More than any other Delcano, Lucio was distinguished by milk-white skin, blue eyes, and hair shaded so fairly that it often appeared golden. It was because of his looks that others spoke of him as the Angel. He was thirty-eight years old, tall, lean and muscular. He had a long nose, a broad forehead that people said signaled intelligence, and the straight, tight lips that betrayed his family’s well known arrogance. Like many of the other Delcanos, Lucio was a success. He was a colonel, as well as a highly positioned officer in Army Intelligence.
Those few people who thought they knew him well, believed that military life was his sole interest in life. Unknown to anyone, however, the colonel’s public side was dwarfed by an intense brooding. When he was in those moods, secret thoughts were more real to him than anything else. No one imagined that his musings and monologues preoccupied him more than his achievements or the power he had amassed over the years.
He was seated at his desk. On it were official documents and a red telephone. Its line led directly to the presidential offices, and it rarely slipped Colonel Delcano’s mind that only a few people possessed that privilage. He had been staring out the plate-glass window, absorbed in thought, when he silently swiveled his chair to glance at the documents neatly placed on his desk. One of those papers was a source of annoyance because it communicated that yesterday, at the Sumpul River, a section of his battalion had surprised several hundred campesinos who were headed towards Honduras. His soldiers and several helicopters had stumbled onto the subversives by accident, and what now irritated Colonel Delcano was that the soldiers’ attempts to halt the maneuver had not been successful. The soldiers had managed to deter some two hundred of them, but the rest, estimated at between seven and twelve hundred people, had been able to cross the river.
The colonel’s set jaw betrayed his irritation. He had an impeccable reputation, but even a small incident such as the one described by the communiqué disturbed him. His battalion had the best equipment, the best trained soldiers, the best intelligence information. He would not allow subversives to laugh in their face. Colonel Delcano made a mental note to look further into the details of the incident. Someone would have to pay a price for the mishap.
His eyes again turned to the window, trailing off beyond the rooftops of the compound. Putting the Sumpul incident aside, he turned to images of his past life. As he often did, he tried to recall some small detail of the day his mother had sold him. He had been only a few days old when she had handed him over to the Delcanos. His aunt Hortensia had verified this story many times over, fixating it in his mind, where it haunted him relentlessly, filling him with doubts.
“Hortensia said my mother was a worthless opportunist from Spain who presumed that she could worm herself into our family by having a Delcano child. When she was told that under no circumstances could she ever marry a Delcano, she soon changed her tune. The old man would never permit such a marriage.”
“I did not believe Hortensia’s story. Too many questions were left unanswered. Why did my mother abandon me? Was it really only for money? Or was it for something she sensed I was? She must have thought I was shit. Otherwise she would have fought off tigers to keep me with her. No. I never could believe Hortensia’s story. Surely, there was another reason why things turned out as they did.”
Lucio’s life had been lonely in spite of the fact that the family had seen to it that he received whatever he needed. He had attended the best schools in San Salvador, and when he turned eighteen, he had enrolled in the American military academy, where he not only learned to plan and execute battles, but to perfect his English as well.
He was the sole Delcano heir because despite the old man’s many children and grandchildren, the family had been plagued by catastrophes, and Lucio wound up as the only survivor in the family. The boy with most promise, Anastasio’s middle child, choked to death on a chicken bone when he was fifteen. Of Ricarda’s three sons, each turned out to be an idiot, incapable of caring for himself. Domitila’s children had all run away and no one knew of their whereabouts. Damián had married a wiry, nervous woman who seemed to be a victim of mal de ojo, for all her pregnancies had ended either in miscarriage or stillborn children. Finally, there was Hortensia, obese and given to alcohol. She had never married. Instead she had seen to Lucio’s upbringing.
The family had known who the child’s father was, so he was given the name Lucio. However, Damián and Hortensia forced a pact on the brothers and sisters, who agreed never to disclose to the child that he was really their brother. Instead, he would always pass as one of the grandchildren.
