“It’s not a soldier, it’s a woman. ”
“How could it be?”
“Look at that hair.”
“It’s a helmet.”
“No it’s not, it’s a woman’s hair.”
“You’re hallucinating, Clemen.”
“Did you hear?”
“I hope they leave. I hope they leave.”
“It was a laugh. ”
“Quiet. They’re going past us.”
“The woman is laughing.”
“Luckily, they’re going toward the other end of the canal. If they come back this way, I’ll take them by surprise.”
“Didn’t you hear the laughter, Jimmy?”
“What laughter? You’re nuts.”
“This makes my hair curl. ”
“That’s from the humidity. You’re letting fear get the better of you. They’re leaving.”
“I swear I heard a laugh.”
“I just hope they don’t come back. ”
Haydée’s Diary
Friday April 21
Doña Chayito came over very early this morning, just as I was sitting down to breakfast. I wasn’t expecting her. I asked her if there was an emergency. She said this was the best time of day to shake off the police who are tailing her, even the ones prowling around my house hadn’t come on duty yet. I invited her to have breakfast with me; she said she’d already eaten, but she would love a cup of coffee. She explained that the time had come to show our opposition to the general’s intransigence, that if we allow ourselves to be intimidated, who knows when we will see our imprisoned family members again, we must seize the opportunity, take advantage of this climate of deep unrest the students’ arrests have generated throughout the society. She then said that we must call all our supporters to join the protest march from the El Calvario Church to the Central Prison on Sunday after ten o’clock Mass, but we must be sure to spread the word as discreetly as possible, keep it a secret, so we can take the general by surprise. She said it would be best if those who attend the earlier Mass or go to a different church not change their plans, to avoid raising suspicions, and they should arrive at El Calvario at precisely eleven o’clock, the time the march will begin. She explained the plan with excitement and great precision, as if she’d gone over and over it in her head. She said we should all wear black, and the men should wear black ties; we should all carry a piece of folded white cardboard in our handbags as well as a thick marker to write our slogans demanding freedom for our family members during the last few minutes of Mass without running the risk of being stopped by the authorities and caught red-handed on the way from our houses to church, and that after the march we can leave the signs in front of the Central Prison. I asked her whom we will ask to join us; she said everyone who supports our cause, but it is important we invite each person individually, not en masse, that way each person will take it upon him or herself to come and the secret will be kept, and we should never talk about it over the phone.
In spite of her doubts, Rosita has agreed to join the march. We went together to talk to Dr. Moreno’s wife, Doña Juana, who not only seemed excited about it but also acted like a seasoned veteran and had very strong words against the general; then we went to see Dr. Salazar’s wife, Doña Cleo, who was exactly the opposite and rekindled Rosita’s doubts, afraid that her participation in the march would hamper her son’s release. I had to remind them of my experience with Pericles, and especially that of Doña Chayito and the other mothers who have suffered with their sons, who are also students, being in jail for weeks now already; I tried to help them understand that the situation of our loved ones has gone from bad to worse, and the general has turned a deaf ear. I warned all three not to speak on the telephone about our plans or mention anything to anybody else, as there are spies and informers everywhere.
I had two surprises this afternoon. The first was a call from Angelita, Pericles’s first cousin; we console each other over our lack of news about Clemen and Jimmy. It was a normal conversation, chatting about this and that, until she asked me if I knew anything about plans for a protest march in support of political prisoners. She caught me off guard, but I managed to react appropriately: I said no, I had heard nothing about it, and I asked her to tell me what she had heard. She told me that a rumor had reached her, and she thought that since I was in the group of families of political prisoners who had met with the ambassador, I would know about it, and she said if she heard anything more she would call to let me know. I told her that so many political rumors are circulating one no longer knows what to believe.
The other surprise came in the evening at Mother’s house, where the Figueroas and my sister Cecilia were also visiting. They spoke excitedly about Luz María’s wedding, which will be held in a month at the cathedral in Santa Ana, and about the party afterward at the Casino Santaneco. Carlota showed me a sketch of the gown her daughter will wear and compared it to the one she wore and those Cecilia and I had worn at our respective weddings, and she complained that because of the war in Europe it is well-nigh impossible to order an exclusive design from Paris. She told me there’s been a disagreement in her family about the guest list, in the wake of the attempted coup and the executions, because Carlota’s mother’s family has always been involved in politics — her grandfather was once the president of the republic — and now several members of her family are repudiating the general and vow not to attend the wedding if old family friends who have remained loyal to the government are invited. I also found out that Nicolás Armando’s sons will be groomsmen, about how excited Cecilia is to make her grandchildren’s suits and attend the wedding rehearsals; I felt a stab in my heart to think what my poor grandchildren might suffer because of their foolish mother. Later, while I was in the kitchen making tea, Carlota came to tell me she is worried about Fabito, her eldest, who is studying medicine, and who has become deeply involved in organizing protests against the general, she fears he’ll be arrested at any moment. I told her how surprised I was, I knew nothing about Fabito’s political involvement, though I did not think it so odd considering the fact that the general has been attacking the medical society and medical students. But the conversation didn’t end there: very secretively, so nobody else would hear, Carlota revealed that Fabito was a member of a delegation of students who traveled to the hospital in San Miguel to meet with Dr. Romero and prepare a plan for his escape, he could speak with him in French (Fabio senior took Carlota and her children with him when he went to Paris for a residency) and that way outwit the two soldiers stationed in his hospital room, but Dr. Romero convinced him that the escape plan wasn’t viable, that it was, in fact, suicidal. I told her it was fortunate Fabito had escaped the sweep Chente and his fellow students had been caught up in. Then she told me that’s precisely her fear: Fabito is organizing a march next Sunday to protest the arrests of the students, and she’s afraid that this time he won’t escape, and they will take him straight to jail. It was a pity that at that moment Mama and Cecilia came into the kitchen, along with other friends who had just arrived, and we couldn’t continue talking.
I dined at Carmela and Chelón’s house. I told them about the plan for Sunday, how desperate we are because the general is still keeping us away from our family members at the Central Prison, that this protest march is a last resort to pressure the government. I asked Carmela to accompany me to ten o’clock Mass, though I made it clear I was not asking her to join the march, because I know that she and Chelón abstain from any political activity, but my best friend’s presence at church would bring me comfort and give me strength. She said she would, of course, she would be there. I said to Chelón teasingly that he was off the hook, for if Pericles found out that he had attended Mass, even to demand his release, he would never forgive the betrayal.