I got into the car and asked Leo to take me to my parents’ house. He asked, quite concerned, about Pericles’s situation; Don Leo is a highly trusted family employee, the son of a mechanic my grandfather brought here from his town in Italy. I told him my husband was well, but that I still didn’t know when I was going to be able to visit him; as I spoke, and watched the people and houses going past the car window, I felt suddenly overwhelmed by an urge to cry, to unburden myself, but I held back. As soon as I entered the house, my father gave me a hug, asked me if I had visited Pericles, how he was, and told me he had just spoken with Mr. Malcom, the British commercial attaché, and he told about the latest vile act the Nazi warlock had committed against my husband; he also spoke with General Chaquetilla Calderón, ex-minister of the interior, to ask him why they had transferred Pericles to a prison for thieves and criminals; General Calderón said he knew nothing about the case, but as soon as he had any information he would let him know. My father has a special regard for General Calderón because he was the military leader in charge of putting down the communist uprising in January of ’32 in the region near the volcano and the family finca; but this man, Chaquetilla, despises my husband, precisely because during the uprising, when Pericles was “the man’s” personal secretary, he expressed his reservations about the excessive cruelty he, Chaquetilla, was using against the indigenous population. I immediately called my father-in-law, who naturally was already aware of the development, and the only thing he said was that I mustn’t worry, perhaps remaining locked up for Holy Week would force my husband to reflect on the advisability of showing some respect for order and authority; I would have liked to answer him with a strong riposte, but I sensed the helplessness and sorrow behind his words; then he asked me about Clemente, if I had any news of my son, which took me by surprise and made me fear that he had been drinking too much again and that news had reached Cojutepeque. But at that moment I didn’t have time to concern myself about Clemen. I called Mr. Pineda, the lawyer, and informed him what was going on; he told me there would soon be a court hearing. Lastly, I managed to get in touch with Ramón Ávila, minister of foreign affairs and justice, who is quite fond of my husband; I asked him to please intercede on his behalf with the general, I told him I was making this request without Pericles’s knowledge because I am very concerned over the direction events have taken; he expressed regret about the situation and told me I could rest assured, he would do everything in his power. I do trust Mr. Ávila, he behaved honorably even when Pericles decided to resign as ambassador to Brussels, whereas that Chaquetilla, I’m certain, is behind the conspiracy against my husband.
I returned home so María Elena and I could prepare the basket of food and clean clothes for Pericles. We arrived at the Central Prison just before noon and asked for Sergeant Flores. They would not let me past the foyer; only after I persisted did the sergeant come out to see me. He took the basket and told me I could visit Pericles tomorrow between three and four o’clock in the afternoon. I asked him if this would be my daily visiting hour; he answered that he had information only about Saturday, only what he just told me, and nothing more. I stood there with María Elena in front of the gate of the Central Prison, stunned, then with deep sadness, because I realized that I might not be able to eat lunch with Pericles again until he is released.
When I got home, I went to my bedroom, closed the door, and cried. Once I’d unburdened myself, I tried to call Clemen at the radio station, but he wasn’t there. Then Betito arrived, I told him about his father’s transfer, and we ate in silence; my poor boy is so angry and finds no way to express it. I think perhaps I shouldn’t tell Pati, it might adversely affect her pregnancy. My sister Cecilia called me quite dismayed, she asked if I wanted her to come from Santa Ana to keep me company. I thanked her but told her there was no need, she mustn’t worry. This time I called Clemen at home. Mila answered, she sounded drunk, was completely beside herself, and began cursing my son and warning me that he had gotten himself into who knows what kind of a fix, he was out partying with the Castaneda brothers, who knows in which whore house, he almost never comes home. My daughter-in-law is an ordinary woman; I once heard rumors that she had committed adultery. My son is no better. I pray for both of them, and for their children.
As I look back over this day in the silence of the night, feeling calmer now only because I am utterly exhausted, I reproach myself for clinging to that foolish hope yesterday that Pericles would be freed, and now it seems as if I was carrying that hope for a long time, as if an eternity rather than a mere twenty-four hours had passed. My greatest comfort was a visit from Carmela and Chelón: we dined together, Chelón spoke about the new book of poems he plans to publish, he proposed jokingly that I should let him dig around in Pericles’s papers, taking advantage of his absence to find the verses he writes in secret, which he so categorically denies doing. And then, when Carmela mentioned that yesterday morning she had seen Clemente leaving the Letona Building, Chelón tried to mimic the way Mariíta Loucel recites her poems. We almost died laughing, because the truth is it seemed he was mimicking Clemen, that clown, mimicking Mariíta. They were particularly amusing, as if they had deliberately set out to entertain me, offer me a pleasant respite, talk about other things; I am so grateful to them.
A few moments ago, just as I was finishing up writing about my day in this diary, I received a strange telephone call; it was General Alfonso Marroquín, leader of the First Infantry Regiment. He asked to speak to Pericles, as if he didn’t know that he was still under arrest and had been transferred to the Central Prison. I brought him up to date. He said nothing; he apologized for disturbing me so late at night, then hung up. General Marroquín is a close friend of “the man”; Pericles considers him a cruel and contemptible general.
Saturday, April 1
There’ll be no more privileges, that’s what Pericles told me this afternoon while we were talking in the room where the other prisoners also receive family visits. I felt disoriented, I didn’t know whom to turn to, how to ask for a minimum of privacy, unnerved by the fact that my husband and I were being treated like common criminals, disoriented the moment I had to stand in line, show my documents, be searched, and wait like everybody else, when my mentioning Sergeant Flores served no purpose whatsoever, for they informed me that he didn’t work today, nor had he left any instructions; on the other hand, I was quite impressed by the solidarity among the families of the prisoners, the camaraderie among people of differing social classes who all seem to be victims of the same great injustice. Pericles told me that he was doing fine there, that he shares a cell with two students, by the family names of Merlos and Cabezas, who have also been arrested for political reasons and who show my husband great respect and consideration, as I myself could ascertain when they approached us with their respective families to introduce themselves. As I commented to my parents later, Pericles seemed genuinely animated, even optimistic, as if contact with different kinds of people was his oxygen. He told me the routine is almost like in the military, it feels good to exercise in the early morning in the prison patio, his conversations with the young students have been stimulating, and the most outrageous rumors are circulating about the imminent fall of “the man.” Then I told him as discreetly as possible about the strange late-night phone call I had received from General Marroquín; he sat thinking for a few moments but didn’t say anything. I’m concerned about the hygiene of the facilities, because in the Black Palace he had access to the officers’ washrooms, whereas in the Central Prison he must use the same toilets as all the other prisoners. As I was leaving I asked the guards if I could visit him tomorrow at the same time, but they told me the prisoners who are allowed a family visit on Saturday are not allowed one on Sunday, and vice versa. I asked to speak to the man in charge, but, just as I suspected, to no avail. I came home quickly to get the personal telephone number of Colonel Palma, the director of the Central Prison, to request authorization to visit tomorrow and to request some kind of clarification of the situation before the Holy Week holidays; his wife answered, she told me the colonel was not in and promised to give him my message. I didn’t hear from him all day. My father tried to get in touch with that general, Chaquetilla Calderón, to see if he could personally intercede to get permission for me to visit daily, but it seemed Chaquetilla hadn’t been seen since noon at the Military Casino after he had already ingested half a bottle of whiskey. Fortunately, I brought Pericles food for two days.