“I’m sorry, Señor Joyce, but you cannot wait here any longer. The colonel cannot receive you until five this afternoon. Civilians are not allowed in this area for long periods of time. You will have to wait elsewhere.”
Father Hugh rose from where he had been seated and dejectedly walked out of the outer offices of the Estado Mayor. When he stepped out on the street he again faced the city’s destruction. Even though the streets were quiet, the air was still saturated with smoke and dust, and patrols of armed government troops were present everywhere.
As the priest stood on the rubble-strewn curb, uncertain as to which direction to take, he was startled when the building’s heavy metal doors swung open with a loud noise. A military van lumbered out and stopped almost in front of him. Hugh’s attention was caught by two soldiers as they emerged from behind the vehicle escorting a prisoner. The man’s hands were handcuffed behind his back.
Hugh watched the soldiers shove the prisoner onto the flatbed of the van, slam the door behind him, and wait at attention until a lieutenant emerged from the building. The officer peered into the rear of the van, nodded, and climbed onto the passenger seat of the vehicle. The other soldiers jumped on the running board of the van, which slowly made its way toward a nearby hill.
Father Hugh turned away and walked, without direction. He saw that others too were wandering, moving without knowing where to go, or what to do. People walked in silence; a pall hung over them and their city. The priest made his way, often tripping over pieces of concrete and scattered rubbish, other times falling into potholes. His lungs and eyes ached from the contaminated air, and his stomach growled because he had gone without eating for so long.
Hugh walked aimlessly for a while before he realized that he had made his way to the heart of the city. He found himself facing the Cathedral. For a long time he stood staring at the concrete beneath his feet, his shoulders sagging, his legs wobbly and unsteady. After a few minutes, he decided to enter the building, thinking that he might find shelter. When he walked into the gloom he found that the church was filled with huddling, frightened people. The priest could hear the faint weeping and moaning of adults. He saw a child sprawled at the foot of one of the pillars. He could not tell if the child was asleep or dead. His eyes made out the figures of men crouched on the floor of the massive church. Women, bundled in soiled shawls, were seated in the pews.
“Santa María, llena eres de gracia…”
Buzzing tones of three or four people praying the rosary cut through the darkened interior of the Cathedral. Father Hugh leaned against a pillar, shaking his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts. Giving in to his fatigue, he allowed his body to slide slowly downward until he, too, was crouching on his haunches.
“…el Señor es contigo…”
The priest tried to pray, but he couldn’t. He was thinking of how he had walked out on his community and his university hoping to find peace; instead, he had fallen into this snake pit. Now his only desire was to get out, to leave this Hell behind him, and never again to return to it. He also felt resentment welling up inside of him. He was angered at these people for allowing this Hell to exist.
“Bendita eres entre todas las mujeres…”
He was also resentful that Colonel Delcano had put him off for so many hours. Father Hugh had presumed that he would have been received immediately, and that as usual he would have been given top priority. He had always been treated well during his business trips, housed in the best hotel suite in the city and dined at the best restaurants. This sudden change in Colonel Delcano’s attitude puzzled him.
“The colonel’s giving you the cold shoulder, eh, Hughie?”
Father Hugh’s heart almost stopped. Even though his impulse was to run from the voice, he shut his eyes. He could feel himself sweating.
“Come on, Hughie boy, open those peepers. You and I still have some things to talk about.”
“Go away Augie! Leave me alone! Please! I don’t have anything to say to you, not a single, goddamn thing!”
“Shame! Shame! Taking the name of the Lord in vain; and in His own house no less! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Father Hugh.”
The priest sprang to his feet, and plunged into the darkness of the Cathedral toward its main altar. He stumbled over kneeling women and bumped against pews. He slipped once, scraping his knee against a sharp edge. Hugh scrambled up the main aisle hoping to rid himself of the sarcastic voice ringing in his ears.
“¡Padre Hugo! ¡Chssst! ¡Padre Hugo!”
Father Hugh heard someone hissing his name. At first he thought that it was Augie’s voice, but when he turned he saw Luz seated on a bench. Her hair was more disheveled than ever. It stuck out in every direction, much of it clinging limply to her sweaty forehead. As Hugh’s eyes became more accustomed to the gloom, he began to see that Luz’s dress was even more soiled than it had been during their night in the shelter. Her feet were almost black with grime and dirt, and her hands were muddied as if she had been digging in dirt.
“Señora, what are you doing here? I thought I’d never see you again.”
“I’m waiting for you, Padre Hugo. I’m glad you’ve arrived because I was beginning to lose patience.”
“What do you mean? How could you have known I’d come here?”
Luz seemed distracted and she ignored the priest’s questions. After a few moments, during which she looked around as if she were trying to locate someone in particular, she spoke.
“I have good news for you, Padrecito. I know where I can find Bernabé.”
“You know where to find your son? Where? Who told you where he is?”
“Why are you surprised that I have finally found him, Padre? You know that I’ve spent years searching for him.”
The woman fell silent for a moment. Her eyes were fevered, and she bit her lower lip as she concentrated.
“Padre, it was my comadre Aurora. You know, I told you about her last night. She came out of the barrio to tell me where I could find my son. He’s up on El Playón. I don’t know how she found out; she wouldn’t tell me. But now that I know where Bernabé is for sure, I think I’m afraid. I wanted you to come with me, so I waited here. Come on Padre Hugo. Come with me, please. I’m very anxious.”
Luz stood and, taking Father Hugh’s hand, she carefully made her way around the crowd toward the main exit. She didn’t let go of the priest’s hand as they walked through the maze of littered streets. Her steps were confident and brisk; she knew where she was going. The priest became nervous when he realized that they were heading in the direction of the mount where the prisoner had been taken.
