Read In the Time of Butterflies Online
Authors: Julia Alvarez
In the Time of Butterflies (42 page)
I can’t bear to tell the story yet.
Just this—I’ve either bled a baby or had a period. And no one had to do a thing about it after the SIM got to me.
Magdalena has been nursing me. She feeds me broth with crunched-up saltines Santicló brings me. She says he’s smuggled in a little gift every day. Today, it was this blue ribbon she used to tie my braid and a little packet of honeyballs.
Balbina has also been so sweet. She rubs my feet, and the way she kneads the soles and pats the heels, it’s like she’s talking to me with her touching. Saying,
Get well, get well, get well.
Get well, get well, get well.
And I wiggle my toes back and smile wanly at her,
I will, I will, I hope I will.
I will, I will, I hope I will.
(
I think
)
You think you’re going to crack any day, but the strange thing is that every day you surprise yourself by pulling it off, and suddenly you start feeling stronger, like maybe you are going to make it through this hell with some dignity, some courage, and most important—never forget this, Mate—with some love still in your heart for the men who have done this to you.
I’ve got to get a note written to Mama. She must have been worried sick when I didn’t show up Thursday. What a pity I missed seeing my little girl!
But that loss seems small now compared to what has happened.
[pages torn out]Easter Sunday
Minerva came back this afternoon. They released her five days early on account of Easter. How Christian of them.
We had a little welcome party for her with some of the saltines Santicló had brought me and a hunk of white cheese Delia managed to get by throwing lots of water on the turtle. Miguelito, of course, showed up for the crumbs.
I try to be lighthearted, but it takes such effort. It’s as if I am so deep inside myself, I can’t come to the surface to be with anyone. The easiest to be with is Magdalena. She holds my head in her lap and strokes my forehead just like Mama.
It’s only her I’ve told what happened.
20 (90
days)
Minerva keeps asking me. I tell her I can’t talk about it yet. I know I’ve told Magdalena, but somehow telling Minerva is different. She’ll make some protest out of it. And I don’t want people to know.
Minerva says, Write it down, that’ll help, Mate.
I’ll try, I tell her. Give me a few more days.
Minerva has excused me from the Little School today so I can write this.
Here is my story of what happened in La 40 on Monday, April 11th.
[pages torn out]Saturday, April 30 (100 days)
After you lose your fear, the hardest thing here is the lack of beauty. There’s no music to listen to, no good smells, ever, nothing pretty to look at. Even faces that would normally be pretty like Kiki’s or beautiful like Minerva’s have lost their glow. You don’t even want to look at yourself, afraid what you’ll see. The little pocket mirror Dedé sent is kept in our hiding place for anyone who wants a look. A couple of times, I’ve dug it up, not on account of vanity, but to make sure I am still here, I haven’t disappeared.
25 (125
days—1,826 days to go—Oh God!)
I have not been able to write for a while. My heart just hasn’t been in it.
Monday, Minerva and I got arraigned. It was my first time out of here since that other Monday in April I don’t want to remember, and Minerva’s first since we got here in February. The guards told us to put on our street clothes, so we knew right off we weren’t going to La 40.
I rubbed rosewater in my hair, then braided it with Santicló’s ribbon, humming the whole while the little boat song my Jacqui loves to clap to. I was so sure we were going to be released. Minerva wagged her finger at me and reminded me of the new cardinal rule she’s added to her other three: Stay hopeful but do not expect anything.
And she was right, too. We were driven down to the courthouse for our joke of a trial. No one was there to represent us and we couldn’t talk or defend ourselves either. The judge told Minerva if she tried one more time, she would be in contempt, and the sentence and fine would be increased.
Five years and a fine of five thousand pesos for each of us. Minerva just threw her head back and laughed. And of course, I bowed mine and cried.
[pages torn out]Wednesday, June
15 (
I’ve decided to stop counting
—
it’s just too depressing!)
15 (
I’ve decided to stop counting
—
it’s just too depressing!)
My journal has stayed in our hiding place, everyone helping themselves to clean pages when they need paper. I haven’t minded. Not much has mattered for days on end.
Minerva says I’m understandably depressed. The sentence on top of what I went through. She read what I wrote, and she wants me to tell the OAS (when and if they ever come) about what happened at La 40. But I’m not sure I can do that.
