In The Time Of The Butterflies Part 19

Some of the SIM guards left behind had asked her for the keys. They were confiscating the two vehicles registered under a prisoner's name. Minerva! No one had ever bothered to change those doc.u.ments since Papa's time. Now they were SIM cars.

"Lord." Mama looked up, addressing those very stars Dede had already discounted. "Lord, hear my cry!"

"Let's go talk to Him inside," Dede suggested. She had seen the hedges move slightly. They were being spied upon and would be from now on.

In Mama's bedroom, they all knelt down before the large picture of the Virgencita. It was here that all the crises in the family were first addressed-when Patria's baby was born dead, when the cows caught the pinkeye, when Papa had been jailed, and later when he died and his other family had come to light.

Now, in the small room, they gathered again, Patria, Noris, Mama, even Jaimito, though he hung back sheepishly, unaccustomed to being on his knees. Patria led the rosary, breaking down every now and then, Dede filling in those breaks with a strong, full voice. But really her heart was not in it. Her mind was thinking over all she must do before she and Jaimito left in the morning. The boys had to be dropped off at Dona Leila's, and Minou had to be sent for in Monte Cristi, and the pickup had to be filled with gas, and some bags packed for the girls in whatever prison held them, and a bag for her and Jaimito in case they had to stay overnight.

The praying had stopped. Everyone was crying quietly now, touching the veil of the Virgin for comfort. Looking up at the Blessed Mother, Dede saw where Minerva's and Mate's pictures had been newly tucked into the frame that already held Manolo, Leandro, Nelson, Pedrito. She struggled but this time she could not keep down her sobs.

That night as she lay beside Jaimito, Dede could not sleep. It was not the naughty insomnia that resulted from a trip out to the shed to listen to the contraband station. This was something else altogether. She was feeling it slowly coming on. The dark of a childhood closet, the odor of gasoline she never liked, the feel of something dangerous pawing at her softly to see what she would do. She felt a tickling temptation to just let go. To let the craziness overtake her before the SIM could destroy all she loved.

But who would take care of her boys? And Mama? And who would coax Patria back if she wandered away again from the still waters and green pastures of her sanity?

Dede could not run away. Courage! It was the first time she had used that word to herself and understood exactly what it meant. And so, as Jaimito snored away, Dede began devising a little exercise to distract her mind and fortify her spirit.

Concentrate, Dede! she was saying. Remember a clear cool night a lot like this one. You are sitting under the anacahuita tree in the front yard.... she was saying. Remember a clear cool night a lot like this one. You are sitting under the anacahuita tree in the front yard.... And she began playing the happy memory in her head, forcing herself to imagine the scent of jasmine, the feel of the evening on her skin, the green dress she was wearing, the tinkle of ice in Papa's gla.s.s of rum, the murmured conversation. And she began playing the happy memory in her head, forcing herself to imagine the scent of jasmine, the feel of the evening on her skin, the green dress she was wearing, the tinkle of ice in Papa's gla.s.s of rum, the murmured conversation.

But wait! Dede didn't make up that memory game the night of the arrests. In fact, she didn't invent it at all. It was Minerva who taught her how to play it after she was released from prison and was living those last few months at Mama's with Mate and Patria and the children.

Every day Dede would go over to visit, and every day she would have a fight with Minerva. Dede would start by pleading, then arguing with Minerva to be reasonable, to stay home. The rumors were everywhere. Trujillo wanted her killed. She was becoming too dangerous, the secret heroine of the whole nation. At the pharmacy, in church, at the mercado, mercado, Dede was being approached by well-wishers. "Take care of our girls," they would whisper. Sometimes they would slip her notes. "Tell the b.u.t.terflies to avoid the road to Puerto Plata. It's not safe." The b.u.t.terflies, Lord G.o.d, how people romanticized other people's terror! Dede was being approached by well-wishers. "Take care of our girls," they would whisper. Sometimes they would slip her notes. "Tell the b.u.t.terflies to avoid the road to Puerto Plata. It's not safe." The b.u.t.terflies, Lord G.o.d, how people romanticized other people's terror!

