In The Time Of The Butterflies Part 13

He put his arms around me, and then he tried to put his tongue in my mouth. I had to say, NO! I've heard from the other girls at Dona Chelito's that one has to be careful with these men in the capital.

Monday morning, October 18 I had the dream again last night. I hadn't had it in such a long time, it upset me all the more because I thought I'd gotten over Papa.

This time Armando played musical faces with Papa. I was so upset I woke up Minerva. Thank G.o.d, I didn't scream out and wake up everyone in the house. How embarra.s.sing that would have been!

Minerva just held my hands like she used to when I was a little girl and was having an asthma attack. She said that the pain would go away once I found the man of my dreams. It wouldn't be long. She could feel it in her bones.

But I'm sure what she's feeling is her own happiness with Manolo.

1955.

Sunday afternoon, November 20 Ojo de Agua Diary, don't even ask where I've been for a year! And I wouldn't have found you either, believe me. The hiding place at Dona Chelito's was too good. Only when we went to pack up Minerva's things for her move, did I remember you stashed under the closet floorboards.

Today is the big day. It's been raining since dawn, and so Minerva's plan of walking to the church on foot like Patria did and seeing all the campesinos campesinos she's known since she was a little girl is out. But you know Minerva. She thinks we should just use umbrellas! she's known since she was a little girl is out. But you know Minerva. She thinks we should just use umbrellas!

Mama says Minerva should be glad, since a rainy wedding is suppose to bring good luck. "Blessings on the marriage bed," she smiles, and rolls her eyes.

She is so happy. Minerva is so happy. Rain or no rain, this is a happy day Then why am I so sad? Things are going to be different, I just know it, even though Minerva says they won't. Already, she's moved in with Manolo at Dona Isabel's, and I am left alone at Dona Chelito's with new boarders I hardly know.

"I never thought I'd see this day," Patria says from the rocking chair where she's sewing a few more satin rosebuds on the crown of the veil. Minerva at twenty-nine was considered beyond all hope of marriage by old-fas.h.i.+oned people like my sister Patria. That one married at sixteen, remember. "Gracias, Virgencita," "Gracias, Virgencita," she says, looking up at the ceiling. she says, looking up at the ceiling.

"Gracias, Manolo, you mean," Minerva laughs.

Then everyone starts in on me, how I'm next, and who is it going to be, and come on, tell, until I could cry.

Sunday evening, December 11 The capital We just got back from marching in the opening ceremony for the World's Fair, and my feet are really hurting. Plus, the whole back of my dress is drenched with sweat. The only consolation is that if I was hot, "Queen" Angelita must have been burning up.

Imagine, in this heat wearing a gown sprinkled with rubies, diamonds, and pearls, and bordered with 150 feet of Russian ermine. It took 600 skins to make that border! All this was published in the paper like we should be impressed.

Manolo didn't even want Minerva to march. She could have gotten a release, too, since she's pregnant-yes! Those two are not waiting until she's done. But Minerva said there was no way she was going to let all her companeras companeras endure this cross without carrying her share. endure this cross without carrying her share.

We must have marched over four kilometers. As we pa.s.sed Queen Angelita's review stand, we bowed our heads. I slowed a little when it was my turn so I could check her out. Her cape had a fur collar that rode up so high, and dozens of attendants were fanning her left and right. I couldn't see anything but a little, pouty, sort of pretty face gleaming with perspiration.

Looking at her, I almost felt sorry. I wondered if she knew how bad her father is or if she still thought, like I once did about Papa, that her father is G.o.d.

1956.

Friday night, April 27 The capital My yearly entry. I cannot tell a lie. If you look considerably slimmer, diary, it's only because you have been my all-purpose supply book. Paper for letters, shopping lists, cla.s.s notes. I wish I could shed pounds as readily. I am on a vast diet so I can fit into my gown for the festivities. Tomorrow I go over to Minerva's to work on my speech.

Sat.u.r.day afternoon, April 28 The capital

Honorable Rector, Professors, Fellow Cla.s.smates, Friends, Family, I'm really very touched from the bottom of my heart-

Minerva shakes her head. "Too gushy," she says.

I want to express my sincere grat.i.tude for this great honor you have conferred on me by selecting me your Miss University for the coming year-

The baby starts crying again. She's been fussy all afternoon. I think she has a cold coming on. With rainy season here, everyone does. Of course, it could be that little Minou doesn't like my speech much!

