Beyond the Ties of Blood (48 page)

Every morning she woke exhausted, yet driven to write everything down. There were three men she began to recognize in her dreams, mainly by sound since they would hood her before taking her into the torture cell. She wrote about the texture of their voices, the smell of their sweat, how they sometimes laughed among themselves or commented on the latest soccer scores. And then the explosions of pointed light behind her hood when they turned on the juice, how she thought her neck would snap in two.

One night she dreamed she was in her cell. Shivering under a thin blanket, she felt the spikes of the straw mattress gouging her side. The door opened and at first she thought they'd come to take her to the “power plant,” as they sometimes called it. But there was only one man, and he didn't put a hood on her. Talking to her in a soft, oily voice, he lifted the blanket and pulled up her gown. When he was done, she almost wished for the electricity. After that he came many times, a short man with a single brow across his forehead and eyes so dark they had no pupils.

Three men, one torture room, countless electric charges. Countless rapes, one cell, one rapist. Finally she could do the math.

When she woke the next morning, she realized she'd run out of room in her last notebook and would have to go out to buy a new one. Still in her pajamas, she stepped into the closet to grab some clothes to wear and her foot bumped against something soft that had been pushed to the back. It was her bag from the trip with Ignacio, and it still had the dirty clothes in it. She took out one of her blouses, the one whose sleeves he had peeled off her arms when they first made love in Bucalemu. It had been the first time since Manuel that sex had been connected to love in her life. Eugenia sat down on the bed for a moment, forcing herself to breathe through the familiar burning of grief in her chest. Then she pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater, emptied the bag into her hamper, and walked out to the corner bookstore.

The first thing she did when she got back was to write down her dream from the night before, including the image of Laura's father. Then she began thinking about the dirty clothes at the back of her closet. Ignacio had fallen in love with the suffering victim. Had she been unable to accept this, his adoration of her as an icon? Or had she been afraid that, in accepting his love, she would have had to reveal herself to him? Would he have left her then, repulsed by the truth of her past?

She started writing in a new notebook from the pack she'd just bought at the store. In large capital letters, on the front page, she wrote the title: “MATH LESSONS.” Her testimony before the Commission had been about Manuel, but this was different. She knew, as she turned the page to begin her text, that the dreams and scribblings she had been gathering over the past several weeks would be its core. Now, she struggled for words to frame the introduction.

“There are so many more of us,” she began. “We have not been executed, and we have not disappeared. We have dedicated our lives to the memories of those who have. But by spending so much time with the dead, we have deeply hurt our loved ones still alive. This is my story,” she continued, “of the hurt I have suffered, but also the damage I inflicted on my daughter. I could not face the truth of my own suffering. I could not tell her the truth of her own origin. And now it may be too late.”

Eugenia put down her pen. Was it too late? Suddenly she was filled with the need to talk to Laura. She looked across the room at the clock on her nightstand. Ten-thirty in the morning. She was probably getting ready to leave for her work at the Committee, and then it would be nearly an hour before she arrived. Eugenia decided to take a shower, get dressed, and drink some coffee. By the time she was done, Laura would have arrived at the office.

When she called, it was slightly before noon. Tonia answered the phone.

“Tonia? This is Eugenia. How have you been?”

“Eugenia, it's good to hear you. I'm fine. How is your mother?”

“Much better, thank you. She and I are getting along much better. But you, as much as anyone, understand how long these things take.”

“You're right,
hija
. But it's funny you should bring this up now. I've barely seen you over the last months, and I know how difficult this time has been for you. But I wanted to tell you that, sometimes, healing comes in unexpected ways.”

“How so?”

“Well, as it turns out, after I read Laura's urine, I realized that there were things I could do to be useful, if only I could stop feeling sorry for myself. So I've started taking on clients again.”

“That's wonderful,
tía
! I'm so happy to hear it, even if I can't say I'm happy about the consequences of that first reading.”

“I know,
hija
, and that reminds me. Laura is here. I'll tell her it's you.”

“Hello?” Even though she had tried to prepare herself while she waited for Laura to pick up the phone, Eugenia still felt out of breath, and at a loss for words.

“Laurita,” she managed. “It's me.”

A short silence. Then: “I know. Tonia told me.”

“Thank you for picking up the phone. Laurita, I need to see you. I have a lot to tell you.”

“About what?”

“I've been doing a lot of thinking, a lot of writing. I've remembered things I had blocked out. Most of all, I want to tell you I'm sorry.”

A much longer silence, punctuated by short, jerky breaths. When Laura spoke, her voice was raspy. “You've said that before, that you're sorry. You've told me the same thing in those little cards you send. What else is there to talk about?”

“
M'hijita
, please. I've remembered now, details of my torture, things I'd completely blocked out, I …”

“And this is good news?!” Laura's voice exploded, forcing Eugenia to move her receiver away from her ear. “You think this is good? That you can finally remember my real father? Is this why you want to see me? Isn't it enough that I see his face every morning when I look in the mirror?”

A sharp crack, followed by a dial tone, and Laura had hung up. Eugenia tried calling back. The busy signal told her Laura had left the phone off the hook.

When Rosa ducked her head into the dining room after the phone rang the next morning, Eugenia allowed herself the wild hope that it was Laura.

“
Doña
Eugenia,” Rosa said, “it's
don
Ignacio Pérez on the phone.”

“Hello?” Her voice felt like thick pudding in her throat.

