Clemen showed up before dinner, tipsy again, and unusually agitated. I asked him what he had been up to in the last few days; I complained that I’d been trying to get in touch with him at the station and at home and hadn’t been able to. He acted very mysterious: he admitted he was deeply involved in something of utmost importance, but he couldn’t yet reveal any information. I didn’t insist because it makes me furious to see how easily he lies, another characteristic he inherited from his Uncle Lalo. We spoke about his father’s situation; he told me he knew about the transfer, he regretted not having been able to accompany me either yesterday or today to the Central Prison, but we must remain vigilant, he said, for soon that swine of a general would get what was coming to him. I told Clemen that if I manage to get permission to visit his father tomorrow, it would be good if he came with me, at the Central Prison there aren’t the same restrictions as at the Black Palace, others can also visit the prisoner. He told me I shouldn’t get my hopes up, there are rumors that this Sunday is going to be a dangerous day, and it would be best if I stayed home. There was a certain excitement, a fervor in his eyes that worried me. I preferred to ask him about the children. Then he ranted and raved against Mila: he can’t stand her anymore, she accuses him of being a drunk when she’s the one who never puts the bottle down, she spends all her time playing poker with her friends and does nothing to educate the children or improve their home, he is sick and tired of her reproaches and that’s why he goes home only late at night to sleep. After he was done letting off steam, María Elena came into the living room and asked if he would like a cup of coffee. My poor son left me with a rather nasty taste in my mouth.
Betito left this morning for the beach in Zunzal with his school friends; most of them will stay there the whole week, but Betito will return on Monday so he can accompany me to the Central Prison to visit his father. My father has to go to the finca, as he does every Sunday; my mother will stay home so we can attend Mass then have lunch together; she says she wants to cancel her trip to Guatemala rather than leave me alone during Holy Week with Pericles in jail. I’ve told her several times that there is no need for her to cancel her vacation.
At eight at night, María Elena and I sat in the living room listening to the America Radio Drama; the program was quite interesting, and we enjoyed it immensely. I’ve been trying to read, but I am oddly uneasy, as if the uncertainty about Pericles’s release were pinching my nerve endings, as if I were entering a new stage of life I am not prepared for and which I would prefer not to have to confront. I must pray more fervently.
Palm Sunday, April 2
Coup d’état! Clemen is involved up to his eyeballs: he was the one who announced the beginning of the uprising against the general on the radio this afternoon, and he is one of the announcers who continues to report the events, calling on the people to support the coup. I couldn’t go to the Central Prison to see Pericles because the military is patrolling the streets. The air force has bombed the area surrounding the Black Palace; now I thank God my husband was transferred. Father is at the finca and Betito is at the beach; there’s been no way to contact them because all communications within the country and the routes into and out of the city have been cut off. Clemen announced that the rebels have taken over the National Telephone and Telegraph Company. María Elena and I have come to my parents’ house, and we will spend the night here. Fortunately, I brought my diary with me; I am now writing in what was my bedroom when I was a teenager, by the light of a candle, because the entire city is in blackout. It is eight o’clock at night. Hope is spreading, but more so, confusion.
The day began with bad omens: I wasn’t able to get in touch with Colonel Palma to have him authorize a visit to Pericles; on the phone, his wife said the colonel had left that morning, and she had given him the message but he had left no reply. “You know how these men are, Doña Haydée,” she said, as if to apologize. Then I received a call from Pati in Costa Rica: she was alarmed to learn that her father was still in jail and that we have no idea when he will be released; I had a guilty conscience because I had to lie when she asked me if anything had changed. Mother and I went to eight o’clock Mass; in his homily, the priest again criticized those who distance themselves from the Catholic Church and promote exotic religious doctrines that are far removed from the true faith, all this an allusion to the general’s occultist beliefs. Friends stopped to talk as we were leaving church; nobody had the vaguest notion that the coup d’état would begin this afternoon: there have been so many rumors flying around for so long. I went to the Central Prison later in the morning, with new provisions for Pericles and the hope of seeing Sergeant Flores or convincing the officer in charge to let me enter and at least give the basket directly to my husband. It was the visiting hour for common criminals; they didn’t let me in, a guard with a roguish face told me that he would give Pericles the provisions, and I returned home with a horrible feeling of impotence, and despair.
