In The Time Of The Butterflies Part 21

I spent hours with Don Bernardo and Dona Belen next door, wis.h.i.+ng my mind could fade like hers into the past. I would have gone all the way back, all the way back to the beginning of-I wasn't sure of what.

Finally, when I'd almost given up hope, Pena arrived at the house in his big showy white Mercedes, wearing an embroidered guayabera instead of his uniform. Oh dear, a personal visit.

"Capitan Pena," I welcomed him. "Please come inside where it's cool." I made a point of stopping at the entryway so he could see the fresh flowers under the portrait. "Shall I make you a rum c.o.ke?" I was gus.h.i.+ng shamelessly all over him.

"Don't bother yourself, Dona Patria, don't bother yourself." He indicated the chairs on the porch. "It's nice and cool out there." He looked at the road as a car slowed, the driver taking in who had dropped in on the Mirabal family.

Right then and there, I realized this visit was as much for him as for me. I'd heard that he was having trouble at our place-I will never call that farm anything else. All the campesinos campesinos had run off, and there wasn't a neighbor willing to lend a hand. (What could he expect? That whole area was full of Gonzalez!) But being seen conversing with Dona Patria sent out the message-I didn't hold him responsible for my loss. All he had done was buy a cheap farm from the government. had run off, and there wasn't a neighbor willing to lend a hand. (What could he expect? That whole area was full of Gonzalez!) But being seen conversing with Dona Patria sent out the message-I didn't hold him responsible for my loss. All he had done was buy a cheap farm from the government.

Mama did, however, hold him responsible. She locked herself in her bedroom with her grandbabies and refused to come out. She would never visit with the monster who had torn her girls from her side. She didn't care that he was trying to help us now. The truth was the devil was the devil even in a halo. But I knew it was more complicated than that. He was both, angel and devil, like the rest of us.

"I have good news for you," Pena began. He folded his hands on his lap, waiting for me to gush a little more over him.

"What is it, Captain?" I leaned forward, playing my pleading part.

"I have the visiting pa.s.ses," he said. My heart sunk a little, I had wanted the pardon most of all. But I thanked him warmly as he counted out each one. "Three pa.s.ses," he concluded when he was done.

Three? "But we have six prisoners, Captain," I tried to keep my voice steady. "Shouldn't it be six pa.s.ses?"

"It should be six, shouldn't it?" He gave me little righteous nods. "But Manolo's in solitary, and Leandro's still deciding on a job for El Jefe. So! They're both-shall we say-unavailable."

A job for El Jefe? "And my Nelson?" I said right out.

"I talked with headquarters," Pena spoke slowly, delaying the news to increase my antic.i.p.ation. But I stayed unruffled, praying my Glory Be's, one right after the other. "Seeing as your boy is so young, and El Jefe has been pardoning most minors..." He swilled his drink around so the ice tinkled against the gla.s.s. "We think we can get him in with the next round."

My first born, my little ram. The tears began to flow.

"Now, now, Dona Patria, don't get like that." But I could tell from Pena's tone that he loved seeing women cry.

When I had controlled myself, I asked, "And the girls, Captain?"

"The women were all offered pardons as well."

I was at the edge of my chair. "So the girls are coming home, too?"

"No, no, no," he said, wagging his finger at me. "They seem to like like it in prison. They have refused." He raised his eyebrows as if to say, what can I do about such foolishness? Then he returned us to the subject of his little coup, expecting more of my grat.i.tude. "So, how shall we celebrate when the boy comes home?" it in prison. They have refused." He raised his eyebrows as if to say, what can I do about such foolishness? Then he returned us to the subject of his little coup, expecting more of my grat.i.tude. "So, how shall we celebrate when the boy comes home?"

"We'll have you over for a sancocho," sancocho," I said before he could suggest something rude. I said before he could suggest something rude.

As soon as he was gone, I rushed to Mama's bedroom and delivered my good news.

Mama went down on her knees and threw her hands up in the air. "The truth is the Lord has not forgotten us!"

"Nelson is coming home?" Noris rushed forward. Since his imprisonment, Noris had moped horribly, as if Nelson were a lost love instead of "the monster" who had tortured her all her childhood.

The younger children began to chant, "Nelson home! Nelson home!"

Mama looked up at me, ignoring the racket. "And the girls?"

"We have pa.s.ses to see them," I said, my voice dropping.