I will do my very best to be a s.h.i.+ning example of the high values that this, the first university in the New World, has instilled in its Jour hun dred years of being a beacon of knowledge and a mine of wisdom to the finest minds that have been lucky enough to pa.s.s through the portals of this inspired community- I will do my very best to be a s.h.i.+ning example of the high values that this, the first university in the New World, has instilled in its Jour hun dred years of being a beacon of knowledge and a mine of wisdom to the finest minds that have been lucky enough to pa.s.s through the portals of this inspired community- Minerva says this is going on too long without the required mention of you-know-who. Little Minou has quieted down, thank G.o.d. It's so nice of Minerva to help me out-with as much as she has to do with a new baby and her law cla.s.ses. But she says she's glad I came over. It's kept her from missing Manolo, who couldn't make it down from Monte Cristi again this weekend.

But most especially, my most sincere grat.i.tude goes to our true benefactor, El jefe Rafael Leonidas Trujillo, Champion of Education, Light of the Antilles, First Teacher, Enlightener of His People. But most especially, my most sincere grat.i.tude goes to our true benefactor, El jefe Rafael Leonidas Trujillo, Champion of Education, Light of the Antilles, First Teacher, Enlightener of His People.

"Don't overdo it," Minerva says. She reminds me it's going to be a hard crowd to address after this Galindez thing.

She's right, too. The campus is buzzing with the horror story. Disappearances happen every week, but this time, it's someone who used to teach here. Also, Galindez had already escaped to New York so everyone thought he was safe. But somehow El Jefe found out Galindez was writing a book against the regime. He sent agents offering him a lot of money for it-$25,000, I've heard-but Galindez said no. Next thing you know, he's walking home one night, and he disappears. No one has seen or heard from him since.

I get so upset thinking about him, I don't want to be a queen of anything anymore. But Minerva won't have it. She says this country hasn't voted for anything in twenty-six years and it's only these silly little elections that keep the faint memory of a democracy going. "You can't let your const.i.tuency down, Queen Mate!"

We women at this university are particularly grateful for the opportunities afforded us for higher education in this regime. We women at this university are particularly grateful for the opportunities afforded us for higher education in this regime.

Minerva insists I stick this in.

Little Minou starts bawling again. Minerva says she misses her papi. And almost as if to prove her mother right, that little baby girl starts up a serious crying spell that brings Dona Isabel's soft tap at the bedroom door.

"What are you doing to my precious?" she says, coming in. Dona Isabel takes care of the baby while Minerva's in cla.s.s. She's one of those pretty women who stay pretty no matter how old they get. Curly white hair like a frilly cap and eyes soft as opals. She holds out her hands, "My precious, are they torturing you?"

"What do you mean?" Minerva says, handing the howling bundle over and rubbing her ears. "This little tyrant's torturing us!"

1957.

Friday evening, July 26 The capital I have been a disaster diary keeper. Last year, only one entry, and this year is already half over and I haven't jotted down a single word. I did thumb through my old diary book, and I must say, it does all seem very silly with all the diary dears and the so secretive initials no one would be able to decipher in a million years!

But I think I will be needing a companion-since from now on, I am truly on my own. Minerva graduates tomorrow and is moving to Monte Cristi to be with Manolo. I am to go home for the rest of the summer-although it's no longer the home I've always known as Mama is building a new house on the main road. In the fall, I am to come back to finish my degree all on my own.

I'm feeling very solitary and sad and more jamonita jamonita than a hog. than a hog.

Here I am almost twenty-two years old and not a true love in sight.

Sat.u.r.day night, July 27 The capital What a happy day today looked to be. Minerva was getting her law degree! The whole Mirabal-Reyes-Fernandez-Gonzalez-Tavarez clan gathered for the occasion. It was a pretty important day-Minerva was the first person in our whole extended family (minus Manolo) to have gone through university.

What a shock, then, when Minerva got handed the law degree but not the license to practice. Here we all thought El Jefe had relented against our family and let Minerva enroll in law school. But really what he was planning all along was to let her study for five whole years only to render that degree useless in the end. How cruel!

Manolo was furious. I thought he was going to march right up to the podium and have a word with the rector. Minerva took it best of all of us. She said now she'd have even more time to spend with her family. Something in the way she looked at Manolo when she said that tells me there's trouble between them.

Sunday evening, July 28 Last night in the capital Until today, I was planning to go back to Ojo de Agua with Mama since my summer session is also over. But the new house isn't quite done, so it would have been crowded in the old house with Dede and Jaimito and the boys already moved in. Then this morning, Minerva asked me if I wouldn't come to Monte Cristi and help her set up housekeeping. Manolo has rented a little house so they won't have to live with his parents anymore. By now, I know something is wrong between them, so I've agreed to go along.

