After the incident, Luz became the hero of the group. Her fellow passengers congratulated her for her bravery. Proud of their compañera, they fought over who would sit next to her during the last miles of the trip. The bus hummed with soft voices that told and retold how Luz had scared la mierda out of the greedy officials.
Arturo and Luz sat next to each other often. Once, during a lull when the other passengers dozed, she turned to Arturo. “Hijo, quién eres, y qué haces tan lejos de tu familia?”
Shy at first, Arturo did not immediately respond to Luz’s question about who he was. But then he spoke in a low tone, almost whispering. “My story, Doña Luz, isn’t too different from that of many others. I’m nineteen years old, but sometimes I feel very, very old. My father was an office worker. He worked in one of the city buildings, and even though it wasn’t a high position, still, he and my mother were able to give their children a good life. We were three brothers. The three of us went to school because my mother and father worked hard, and when the time came, I was able to make it to the university.
“Last year, when I was in my first year of studies, I joined some of my companions who helped out the poor people of the barrios. At times we even ventured out of the city to assist the campesinos. We really didn’t do terribly important things, Doña Luz. We simply collected food and blankets for them. Little things like that.
“We did that for a while. Then one day some men came to where we were. They began to push us around, calling us communists and troublemakers. Well, we pushed back. Suddenly they pulled out sticks from I don’t know where. We had a big fight. We were taken to the police station and warned to stay out of trouble, but something strange happened to all of us. Suddenly, we wanted, more than ever, to help the poor.
“So we began to organize and join others who were doing the same thing. We stood on street corners with placards in our hands, trying to have others join us and not let bullies push us around for no reason. We passed out flyers, and even asked for signatures on petitions where we asked that the government take care of the people. I think…no…I know that we really got into trouble when we began to encourage factory workers. We asked them to unite in an effort to have the patrones give them just a little bit more money to help when they or their families got sick. We encouraged laborers to say something about the conditions at work.
“I have to tell you that I was paying more attention to this than to my books and studies. But I wasn’t the only one. The rest of my compañeros and compañeras were in it up to here.” Arturo marked an invisible line across his throat. Luz was staring past him. Her gaze was riveted on a tiny speck on the window pane.
“And what did your mother and father say about all of this?”
“Bueno, a neighbor snitched, he told them that he had seen me in the plaza passing out papers with subversive writing on it. You can imagine what they both thought. My father talked to me, trying to persuade me not to see my friends anymore, and to concentrate on my classes. Now I wish with all my heart that I had listened to him!”
“And your mother? What did she say to you?”
“She was scared. We all knew how some people had disappeared from the streets without anyone knowing what had happened to them. I thought of that too, but something inside of me told me that what I was doing was important, so I kept meeting with my companions, and writing letters, and standing in the plaza talking to people about how bad things were in our country.
“Things became serious. Our group began to grow. Then the same type of people who had attacked us with sticks would come after us more frequently.”
“Who were they? Soldiers? Policemen?”
“I don’t know. Nobody knew. They didn’t wear uniforms but they walked and acted like soldiers. You know what I mean? They were dressed like campesinos but their bodies told us that they were trained to handle sticks, almost as if they had been rifles. Well, anyway, these people often confronted us. They pushed us, and tore our signs, and they called us names. And everyday this became worse, and a lot of the compañeros were afraid. Some of them went away. I don’t blame them. I should have done the same thing.”
The muffled grinding of the engine caused Arturo to stop talking.
“Then our group worked up the courage to organize a demonstration. We were convinced that if all of us who thought the same way gathered in public, showing our solidarity, then the government would respect our wishes. ¡Qué estúpidos! We went ahead and planned the demonstration. It was incredible! Many people had said that no one would show up, that most of the men and women of our country were satisfied with their lives, or that they were afraid to do such a thing. But they were wrong. You should have seen how many…”
“I remember all that. It was last July, wasn’t it? I didn’t go because I was afraid, but my comadre Aurora who always sticks her nose into everything did. She told me about it.”
“Yes, it was last July. People came from everywhere. They came from the fields, and they joined hands with unionists and factory workers, shopkeepers, mechanics, teachers, clerks, housewives. Even their children came. I thought my heart was going to explode! I was so happy, and proud!
“We gathered at Plaza Barrios with our banners, and we carried signs that asked for justice and opportunity. When the students at the head gave the signal, I looked behind me, and there were so many people that I couldn’t see even a little piece of the pavement.
“We began our march, and someone began shouting the word ‘¡Justicia! ¡Libertad!’ We all imitated that voice, and the words became like thunder. ‘¡Justicia! ¡Libertad! ¡Justicia!’ I remember that our voices sounded like one, bouncing off the walls and windows and doorways.”
“I wonder what I would have done if I had been there?”
