13:38 CEST 15-08
With the sun just past its apical slot in the sky, they
opened fire on Carlos Molina. A line of twenty-two shots fired—twelve of which
struck Molina’s body. Three shots were fatal, but the one that killed him
before his fresh corpse struck the earth entered his left eye, disintegrating
the zonular fibers and ciliary muscles, lacerating the vitreous humour in two,
passing through the frontal lobe up into the parietal lobe, exiting out the
back of his skull. The bullet—a 3-inch long 7.62 NATO—was fired from Private
Pepe Villa’s ten-year-old .308 Mauser bolt action rifle. Of course, Pepe would
never know for certain his bullet was the one that murdered Molina, but like
the other twenty-one members of the death squad, he always knew he issued the
fatal shot.
07:27 CEST 15-08
I awake to the morning or perhaps the early afternoon but
judging by the mild yet comfortable temperature and lack of noise from the open
window it is most likely morning or may be I closed the window in the middle of
the night because of the storm that was to come or may be fearing a chill from
the night air I closed it to protect the baby from falling ill but the baby did
not wake last night she did not stir from slumber or perhaps I did not wake no
I would have woken but may be I did not because I am a terrible mother unlike
my mother no I am a good mother like my mother who sleeps below in the tiny
spare room because I am a terrible host and daughter to my mother and guest
because one day my daughter will be terrible to me no may be my daughter who
reminds me of my mother will be like my mother and I like me and I will just be
terrible to both because I am a terrible person no not these thoughts not this
early it is a beautiful day or early afternoon but most likely morning. How
unfair that it is so.
And I rise from my bed that my mother put me in last night
during the storm after the news no it was after the news but before the storm
that did not come or it did but just late very very late and I was not aware of
it or I was but I just ignored it or forgot it or remembered it but wished I
did not but I rise in the lovely night gown that my lovely husband bought for
me not more than a month ago or may be a little less than a month ago or last
year no a month and some days ago and it is beautiful and yellow that is my
favorite color and he knows or he does not and was just fortunate to guess so
but I do not believe in fortune no more so he must have known and it has white
lace on the outside and he would make me wear it every night for a week or more
or less after he bought it for me and he would say Evita, Evita come to bed
with me I must sleep tonight with you and I told him You have done so for the
past two three years slept with me and been with me and I with you and he would
call me enchant me beg me implore me demand me to come to him and I be his
submissive master and he my subjugator slave and he would make love to me or
may be just be carnal and sex no it was love and it was beautiful or it was hot
and uncomfortable and too short-lived no no no no it was and it was not. Very
soon it will be neither.
So I collect myself and come down to breakfast or lunch or
brunch depending on what time it is but it looks like breakfast because my
mother has prepared little food but it smells so wonderful which I feel uneasy
about and wish it was not so but it is and it does but I do not feel the urge
to eat even though I am quite hungry because I did not eat much yesterday well
a little bit of cherries and some chocolate from the pantry but not according
to Madre who declares I have not ate much since he left but this is false to
believe for it suggests volunteerism but it was coercion there were cries fists
flew a broken lamp a torn night gown that was purchased in the city and broken
tooth and stomped foot but no cry from the baby not until everything became
quiet again and Madre and I stopped our weeping as if the chaos brought the
babe some comfort but no this cannot be so the baby must have been crying but
we had not realized it until we stopped our weeping because we are terrible
mother and grandmother no that is not true we are good so the baby must have
been asleep must be so peaceful being a babe and it is just look at her smile
she is so happy so gay so oblivious so dumb Evita Madre says you need to eat
here she supplies a wonderful looking and smelling breakfast containing coffee
and two slices of buttered toast but I do not have the energy to eat or drink
but I do so I drink some coffee and as usual Madre has prepared the most delicious
coffee and it warms my body starting from my stomach at the center of my soul
and spreads outward and then Madre says Evita you must get out of those clothes
and put something new on you must get outside you must not stay here another
day take the baby and go outside go for a stroll get washed cleanse yourself
and I ask Madre What time is it? and she informs me Mid-morning and I say under
my breath He will die soon. And I wish this morning were not going so well.
