The Feast of the Goat - Mario Vargas Llosa [170]
Marcelino Vélez Santana stayed with them, out of solidarity, for he had no reason to hide. The next morning he went out to learn the news. He returned a little before noon, highly agitated. There was no sign of a military uprising. On the contrary, one could see a frantic mobilization of SIM Beetles and jeeps and military trucks. Patrols were searching all the neighborhoods. There were rumors that hundreds of men, women, old people, and children were being dragged from their houses and taken to La Victoria, El Nueve, or La Cuarenta. In the interior as well, those suspected of anti-Trujillism were being rounded up. A colleague from La Vega told Dr. Vélez Santana that the entire De la Maza family, beginning with the father, Don Vicente, and including all of Antonio’s brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces, and cousins, had been arrested in Moca. That city was now occupied by guards and caliés. The houses of Juan Tomás, his brother Modesto, Imbert, and Salvador were all surrounded by barbed-wire barricades and armed guards.
Antonio said nothing. He was not surprised. He always knew that if the plot did not succeed, the regime’s response would be unimaginably brutal. His heart constricted as he thought of his aged father, Don Vicente, and his brothers abused and mistreated by Abbes García. At about one o’clock, two black Volkswagens filled with caliés appeared on the street. Ligia, Reid Cabral’s wife—he had gone to his office so as not to arouse the neighbors’ suspicions—came to tell them in whispers that men wearing civilian clothes and carrying submachine guns were searching a nearby house. Antonio exploded in a string of curses (though he kept his voice low):
“You should have listened to me, assholes. Wouldn’t it be better to die fighting in the Palace than to be trapped here like rats?”
Throughout the day they kept arguing and reproaching one another. During one of these disputes, Vélez Santana erupted. He grabbed General Juan Tomás Díaz by the shirt and accused him of involving him for no reason in a stupid, absurd plot that hadn’t even made provision for the conspirators’ escape. Did he have any idea what would happen to them now? Turk Estrella Sadhalá came between them to prevent a fistfight. Antonio controlled his desire to vomit.
On the second night, they were so exhausted by arguments and insults that they slept, huddled together, using one another as pillows, dripping perspiration, almost suffocating in the burning air.
On the third day, when Dr. Vélez Santana brought a copy of El Caribe to their hiding place and they saw their photographs under a huge headline: “Killers Sought in Trujillo Murder,” and, below that, the photograph of General Román Fernández embracing Ramfis at the Generalissimo’s funeral, they knew they were lost. There would be no civilian-military junta. Ramfis and Radhamés had returned, and the entire country was mourning the dictator.
“Pupo betrayed us.” General Juan Tomás Díaz seemed to be foundering. He had taken off his shoes, his feet were very swollen, and he was gasping for breath.
“We have to get out of here,” said Antonio de la Maza. “We can’t fuck up this family. If they find us here, they’ll kill them too.”
“You’re right,” Turk agreed. “It wouldn’t be fair. We have to leave.”
Where would they go? They spent all of June 2 considering possible flight plans. Shortly before noon, two Beetles carrying cali