“Where are we going, Señora? I have an appointment this afternoon. I can’t go too far with you.”
“You’ll be back on time. I promise you Padre.”
They walked in silence. Hugh could hear both his breath and Luz’s as they walked for several blocks, turning corners, heading for the mount. The air began to smell, but the stench was different from the one hanging over the center of the city. This odor was of garbage, rotting and putrid. The breeze seemed to pick up as Luz and Father Hugh neared the hill, and with it, the nauseating stink of rot intensified.
Father Hugh was startled by something in the sky. He looked up, squinting in the grayish glare. He focused his eyes, realizing that he was looking at circling vultures. Fear gripped his heart.
“My God! Where are we going, Señora?”
Luz didn’t answer the priest’s question, instead she intensified the pace of her steps. They were nearly running when the mount suddenly loomed in front of them. The smell was unbearable for the priest, and he was forced to untangle his hand from Luz’s so he could cover his mouth and nostrils.
The hill vaporized. Burning, smoldering garbage heaps were everywhere, and the fouled smoke darkened the atmosphere, cutting down visibility. Father Hugh’s eyes began to focus on moving figures enshrouded by the haze. Silhouettes picked their way over the piles, sticking their hands in the refuse, digging, searching.
Suddenly, the priest’s attention was caught by something trapped in the soggy ground, and when he looked carefully, the sight that met his eyes made him reel. His breath caught in his throat, and he began to feel dizzy. Among the rotting bones of animals, soiled rags and rusted tin cans, he made out a human leg. Hugh’s eyes bulged. His brain swam, and he rubbed his eyes with both hands hoping that the twisted limb would vanish. When he looked again, the leg was still there. He began to tremble, and he turned in the opposite direction with the intention of running away.
“Just a minute, Kid! Not so fast! It’s not over yet. We have to face, up front, more of the grief.”
The voice knocked the priest off his feet, and the filth that smeared his rump, arms and hands made him gag. Hugh began to cry. Mucus and tears were coursing down his cheeks and chin, and when he wiped his face, he spread the slime on his nose and lips. He retched convulsively.
He moved blindly, without direction. After a few moments of dazed staggering, he turned upward and he saw that Luz was staring intently at a shapeless heap. The priest shakily approached, coming nearer to her. His chest heaved with stress and nausea. His eyes were blurred, and he had to blink several times before his eyes fixed on what it was that the woman was looking at. He shivered as he fell to his knees because his legs were no longer able to support his body. The naked, castrated body of a man lay sprawled on a heap of smoldering garbage, and even though vultures had ripped at parts of his face, Hugh recognized the corpse. It was the man he had seen taken from the High Command.
Luz slowly dropped to her knees, contemplating the remains of the person in front of her. Slowly she rolled over on her haunches, and pulled the body onto her lap. She caressed the mutilated face with her hands, kissing the bloodied cheeks and forehead as she swayed back and forth, moaning softly. Still on his knees, Father Hugh gawked.
Then it began. At first, Father Hugh thought he was hearing it in the remote distance, like the humming of a human being or the soft purring of a machine. The sound grew, taking on shaper tones, becoming harsher as it lost its softness. It grew until it became a guttural howling. Horrified, Hugh realized it was coming from the mountain of slime where Luz now wailed, her mouth agape, her face distorted with pain. Her lament expressed all the anguish she had suffered during her years of futile search. It echoed her disbelief and despair at finding her son only to lose him again on the spot. It was more than her body and soul could bear.
The moaning unnerved the priest and he tried to comfort Luz but she would not stop screaming. Terrified, Hugh pressed his hands against his ears, but as he blocked out the woman’s screeching, Augie’s voice returned.
“Hugh, is crying?”
He tried not to answer, but he heard his voice stammering in response.
“Eve!”
“Why is she sobbing?”
“Because her son murdered his brother!”
“Why? Why would anybody kill his brother?”
The priest refused to answer; and instead, he wrapped his arms around his head hoping to erase the accusation from his mind.
Luz’s crying intensified, but still, he did not answer the question. He clamped shut his eyes hoping to escape, but Augie’s voice was relentless. It pressured and reproached him with more questions. Then, as if mesmerized by the litany, Hugh snapped open his eyes, rolling them to the right and to the left, as he concentrated, and listened.
“Hugh, who is sobbing?”
The priest answered. His voice quivered, it was almost a whisper.
“It is the cry of Rachel of Ramah.”
“Why is she crying, Hugh?”
“Because her children were slaughtered!”
“Who would slaughter children?”
Hugh clenched his teeth, rejecting the question.
“Hugh, are you sorry?”
Hugh kept quiet. Luz’s weeping became louder, more disconsolate, and the voice in Father Hugh’s head rose above the wailing.
“Hugh, who is weeping?”
“Mary of Bethlehem.”
“No! It is Luz Delcano that you hear! It is her pain that’s tearing at your guts. Her grief, and that of thousands of others just like her, is now your hurt. Mine too. I want to know, Hugh. Why is she weeping?”
“Because her son was sacrificed!”
“Sacrificed? What do you mean? I don’t understand…!”
“For the love of Christ! Shut up!”
By now Hugh was screeching in hysteria.
“Are you sorry, Hugh?”
The priest cursed, refusing to answer for the third time. Instead, he sprang to his feet, running until he thought his chest would burst. He feared he would choke on the saliva trapped in his throat. He ran down the rotting slopes of El Playón, onto the streets of San Salvador, turning corners, bumping and smashing into walls and people. He lost his way several times, retracing his steps, until he found the direction that took him back to Colonel Delcano.