Lucio Delcano had always felt empty when he was a child in spite of the material things he had been given. When he was old enough to ride, he had gotten his own horse and, later, when he became a young man, he had been treated to a flashy, expensive car. But he had never experienced the one thing he craved: a mother’s love and attention.
“Hortensia always acted as if she were my mother. But she just played the role so others would think that she was good and that she had sacrificed herself for me, for she wanted to hide what she was actually doing to me.
“When did it all start? When I was still a baby? The first time I can remember the incident was when I was about four years old. I was in bed, and she had her hand inside my pants, rubbing, and squeezing me. Strange noises were coming out of her throat.
“Hortensia did these things to me until I was fourteen. Then, one night when she called me to her bed I discovered that this time she wanted more. I felt sickened and, even though I was confused, I didn’t do what she wanted because for the first time in my life I wasn’t afraid of her. Nothing would make me put myself into her body. So I started to move away. That’s when she took hold of me, pressing and squeezing my penis until I knew that if I didn’t get away, I would faint or die from the pain. I grabbed her neck. My fingers sank into its fatness. I pressed as hard as I could. Her eyes bulged. Her skin turned purple, and her tongue jerked in and out of her mouth.
“Hortensia was strong. She was able to throw me off the bed and smash the lamp on my head. I felt everything turning black when I fell on the floor, but when I saw that she was going to hit me again, I grabbed the chamber pot that was under her bed. She never expected her own shit to come flying in her face!”
The phone on the colonel’s desk buzzed, startling him. He glanced down at his hands. They were rigidly flattened on the desk top, and his fingertips were a whitish blue from the pressure.
“Dígame.”
“Coronel Delcano, we’ve been notified that many of the subversives that were attempting to reach Honduras yesterday have returned. They have now been able to make their way back to the capital. Some as far as La Libertad.”
“Why are they returning?”
“Señor, unfortunately some of them escaped our men. But since they were unable to make it across the border they are returning. They are coming in this direction. It seems that although many were wounded, they still have been able to move. Our reports indicate that most of the traitors have been sheltered by foreign troublemakers and religious fanatics, as well as by other types of civilians. Gringos, most of them. The bad part of the situation is that the traitors who tried to cross the Sumpul are telling everyone that they were ambushed, and slaughtered like cattle by government soldiers.”
Lucio Delcano was now faced with the problem of witnesses. He hated untidy work, and he was especially displeased by complications. “What were our men doing? How can we explain unarmed campesinos escaping our soldiers?”
His voice was sharp, penetrated with frustration and sarcasm. He listened for a response. The answer at the other end of the line was faint and hesitant. “I’m sorry, Coronel.”
“I want the names of the officers in charge of yesterday’s skirmish. I also want the names of the foreigners involved. I don’t care what or who they are. Nuns, workers, whores, whatever and whoever they are. I want their names, and I want that information now!”
Colonel Delcano returned the phone to its cradle. The word whore had again evoked Hortensia’s image and also that of his uncle Damián Delcano, who had never left the family home, even after he had married. Damián made sure, however, to keep silent on most matters, and he deferred to his sister at all times and on all issues regarding money, the household, the workers and, especially, the upbringing of Lucio.
“I always felt sorry for Damián, especially because he was afraid of Hortensia. He was unlucky, too. Unlucky mostly because he didn’t look like his brothers and sisters. Because of this, people laughed at him. They mocked him because he was bald and fat, and because he shuffled like an old monkey. But he was kind, and he tried to help others, even those who jeered at and misunderstood him.
“I liked him. Maybe I even loved him. He tried to be a father to me. Most of the time we never even spoke, but I knew that it was fine, because somehow he knew what was inside of me. At night, it was he who put me to bed. Every night he kissed my forehead, and said, ‘Buenas noches, hijo,’ And when I wasn’t in school, he let me be at his side as he did his things. I did that because I liked being with him. But we both knew there was another reason why I wanted to be with him.