20:11 CEST 14-08
— I cannot.
— We must.
— But this is…
— Our duty.
— I do not even know this man.
— None of us do.
— But I have not…
— There is no more to discuss.
— It happened fairly.
— You were there. As were we all. The names were selected.
That was that.
— Easy for you to say.
— This is how it is.
— But I cannot.
— You do not have a choice.
— I think that is my point.
— Who cares? The selection was fair. It was random. The
names were selected blindly. You were there. You saw.
— Yes… but still…
— No still. Just sleep. I think I hear the storm in the
distance.
— I can certainly feel it.
— I wish it would just come already.
— I cannot.
— Would you stop? Why won’t he stop?
— He is afraid.
— Ha!
— Maybe if you were so brave, you would switch with him.
— My name was not selected.
— How fortunate for you.
— I have no regrets.
— That is because you have nothing to regret for.
— It was selected fairly. We all saw so.
— I am not sure that matters.
— Of course it does. That is the only thing that matters
now.
— Perhaps. Perhaps not.
— No. He should stop his whining. Be prepared. Accept it.
He’s not the one on the other end of the gun. Why should he be so scared?
— The same reason you are not brave enough to switch with
him… or me… or any of us chosen.
— This was how it was.
— True.
— So let that stand then.
— I do not think you believe such things.
— I cannot.
— Stop.
— You stop.
— I cannot.
— Stop.
— You stop.
10:13 CEST 15-08
Upon Madre’s suggestion entreatment I take the babe out for
a stroll through the town to the nearby park and all eyes are on my or may be
they are ignoring me but my eyes are on them but it does appear that at least a
few eyes are on me as if they too now have heard the news and know what I know
and we all have this uncanny rapport functioning against our wills to suppress
because I do not wish to be inside their minds no more than they wish to be in
mine or vice versa or vice versa or may be this is all fabrication and I am
once again imagining that which is not and no one knows who I am or of the news
but some must be aware of the news the whole town our country must be at least
on some level aware of what will happen or may be not may be they do not care
or are not made aware or do not care enough to be made aware either way this is
really a beautiful day. This injustice continues.
As I reach the park and locate some shade beneath a tree on
a bench next to a fountain near the center of the park I allow myself against
better judgment against the will to do so to look around some and observe this
lovely awful day and as I suspected or more than likely feared the sky is still
its beautiful blue and the sparse clouds are their most purest white and
greatest structural fluff and the gleam of the sun on the leaves of nearby
trees makes me want to cry and the blend of greens in this park makes me want
to cry no I do not want to cry I do but I do not not because of the greens or
the blues or the clearness of the fountain water or the pleasing architectural
shapes of the fountain or the fact that it is running perfectly or that the only
fragrance in the air sans my perfume is the redolent flowers at full bloom
today and the only sound save my breathing or the transient shouts of joy from
my child his child our child is the buzzing of the bees searching for the
remaining pollen from said aromatic flowers or not-too-distant playful calls of
children slightly older than my own his own our own and their dogs and all of
these shapes and colors and smells and noises overwhelm me shock me make me
wish to be dumb or blind or deaf or dead or never existed at all but no I must
exist I am so here and now but I wish I were not and my baby his baby our baby
is so pleased and I am shocked by all of this and I hate all of this because I
love all of this and my baby his baby our baby continues to smile and look
around and be allured by her surroundings and I cannot take this so I pinch her
I do not but I do and I do because I must but I must not but I just did and I
do on her cheek because she is so happy and it is unfair it is not but it is
and I am a terrible mother but I am not I am selfish but also giving because
she must understand but she does not because she does not cry there are no
tears she produces nothing just a minor look at me expressionless innocuous
void but full of meaning and I hate her but I love her. And so I sit a little
longer.