To cheer me up, Mother convinced me to eat with her at the Casino; she even made me drink a rather strong aperitif. We ate a delicious paella, and for dessert, an exquisite guava tart. After coffee we decided to leave, despite the insistence of some friends that we stay to play canasta; now I can only thank God for watching over us. Mother dropped me at the house, where I found María Elena getting ready to go out: she was on her way to a three-o’clock show at the Teatro Colón. I laid down on the sofa to take a nap. Half an hour later, María Elena woke me up, frightened, to tell me that she had turned on the radio and heard there had been a coup d’état. I’d been in such a deep sleep, and I was so lethargic, at first I found it difficult to react. She explained how she couldn’t get downtown because there were troops everywhere, how she soon started to hear the rat-a-tat-tat of machine guns and saw war planes flying over the city and dropping bombs. Then I heard Clemen’s voice on the radio: he announced exuberantly that the dictator was dead, the air force and the infantry have joined the rebels and the only resistance left are the police and the National Guard; then, other professionals and radio announcers took turns at the microphone, most of them friends of Pericles, and the most important words were spoken by Dr. Romero. When I finally understood the magnitude of the events, I thought of my husband and what might be happening at the Central Prison. I tried to call Clemen to get more information, but I couldn’t get through; nor could I communicate with Mother or my in-laws. I told María Elena I would go to the Central Prison to see what was happening there, perhaps they had already released Pericles; she warned me it was most likely extremely dangerous to be on the streets at that moment, but she said she’d accompany me. I told her she should stay home in case anybody called; she insisted on coming with me. The Central Prison is located about seven blocks from the house. People were walking quickly down the street, everybody very tense. In the distance I saw airplanes flying toward downtown. Many people were standing on the sidewalks in front of the open doors of their houses, waiting, their radios blasting, celebrating the general’s death. Two blocks from the Central Prison, a group of soldiers stopped us in our tracks and ordered us to go back the way we had come. I protested. But there was no way to convince them. Also, just at that moment, two airplanes flew very low overhead and loud explosions could be heard coming from near the Black Palace. Then I got frightened. I told María Elena that it would be better for us to walk toward my parents’ house. There were no streetcars. I ran into several acquaintances in the street; there was tremendous excitement. It was God’s will that Mingo drove by at that moment. I told him we knew nothing about Pericles’s situation in the Central Prison. He explained that nobody knows anything about anything, the situation is very confusing; people knew only what Clemen and the other rebels were reporting on the radio: that the First Infantry Regiment was battling the police in the area around the palace, the general was dead, and the air force was supporting the coup. He told me he would drive me quickly to my parents’ house, and I should call him if I needed anything at all. Mother was beside herself: Don Leo had gone to get me and found nobody at home, she had not been able to get in touch with Father, and Clemen’s voice on the radio made her fear the worst. Slowly, she began to calm down. Soon a few phone calls got through, from friends who live in other parts of the city, and we spoke with the neighbors. We found out that the airplanes had missed their target, the bombs didn’t fall on the Black Palace but rather on the block of the Casino, and there were fires and many dead in the streets. Mother explained that we have only God to thank that the three of us are alive, because the Teatro Colón, where María Elena had been headed, is on the same block, and it is still in flames now, late at night. Later, one of the Castaneda brothers, Clemen’s friends, announced on the radio that the general is not dead, he’s barricaded in the Black Palace. “That warlock is going to win!” my mother cried out in horror. I hushed her, told her not to repeat those words for they would bring bad luck. I was stupefied when I realized what could happen to Clemen and Pericles if the coup failed: the general’s rage, his need for revenge. God help us!