Monday night, July 29 Monte Cristi The drive today was horribly tense. Manolo and Minerva kept addressing all their conversation to me, though every once in a while, they'd start discussing something in low voices. It sounded like treasure hunt clues or something. The Indian from the hill has his cave up that road. The Eagle has nested in the hollow on the other side of that mountain. I was so happy to have them talking to each other, I played with little Minou in the back seat and pretended not to hear them.

We arrived in town midafternoon and stopped in front of this little shack. Seriously, it isn't half as nice as the house Minerva showed me where Papa kept that woman on the farm. I suppose it's the best Manolo can do, given how broke they are.

I tried not to look too shocked so as not to depress Minerva. What a performance that one put on. Like this was her dream house or something. One, two, three rooms-she counted them as if delighted. A zinc roof would be so nice when it rained. What a big yard for her garden and that long storage shed in back sure would come in handy.

The show was lost on Manolo, though. Soon after he unpacked the car, he took off. Business, he said when Minerva asked him where he was going.

Thursday night, August 15 Monte Cristi Manolo has been staying out till all hours. I sleep in the front room that serves as his office during the day, so I always know when he comes in. Later, I hear voices raised in their bedroom.

Tonight, Minerva and I were sewing curtains in the middle room where the kitchen, living, dining room, and everything is. The clock struck eight, and still no Manolo. I don't know why it is that when the clock strikes, you feel all the more the absence of someone.

Suddenly, I heard this wracking sob. My brave Minerva! It was all I could do not to start crying right along with her.

From her playpen Minou reached out, offering her mother my old doll I'd given her.

"Okay" I said. "I know something is going on," I said. I took a guess. "Another woman, right?"

Minerva gave me a quick nod. I could see her shoulders heaving up and down.

"I hate men," I said, mostly trying to convince myself. "I really hate them."

Sunday afternoon, August 25 G.o.d, it gets hot in M.C.

Manolo and Minerva are on the mend. I mind the baby to give them time together, and they go out walking, holding hands, like newlyweds. Some nights they slip away for meetings, and I can see lights on in the storage shed. I usually take the baby down to Manolo's parents and spend the time with them and the twins, then walk home, accompanied by Manolo's brother, Eduardo. I keep my distance from him. First time I've ever done that with a nice enough, handsome enough young man. Like I said, I've had enough of them.

Sat.u.r.day morning, September 7 A new warm feeling has descended on our little house. This mom ing, Minerva came into the kitchen to get Manolo his cafecito, and her face was suffused with a certain sweetness. She wrapped her arms around me from behind and whispered in my ear, "Thank you, Mate, thank you. The struggle's brought us together again. You've brought us together again."

"Me?" I asked, though I could as easily have said, "What struggle?"

Sat.u.r.day before sunrise, September 28 This will be a long entry ... something important has finally happened to me. I've hardly slept a wink, and tomorrow-or really, today, since it's almost dawn-I'm heading back to the capital for the start of fall cla.s.ses. Minerva finally convinced me that I should finish my degree. But after what happened to her, I'm pretty disillusioned about staying at the university.

Anyhow, as always before a trip, I was tossing and turning, packing and unpacking my bags in my head. I must have finally fallen asleep because I had that dream again about Papa. This time, after pulling out all the pieces of the wedding dress, I looked in and man after man I'd known appeared and disappeared before my eyes. The last one being Papa, though even as I looked, he faded little by little, until the box was empty. I woke up with a start, lit the lamp, and sat listening to the strange excited beating in my heart.

But soon, what I thought was my heartbeat was a desperate knocking on the front shutter. A voice was whispering urgently, "Open up!"

When I got the courage to crack open the shutter, at first I couldn't make out who was out there. "What do you want?" I asked in a real uninviting way.

The voice hesitated. Wasn't this the home of Manolo Tavarez?

"He's alseep. I'm his wife's sister. Can I help you?" By now, from the light streaming from my window, I could see a face I seemed to recall from a dream. It was the sweetest man's face I'd ever seen.

He had a delivery to make, he said, could I please let him in? As he spoke, he kept looking over his shoulder at a car parked right before our front door.

I didn't even think twice. I ran to the entryway, slid the bolt, and pushed open the door just in time for him to carry a long wooden crate from the trunk of the car to the front hall. Quickly, I closed the door behind him and nodded towards the office. He carried the box in, looking all around for a place to hide it.

We finally settled on the s.p.a.ce under the cot where I slept. It amazed me even as it was happening how immediately I'd fallen in with this stranger's mission, whatever it was.

Then he asked me the strangest thing. Was I Mariposa's little sister?