“I know you, Doña Luz. Perdón, I think I know you. You would have joined us. It was beautiful.
“Then, without warning, shooting began. At first, I thought that balloons were popping, but then I heard people screaming in terror! Something made me look up just in time to see that there were soldiers hiding in the rooftops of the taller buildings. They were everywhere. They crouched in the arches, behind pillars, and they were shooting into the crowd! They didn’t even have to aim because each bullet brought somebody down. Everyone began to shove and to run, trying to escape. Panic was everywhere.”
Luz held her hands to her mouth, her face tense. “Just like at the archbishop’s funeral!” she whispered.
“When the soldiers saw how terrified the people were, they became confident and came out of their hiding places. They stepped forward shooting without caring. I remember that bodies began to fall all around me. Some of them were hit by bullets, others were trampled by those trying to run. Soldiers chased those of us who were able to break loose. Like rats, we scrambled down streets, around corners, up alleyways. The soldiers were able to capture most of the group, especially the ones that fell or stumbled. The noise of the screaming and of the shooting deafened me.
“I ran, Doña Luz! Like a coward, I headed home because I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I had nowhere else to go. When I reached my house, I barged in. I must have looked like I was crazy. I stumbled into the kitchen where they…my family…were just beginning to eat. The four of them looked at me, shocked, and their look struck me as being funny. I guess I was hysterical because I started to laugh! I laughed out loud, louder than I had ever laughed in my life. It became so bad that my father stood up and slapped me. Then I became quiet.”
“¿Tu padre te pegó?”
“He had to hit me, and I was grateful. It was only then that I saw how afraid he and my mother were for me. They knew…don’t ask me how…but they knew that I had been involved in something serious. What they didn’t know…yet…was that it had turned into a massacre. Without a word, my father looked at the others as if telling them not to speak. With his hand, he told me to sit at my place.
“My mother served me a plate, but each mouthful that I ate stuck in my throat as if it were straw or a lump of clay. And I could tell that it was the same for the rest of the family. It was obvious that we were expecting to hear something, maybe footsteps, or even loud knocking at the door.
“But the days that followed were quiet. I didn’t return to the university because I was afraid. I helped my mother with the housework, and in the evening I talked to my father of what I should do next. Then, on the fourth night…. Oh, Doña Luz, fue terrible!
“That night, as we were sitting at the table, the front door opened with a loud noise. Suddenly we were surrounded by men. Again, they were dressed like campesinos, but those eyes, those cruel eyes told us they were not from the fields. They carried weapons. My father stood, but they didn’t give him time to speak. A bullet tore a big hole in his forehead.”
“Arturo, perhaps it’s best if you don’t talk about this. I can tell you’re living through it all over again.”
“It happened so suddenly that none of us had time to even say a word. It was quiet, so quiet! My father had slumped onto the table face down. Blood was pouring out of him. We were paralyzed. Then, in the next minute, my two brothers and my mother were killed.”
Luz had taken Arturo’s hands in hers, and she was holding them against her breast. She didn’t know what to say, so she pretended to be listening to the murmuring that had begun at the rear of the bus. Some passengers had awakened.
“¿Y tú? ¿Por qué no te mataron a ti?”
“They told me why they weren’t going to kill me. At least, not yet! One of them said to me, ‘¡Cabrón! You’re going to live so you can tell your friends what happens to filthy communists like you!’ Then he put his hand into the blood that was covering the table, and he printed a name on the wall: ‘¡El escuadrón!’
“I was beaten into unconsciousness. When I woke up I found that I was almost buried in garbage. They had dumped me at El Playón. When I tried to move, I couldn’t. My arms were broken. So were some of my ribs. My mouth was so swollen that I couldn’t say a word, much less scream like I wanted to do. Some of my teeth-see, right here, I’m missing some-they were kicked out by those animals, and my eyes were puffed up. I could hardly see. When I looked up into the gray sky everything was blurred, but when I began to focus my eyes I saw vultures flying over me. I realized that dead bodies must have been stuck in the filth.
“I don’t know how long I laid there thinking I was having a nightmare. But then I heard voices. In the beginning they were far way, like echoes. Then the sounds came closer until I was able to make out someone huddling over me. ‘This one’s alive. Help me with him.’ I heard the words clearly, and I felt them dragging me from the rubble. From there, I was carried up into the mountains of Chalatenango.
“Even though my body got well, my heart was sick. I never spoke to anyone. I just thought of my mother and father and brothers. It had been my fault. I tried to pray, but I couldn’t. Instead of the prayers I knew, the words turned nasty and mean, and I cursed God for having allowed me to live. I hated the vultures because they had not devoured me.”
