LIFE IN BETWEEN
AS TOLD BY A NICARAGUAN AUTHOR
by
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In the semi darkness the voices prevailed over the figures. He could distinguish clusters of people against the pallid light sources coming from different places in the room.
Soon he got used to the violet shaded lamps in the walls and started to make out the shapes of individual, faces even, attitudes, sprawled over the room, some sitting down, other standing, other concentrated in what seemed to be a bar in the farthest corner.
"What place is this?" He asked himself. "A private Club for the Sandinista's choice of the crop?"
He perceived eyes looking in his direction. Around the tables, eyes examining the newcomer with indiscreet looks.
"You are late" said Maria with muffled voice. "Come here with me." And taking his hand, guided him through the hidden dark seas to a solitary place near the bar in the back.
"I have been waiting for almost an hour," she said.
"What kind of place is this?"
"A club for the Army" she responded impatiently.
Jorge silenced his acid comment.
A lonesome, weak, purple lamp opened a sleepy eye over the bar.
"That's him, that man over there." Maria pointed with lips. "The one with the military hat, that's him, Comandante Rivera."
"I still don't feel right doing it this way. But for Bernardo's sake...let's do it"
"Would you like a drink?" offered Maria almost hidden under whispering voice.
"Yes" said Jorge imitating her secretive voice.
She did no perceived his sense of humor and taking him by the hand (long thin fingers) again guided him through Ulysses' Ocean.
Groups like islands interchanging murmurs. A complot scenario. Each group with their own source of light like witches in orgy.
Some faces he recognized. From pictures in the newspapers. Or seen in the television set in those compromised newscasts or on one of too many political acts of propaganda.
Or perhaps on the streets, important figures of the Sandinista Front, safeguarded by heavily armed bodyguards.
Emotion driven figures in military regalia pouring out lengthy oratory. From the back of his mind, he pulled out the image of Fidel Castro, with stiff pointing finger and unkempt beard, planting eternal discourses into the indoctrinated generations. Poise and words. The new comandantes also. Sensitive pupils of an impressive teacher. A bit of Fidel in each of them. Even in those that descended from the everlasting families in the history of the country.
"Weird" he said to himself "to become somebody that is not me. Ego sum..."
Maria was very busy looking for an opportunity. She was very close to him and the stiff military uniformed crackled whenever she moved. Delicate profile of fine angles. Not the same girl of yesterday. The one he left behind when barely escaping her adolescence. She now is an exact military figure. Her big brown eyes betray her internal ego.
"These are not my grounds" Thought Jorge, observing the intimacies of the triumphant Sandinista society. "These are other people. Other waters surging to replace the wells abandoned by the previous powers that were. Nature abhors vacuums.
Pretending to be an observer behind a two-way mirror, he tried to feel the ambiance while maintaining his composure
"Let's go," said Maria "he is now by himself." Again she took him by the hand and dragged him to the military with the hat.
"Comandante" Said Maria rapidly. The man raised his head and his green eyes sparkled.
"Yes, companera Maria." He said smiling.
"This is companero Jorge. Jorge Meiser, he has a problem and would like to discuss it with you."
"What is it about, companero?" Said the interrupted comandante.
"Jorge needs help, comandante. I promised I would help.
With a premeditated gesture of impatience, he lifted his left hand to study his golden watch to show how important and valuable his time was.
"Can't it wait for a more appropriate occasion? –
"It's important. "Maria insisted.
With his right foot, the comandante pushed a chair. His invitation to have a seat. The interruption had been accepted.
Jorge sat dawn. Curious. Uncomfortable. Maria remained standing. They both interchanged fast looks.
"It's my brother, Comandante. "Said Jorge speaking clearly and carefully" He has disappeared. Two weeks ago
He called me and let me know he was coming to Nicaragua. He lives in the United States. He was supposed to be here on the 15, a week ago. I went to the airport to meet him but he was not in the plane. –
"It is obvious he did not board the plane from wherever he was coming." The hidden sarcasm, meant to be noticed.
"Not that simple, Comandante. His name was on the list of passengers that boarded the plane in El Salvador with destination Managua."
"How do you know?"
"The lady at the airline office told me."
"You mean to say he vanished in the air?" There was irony in his voice.
"The airline assures me he boarded the plane."
"He then parachuted himself out of the plane?" A condescending tone of voice.
"Comandante Rivera, let me congratulate you for your very caustic sense of humor"
Comandante Rivera stiffened. Maria sent a mean look to Jorge.
"My brother is not in the United States, Comandante, and he is not here with me. That is the problem."
"Why me? Why do you come to me? "Said Comandante Rivera.
The Godfather. Marlon Brando. "Why do you come to me"?
Maria intervened.
"I advised him, Comandante. You could at least talk to somebody to help Jorge"
"I detect a hidden intention to blame us for somebody's disappearance. I don't like it."
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About the Book
This book comprises by 3 short stories. The first and the third, take place in Central America, in Nicaragua. The second happens in the United States. The third story is the culmination of first two. It takes place during the government by the Nicaraguan revolutionary Sandinista after removing from power the Somoza family.
In the first story, the life of 300 years before is confronted with a critical moment in the life of an ordinary but vulnerable man living in the present
The second story lives in the present but memories connect it with a forgotten past in the life of an émigré trying to make his living in the United States.
The third story is woven around the disappearance of the main character's brother, an American citizen who returns to Nicaragua to check on his despised Sandinista revolutionaries (communists according to his prejudiced criteria). Many characters appear through the story. Nationals, Americans, Russian, Libyans, and specially Cubans. The other end of the Iron Wall of the cold war, is shown making their presence available in what would be a first step to achieve solid ground in the American continent.
The underground thought through the stories, is that the past, the social structures fabricated in the past, make the ground for those in the present days. The Sandinista revolution was characterized by a desire for justice for the common man. It revolted against the Somoza regime and its accommodating social elite to achieve what they predicated. In reality it was a revolt against existing power to achieve power themselves.
This has been the stigma recurring from generation to generation in the Latin American History ever since the Spaniards elitist society sunk the Indian and the Mestizos to the bottom and made them the supporting class of such a system.
About the Author
The author is a self exiled Nicaraguan living in California, who is trying to make a place for his family in this new home. It is a new life between the previous he lived in Nicaragua and the following, which is still unknown.
The author is an architect with a solid undercurrent yearning for the realm of literature. His adolescent and young years were filled by his loved for literature.
With this first book, he is trying to make a return to writing and the creative art long dismissed by the tribulations in his life.