Latin America Diaries (8 page)

We said our good-byes to everyone, especially León Bosch, a really first-rate guy, then took a bus to Alajuela and started hitching. After several adventures we arrived this evening in Liberia, the capital of Guanacaste province, which is an infamous and windy town like those of our own little province, Santiago del Estero.

A jeep took us as far as the road permitted, and from there we started our long walk under quite a strong sun. After more than 10 kilometers, we encountered another jeep, which took us as far as the little town of La Cruz, where we were invited to have lunch. At 2:00 we set off for another 22 kilometers, but by 5 or 6 p.m. night was falling and one of my feet was a misery to walk on. We slept in a bin used for storing rice and fought all night over the blanket.

The next day, after walking until 3 in the afternoon, making a dozen or so detours around a river, we finally reached Peñas Blancas. We had to stay there as no more cars were heading to the neighboring town of Rivas.
²⁸

The next day dawned to rain and by 10 a.m. there was still no sign of a truck, so we decided to brave the drizzle and set off for Rivas anyway. At that moment, Fatty Rojo appeared in a car with Boston University license plates. They were trying to get to Costa Rica, an impossible feat because the muddy track on which we ourselves had been bogged a few times was actually the Panama-Costa Rica highway. Rojo was accompanied by the brothers Domingo and Walter Beberaggi Allende. We went on to Rivas and there, close to the town, we ordered a spit roast with
mate
and
cañita
, a kind of Nicaraguan gin. A little corner of Argentina transplanted to the “Tacho estate.” They continued on to San Juan del Sur, intending to take the car across to Puntarenas, while we took the bus to Managua.

We arrived at night, and began the rounds of boarding houses and hotels to find the cheapest accommodation. In the end we settled on one where for four córdobas we each had a tiny room without electricity.

We started out the next day tramping round the consulates and encountering the usual idiocies. At the Honduran consulate Rojo and his friends appeared; they'd been unable to get across and were now rethinking the plan because of the outrageous price being charged. Things were then decided very quickly. The two of us would go with Domingo, the younger Beberaggi, to sell the car in Guatemala, while Fatty and Walter would travel by plane to San José in Costa Rica.

That evening we had a long session, each of us giving their perspective on the question of Argentina. Rojo, Gualo and Domingo were intransigent radicals; Walter was pro-Labor; and myself, a sniper, according to Fatty Rojo at least. Most interesting for me was the idea Walter gave me of the Labor Party and Cipriano Reyes— very different from the one I had already. He described Cipriano's origins as a union leader, the prestige he slowly won among the Berisa meat-packers and his attitude toward the Unión Democrática coalition, when he supported the Labor Party (founded by Perón at that time) in the knowledge of what it was doing.

After the elections, Perón ordered the unification of the party, causing its dissolution. A violent debate ensued in the parliament,
in which the Labor supporters, headed by Cipriano Reyes, didn't bend. Finally talks got underway for a revolutionary coup d'état, headed by the military under Brigadier de la Colina and his assistant, Veles, who betrayed him by telling Perón what was happening.

The three main leaders of the party—Reyes, Beberaggi and García Velloso—were imprisoned and tortured, the first barbarically. After a time, the judge, Palma Beltrán, ordered the prisoners' conditional release into police custody, while the state prosecutor appealed against the sentence. Beberaggi managed to escape when the parliament was in session and made his way secretly to Uruguay; all the others were arrested and are still in prison. Walter went to the United States and graduated as an economics professor. In a series of radio talks he denounced the Perón regime in no uncertain terms, and was stripped of his Argentine citizenship.

In the morning we left for the north, having left the others on the plane, and reached the border as it was closing.

We only had $20. We had to pay on the Honduran side. We crossed the whole narrow strip that is Honduras at that point and made it to the other border, but couldn't pay because it turned out to be too expensive. We slept in the open air—the others, on rubber mattresses, me, in a sleeping bag.