“ ‘Tío, which one of your brothers was my father?’
“ ‘The third oldest. He died very young.’
“ ‘What was his name?’
“ ‘The same as yours.’
“ ‘But, I thought that I was named after my grandfather.’
“ ‘My brother, too, was named Lucio, and since he was named for our father, you can say that you also are named for your grandfather.’
“ ‘But…’
“ ‘Hush, Lucio! You’re giving me a headache. You’re named after your father and your grandfather. Accept it, and that’s enough for today.’
“‘But Tío if my father was the third oldest, and if he died young, how could he have had me? You’ve always told me that I’m the youngest of all the Delcanos. And, what about my mother? Is Hortensia saying the truth? Did my mother really sell me to you?’
“Damián never answered that question. But still, I loved him, especially when I saw that his sister hated him. She liked to make Damián feel bad in front of his wife, and the servants, especially when she got drunk. She called him names of animals, and she said things about what he and his wife did in bed. But my uncle was always silent. He had no words for Hortensia. I used to wish he’d defend himself, and I prayed that one day he would hit her. But he never did, and I knew why. He thought that he was filth. Just like me.
“I remember the night Hortensia decided to get even with me right after I threw shit in her face. We had finished eating, and she was drunk. Damián’s wife left the room. I think that she had sensed what was to come. But my uncle stayed. And I stayed with him. Then Hortensia began. The words she vomited that night changed my life. She twisted my soul, making me hate myself and anyone who ever touched me. Damián implored her to be silent but she was determined to let it all out.
“‘You’re not my nephew,’ she yelled at me. ‘You’re my brother!’
“Hortensia opened her mouth letting out her hatred against me.
“ ‘You’re the brat of a filthy mother who sprang from a litter of African slaves, animals who grovel in dirt, fornicating and spawning without knowing who or what they are! You, might look like an angel, but on the inside, you’re nothing but a black devil! Don’t fool yourself!’ ”
“ ‘You despicable worm, it’s time you realized that your mother was just like you! A pervert! Yes! Yes! Yes! You’re hearing my words as you should have heard them a long time ago! Your mother fornicated with her own grandfather!’
“ ‘And remember this, you piece of burro shit! Remember that you were born in a filthy hut, with no more than raw dirt for a floor. That’s here your mother dropped you from her belly. On dirty, filthy dirt! So don’t boast about yourself! Don’t believe for one second that trash about being an angel!’
“ ‘Why did the family take you from the bitch that was your mother? Because we couldn’t tolerate her bragging that she had given birth to a Delcano. That’s why! It was easy. All we had to do was jingle a few colones under her nose, and there it was, we never saw her again! Ha! Money! It’s magic!’
“ ‘And where is your mother now? Well, I’ll do you the favor of telling you that she’s common servant in one of the homes in Escalón. There it is, the truth for you to lick, and to swallow. You’re free to go to that rich neighborhood anytime you wish. You’re free to guess which one of the army of brown sluts who work there is your mother.”
“Hortensia asked me what I was. Was I her brother or her nephew? She laughed when she asked me what I was to myself, because she said that I’m both my own brother, and great-grandson at the same time, and that I’m twisted. Deformed. A monster that might as well have my ass where my head is!
“ ‘¡Monstruo!’ ”
“Hortensia screeched the word, pounding her fist on the table, and the thumping noise bounced off the walls shattering my insides. I couldn’t move, I was anchored to my chair. But her words captivated me, even though they thrashed my heart and my guts, even though her obscene hatred was ripping apart my heart. And I believed it all. I believed it, not because I wanted to, but because at last, I was finally hearing the truth! I accepted it all because what Hortensia screamed no longer held contradictions for me, as Damián’s foolish, clumsy explanations did. I believed her because at last I knew why I had always felt that I was nothing. I was a Delcano, but I was deformed, warped.