You have nothing to be ashamed of! Minerva says, all fierce. She is doing my face in sculpture so I’m supposed to sit still.
Yes, the authorities are now encouraging us to start hobbies—again, the OAS on their backs. Minerva has taken up sculpture, in prison of all places. She had Mama bring her some plaster and tools. After each session, Santicló is supposed to collect them, but he’s pretty lenient with us.
So we now have a couple of little scalpels in our hiding place along with our other contraband, the knife, the sewing scissors, the pocket mirror, four nails, and the file, and of course, this
diario.
diario.
What is this arsenal for? I ask Minerva. What are we going to do with it?
Sometimes I think revolution has become something like a habit for Minerva.
We now have two new women guards. Minerva thinks they’ve been assigned to us to impress the OAS with the prison system’s delicacy towards women prisoners.
Delicacy! These women are as tough or tougher than the men, especially the fat one Valentina. She’s nice enough to us politicals but a real witch to the others, seeing as the OAS won’t be investigating their treatment. The nonpolitical girls have such wonderful, foul mouths. Here’s their little chant when Valentina is out of earshot:
Valentina,
la guardona,
stupid bloody fool
went to suck milk from a cow
but got under the bull.
la guardona,
stupid bloody fool
went to suck milk from a cow
but got under the bull.
The guards are all worried about the rumored coming of the OAS. We’ve heard that if a political complains, the guards in charge of that cell will be in very hot water indeed—maybe even shot! El Jefe cannot afford any more international trouble right now.
During our Little School, Minerva warns us not to be swayed by these rumors or manipulated by “fine” treatment. We must let the Committee know the real situation or this hell will go on. She gives me a pointed look as she says this.
27,
midafternoon
I’ve told myself, Mate, don’t pay them any attention. But with so few distractions in this place, what else am I supposed to think of?
There’s quite a gossip underground in this place. It relies mostly on our knocking system, but notes are also passed, and brief exchanges sometimes take place in the visitors’ hall on Thursdays. News travels. And it really has hurt to hear the ugly rumor going around. My Leandro—along with Valera, Fafa, Faxas, Manzano, and Macarrulla—is being accused of being a traitor.
Minerva says, Mate, don’t listen to evil tongues. But sometimes she gets so angry herself at what comes through the wall that she says she is going to tell the whole world what happened to me, what persuasion was used on poor Leandro.
Oh please, Minerva, I plead. Please.
The movement is falling apart with all this mistrust and gossip. Manolo is so worried, he has tapped out a communique that has come all the way down the line. The comrades had his permission to work on that book. There is nothing in it but information the SIM had already collected after months of tortures. Manolo admits even he talked, giving names of those who were already caught or had escaped abroad.
Compañeros
y
compañeras. We must not fall prey to petty divisions, but concentrate on our next point of attack—the
OAS
members when they come. If sanctions are imposed, the goat will fall.
y
compañeras. We must not fall prey to petty divisions, but concentrate on our next point of attack—the
OAS
members when they come. If sanctions are imposed, the goat will fall.
We are suffering a setback but we have not been beaten.
Liberty or Death!
But the terrible rumors continue.
I couldn’t sleep all night for how worked up I was about the rumors. Then to top it off, the stench kept everyone else up, too. We’re all angry at Dinorah for going in the bucket. Especially after we made our agreement to use the outdoor latrine at night so the whole cell wouldn’t have to endure bad smells while we’re trying to sleep. And except for Bloody Juan, the guards are willing to take us out. (Especially Tiny, who gets his chance to “frisk” us in the dark.)
It certainly comes out, living in such close quarters with people, which ones are only looking out for themselves and which ones are thinking about the whole group. Dinorah is a perfect example of the selfish kind. She steals into our food “locker,” she swipes our underwear from the central rod when we aren’t looking, and she has been known to report us for wall tapping with Cell # 60. At first, Minerva made excuses about how Dinorah learned bad civic habits from a corrupt system. But ever since Dinorah turned in Minerva’s treasured packet of little notes from Manolo, my open-minded sister has become quite guarded around this so-called victim.