Mama stood up, stopping the clamor short. "And what does the devil want in return?"

"A sancocho when Nelson comes home." when Nelson comes home."

"Over my dead body that man is going to eat a sancocho in my house."

I put my hand on my lips, reminding Mama that she had to watch what she said.

"I mean it, over my dead body!" Mama hissed. "And that's the truth!"

By the time she said it the third time, she and I both knew she was resigned to feeding Judas at her table. But there would be more than one stray hair in that sancocho, sancocho, as the as the campesinos campesinos liked to say. No doubt Fela would sprinkle in her powders and Tono would say an Our Father backwards over the pot, and even I would add some holy water I'd bottled from Jacqueline's baptism to give to her mother. liked to say. No doubt Fela would sprinkle in her powders and Tono would say an Our Father backwards over the pot, and even I would add some holy water I'd bottled from Jacqueline's baptism to give to her mother.

That night as we walked in the garden, I admitted to Mama that I had made an indiscreet promise. She looked at me, shocked. "Is that why you snuck out of the house a few weeks ago?"

"No, no, no. Nothing like that. I offered Our Lord to take me instead of my Nelson."

Mama sighed. "Ay, m'ija, "Ay, m'ija, don't even say so. I have enough crosses." Then she admitted, "I offered Him to take me instead of any of you. And since I'm the mother, He's got to listen to me first." don't even say so. I have enough crosses." Then she admitted, "I offered Him to take me instead of any of you. And since I'm the mother, He's got to listen to me first."

We laughed. "The truth is," Mama continued, "I have everything in hock to Him. It'll take me another lifetime to fulfill all the promesas promesas I've made once everybody comes home. I've made once everybody comes home.

"As for the Pena promesa," promesa," she added, "I have a plan." There was that little edge of revenge in her voice. "We'll invite all the neighbors." she added, "I have a plan." There was that little edge of revenge in her voice. "We'll invite all the neighbors."

I didn't have to remind her that we weren't living among our kin anymore. Most of these new neighbors wouldn't come, afraid of being seen socializing with the blackmarked Mirabals. That was part of Mama's plan. "Pena will show up, thinking the sancocho sancocho is meant just for him." is meant just for him."

I started laughing before she was through. I could see which way her revenge was going.

"All those neighbors will look out their windows and kick themselves when they realize they slighted the head of the northern SIM!"

"Ay, Mama," I laughed. "You are becoming Mama," I laughed. "You are becoming la jefa la jefa of revenge!" of revenge!"

"Lord forgive me," she said, smiling sweetly. There wasn't a bit of sorry in her voice.

"That makes two of us," I said, hooking my arm with hers.

"Good night," I called out to the cigarette tips glowing like fireflies in the dark.

Monday, Pena telephoned. The audience with El Jefe was set in the National Palace for the next day. We were to bring a sponsor. Someone willing to give the young offender work and be responsible for him. Someone who had not been in trouble with the government.

"Thank you, thank you," I kept saying.

"So when is my sancocho?" sancocho?" Pena concluded. Pena concluded.

"Come on, Mama," I said when I got off the line and had given her our good news. "The man isn't all that bad."

"Humpf!" Mama snorted. "The man is smart is what he is. Helping with Nelson's release will do what twenty sancochos sancochos couldn't do. Soon the Gonzalez clan will have him baptizing their babies!" couldn't do. Soon the Gonzalez clan will have him baptizing their babies!"

I knew she was right, but I wished she hadn't said so. I don't know, I wanted to start believing in my fellow Dominicans again. Once the goat was a bad memory in our past, that would be the real revolution we would have to fight: forgiving each other for what we had all let come to pa.s.s.

We made the trip to the capital in two cars. Jaimito and I rode down in the pickup. He had agreed to sponsor his nephew, giving him his own parcel to farm. I always said our cousin had a good heart.

Mama, Tio Chiche and his son, Blanco, a young colonel in the army, followed in Don Bernardo's car. We wanted a show of strength-our most respectable relations. Dede was staying behind to take care of the children. It was my first excursion out of the Salcedo province in three months. My mood was almost festive!

At the last minute, Noris stole into the pickup and wouldn't come out. "I want to go get my brother," she said, her voice breaking. I couldn't bring myself to order her out.