We were the first to cross the border and continued north. It was very slow going because the number of punctures we'd had left us with some rotten spare tires. We reached San Salvador and set about wrangling free visas—which proved possible with the help of the Argentine embassy.

We continued on to the [Guatemalan] border,
²⁹
where we paid the surcharge with a few pounds of coffee. On the other side it cost us a torch, but we were on our way, albeit with only $3 in our pockets. Domingo was tired, so we stopped to sleep in the car.

After a few minor incidents, we made it in time for breakfast at Óscar and Luzmila's boarding house, only to find that they had somehow fallen out with the landlady. We had to find another boarding house where we wouldn't have to pay upfront. That evening, December 24, we went to celebrate at the house of Juan Rothe, an agronomist married to an Argentine girl, who greeted us like old friends. I slept a lot, drank too much and fell sick immediately.

For the next few days I had a terrible asthma attack, so I was immobile because of my asthma and also the festivities. By December 31 I was well again, but was careful what I ate during the celebrations.

I've met no interesting people worth mentioning. One evening I had a long session with [Ricardo] Temoche, a former APRA
³⁰
deputy. According to him, APRA's principal enemy is the Communist Party—for him neither imperialism nor the oligarchy has any significance; the Bolsheviks are the irreconcilable enemy. At the same party was a noted economist, Carlos D'Ascolli, but he was too drunk to speak to me. After my attack, and at the end of the festivities, we witnessed the end of what had seemed to be a serious romance between Domingo Beberaggi and a girl called Julia. On Sunday he sold the car and flew to Costa Rica.

Juan Rothe is going to Honduras as a technician, so he threw a farewell barbecue. It was formidable in every sense. The only person not drunk was me because of my diet. I visited Peñalver,
³¹
a supporter of Acción Democrática and a specialist in malaria,
who has got a few things moving for me. Now I am close to the minister, but he doesn't have much weight.

Another contact I've made is a strange gringo
³²
who writes bits and pieces about Marxism and has it translated into Spanish. The intermediary is Hilda Gadea,
³³
while Luzmila and I put in the hard yards. So far we've made $25. I'm giving the gringo Spanish lessons.

Another find has been the Valerini couple. She is very pretty; he's very drunk, but a decent guy. They agreed to introduce us to an
éminence grise
within the government: Mario Sosa Navarro. We'll see what comes of it.

The days pass with no resolution. In the afternoons I work with Peñalver for a while, but he pays me nothing. In the mornings I go out to sell paintings of my Black Christ of Esquipulas, who is adored by people here, but that also earns me nothing as no sales are made. Among the interesting people I've met is Alfonso Bawer Pais,
³⁴
a lawyer and president of the Banco Agrario, a man with good intentions. Edelberto Torres is a young communist student and son of Professor Torres
³⁵
who wrote a biography of Rubén Darío. He seems like a decent guy. No news from the é
minence grise
. I had an intense political discussion with Fatty Rojo and Gualo, in the home of an engineer named Méndez.
³⁶

Nothing new in terms of finding work. The administrative
efforts at the Ministry of Public Health have failed. For now the only game in town appears to be a radio contract; although nothing's come of it yet, it looks promising. We've met no one interesting these last few days. I put on the ACTH from 8 a.m. until 2 or so in the afternoon. I'm fine.

No prospects in the near future. The é
minence grise
did not keep the appointment we made with him.

A Saturday without trouble or glory. The only good thing was a serious chat with Sra. Helena de Holst,
³⁷
who is close to the communists on many things and strikes me as a very good person. In the evening I had a chat with Mujica
³⁸
and Hilda, and a certain little adventure with a plumpish schoolteacher. From now on, I'll try to keep a daily journal, and familiarize myself more with the political situation here in Guatemala.

A Sunday without novelty, until the evening when I was asked to attend to one of the Cubans who was complaining of severe abdominal pain.
³⁹
I called an ambulance and we waited in the hospital until 2 a.m., when the doctor decided it was necessary to wait before operating. We left him under observation.