I know I’ve been reluctant to share certain things, but I usually reflect a moment and end up giving most of my things away. I always check with everyone to see if no one else wants the lamp a certain night, and I never hog my turn at the window for fresh air or drying laundry.
If we made up the perfect country Minerva keeps planning, I would fit in perfectly. The only problem for me would be if self-serving ones were allowed in. Then I believe I’d turn into one of them in self-defense.
Santicló
brought us some paper fans
We’ve found a great new hiding place, my hair!
This is how it happened. Patria slipped me a clipping today, and I knew I’d be checked—like we always are—going in and out of the vsitors’ hall. It’s a pretty serious offense if you’re caught with contraband. You might lose visiting privileges for as long as a month or even be put in solitary. I tried slipping it back to her, but Bloody Juan was our patrol, and his hawk eyes weren’t going to miss twice.
I was getting more and more anxious as the time was almost up. That newspaper clipping was burning a hole in my lap. Minerva made a hand sign we learned from Balbina that means, Give it to me. But I was not going to let her be caught and take the blame. Then I felt the heaviness of my braid down my back, and I got the idea. I’m always fooling with my hair, plaiting it, unplaiting it, a nervous habit of mine that’s gotten worse here. So I folded that piece of paper really small, and, pretending I was neatening up my braid, I wound it into my hair.
And that’s how the whole prison found out about the assassination attempt.
BETANCOURT ACCUSATIONS UNFOUNDED
Ciudad Trujillo,
R.D. Spokesman Manuel de Moya expressed his outrage at the vicious and unfounded accusations of President Rómulo Betancourt of Venezuela. Betancourt has accused the Dominican government of being involved in the attempt on his life that occurred in the capital city of Caracas, June 24. The President was injured when a parked car exploded as his own limousine paraded by. Speaking from his hospital bed, Betancourt announced he has again filed charges with the Organization of American States. When asked why a small, peace-loving island would strike out against him, President Betancourt confabulated a plot against his life by the Dominican government: “Ever since I brought charges of his human rights abuses before the OAS, Trujillo has been after me.” De Moya regretted these insults to the virgin dignity of our Benefactor and expressed the openness of our government to any and all investigations from member nations who wish to ascertain the falsity of these malicious charges. The OAS has accepted the invitation, and a five-member committee is due here by the end of July.
R.D. Spokesman Manuel de Moya expressed his outrage at the vicious and unfounded accusations of President Rómulo Betancourt of Venezuela. Betancourt has accused the Dominican government of being involved in the attempt on his life that occurred in the capital city of Caracas, June 24. The President was injured when a parked car exploded as his own limousine paraded by. Speaking from his hospital bed, Betancourt announced he has again filed charges with the Organization of American States. When asked why a small, peace-loving island would strike out against him, President Betancourt confabulated a plot against his life by the Dominican government: “Ever since I brought charges of his human rights abuses before the OAS, Trujillo has been after me.” De Moya regretted these insults to the virgin dignity of our Benefactor and expressed the openness of our government to any and all investigations from member nations who wish to ascertain the falsity of these malicious charges. The OAS has accepted the invitation, and a five-member committee is due here by the end of July.
Friday night, July
1,
no one can sleep, and not just because of the heat!
1,
no one can sleep, and not just because of the heat!
The mood here has changed overnight. Our divided movement is pulling together, gossip and grievances cast aside. The walls have been nothing but knockings all day long. The latest news I smuggled in!
Trujillo is in hot water now, and he knows it. He has to put on a good show when the OAS comes. There are all kinds of rumors that we are
all
to be pardoned. Everyone is so hopeful! Except, of course, the guardias.
all
to be pardoned. Everyone is so hopeful! Except, of course, the guardias.
When the gringos come, Santicló asks us this evening, you girls aren’t going to complain about me, now are you?
Yes, Santicló, Delia teases him. We’re going to say you had a soft heart for certain prisoners. You didn’t treat us all equally. I never got mints or a ribbon for my hair.
Santicló looks a little frightened, so I say, She’s just teasing you, Santicló. You’ve been a real friend. I say that to be polite, but then I get to thinking about it, and it is true.
That’s why we nicknamed him Santicló after the big, jolly American “saint” who brings gifts even to those who don’t believe in Jesus or the three Kings.
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