Somehow, in our excitement, our two cars lost each other on the road. Later we found out that Don Bemardo's old Plymouth had a flat near the Constanza turnoff, and when Blanco went to change it, there was no jack or spare in the trunk. Instead, Mama described a whole library that Don Bernardo confessed he had hidden there. In her forgetful rages, Dona Belen had taken it into her head to rip up her husband's books, convinced there were love letters hidden in those pages.

Because we had backtracked, looking for them, we got to the National Palace with only minutes to spare. Up the front steps we raced-there must have been a hundred of them. In Dede's tight little heels, I suffered my Calvary, which I offered up to my Nelson's freedom. At the entrance, there was a checkpoint, then two more friskings inside. Those were my poor Noris's Calvary. You know how girls are at that age about any attention paid their bodies, and this was out and out probing of the rudest kind. Finally, we were escorted down the hall by a nervous little functionary, who kept checking his watch and motioning for us to hurry along.

With all the rus.h.i.+ng around, I hadn't stopped to think. But now I began worrying that our prize would be s.n.a.t.c.hed away at the last minute. El Jefe was going to punish us Mirabals. Just like with Minerva's degree, he would wait till I had my hands on my Nelson and then say, "Your family is too good to accept pardons, it seems. I'm so sorry. We'll have to keep the boy."

I could not let myself be overcome by fears. I hung on to the sound of my girl's new heels clicking away beside me. My little rosebud, my pigs-eye, my pretty one. Suddenly, my heart just about stopped. Ay, Dios mio! Ay, Dios mio! What could I be thinking, bringing her along! Everybody knew that with each pa.s.sing year the old goat liked them younger and younger. I had offered What could I be thinking, bringing her along! Everybody knew that with each pa.s.sing year the old goat liked them younger and younger. I had offered myself myself as a sacrificial lamb for Nelson. Certainly not my darling. as a sacrificial lamb for Nelson. Certainly not my darling.

I squeezed my Noris's hand. "You stay by me every second, you hear! Don't drink anything you're offered, and it's no to any invitation to any party."

"Mama, what are you talking about?" Her bottom lip was quivering.

"Nothing, my treasure. Nothing. Just stay close."

It was like asking the pearl to stay inside its mother oyster. All the way down that interminable hall, Noris held tight to my hand.

I needed her touch as much as she needed mine. The past was rus.h.i.+ng down that long corridor towards me, a flood of memories, sweeping me back as I struggled to keep up with the little official. We were on our way to the fateful Discovery Day dance, Minerva and Dede, Pedrito, Papa and Jaimito and I, and nothing bad had happened yet. I was climbing up to the shrine of the Virgencita in Higuey to hear her voice for the first time. I was a bride, promenading down the center aisle of San Juan Evangelista twenty years back to marry the man with whom I would have our dear children, dearer than my life.

The room was a parlor with velvet chairs no one would dream of sitting on even if invited, which we weren't. Doors led in from three sides, and posted at each one was a fine-featured guard from El Jefe's elite all-white corps. A few other families stood by, in clumps, looking solemn, the women in black, the men in suits or formal guayaberas. guayaberas. My yellow dress stood out like a shout I tried to quiet by draping my black mantilla over my shoulders. Still, I was glad I had worn it. I was going to greet my boy dressed in the suns.h.i.+ne he hadn't seen in a month. My yellow dress stood out like a shout I tried to quiet by draping my black mantilla over my shoulders. Still, I was glad I had worn it. I was going to greet my boy dressed in the suns.h.i.+ne he hadn't seen in a month.

A crowd of journalists was let in one of the doors. A tall American draped with cameras approached and asked us in his accented Spanish what our feelings were today. We looked to the little man, who nodded his permission. The audience was as much for the press as for us. We were part of a stage show.

El Jefe entered in a wash of camera flashes. I don't know what I thought I'd see-I guess after three months of addressing him, I was sure I'd feel a certain kins.h.i.+p with the stocky, overdressed man before me. But it was just the opposite. The more I tried to concentrate on the good side of him, the more I saw a vain, greedy, unredeemed creature. Maybe the evil one had become flesh like Jesus! Gooseb.u.mps jumped all up and down my bare arms.

El Jefe sat down in an ornate chair on a raised platform and spoke directly to the families of the prisoners to be released. We had better do a better job of controlling our young people. Next time, we shouldn't expect such mercy. As a group, we thanked him in chorus. Then we were to name ourselves for him, one by one, and thank him again with little personalized comments. I couldn't think of anything to add to my thank-you, but I was hoping that Jaimito would come up with something.