Earlier, at a party in Myrna Torres's home, I met a girl who was showing some interest in me and talked about the possibility of some work for 40 quetzals.
⁴⁰
We'll see.

Another day without trouble or glory. There's a prospect of 10
quetzals (we'd get 25 commission) and accommodation. We'll see. The Cuban
⁴¹
was going to look into this in his department.

One more day without trouble or glory. A refrain that seems to be alarmingly repetitious. Gualo vanished all day, to do nothing, and I seized the chance to do nothing as well. In the evening I went to visit the college where I may get work. […]

No new developments. I spoke to the Bolivian ambassador, a good man and more than that in terms of his politics. In the evening we went to the opening of the second congress of the CGTG,
⁴²
a confused affair apart from the speech of the FSM [World Federation of Trade Unions] delegate, a great speaker.

Another day gone… Evidence has now been published that the plot people were speaking about really did exist. We have the possibility of an order but it will be necessary to present a program like respectable people. I am a representative for leather and illuminated hoardings—no job. Lots of
mate
.

A new day without trouble or glory. There's nothing expected from [Jaime] Díaz Rozzoto.
⁴³
I went out with a girl who seems promising. […] Anita [Torriello] asked us to pay for the boarding house and Hilda can't give us more than $10. We owe $60 or more. Tomorrow is Sunday, so we should not despair.

Two more days with no change to our routine. I have asthma again, but it seems I'll be able to beat it. Gualo is off to Mexico with Fatty Rojo to stay for a month. I have a letter for the director of the IGSS,
⁴⁴
Alfonso Solórzano, we'll see what happens. If nothing crystallizes, one of these days I'll pack my bags and emigrate to Mexico as well. I have written a grandiloquent article titled, “The
Dilemma of Guatemala,”
⁴⁵
not for publication, just for my own pleasure […].

The asthma is getting worse all the time. I have started drinking
mate
and stopped eating corncakes, but it keeps getting worse. Tomorrow I think I'll pull out a tooth and see if that isn't the root of the problem. I'll also see if I can finally solve the currency problem.

More days to add to my diary notes. Days full of inner life and nothing else. A collection of all kinds of disasters and the never changing spiral of hopes. There is no doubt about it, I'm an optimistic fatalist […].

I've had asthma these days, the last few confined to my room hardly going out at all, although yesterday (Sunday) we went with the Venezuelans and Nicanor Mujica to Amatitlán. There we got into a heavy argument, all of them against me, except for Fatty Rojo who said I don't have the moral ability to engage in a debate. Today I went to see about the possibility of work as a doctor: 80 a month, for one hour's work a day. In the IGSS they told me with utmost certainty that there are no positions. [Alfonso] Solórzano was friendly and to the point. Now the day can come to an end with the old full stop. We'll see.

But we've seen nothing. As I was in no state to move, I sent Gualo to take them my qualifications, but later Herbert Zeissig started asking for more information about me, whether or not I was affiliated with the party, etc. Hilda didn't speak to Sra. Helena de Holst but […] sent her a telegram. The asthma continues. Gualo is getting impatient to leave.

Two more days to add to this succession, and nothing new is expected. I didn't move because of the asthma, but I feel it's
approaching a climax, with vomiting at night. Helenita de Holst has tried to get in touch with me, so in fact that's where I'm placing most of my hope. Hilda Gadea is still very worried about me, and is always coming by and bringing things. Julia Mejías found me a house in Amatitlán to stay for the weekend. Herbert Zeissig avoided having to make a final decision, sending me to see V.M. Gutiérrez
⁴⁶
to obtain the support of the Communist Party, which seems doubtful to me.

One more day, although hope is renewed as my health begins to improve. Today will be decisive, and Gualo will definitely leave tomorrow at dawn; he's not sleeping here. Rojo paid half the bill at the boarding house. I owe 45 quetzals. I still don't know whether I'll be going to Amatitlán tomorrow; when Gualo arrives I'll know for sure either way.