“It's been a long time.” He waited for an answer, and when none came, he continued. “You may not want to talk to me, but please. Just listen for a moment.” A short pause, and when she didn't hang up: “I'm sure you remember what happened when you visited the office of the Investigative Police. At first, after we'd discussed your experience, I didn't think any more about it. But about two months ago, I began to wonder. Something just kept gnawing away at the back of my head.

“To make a long story short, Eugenia, we investigated the history of the building. And you were right. It wasn't one of the larger, more notorious torture centers. But for about ten years it was a way station for people being transferred from the provinces to the larger concentration camps. Thousands of people, many of them later disappeared, moved through there.” He stopped for a moment. “Are you still there?” he asked.

“Yes.” It sounded like a croak.

“We're putting a plaque on the front of the building, part of an effort the Commission is involved in as we tie up the loose ends of our work. The inauguration ceremony is two weeks from tomorrow. Do you think you could say a few words? We'd be honored.”

“Yes,” she said, her voice clearer.

The day of the ceremony was cold and rainy, so they decided to hold it in the large room where Eugenia had sat that day nine months before. The area had been cleared for the occasion, and along one wall, facing the lines of chairs, was a small podium with a microphone. Ignacio approached it first. He was dressed formally, the long strand of hair in its usual place over his right eye. Eugenia now noticed a streak of grey in it. Perhaps he would not be hounded quite as much about his youthful appearance, she thought.

“I am very glad to see all of you today,” he began. “Some of you know me, but I also see a number of new faces, for which I'm glad. My name is Ignacio Pérez Letelier, and I am one of the lawyers of the Commission on Truth and Reconciliation. As we wind down the period of our investigation, we have taken it upon ourselves to leave an additional record of the events that have hurt our country over the past twenty years.” He paused, looking down at his notes.

“As many of you know, our mission has been limited by the political situation in Chile. Officially, we could not listen to the people who, while still alive, have been irreparably damaged by the repression. All the tortured, those who lost loved ones and spent their lives looking for them, the children of the disappeared, the abandoned.” He stopped briefly. “These people have not had the opportunity to speak publicly, on the record, about their experiences.

“This has not changed, but we may have found a way to open the door just a crack. A number of the places where people were tortured were also stopping-off places for those who, in the end, were executed or disappeared. Not because of the torture, but because of the deaths and disappearances, these places are a part of our purview. As a first step toward recognizing all those who have worked with us, helped us confirm the fate of their loved ones even as they themselves cannot be properly heard, we are attempting to mark these sites in some way.

“This office of the Investigative Police is one such place. For ten years it served as an intermediate stop on the caravans of death that traveled through our country. So today we place a plaque at the doors of this building, and even though we can't stand in front of it for our ceremony because of the rain, we want to recognize the person who made this possible. If it hadn't been for her, we would never have known the history of this building. If it hadn't been for her, who survived torture and intense suffering at the hands of the military police, we would have never been able to confirm the details of the disappearance of the first victim of repression whose case was brought before us.

“It is therefore not only my pleasure, but my distinct honor, to introduce to you Eugenia Aldunate Valenzuela.”

As Eugenia stood up, she was surprised to hear loud applause. Her knees felt weak as she approached the podium, especially since Ignacio's use of both her paternal and maternal last names in his introduction had emphasized to her the importance and formality of the occasion. But his tight hug held her up until the weakness passed. “Thank you,” he whispered in her ear before rejoining the audience. She placed her notes, hands slightly shaky, on the lectern and looked up at the people sitting in the audience.

The first row had been reserved for her invited guests. In the middle, right in front of her, sat
doña
Sara and
don
Samuel. Next to him, on his left, sat Tonia, Laura, Joaquín, and Marcela. She was glad to see that Tonia had been able to persuade Laura to come. After their phone conversation, she hadn't had the courage to try and invite her daughter personally, but perhaps what she said today would help in some way. And maybe, someday, she would share with her daughter the testimony she was still writing.

It was the first time she had seen Laura since she'd run away. She looked older, the cut of her jaw more prominent, her hair gathered up into a twist held in place by a large clip. Tonia's
copihue
earrings still hung prominently from her ears. She was holding Tonia's and Joaquín's hands. On
doña
Sara's other side sat
doña
Isabel, and the seat next to her had now been occupied by Ignacio.

Eugenia's gaze rose up to take in the rest of the audience, every seat in the room occupied. Among them she saw the long manes and handlebar moustaches, now dappled with grey, of the Revolutionary Left. She was glad they were there for Manuel.

“Thank you so much for coming today to help mark this place and its history,” she began. “I am very grateful to the Commission, and especially to Ignacio Pérez, for the work they have done in confirming the fate of my beloved
compañero
Manuel Bronstein. I am also extremely grateful to his parents,
doña
Sara Weisz and
don
Samuel Bronstein, whom I never had the opportunity to meet before I returned to Chile last year.” She was interrupted by more applause.

“But I would be terribly remiss if I didn't also recognize other loved ones, people whose support and—I must say it—suffering, have accompanied me throughout my years. My mother, here with us today, has suffered immeasurably because of the events that shattered my life. I have never really told her how grateful I am for her love, and how sorry for the pain I've caused. My sister, who despite her own loss got me out of prison and into exile, has been my guardian angel throughout the last twenty years. But most important, I wish to recognize my daughter Laura, also here today.” Eugenia stopped for a moment, swallowing several times.