When our turn came, El Jefe nodded for me to speak first. I had a momentary cowardly thought of not giving him my complete name.

"Patria Mercedes Mirabal de Gonzalez, to serve you."

His bored, half-lidded eyes showed a spark of interest. "So you are one of the Mirabal sisters, eh?"

"Yes, Jefe. I'm the oldest." Then, to emphasize what I was here for, I added, "Mother of Nelson Gonzalez. And we're very grateful to you."

"And who is that little flower beside you?" El Jefe smiled down at Noris.

The journalists noted the special attention we were receiving and came forward with their cameras.

Once everyone's particular thanks had been given, El Jefe turned and spoke to an aide beside him. A hush went through the room like a crack through a china cup. Then talk resumed. El Jefe moved closer to Noris to ask what flavor ice cream she liked. I kept her hand tight in mine while I scanned every door. This might be some sort of roulette game in which I had to guess correctly which one Nelson would come through in order to win his freedom. The American journalist threw out questions to El Jefe about his policies regarding political prisoners and the recent OAS charges of human rights abuses. El Jefe waved them away. He had managed to get out of Noris that she liked chocolate and strawberry if it wasn't too strawberryish.

A door swung open. A cortege of guards in dress whites came through, followed by a handful of sorry-looking boys, their skulls visible under their shaven heads, their eyes big and scared, their faces swollen with bruises. When I saw Nelson, I cried out and dropped to my knees.

Lord, I remember praying, I remember praying, thank you for giving me my son again. thank you for giving me my son again.

I didn't need to remind Him what I had offered in return. Still, I didn't expect Him to come right out and claim it. Later Jaimito said it was just Trujillo calling me to receive my prisoner. But I know a G.o.dly voice when I hear one. I heard Him all right, and He called my name.

Next day, we were famous. On the front page of El Caribe, El Caribe, the two photographs were side by side: Noris giving her hand to a smiling Jefe the two photographs were side by side: Noris giving her hand to a smiling Jefe (Young Offender Softens El Jefe's Heart); (Young Offender Softens El Jefe's Heart); and me, kneeling, my hands clutched in prayer (Grateful and me, kneeling, my hands clutched in prayer (Grateful Madre Thanks Her Benefactor). Madre Thanks Her Benefactor).

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

Maria Teresa March to August 1960

Wednesday, March 16 (55 days) I just got the notebook. Santiclo has had to be very careful this time around, smuggling in just a couple of things every few days.

Security measures are stepped up after the second pastoral, he says. You're safer in here than out there, bombs and what not.

He tries to say helpful things.

But can he really believe we're safer in here? Maybe he is, being a guard and all. But we politicals can be snuffed out just like that. A little visit to La 40, that's all it takes. Look at Florentino and Papilin-I better stop. I know how I get.

Thursday, March 17 (56 days) The fear is the worse part. Every time I hear footsteps coming down the hall, or the clink of the key turning in the lock, I'm tempted to curl up in the comer like a hurt animal, whimpering, wanting to be safe. But I know if I do that, I'll be giving in to a low part of myself, and I'll feel even less human. And that is what they want to do, yes, that is what they want to do.

Friday, March 18 (57 days) It feels good to write things down. Like there will be a record.

Before this, I sc.r.a.ped on the wall with our contraband nail. A mark for each day, a line through a week. It was the only record I could keep, besides the one in my head where I would remember things, store them.

The day we were brought here, for instance.

They marched us down the corridor past some of the men's cells. We looked a sight, dirty, uncombed, bruised from sleeping on the hard floor. The men started calling out their code names so we'd know who was still alive. (We kept our eyes averted, for they were all naked.) I listened hard but I didn't hear, "Palomino vive "Palomino vive!" I'm trying not to worry about it as we didn't hear a lot of names because the guards commenced beating on the bars with their nightsticks, drowning out the men's cries. Then Minerva began singing the national anthem, and everyone joined in, men and women. That time Minerva got solitary for a week.

The rest of us "women politicals" were locked up in a cell no bigger than Mama's living and dining room combined. But the real shock was the sixteen other cellmates we found here. "Nonpoliticals," all right. Prost.i.tutes, thieves, murderers-and that's just the ones who have confided in us.