But Minerva acted unconcerned about her safety. She could not desert the cause, she'd argue with Dede, and she would not stay holed up in Ojo de Agua and let the SIM kill her spirit. Besides, Dede was giving in to her exaggerated fears. With the OAS clamoring about all the jailings and executions, Trujillo was not going to murder a defenseless woman and dig his own grave. Silly rumors.

"Voz del pueblo, voz del cielo," Dede would quote. Talk of the people, voice of G.o.d. Dede would quote. Talk of the people, voice of G.o.d.

One time, towards the end, Dede broke down in tears in the middle of one of their arguments. "I'm losing my mind worrying about you, don't you see?" she had wept. But instead of caving in to Dede's tears, Minerva offered her an exercise.

"I made it up in La Victoria whenever they'd put me in solitary," she explained. "You start with a line from a song or a poem. Then you just say it over until you feel yourself calming down. I kept myself sane that way." Minerva smiled sadly. "You try it, come on. I'll start you off."

Even now, Dede hears her sister, reciting that poem she wrote in jail, her voice raspy with the cold she never got rid of that last year. And the shades of night begin to fall, and the traveler hurries home, and the campesino bids his fields farewell.... And the shades of night begin to fall, and the traveler hurries home, and the campesino bids his fields farewell....

No wonder Dede has confused Minerva's exercise and her poem about the falling of night with that sleepless night before their first trip to the capital. A dark night was was falling, one of a different order from the soft, large, kind ones of childhood under the anacahuita tree, Papa parceling out futures and Mama fussing at his drinking. This one was something else, the center of h.e.l.l maybe, the premonition of which made Dede draw closer to Jaimito until she, too, finally fell asleep. falling, one of a different order from the soft, large, kind ones of childhood under the anacahuita tree, Papa parceling out futures and Mama fussing at his drinking. This one was something else, the center of h.e.l.l maybe, the premonition of which made Dede draw closer to Jaimito until she, too, finally fell asleep.

CHAPTER TEN.

Patria January to March 1960

I don't know how it happened that my cross became bearable. We have a saying around here, the humpback never gets tired carrying his burden on his back. All at once, I lost my home, my husband, my son, my peace of mind. But after a couple of weeks living at Mama's, I got used to the sorrows heaped upon my heart.

That first day was the hardest. I was crazy with grief, all right. When Dede and Tono walked me into the house, all I wanted to do was lie down and die. I could hear the babies crying far off and voices calming them and Noris sobbing along with her aunt Mate, and all their grief pulled me back from mine. But first, I slept for a long time, days it seemed. When I woke up, Dede's voice was in my ear, invoking the Lord's name.

And on the third day He rose again...

I got up from bed ready to set up housekeeping at Mama's. I asked for a basin for the baby's bath, and told Noris she had to do something about that hair in her eyes.

Mate and I moved into a front room with the crib for both our babies. I put Noris with Minou and Manolito in the spare room Minerva always used. Mama, I thought, would do better by herself in her own room.

But past midnight, the sleepers began to shift beds, everyone seeking the comfort of another body. Manolito invariably crawled in with me, and soon after, Raulito would start bawling. That boy was jealous even in his sleep! I'd bring him to my bed, leaving the crib empty for Jacqueline was already cuddled at her mother's side. In the mornings, I'd find Noris and Minou in Mama's bed, their arms around each other, fast asleep.

And on the third day He rose again...

On my third day at Mama's, instead of a resurrection, I got another crucifixion. The SIM came for Mate. The SIM came for Mate.

It was three months before I laid eyes on her or Minerva or our husbands. Three months before I got to hold my Nelson.

As I said, I recovered. But every now and then, I couldn't get the pictures out of my head.

Over and over again, I saw the SIM approaching, I saw Nelson and Pedrito hurrying out the back way, Noris's stricken face. I saw the throng of men at the door, I heard the stomping, the running, the yelling. I saw the house burning.

I saw tiny cells with very little air and no light. I heard doors open, I saw hands intrusive and ugly in their threats. I heard the crack of bones breaking, the thud of a body collapsing. I heard moans, screams, desperate cries.

