as your sister.”
“Well, then you know what happened to her.”
“I thought they took her out and shot her. That’s what they said. They said they took her out and shot her. But I heard-I heard a rumour that she was alive. Is it true?”
“Where did you hear this?” Viera asked sharply.
“It was just a rumour. Prisoners hear things from new prisoners.”
“Bullshit. How do I know you’re not from the Guardia yourself?”
“The Guardia-me?” Victor laughed.
“You said you worked for the government. Exactly what branch of the government?”
“Agriculture. I told you.”
“Then tell me why-if you worked for the government-would you be a prisoner?” The lawyer in Viera came alive now, cross-examining him, badgering him even, but Victor had rehearsed his answers.
“Why was I a prisoner?” He looked Viera in the eye as he spoke. “I made the mistake of taking my job seriously.”
“Meaning what, exactly?”
“In El Salvador, there is no land reform. For a campesino, to be given a deed of land is a death warrant.”
“True. I have heard this.” Viera sat back, looking Victor up and down, as if trying to judge his weight. “Frankly, Mr. Perez, I find it hard to believe you were in the same place as my sister. You are in much better condition.”
“So she is alive, then. The rumour was true?”
“I did not say that,” Viera said harshly, and turned away, clearly angry at himself.
“I understand,” Victor said. “You are right to be careful.” The Captain would have been proud of him for catching the lawyer out, but he felt a little ashamed. He had tripped a brother up in his love for his sister-where was the achievement in that?
As if to compensate for his lapse, Viera fired a volley of demands across his desk. “Describe the jail, please.”
“It was a former school. A good one, built of brick. By missionaries, I believe.”
“How many rooms?”
“Six cells, a guardroom, a kitchen, an office, I think. And the interrogation room.”
“How many soldiers?”
“I believe only four. The squad was four soldiers and a captain. There were regular soldiers guarding the perimeter, but they never came inside, as far as I know.”
“What was your cell like?”
“Concrete blocks. I think the cells were an addition to the school. Maybe six feet by four feet.”
“How many prisoners?”
“I don’t know. At least eight. There may have been many more.”
“Where was it located?”
“The school? A little way west of San Salvador. Maybe fifteen miles.”
“Very good, Mr. Perez. But prisoners were blindfolded at all times. How could you possibly know all these details-unless, of course, you were a guard, not a prisoner?”
A tremor went through Victor. “On my last day there, they took the blindfold off. Cleaned me up. Gave me new clothes. They used me in a show they set up, pretending to give away land. The press was there, everybody. They even promised me a deed, as if I had been working on a plantation or something. I knew what that meant. Several of the men I had helped to press such claims had been murdered. When I realized my job was a fake-worse than a fake, a trap-that’s when I quit. And that’s when they threw me in jail.”
“If you were in that stinking place with my sister,” Viera said, “kindly explain for me why you are in such good condition.”
“Your sister suffered. Me, they just wanted to soften up for that show of reform.”
Viera lit yet another cigarette, squinting at him through the smoke. “My sister never mentioned any Perez.”
“We were not acquainted. Mostly I was in a cell across from her. She would not have known my name.”
“How do you know her name?”
“Later, I was thrown into a cell with others. We whispered to each other. We promised that any of us who lived would contact the others’ families. Do you know what it’s like to know that your parents, your wife, your children, have no idea what happened to you? We promised to help each other this way.”
“I see. Well, you had a bad time there, I’m sure.”
“Everybody did. Your sister, though-your sister was brave.”
“Is that some kind of joke? You think that’s funny?”
“I would not joke about such a thing. Your sister suffered for days and days and told them nothing. All the prisoners knew this. She was the bravest person in that place.”
“Really,” Viera said. “Interesting.” He lapsed into a silence.
Fine, Victor thought. Her brother doesn’t want us to meet. That’s fine. Victor had made his attempt to meet her, get to know her, somehow make amends. Few men would have done as much. Perhaps now the nightmares would stop. Perhaps now he could live his new life with a-if not a clear conscience, then a viable one. He rose to leave. “Thank you for your help on the immigration, Mr. Viera. Perhaps you will tell your sister that one who admires her courage was asking after her.”
“What? Yes. Yes, of course. Goodbye. I’m sorry if I seemed hostile.”
“It’s nothing. One has to be careful.”
The elevator-a tiny metal chamber much scarred with graffiti-was still open at the third floor. On the way down, Victor thought, That’s the end of it. I wanted to try and set things right, but it’s too much, pretending like that. I tried, and it’s over.
A chill, damp wind was blowing when he got outside, but the rain had stopped. He turned uptown rather than face the Macy’s crowds again.
He had to wait for a red light, and then a fire truck came screaming through, scattering cars and pedestrians before it. Then, as he was crossing Thirty-fifth Street, a voice called after him.
“Mr. Perez! Wait! Mr. Perez!”
He turned and saw Mike Viera hurrying after him. A cyclist swerved around the lawyer, cursing loudly.
“Mr. Perez. I’m so glad I caught you. Listen.”
He had to wait for Viera to catch his breath. All those cigarettes.
“Mr. Perez,” he managed at last. “Mr. Perez, I’m sure you don’t want to relive those terrible days. But to be honest, I have long been hoping for something like this. An opportunity like this.”
“Like what? What do you mean?”
“Someone who could help my sister. I’ve been hoping that someone who could help my sister would show up.”
“Help her how?”
“Not help, exactly. Maybe not help. I don’t know what I mean. Just-Mr. Perez, my sister needs someone who can understand what she has been through. Someone who knows what happened to her. She never talks about it. She refuses to talk about it. You would be doing a great kindness if you would come and see her. Frankly, she is not doing very well. She is not doing well at all.”
“I don’t know …. Those days …. I agree with your sister, in a way-to speak of those days is painful. One wants so much to forget.”
“Yes, yes, it’s understandable. Completely understandable. But don’t you think it would help if she saw someone who knew exactly what she’d been through? What she’s suffered? Sympathy is good, is it not? Come with me, just to say hello. It cannot hurt. It might help. Yes, I really think it might. Lorca is not doing well, Mr. Perez. She is not doing well at all.”
That moment, as if a wheel somewhere deep beneath the concrete had once more been set in motion, Victor felt the sidewalk shift beneath his feet. Once more the implacable mechanism was set whirring, carrying him toward a future he could not avoid, even by changing his country, his language, his name.
