Alma: Sunday 9 August 1987
I walk into this seedy little bar with two of my college friends and there he is, that guy I saw at the talk the other day. I recognise those intense green eyes. He’s up front onstage, strumming his guitar, singing with a sexy soulful voice. The warm light envelops him and beneath his shirt I see his muscles. Damn. After half an hour and a drink Emelie and Maria want to move on – our Scandinavian hair sticks out too much in this place and they look fed up with engaging in polite conversation with the group of desperate men that’s cornered them. They don’t seem to realise that I’m mesmerised.
‘He’s amazing,’ I whisper to Emelie, pointing at the stage.
‘Who? Diego?’ She raises one perfectly shaped Swedish eyebrow, and I’m shocked she knows his name. ‘You’re barking up the wrong tree my love… that guy is crazy.’
Crazy, eh? He sounds like someone I want to get to know.
Three days later we’re on our first proper date. We’ve ended up back at mine, continuing our conversation with the extra help of marijuana. I’m in awe. I didn’t realise Diego was so radical. I feel like an impressionable ditsy teenager. He’s making me feel like a wannabe. He’s a member of the Frente ecológico, a small group of eco-anarchists who are all about direct action. He actually goes out and kicks ass, he shakes shit up on a regular basis. Earth liberation, as he calls it, is his life. He’s my new idol. I can tell I’m going to learn a lot from him.
By the end of the night I think I’m in love.
Alma: Friday 15 September 1989
Diego is a strong guy, he’s not someone to mess with. People look up to him. But they don’t know him like I do. Behind closed doors, when I have him all to myself, I learn more and more about his vulnerabilities, and I can feel my love for him growing stronger. I want to take care of him; I want to protect him. I want to show him that everything is okay because we have each other. His mother died giving birth to him and his dad, wherever he is now, became an alcoholic. He’s only close to one member of his family, his cousin Luis, because the rest of them – aunts, uncles and even grandparents – don’t seem to care. Diego has had to fend for himself. It’s made him more mature and determined than other guys I know. But it’s also made him crave family.
The news of my pregnancy is met with a lot of celebration, I think this may just be the happiest I’ve ever been and the happiest I’ve ever seen Diego. As the day’s celebrations come to a close and we’re lying in bed, his body around mine, I drift off to sleep with a smile on my face. I think about how great a dad Diego will be and how happy he’ll be to finally have the family he’s craved.
Alma: Saturday 30 March 1991
Diego is playing with Silvia and I’m preparing dinner when the phone rings. I ask Diego if he can get it because my hands are covered in dough. I think I’ve added too much water to the tortilla mix, and I’m trying to fix it. Juan Flores’ song Love and Pain is playing on the radio and I’m humming and singing along… Ooh sweet baby, I just can’t figure it out… I just don’t know if it’s worth lovin’ yooouuu… when all of a sudden I hear a loud yell. It makes my blood curdle. I turn around and rush towards the phone. There I see Diego on his knees with tears streaming down his face. Silvia is sitting on the floor next to him staring blankly at her papa.
‘Baby, what’s wrong? What’s wrong?’ I ask him, clutching him by the shoulders, stroking his face, doing anything I can to let him know I am here for him, ‘what’s wrong? What’s happened?’
He pushes me away and shakes his head. I reach for him again and again he pushes me away.
Diego’s cousin has just died in the crossfire between two cartels. I have never seen anyone as sad and angry as Diego is now. I don’t know how to comfort him, and he won’t let me. I suddenly feel totally closed off from him.
Alma: Wednesday 23 October 1991
These days I walk around feeling anxious all the time. Diego keeps talking about revenge and I don’t know how serious he is. It frightens me. I don’t want to have anything to do with the cartels, and I beg him to not do anything stupid. Diego’s abandoned his music, it’s been months since he picked up his guitar, and he’s rejecting invites to meetings with the Frente ecológico. I feel like he is slipping away from me. It’s been a while since we made love. I guess I have to be patient and accept that this period of grieving will take a long time. I need to remain strong for him. I need to give love without expecting anything in return, no matter what. I need to be there for him, to take care of him, because soon things will be better again and we’ll come out stronger for it.
I felt distracted at work today but now that I’m on my way home I’m feeling better. I plan to make us something special for dinner tonight, so I stop off at the grocery store to get some extra ingredients.
As I open our front door something doesn’t feel right, I only realise seconds after that it’s the smell of alcohol. Diego is sitting on a chair and resting his head on the kitchen table staring vacantly to the side. He doesn’t blink, not even when I walk into his line of vision. A half empty bottle of vodka and a bag of cocaine are on the kitchen table. Silvia is crying in the other room. I register all these things in a split second and for a moment I think to myself my god he’s dead. But then I see him blink. I have to think fast. I don’t know who to attend to first.
‘Diego! What the hell?!’
He sits up and stares in front of him. He doesn’t look at me. Silvia’s crying gets louder so I rush to the other room, pick her up and comfort her. Her nappy is drenched and stinks of shit. How long has she been lying alone and crying like this? My god. I cradle her in my arms, kiss her forehead and tell her hush, everything is okay.
I walk back into the kitchen, cradling Silvia close to me. I’m shaking with disbelief and anger. I’m starting to cry.
‘Diego,’ I say, ‘what’s going on?’
He turns to me now, and in a moment he too is crying. All my anger suddenly melts away and turns into pity. Oh god, my poor Diego. And we are all there by the kitchen table crying, hugging and comforting each other, and, though I am sad, I am grateful that he is letting me in again.
Later that night we make love and it is beautiful.
Alma: Tuesday 24 December 1991
It’s Christmas Eve. Silvia is exactly nineteen months and fifteen days old today and as I look at her I contemplate how quickly time has passed. She’s mucking around with crayons at one end of the kitchen table, while I’m on the other end, preparing Christmas dinner. I don’t know where Diego is, but I told him to be back for six this evening.
It’s already a quarter past and it’s dark outside and I’m getting anxious. I know he’s often late, but it’s Christmas and I’d hoped he’d make the effort.
The door swings open and slams shut behind him. He’s made it. My face lights up with a smile of relief. Hey sweetheart, Merry Christmas, I say going to give him a kiss on the cheek. Merry Christmas, he says. But his head is somewhere completely different. I can’t tell whether he’s just distracted or on something.
We eat our meal in silence. I think this is the worst Christmas I’ve ever had.
After I’ve tucked Silvia into bed I tiptoe into our room and shut the door behind me. Diego is sitting at the end of our bed. He gets up, embraces me and starts kissing me. His kisses feel urgent and now he’s pressing my body against the bedroom door and I don’t know if he realises how forceful he is being. He bites my lip. Hard. Suddenly he swings me round and pushes me onto the bed, face down. He’s pinned me down and lifted my dress and is pulling off my underwear. He penetrates me from behind and I howl in pain. I struggle and try to fight him off. He turns me round so I’m face up, he slaps me in the face and he fucks me. He kisses and he bites and I can no longer respond. I can’t move. I am numb.
He lands on top of me panting after he comes. I wait. His breathing finally slows to normal but I can feel he’s starting to shake. He’s crying.
‘Oh god, Alma, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…’
We’re both crying.
I tell myself I don’t believe in bad people, only people who’ve gone astray. All I want is for the Diego I once knew to come back, and for it to all be okay again.