daughter Dolores, who was two years older than Chente and died of fulminating peritonitis, weeks before her fiesta rosa, her fifteenth birthday celebration, a girl we never had a chance to meet but whose photos I’ve seen on a kind of altar on a shelf in the Alvarados’ living room. Thank God Raúl arrived when he did, because we couldn’t find any way to comfort Rosita; the poor man looked quite shaken when he arrived but quickly pulled himself together, gave her some tranquilizers, and managed to convince her to lie down. Then he told us that the police had provoked the confrontation in order to arrest the students, taking advantage of the fact that the campus is only one block away from the Government Palace; he assured me that the board of the Salvadoran Medical Association remains in a state of emergency, and he said that final year students, who work as interns at the hospitals, are threatening to go on strike.
At lunchtime, Betito brought a leaflet from the university students that called for the overthrow of the general; though as yet there was no mention of the arrests of the morning, it ends with a sentence I will never be able to forget: “We must act like men, not dumb beasts: throw off the yoke of the tyrant.” He offered to type up a copy I could take to our meeting in the afternoon. But there was no meeting: Doña Consuelo called, sounding very frightened, she told me the tea for Leonor had been canceled, she was very sorry, she would explain later, for now it would be better if we didn’t pay her any visits. I assumed the general’s spies had insolently positioned themselves in front of the house, intimidating her. Doña Chayito confirmed this when she came over this afternoon, having been alarmed by the number of policemen watching the committee members; she warned me that we must be extremely careful about what we say over the phone, it would be best to find ways of arranging our meetings when we are face-to-face or through messengers. For a brief moment while we were having coffee and cemita cakes in the living room, she looked overwhelmed, exhausted, as if she no longer knew where to go from here; I felt frightened because at that moment I understood that a large part of my own self-confidence to stand in the street and demand Pericles’s freedom came from this woman, from her determination and drive, this woman who is not a friend of mine and doesn’t even belong to my social circle. Fortunately, Doña Chayito quickly returned to her usual high spirits: she said we mustn’t despair, these new arrests will rebound in our favor because our movement will grow, and we must be prepared for this to happen, for now I should focus on getting the Alvarados involved, and she would come visit me tomorrow, Friday, at noon, or would send Leonor, Doña Julita’s daughter, with precise instructions.
I would have liked to go to my parents’ house, but after Doña Chayito left, my period and its attendant discomforts obliged me to take to my bed again: I felt overwhelmed by sorrow and despair, morbid forebodings about Clemen, Pericles, and Chente, until I fell fast asleep. María Elena woke me up when she entered the room with a cup of tea; she told me it was time for dinner, said it wouldn’t be good for me to spend the whole night with an empty stomach, and that Raúl had come a while ago to ask how I was. I asked if he had given her any news about Chente; he is still being held at the Black Palace, that is all she knew. It took a great deal of effort to get on my feet. Betito had stayed at my parents’ house to eat, she said; then she insisted on forcing me to eat something even though I wasn’t the least bit hungry. That’s how María Elena is: based on her age, she could be my daughter, but sometimes she acts like my mother.