who took my hand in the darkness, to you,
lamps,
of immortal light, star lines,
bread of the living, secret brothers,
to everyone, to you,
I say: there’s no thanks,
nothing could fill the glasses
of purity,
nothing can
contain all of the sun in the flags
of the invincible springtime
like your quiet dignities.
—“The Fugitive: XII”
The headline splashed across the front pages of the daily papers: “Nationwide Search for Neruda.” The articles continued below the bold print: “Numerous personnel are trying to locate the fugitive Communist parliament member . . . the warrant for his arrest, search, and seizure having been issued by the summarizing minister, Mr. Gonzalez Castillo . . .” “In late breaking news we have also been informed that 300 agents were summoned to the theater of investigations to receive important instructions from high-ranking superiors.” Neruda’s photograph was plastered the length of the nation and rewards for his capture were offered. The radio buzzed with the latest on the Neruda case.
Neruda and Delia went into hiding immediately. For most of 1948 and through the beginning of 1949, the couple lived clandestinely in their own country, looking for a way to get across the border, while hiding out in at least eleven different houses. Agents questioned all of their friends. Police searched no fewer than sixty-three homes, sometimes so close on the trail that they arrived at a home where the couple had been just the day before. There was no warrant for Delia’s arrest; as an Argentine national, the Chilean government couldn’t touch her. But being close to Neruda, it was imperative she avoid being seen or questioned.
One of the homes where the couple stayed was the small apartment of the young Communists Aida Figueroa and Sergio Insunza. They had already housed a couple of labor leaders from the coal mines of Lota in the south who were fleeing persecution, but they were floored when they opened the door to find Neruda and Delia. Neruda had grown a beard and wore thick-rimmed glasses with no lenses, but the young couple recognized him immediately. Aida was so surprised to see him at her door that she lurched back and hit her head against the wall. Neruda stared at her through those fake glasses, a small Andalusian calañés hat perched on his large head, with its traditional conical crown and low upturned flaps, and smiled warmly. Delia was standing next to him, the legendary Hormiga, whom the couple also recognized right away, despite the hand-knitted wool balaclava covering much of her face. Behind them was the young historian and party member Álvaro Jara, directing the operation.
“Come in, come in,” Aida welcomed them. The three filed in. Aida and Sergio’s two-year-old daughter, Aidita, still awake despite the late hour, looked at the poet with great curiosity and asked, “Why are you wearing glasses with no lenses?” Neruda made an animated, comical face of surprise and laughed heartily.
Aida, then twenty-five years old, had never met either of them before but saw them as “monumental.” She was struck by their down-to-earth nature. She offered them her and Sergio’s room with a double bed, but they wouldn’t accept it. “They went to sleep in the baby’s bed, which was a twin-sized mattress, and they slept, according to Pablo, como cucharitas—like little spoons.”
It was in Aida and Sergio’s house that Neruda started working tenaciously on the expanded Canto General. He had already written “Macchu Picchu” and began working on what would be the opening section, “A Lamp on Earth,” using a typewriter. The young couple were in their final year of law school and left early in the morning for classes, giving Neruda the whole day to write. The apartment was right next to the Parque Forestal, running along the canaled Mapocho River, providing the poet a soothing glimpse of stately old trees, statues, green grass, and couples sitting on benches. Often, when he was writing, Aidita climbed up and down his body as if she were scaling a friendly statue, while Neruda showed no objections or particular distraction.
In the afternoons, he would gather everybody around and read what he had written. Delia, as always, would help correct errors and make suggestions. Aida would fetch him the historical and geographic information he needed from the National Library. The four got along famously and became lifelong friends.
Neruda and Delia hid in Valparaíso for several weeks, with the idea of escaping the country by boat, but the plan never materialized. He was then sequestered again in Santiago, in the house of photographer Lola Falcon, wife of the writer Luis Enrique Délano, a very good friend of Neruda’s, who was serving as Chilean consul to New York. Lola had returned to Chile at her husband’s urging, as he’d come to see their own situation as precarious in light of what was happening with Chile’s politics. The living situation at Lola’s house, especially without her husband there, proved difficult. It lacked the carefree atmosphere of the Insunza-Figueroa household. She was nervous; there was constant tension as La Nación and the radio gave daily updates on the efforts to detain the fugitive Communist and claimed that his capture was imminent. Party directors visited the house for long meetings behind closed doors with their poet compañero and Delia, after which they stayed for a meal. Often the couple’s friends would do the same.
Perhaps due to Luis Enrique’s role in the New York consulate, their friends thought the Délanos were more well-to-do than they really were. Lola needed help but didn’t get any monetary support from Neruda, Delia, or the party. Though she cursed about the situation under her breath, Lola was timid and she didn’t complain, even when she constantly had to go out for more provisions for unexpected guests and gatherings. Delia was of little use in the kitchen, and Neruda did not volunteer, so Lola ended up cooking for everyone. She soon sent an SOS to Luis Enrique for him to send additional money.
Pablo maintained a strict work schedule while at the Délano house. He wrote in the morning,