“When I looked at Damián I saw that he was trembling, his hands shook as if he were a very old man. And I? I could only stare at Hortensia. I couldn’t cry, and I couldn’t say anything, but when her mouth began to quiver and her cheeks twitched, I knew then for the first time that something in me frightened her. So I glared at her until she lowered her eyes. After that she shut them tight.
“Suddenly, I wasn’t nailed to the chair anymore. I got up, and walked out into the darkness, and over to my room where I stayed with my eyes open until everything got black and I lost consciousness. And then, for the first time, I had the nightmare. In my dream I am always a twisted, ugly creature. My limbs are in pieces, and the parts are in the wrong place. My legs are where my arms should be. They grow out of my shoulders, and my arms are down there, where my feet should be, and in place of my head are my testicles. I am indeed a monster.
“Next day I found out that Damián and his wife had gone away. I never saw them again, and I was left alone to hate Hortensia all by myself. I used to spend hours looking at the portrait of the old grandfather, the one that had hung in the main room ever since I could remember. I had never noticed that picture, but now I sat and stared at it until my eyes hurt. Now I knew that he was not my grandfather. He was my father! I looked at him, at his big belly, at his flabby chin, and I told myself that that was how he looked when he and my mother created my life.
“After that, whenever Hortensia called for me, she used one word ‘Monstruo’. But I never spoke to her again. Never!
“One night Hortensia was in the middle of one of her fits. I could hear her in the kitchen, banging into chairs, smashing plates and glasses as she cursed and mumbled. Suddenly there was a loud thud, followed by a bouncing sound, like a sack of flour tumbling off a shelf. Then everything was quiet. It scared the servants because they knew that something had happened. And they were right. One of them came to my room to tell me that Hortensia had fallen down the cellar stairs. I ran as fast as I could wishing with all my heart that she would be hurt. When I got there I saw her sprawled at the bottom of the stairs and I realized that she couldn’t move her legs. She looked up at me. ‘Get me out of here!’ she whispered.
“That was the last time Hortensia ever spoke to me, but I didn’t hear what she was saying because I was listening to something else. I closed the door, locking it, and putting the key in my pocket where no one could reach it. Then I called the servants into the kitchen. ‘Go to your rooms, and don’t return until I order you.’ Her screams lasted three days becoming more and more faint until finally there was silence.”
“Does your head hurt, Colonel Delcano?”
Lucio had not heard his clerk rap at the door, then let himself into the office. “No, no.”
“Señor, I’m trying to gather the information you’ve requested but…”
“Information? What information?”
“Why, the names of the officers in charge of yesterday’s incident, and the names of the agitators helping the subversives who tried to cross the Sumpul. I’ve been able to get some of the names you need. Here’s the list. I regret that it’s incomplete, but tomorrow I’ll do my best too.”
“Sí, sí. Well, get it to me as soon as possible.”
“It’s late in the day, mi Coronel Should I stay on to…”
Delcano bluntly interrupted the clerk. “You want to go, don’t you? Why don’t you come out and say it? Get out! I’ll expect you here no later than eight in the morning, and I want complete details and information before noon.”
The man disappeared behind the door. The sky was growing dark, and it would soon be night, but Delcano did not light the lamp on his desk, preferring instead to remain in the gloom. Finally, when darkness forced him to switch on the light, he glanced at the document the clerk had placed on his desk. Neatly typed on white paper was the name of one of his officers identified as having been in charge of the skirmish. Next to that name, in a tidy column under the title “Activistas,” Colonel Delcano read the names of several foreigners.
A brief report followed. The activists were identified as agitators and spies to whom the survivors of the Río Sumpul incident were flocking for shelter, food and assistance. In the colonel’s estimation the worst part of the report was the statement that people were now referring to the incident as the May First Massacre.
Colonel Delcano drummed his fingers on the polished surface of the desk. Witnesses were the one thing he would not tolerate. Now the officer’s sloppiness had created a potentially serious problem. But, he, Colonel Delcano, would handle the consequences. He flipped the report face down, and tucked it under the blotter.