Oh my sisters, my Pedrito, oh my little lamb!

My crown of thorns was woven of thoughts of my boy. His body I had talc.u.med, fed, bathed. His body now broken as if it were no more than a bag of bones.

"I've been good," I'd start screaming at the sky, undoing the "recovery."

And then, Mama would have to send for Dede. Together Dede and I would pray a rosary. Afterwards we played our old childhood game, opening the Bible and teasing a fortune out of whatever verse our hands landed on.

And on the third day He rose again...

It was odd living in Mama's new house. Everything from the old house was here, but all rearranged. Sometimes I'd find myself reaching for a door that wasn't there. In the middle of the night, however fearful I was about waking the children, I had to turn on a light to go to the sanitary. Otherwise, I'd end up crashing into the cabinet that never used to be in the hallway in the old house.

In the entryway hung the required portrait of El Jefe, except it wasn't our old one of Trujillo as a young captain that used to hang next to the Good Shepherd. Mama had acquired this latest portrait and hung it all by itself, out as far as she could get it from the rest of the house. He was older now-heavier, his jowls thicker, the whole face tired out, someone who had had too much of all the bad things in life.

Maybe because I was used to the Good Shepherd and Trujillo side by side in the old house, I caught myself praying a little greeting as I walked by.

Then another time, I came in from outside with my hands full of anthuriums. I looked up at him, and I thought why not. I set up a vase on the table right under his picture.

It seemed natural to add a nice little lace cloth for the table.

I don't know if that's how it started, but pretty soon, I was praying to him, not because he was worthy or anything like that. I wanted something from him, and prayer was the only way I knew to ask.

It was from raising children I learned that trick. You dress them in their best clothes and they behave their best to match them.

Nelson, my devil! When he was little, he was always tormenting Noris, always getting into things. I'd call him in, give him a bath. But instead of putting him in his pajamas and sending him to bed in the middle of the day where he'd get bored and mean, I'd dress him up in his gabardine trousers and little linen guayabera guayabera I'd made him just like his father's. And then I'd take him with me to Salcedo for an afternoon novena and a coconut ice afterwards. That dressed-up boy acted like an angel! I'd made him just like his father's. And then I'd take him with me to Salcedo for an afternoon novena and a coconut ice afterwards. That dressed-up boy acted like an angel!

So, I thought, why not? Treat him him like a spirit worthy of my attention, and maybe he would start behaving himself. like a spirit worthy of my attention, and maybe he would start behaving himself.

Every day I changed the flowers and said a few words. Mama thought I was just putting on a show for Pena and his SIM who came by often to check on the family. But Fela understood, except she thought I was trying to strike a deal with the evil one. I wasn't at all. I wanted to turn him towards his better nature. If I could do that, the rest would follow.

Jefe, I would say, remember you are dust and unto dust you shall return.

(That one never worked with him.) Hear my cry, Jefe. Release my sisters and their husbands and mine. But most especially, I beg you, oh Jefe, give me back my son.

Take me instead, I'll be your sacrificial lamb.

I hung my Sacred Heart, a recent gift from Don Bernardo, in the bedroom. There I offered, not my trick prayers, but my honest-to-G.o.d ones.

I wasn't crazy, after all. I knew who was really really in charge. in charge.

I had let go of my hard feelings, for the most part, but there was some lingering bitterness. For instance, I had offered myself to El Jefe to do with as he wanted, but I hadn't extended the same courtesy to G.o.d.

I guess I saw it as a clear-cut proposition I was making El Jefe. He would ask for what he always asked for from women. I could give that. that. But there would be no limit to what our Lord would want of Patria Mercedes, body and soul and all the etceteras besides. But there would be no limit to what our Lord would want of Patria Mercedes, body and soul and all the etceteras besides.

With a baby still tugging at my breast, a girl just filling out, and my young-man son behind bars, I wasn't ready to enter His Kingdom.

In the midst of my trials, there were moments. I can't say they were moments of Grace. But they were moments of knowing I was on the right track.

