On August 31, 1973, Neruda wrote a letter to Prats, telling him that the great majority of Chileans would continue to consider him their “chief general and an exemplary citizen . . . It would be impossible to look without anguish upon the blind insistence of those who want to drive us into the misfortune of a war pitting brother against brother.”
The general wrote back, thanking Neruda and stating that it had been edifying to be the one to welcome him upon his return from France at the National Stadium, adding:
I send my best wishes for the quick restoration of your health, because Chile—on the brink as it is of political entrenchment—needs the important intellectual values that you symbolize so that reason and common sense can once again prevail in this beautiful country, so that its people can achieve the social justice that they so deserve . . .
The Pinochet regime would later assassinate Prats in Argentina, where he lived in exile after the coup.
At 7:55 A.M. on the morning of September 11, 1973, on a phone connected to Radio Corporación, Salvador Allende addressed his country:
This is the president of the republic speaking from El Palacio de la Moneda. Reports confirm that a sector of the navy has set siege to Valparaíso and that the city is occupied, signifying an uprising against the government, the legitimate, constituted government, the government that is supported by the law and the will of the citizens.
In these circumstances, I call on all workers: Stay in your workplaces, go to the factories, stay calm, keep calm . . .
After two other broadcasts, at 9:03 the president again spoke on the radio:
Planes are flying over us right now. They may riddle us with fire. But let them know that here we stand, at least with our example that in this country there are men who know they must fulfill the obligation they have. I will follow the orders of the people and the orders of the conscience of a president who has the dignity of his post given to him by his people in free and democratic elections . . .
I will pay with my life to defend the principles this country holds dear. Shame will fall upon those who have betrayed their commitments, broken their words . . . broken the doctrine of the armed forces . . .
Gunshots were heard in the background. An air force plane bombed La Moneda. Six minutes later, Allende sat in his armchair and spoke into his telephone, which was connected now to only Radio Magallanes:
This will surely be the last opportunity for me to address you. The air force has bombed the towers of Radio Postales and Radio Corporación . . .
Workers of my homeland! I have faith in Chile and its destiny. Other men will overcome this dark and bitter moment when treason seeks to prevail. Keep in mind that, much sooner than later, the great avenues will again be opened, through which the free man will pass to construct a better society . . .
Long live Chile! Long live el pueblo! Long live the workers! These are my last words. I am sure that my sacrifice will not be in vain . . .
Then the tanks started making their approach on La Moneda. The air force’s jets screamed in and dropped their bombs. Eventually, Allende shot himself in order to evade certain imprisonment and likely torture and murder by the coup regime.
Pinochet seized control of the country.
The general always seemed much more interested in power than ideology. He was not known for his intelligence, but his methodical maneuvers always seemed to work out, just as he managed to take sole control of the junta, which was supposed to have been a rotating presidency. With the army behind him, he secured the title of “President of the Republic” for nearly two decades. U.S. intelligence was caught off guard by his brutality and ruthlessness. After the coup, a Defense Intelligence Agency report described him as “quiet; mild-mannered; very businesslike. Very honest . . . A devoted, tolerant husband and father; lives very modestly.” Yet by late October, a fact sheet prepared for Kissinger on “post-coup repression” showed that in Pinochet’s first six weeks in power, the military had massacred approximately 1,500 civilians, with more than 300 being summarily executed, and more than 13,500 already arrested. The enigmatic folk hero Victor Jara, for example, had been kept in depraved conditions in the National Stadium. His body was later found in a canal, with his guitar-playing hands mutilated and forty-four bullet holes in his body.
* * *
Neruda had listened to the day’s news at Isla Negra, feverishly changing the radio dial from one report to another. Matilde felt that Neruda was reacting in a manner uncharacteristic of the fighter she had always seen in him. Instead, he seemed broken inside; there was “an empty gleam of unconscious desperation in his eyes and his attitude.” Neruda could barely walk. He had developed a high fever as they watched the television broadcasts of La Moneda on fire, tanks passing through Santiago, and people being arrested all around the city. Once again—now in his own country—fascism, the enemy he had spent so much of his life battling, was killing his friends.
Three days later, the military came to search the house at Isla Negra. Neruda was still in bed when they entered his room, looking for arms or guerrilleros, but really just trying to intimidate Neruda and his family. “Look all you want,” Neruda is said to have told the captain. “There’s only one thing here that’s dangerous to you.”
“What’s that?” the officer asked, his hand on his holster.
“Poetry!”
The young folk singers Hugo Arévalo and Charo Cofré, friends of Neruda’s, were in Santiago. By September 18, Chile’s Independence Day, rumors were rampant that Neruda was dead, perhaps even assassinated. Arévalo and Cofré drove to Isla Negra, despite the risk of being stopped by the police. As Arévalo recalled the visit, they went up to Neruda’s room and he was delighted to see them, and then “he started asking us how
