Exactly what I feared has happened to Chente: neither Raúl nor Rosita nor the appointed lawyers from the university were allowed to meet with him at the Black Palace. The same thing happened to the families of the other five students who were arrested. Raúl says Colonel Monterrosa informed them that orders came from the top to keep the young isolated for a certain period of time in order, that cynical man said, for them to reflect on their bad behavior, but he also guaranteed them that they were fine and would not be mistreated. Rosita is inconsolable. I stayed with her for a while this afternoon, to keep her company, share with her some of the difficulties I have faced every time my husband has been imprisoned; at a certain moment she said she now understands the burden I bear, she thinks it is admirable how I have been able to live through such situations. I answered her with a sentence Pericles often said: “Man is a creature of habit; woman is, too.” And I realized I wasn’t able to understand Rosita’s suffering when she lost her daughter; although Clemen has been sentenced to be executed by firing squad and death is relentlessly pursuing him, my heart refuses to imagine the pain his loss would cause me.
Toward evening my mother and sister and I went to the Polyclinic; I accompanied them to visit Dr. Ávila’s mother, and then they came with me to Don Jorge’s room, where we stood outside for a long time chatting with Teresita. I sensed a different atmosphere in the hospital among the doctors and nurses; I don’t know how to describe it: they seemed to move with a different level of intensity, a certain urgency and commitment. I suppose the capture of Dr. Romero, and the efforts to prevent his execution, as well as the general’s attacks on the association, have endowed them with the strength of solidarity, and a new kind of zeal.
Fugitives (III)
1. THE AFTERNOON
Jimmy and Clemen, lying in hammocks side-by-side, are snoring through an after-lunch, after-whiskey, and after-conversation siesta. Suddenly, Sóter, the dog, jumps out of the lounge chair where he’s been dozing and runs off barking.
“Someone’s coming,” Jimmy says, stretching.
Clemen is in a lethargic stupor.
The blades of the ceiling fan squeal overhead.
Jimmy stands up: he looks through the large picture window into the sea’s shimmering glare; he can see some men jumping off a boat at the small dock.
“It’s Mono Harris,” Jimmy says. “He’s come with somebody.”
He goes out onto the terrace.
Clemen babbles something incomprehensible, his mouth full of saliva; he shifts around in his hammock.
With quick energetic steps, Mono Harris walks toward them along the gravel path through the sand under the almond trees. Sóter trots by his side, wagging his tail. The other man walks behind them, as if hiding under his straw hat.
“Get up, Clemen,” Jimmy shouts to him from the terrace. “Something’s going on.”
Clemen opens his eyes; he tries to rouse himself.
“Hey there,” Mono Harris says to Jimmy as he holds out his hand. “This is Adrián,” he adds, pointing to the man with the hat then asking him to wait on the terrace.
They walk into the living room; Sóter leaps around between them and barks playfully.
Clemen places his feet on the floor, still dazed, still unable to shake off his drowsiness or find his way out of the hammock.
“What’s going on?” he manages to articulate, his mouth all gummed up.
“You’ve got to leave, now,” Mono Harris says. “National Guard soldiers are on their way here.”
Clemen leaps out of the hammock.
“Shit!” he cries. “The Guard!”
Mono Harris asks them where the whiskey is; he needs a drink.
“What are we going to do?” Jimmy asks as he takes a bottle and a glass out of the cabinet.
“We’ll get you to Punta Cosigüina, once and for all,” says Mono Harris.
Jimmy looks at him, suddenly excited.
“Fantastic!” he cries. “It’s about time.”
“That guy outside, Adrián, is your guide. He says you can shove off this afternoon.”
Clemen pounces on the table and grabs the pack of cigarettes.
“Where are the soldiers coming from?” he asks, dismayed.
Mono Harris tells him that starting this afternoon soldiers will begin to “comb” the island searching for fugitives, starting at the bay; he found this out from the commander of the National Guard post on the hacienda.
“There’s nowhere else we can hide around here?” Clemen asks and lights another cigarette.
“Unless you want to hang out in one of the hidden channels in the mangrove swamps,” says Mono Harris, as he tosses back a shot of whiskey. “We’d save the money we’re going to pay the guide, but if they find you, neither Mincho nor I will know you guys from Adam.”
“Don’t pay any attention to this moron,” says Jimmy. “When do we leave?”
“Right now. I’ll take you in my boat to San Nicolás, the hamlet on the other side of the island, where you’ll leave from.”
Mono Harris takes an envelope with money out of his pants pockets.
“The agreement is that you’ll pay him when you get to Punta Cosigüina,” he says.
“Is he trustworthy?” Jimmy asks as he starts counting the banknotes.
Mono Harris shrugs his shoulders.
“Does he know we’re fugitives?” Clemen asks.
“He assumes you can’t leave the country legally and that’s why we’re hiring him, but he doesn’t know who you are. It’s better that way. Keep pretending you’re livestock buyers; let him think you’re rustlers.”
Sóter runs to the front door; he lets out a couple of welcoming barks.
“Good afternoon, Señor.”
It’s Lázaro, the caretaker.
“Our friends are leaving us, Lázaro,” Mono Harris announces.
The caretaker looks surprised, says he’ll miss them, asks them if he can get them anything.
They say thank you; Jimmy promises he’ll drop by soon to say goodbye to him, his wife Marina, and his girls. The family lives in a shack about thirty yards behind the house; she cooked for them and washed their clothes; he took them to look at the livestock and showed them all the nooks and crannies on the island.
“What do we need to bring?” Clemen asks after Lázaro has left.
“Nothing but your knapsacks with your few belongings,” says Mono Harris. “There’s a bag in the boat with canned food and other provisions.”
“Did you bring more cigarettes?” Clemen asks, anxiously.
“There are a couple of packs in the bag,” Mono Harris answers.
Jimmy goes quickly to the bedroom.
Mono Harris says in English that they can take Mincho’s shotgun, he’s given them permission, in case of emergency.
“How about the gun you gave me?” Jimmy asks.
Mono Harris says, of course, and urges them to hurry up.
“How should I dress?” Clemen asks, still confused, and lights another cigarette with the butt of the one before. “These shorts, or should I put on long pants?”
“This guy thinks he’s going to a wedding.,” Jimmy says sarcastically.
Mono Harris reminds them they will still be Justo and Tino, in case they meet anybody on the way; then he goes out on the terrace to discuss things with the guide.
“You don’t think it’s a bit too sudden.?” asks Clemen, while he’s gathering up his toiletries.
“If you want to stay, stay.,” Jimmy says.
Sóter paces around the rooms, excited.
“All I want to say is that for the last ten days, every time Mono has come here he’s said there’s no way we can go by sea, nobody will dare take us,” Clemen says; he picks the bottle of whiskey up from the table and places it in his knapsack. “And now he shows up here with a guide and tells us that some soldiers are on their way, and we have to take off right away. ”