One day soon after Mate was taken, Pena showed up. That man gave me a creepy feeling, exactly the same as the one I'd felt in the presence of the devil in the old days, fooling with my hands at night. The children were out on the patio with me. They kept their distance from Pena, refusing the candies he offered them unless I took them from him, in my hands, first. When he reached for Minou to ride on his knee, all of them ran away.

"Lovely children," he said, to mask the obvious rejection. Are they all yours?"

"No, the boy and the little girl are Minerva's, and the baby girl is Maria Teresa's." I said the names very clearly. I wanted it to sink in that he was making these children orphans. "The baby boy and the young girl are mine."

"Don Pedrito must love those children of his."

My blood went cold. "What makes you say so, Captain?" I tried to keep my voice even.

"The SIM made your husband an offer, but he wouldn't take it."

So, he was still alive! Three times, Dede and Mama and Jaimito had been down to headquarters, only to be told that there was no record of our prisoners.

"Don't you want to know what the offer was?" Pena seemed miffed. I had noted that he got some thrill out of having me plead for information.

"Yes, please, captain."

"Your husband was offered his freedom and his farm back-"

My heart leapt!

"-if he proved his loyalty to El Jefe by divorcing his Mirabal wife."

"Oh?" I could feel my heart like a hand making a fist in my chest.

Pena's sharp, piglike eyes were watching me. And then he had his dirty little say. "You Mirabal women must be something else"-he fondled himself-"to keep a man interested when all he can do with his manhood is pa.s.s water!"

I had to say two Glory Be's to myself before I could speak aloud. Even so, my voice threw sparks. "Captain Pena, no matter what you do to my husband, he will always be ten times the man you are!" That evil man threw back his head and laughed, then picked up his cap from his lap and stood to leave. I saw the lump he'd gotten by working me up to this state.

I went in search of the children to calm myself down. I found Minou digging a hole in the ground and burying all the candies Pena had brought. When I asked her why she was wasting her candies, she said she was burying them like the box her Mama and Papa had buried in their yard that was bad to touch.

"This is bad candy," she said to me.

"Yes, it is," I said and got down on my knees to help her finish burying it.

Pena's mention of Pedrito was the first news we had had of any of our prisoners. Then, a few days later, Dede and Mama came back from another trip to the capital with the "good news" that the girls' names, along with those of the men and my Nelson, had appeared on the latest list of three hundred and seventy-two detained. Oh, how relieved we were! As long as the SIM admitted they were in custody, our prisoners stood less of a chance of being disappeared.

Dark as it was, I went out into the garden with Mama's scissors. I cut by scent more than sight so that I didn't know exactly what I had until I was back inside. I arranged his spray of jasmine and stems of gardenias in a vase on the little table, then took the rest of the flowers into my bedroom.

And on the third day, He rose again.

We were already working on the third week. Still, there were moments, like I said-resurrection gathering speed.

Sunday, early, we packed ourselves in Jaimito's pickup. Except for a few farm horses over at Dede's and the old mule at Mama's, it was the only transportation left us, now that all the cars had been confiscated. Mama laid out an old sheet in the flatbed and put the children in back with me. She and Dede and Jaimito rode in front. It was still early morning as we drove towards Salcedo for the first ma.s.s. The mist was rising all around us from the fields. As we pa.s.sed the turnoff to our old house in Conuco, I felt a stab of pain. I looked at Noris, hoping she hadn't noticed, but her pretty face was struggling to be brave.

No one knew that the Voice of G.o.d would speak from the pulpit that day. None of us would have expected it from Padre Gabriel, who was, we thought, a stooge subst.i.tute sent in after Padre de Jesus was arrested.

When it came, I almost didn't hear it. Raulito was having one of his crying fits and Jacqueline, who is empathic when it comes to tears, had joined in. Then, too, Minou was busy "reading" my upside-down missal to Manolito. Dede and I were having a time managing the lot, while Mama was doing her share, casting stem glances from the middle of our pew. As she's all too fond of telling us, we are raising savages with all our new theories about talking, not spanking. "Fighting tyrants and meanwhile creating little ones."