“No more, por favor! You’re free now. Think of that. Up there, where we’re going, you’ll find a new life. You’ll have children of your own, and that way, your mother and father will again live. Think of it. Their blood is in you, and it will live on in your children.”
Arturo listened to what Luz was saying, but he let her understand that he wanted to finish his story. “When I was in the mountains several of the men asked me to join the guerrillas. They reminded me that I was a marked man, and that to think that I was free was a mistake. Sooner or later, the escuadrón would catch up with me. Even though I knew they were right, I couldn’t join them. I didn’t want to be part of anything or anyone. But in spite of this they let me stay with them for months until I was well enough to travel.”
After he finished, neither one of them spoke. More than an hour passed while Luz pondered, thinking of Arturo’s story and wondering about his plans.
“What are you going to do now?”
“I’m going…well, I thought I was going to Los Angeles. But now that my money is gone, I’ll have to stay in Mexico City, find work, and save for the next leg of the trip.”
“Why Los Angeles? Who do you know there?”
Arturo wrinkled his forehead showing his uncertainty. “A friend of mine used to write to me from there. He told me he found work, and that there were others like me who also were working…”
His words stopped abruptly. Luz waited for him to finish, but he was quiet. She asked, “Do you have his address?”
“No!” Arturo’s unexpectedly terse response told Luz that he had become annoyed by her inquiries. She regretted her manner, realizing that she had unwittingly become an intruder. She sat back in her seat silently mulling over an idea that began to take shape in her mind. However, her thoughts were cut short.
“And you, Señora, where are you going, and why?”
This turn in the conversation disconcerted Luz. Arturo’s question uncannily echoed her own, and she felt intimidated to have someone else utter it out loud.
“I’m looking for my son. But I don’t know where to search. I thought that I would begin by heading north….” Her voice trailed off weakly, shaking nervously.
Arturo blushed. “Forgive me.” Both were quiet for a moment, then he said, “I can’t imagine what my mother would do if she were in your place.”
After this, they withdrew into their thoughts.
The journey to Mexico City took another two days. Once, the trip was interrupted when the water pump of the bus broke down. Other times torrential rains that had come early in the season forced them to pull over to the side of the road. The vehicle was stopped frequently by police or by customs officers or by immigration authorities. Each time the passengers’ pockets became emptier, and their possessions more meager.
During the tedious hours of the trip, Luz’s mind drifted. She toyed with the idea of remaining with Arturo while they were both in Mexico City. Other times she even thought of going with him to Los Angeles. She imagined herself speaking to Bernabé. “I wonder what you would tell me to do, Hijo?” She thought also of the other son, the one taken from her by the Delcanos. She hardly knew anything about him, except that he had been educated, and that he held an important position in the government.
Whenever she thought of her first child, her mind filled with questions and premonitions. “I wonder what he looks like. Is he a good man? Surely he is. And even though he doesn’t know me, he must think of me just as I think of him. He’s probably married, and his children have my blood in their veins. When I told Arturo that his mother’s blood would run in his children’s body, I thought of my two sons. They are both a part of me. Even the one I don’t know.”
These reflections saddened Luz. To distract herself she focused on her surroundings. She looked around and wondered about her companions. What exactly had made them leave their land? Luz felt a tenderness towards each of them, sensing that, like her, none had really wanted to leave El Salvador. Like her, also, they might be wondering about what lay ahead.
“Doña Luz, you are talking to yourself. Are you feeling sick? Here, have a sip.”
Luz was startled. Arturo’s words jerked her out of her reverie. She had not realized that she was thinking out loud, and that others could hear her fears emerging from her heart.
The mud-spattered bus arrived in Mexico City in the late afternoon during peak traffic hours. The vehicle was forced to make its way slowly through Tlalpan, the southern edge of the city. Soon the passengers were overwhelmed by what they saw. Never had they imagined the jungle of cement and steel that awaited them in Mexico City. Their ears were bombarded by the blasting of car horns and vendors peddling newspapers, sarapes, chiclets and tortas. People were everywhere. The passengers felt their lungs and noses fill up with the city’s dense smog. Their eyes started to run and to fill with tears. They look with amazement at the buildings and at the massive concrete walls grayed by a sooty coating. They pointed at tree trunks blackened and gnarled by pollution. Around them they saw men and women running and skittering from one side of the street to the other, dodging cars, buses and trucks. The streets and parks were filled with movement, and the campesinos and campesinas stared at elegantly dressed individuals who walked alongside other people in rags. Scrawny children and famished dogs scrambled over the sidewalks. In their hearts, the new arrivals felt fear in that city, overwhelmed by its size, movement, and sound.
At the end of the line, as the bus turned into Estación Taxqueña, Luz felt a lump forming in the pit of her stomach. She knew that the time had come for her to make a decision as to what she would do next in her search for her son Bernabé.