Doña Chayito was waiting for me out on the sidewalk. It was already getting dark. We had barely walked half a block when Don Leo pulled up alongside us in the car and stopped. This was unexpected, because we had agreed he would return to pick me up at nine at night, and I assumed he was at my parents’ house. As if to excuse himself, he said that Father had instructed him to remain at my disposal. “Get in,” Doña Chayito said quickly; two secret policemen were standing on the corner. I asked Don Leo if he had seen Betito leave. He said that Henry, Flaco, and Chepito had picked him up in Chepito’s car. Halfway there, checking to make sure Don Leo didn’t see her through the rearview mirror, Doña Chayito, without any fuss, put her hand down her belly, under her skirt and her underpants, and pulled out a small piece of paper, which she unfolded and gave to me; it was another communiqué from the university students, a different one than Raúl had brought over this morning, as I could see from the heading. It would have been very difficult for me to read it in that light. I folded it back up and hid it in my brassiere.
“Things are even worse here,” Don Leo said, stopping the car. There was a National Guard checkpoint blocking the street the Marín’s house is on. I got nervous. A soldier approached the car and asked for our documents; he asked Don Leo where we were going. “To the wake,” I came out with, and I still don’t know where I got the courage. The soldier went over to an officer standing nearby, looked over our documents for a few minutes that seemed to last forever, and wrote our names down in a book. “Two hours ago this checkpoint wasn’t here,” Doña Chayito muttered. The soldier returned and, as he handed back our documents, he leaned over and gave me a sinister glare. “Pass,” he barked. I was in a cold sweat. “There might be one at the other wake by the time we get back there,” Don Leo commented. But according to Doña Chayito, the warlock sending the soldiers here was yet another act of cruelty against the family, because they say he personally tortured Víctor Manuel, but failed to break his will, failed to get him to give anyone else away.
When we got out of the car, I feared my legs would buckle under me; I grabbed on to Doña Chayito’s arm. Just a few family members were there; I had already met some of them outside the Central Prison and also at Sunday Mass. I gave my condolences and went to sit next to Doña Julita and her daughter, Leonor. The atmosphere was more infused with terror than mourning. I couldn’t hold out any longer, and asked where the washroom was. While I was taking care of my business, I took out the communiqué I’d hidden in my brassiere; I tore it up into little pieces and flushed it down the toilet. I returned to the living room. Doña Chayito was complaining about the checkpoint, explaining that many people would refrain from coming to offer their condolences as a result of it. I accepted a coffee. I calmed down a little. I watched the Maríns’ mother, the poor dear was weeping incessantly, and then would suddenly burst into sobs. I got chills wondering if they’d tortured Lieutenant Alfonso as they had his brother, Víctor Manuel. I told myself probably not, everybody says the general lashes out more violently against civilians. I felt like I was drowning, as if they had just notified me that Clemen had been captured. I took out my rosary beads and began to pray, trying to chase away those dreadful thoughts. But I was unable to lessen my agitation, the pounding in my heart and temples. I was determined to finish my rosary. Then I told Doña Chayito I wasn’t feeling well and would soon leave; I asked her if she would be staying at the Maríns’ or if she wished us to take her someplace else. She asked me to take her to Captain Piche’s house. I felt somewhat guilty saying goodbye, so few people were in attendance, and the crushing density of the sorrow was felt acutely in that almost empty room. It was dark when we went out to look for Don Leo. I prayed to God we wouldn’t have any trouble getting through the checkpoint. We passed without any difficulty, I didn’t even see the soldier with the sinister eyes; I felt lighter, now that I wasn’t carrying that communiqué, though I knew a migraine was hovering, about to attack and lay me low at any moment. Doña Chayito gave Don Leo directions. The city felt dismal, as if the wind were fear, blowing through the streets. There were no soldiers in the area, only secret policemen snooping around. I told Don Leo I would stop in only for a moment to offer my condolences, and we would leave in less than a quarter of an hour. There were the same amount of people here as at the Gavidias’. Angelita was near the door, greeting people; she told me she had just arrived, she had heard about the checkpoint in front of the Maríns’ house, and she unfortunately wouldn’t be able to make it there tonight. Then with some urgency she pulled me over to a corner and asked me if I had any news about Clemen. My heart skipped a beat. “No, why, my dear?” I managed to stutter. She told me she’d just been assured that Jimmy is fine, but they didn’t give her any details, and she wanted to know if I had heard anything she hadn’t. I told her the men in my family and Pericles’s family share the opinion that life-and-death secrets should not be shared with women, so I was totally in the dark.
I returned home even more unsettled, and still now, after writing down all the events of the day, anxiety is gnawing away inside me, as if something important were happening right next to me without my being aware of it. Fortunately, the migraine has passed. Betito was dropped off a while ago; I scolded him for having disappeared without letting me know. He told me that when he returned to the Gavidias’, I was already gone, and he and his friends had some other things to do. I saw in his eyes the fervor of someone who has embarked on an adventure; I warned him to be careful. Only now do I realize, with a heavy conscience, that I haven’t thought about Pericles even once all day. My poor husband.
Tuesday April 25
A ray of sunshine after the storm! They released Chente and the other medical students who were arrested last Wednesday. The government lifted the curfew; they also authorized the opening of the Club and the Casino. And an assistant to Colonel Palma, the director of the Central Prison, called when I wasn’t home and left a message with María Elena to tell me to appear early tomorrow morning because visits would now be allowed to political prisoners. We were all surprised, happy. I wouldn’t have believed any of it if I hadn’t been at my neighbors’ house celebrating with Chente. God willing they will soon free Pericles, and tomorrow I can bring everything we have packed for him: clothes, food, personal grooming items. Betito will accompany me even if it means he’ll get to school late. My mother-in-law called to tell me she regretted not being able to come, her arthritis has her bent over in pain, and would I please give Pericles her blessing. Doña Chayito and the other members of the group are hopeful that our family members will be released in the next few days; we’ll meet in front of the Central Prison.
I dined at my parents’ house; Uncle Charlie stopped by, but he only drank whiskey. According to him, the gringos are furious about the executions, and they have made it clear to the general that they are considering sending in the military police to protect American citizens in the event of a new uprising, and it is this threat that has forced him to back down. “He isn’t cowered by a threat like that,” Father commented. Then he said: “That warlock must have something up his sleeve: he’s loosening things up to see who will lift their heads so he can lop them off.” I put in my two cents: I told them that the why and the wherefore didn’t matter, the important thing was that I would be able to visit Pericles and that the students had been released. Mother mentioned that Carlota is happy the clubs are open for there will be no problem now with Luz María’s wedding.