I was headed to the vestibule with the children when I heard what I thought I had misheard. "We cannot remain indifferent to the grievous blows that have afflicted so many good Dominican homes ... Padre Gabriel's voice crackled over the loudspeaker.

"Hush now!" I said, so fiercely the children stopped their fussing and looked at me with full attention.

"All human beings are born with rights derived from G.o.d that no earthly power can take away."

The sun was shining through the stained gla.s.s window of John the Evangelist, depicted in a loincloth some church ladies had complained was inappropriate, even in our tropical heat. I propped Raulito up on the baptismal font and gave the other children mints to keep them quiet.

"To deny these rights is a grave offense against G.o.d, against the dignity of man."

He went on, but I wasn't listening anymore. My heart was beating fast. I knew once I said it I couldn't take it back. Oh Lord, release my son, Oh Lord, release my son, I prayed. And then I added what I'd been holding back. I prayed. And then I added what I'd been holding back. Let me be your sacrificial lamb. Let me be your sacrificial lamb.

When Padre Gabriel was done, he looked up, and there was utter silence in that church. We were stunned with the good news that our Gabriel had delivered unto us. If the church had been a place to clap, we would have drowned out his "Dominus vobisc.u.m" "Dominus vobisc.u.m" with applause. with applause.

We stayed the whole day in Salcedo, sitting in the park between ma.s.ses, buying treats for the kids as bribes for the next hour-long ma.s.s. Their church clothes were soiled by the time the last ma.s.s rolled around at six. With each service, the rumor spread, and the crowds grew. People kept coming back, ma.s.s after ma.s.s. Undercover agents also started showing up. We could spot them easily. They were the ones who knelt with their b.u.t.ts propped on the pew seats and looked about during the consecration. I caught sight of Pena in the back of the church, no doubt taking note of repeaters like me.

Later, we found out this was happening all over the country. The bishops had gathered together earlier in the week and drafted a pastoral letter to be read from every pulpit that Sunday. The church had at last thrown in its lot with the people!

That evening we rode home in high spirits, the babies fast asleep in the arms of the older children. It was already dark, but when I looked up at the sky, I saw a big old moon like G.o.d's own halo hung up there as a mark of his covenant. I shivered, remembering my promise.

We were worried about attending ma.s.s the following Sunday. All week we heard of attacks on churches throughout the island. Down in the capital, somebody had tried to a.s.sa.s.sinate the archbishop in the cathedral while he was saying ma.s.s. Poor Pittini was so old and blind he didn't even realize what was happening, but kept right on intoning the Kyrie as the a.s.sa.s.sin was being wrestled to the ground.

Nothing as serious as that happened in our parish. But we had our own excitement. Sunday after the pastoral, we were visited by a contingent of prost.i.tutes. When it was time for communion, there was such sashaying and swaying of hips to the altar rail you'd have thought they were offering their their body and blood, not receiving His. They lined up, laughing, taunting Padre Gabriel by opening their mouths for the Sacred Host and making lewd gestures with their tongues. Then one of them reached right in his chalice and helped herself. body and blood, not receiving His. They lined up, laughing, taunting Padre Gabriel by opening their mouths for the Sacred Host and making lewd gestures with their tongues. Then one of them reached right in his chalice and helped herself.

This was like a gunshot in our congregation. Ten or twelve of us women got up and formed a cordon around our priest. We let in only those we knew had come to the table for salvation, not sacrilege. You can bet those puticas puticas lit in to us. One of them shoved me aside; but did Patria Mercedes turn the other cheek? Not on your life. I yanked that scrawny, done-up girl to the back of the church. "Now," I said, "You want to receive communion, you recite the Credo first." lit in to us. One of them shoved me aside; but did Patria Mercedes turn the other cheek? Not on your life. I yanked that scrawny, done-up girl to the back of the church. "Now," I said, "You want to receive communion, you recite the Credo first."

She looked at me as if I had asked her to speak English. Then she gave me a toss of her head and marched off to the SIM to collect whatever her charge was for desecrating.