19:45 CEST 14-08
Stacked five across and two deep, members of the tribunal
sit and observe Carlos Molina. Their faces are wet with perspiration from the
humidity of the coming storm—which does not come until hours after their
verdict. The propelling fans do little to cool the faux-courtroom, merely
shifting hot air around. The place is thick with swirling wet air and foul
breath. Before we read you your verdict.
Do you wish to proclaim any further information? Will it go in the public
record? Of course. This was not a complete lie. Though all parties
desperately wanted to believe in the judicial façade they created, its innate
cursory nature did not allow them so. Carlos Molina sat and thought. Specs of
dried blood remained on his clothes and small portions of his face. Three-day
stubble shaded the majority of his face. No.
No? No. So then you are content? I have
said what I have said. I have done what I have done. Let it be. Silence. The
revolving blades from above made the only sound. Carlos Molina swallowed sparse
saliva down his parched throat. The Ten sat and waited for more. Nothing. Just
fans. And hot air. So be it. The
single parchment[1] was lifted.
Reading glasses were placed on the bridge of the reader’s aquiline nose. Carlos Molina. Please stand. He stood. You have been tried by a committee of ten
judges. The decision has been reached. The decision was reached well before
Carlos ever was caught. In fact, most of the time in deliberation was spent on debating
over the rhetoric of said decision. It is
unanimous. Indeed. All ten members agreed unanimously that “unanimous”
should be used in the rhetoric for its “authorial quality.” We committee of ten find you guilty of all
the charges. The punishment is death by fusillading. The other word they
all agreed must be included in the rhetoric. Which will be concluded tomorrow afternoon. What time? Hmm? What time? The
Ten exchanged glances. As the sun begins
to set. Late afternoon then? No. Is this not when the sun begins to set? Not
entirely. Puzzlement. As the sun
begins to set after, but just as it passes the highest point in the sky. Yes. How
many? How many? How many in the line? Twenty-two. Twenty-two? It is a
sufficient number. Yes. Carlos Molina was then escorted back to his holding
cell, which was actually just a corner where he sat—in the next room over.
13:10 CEST 15-08
So I return to the house of mirth but more appropriately
dearth but more appropriately dirge where he once carried me into for the first
time well there was some walking then a carriage and then a little more walking
but then he picked me up and carried me in well I held onto his shoulders and
took on some of my own weight because I was already fat with baby much to the
sadness of Madre but there was great joy and love when the baby came or may be
there was great pain and suffering and tears and sweat and blood and cries and
anger and anxiety and hate and then after some time had passed great joy and
love but I enter and Madre greets me but from the other room and her welcome is
faint and more of a question than welcome though it is still a greeting and I
answer Yes it is me and she asks how the stroll was and I inform her Lovely and
then to myself and the baby Terrifying and then to the ceiling Why? and just as
I begin to smell it my mother informs me that an earlier lunch is ready and so
I run no I walk with the baby no the baby is in my arms I carry the baby and
walk over casually no more so lugubriously but I hide it well no I do not
because Madre makes a face and I know she knows what I know and we know but the
baby does not know or may be she does but most likely no she does not and that
is why I envy her but I do not because I would not because I am not so there
and I hate the food that my mother has prepared and drink some refreshing
sparkling water that makes me feel good and it depresses me more and her lunch
is just as good as her coffee and I hate my mother for being so damn good at it
and I hate that the water is so cold and crisp and I hate my tongue and mouth
for enjoying the carbonation and I hate my body for devouring the bread dipping
it in the olive oil and sucking down the soup rich with tomatoes and cucumbers
and peppers and onions and for cleaning the plate of the excellently cooked
chicken how it is so moist and rich with the flavor of her cooking as with the
potatoes and mushrooms and onions and carrots and the coffee again for desert
and I hate my mother a little more for making the coffee plentiful with taste
and yet not overbearing and crème fresh and the sugar just so and I hate her
but no I do not cannot will not or may be I do but I do not but I am so full
physically and emotionally and I grow weak now because my body is finally fed
and in my weakness I speak Why Madre? Why does everything have to be so
wonderful today? Why does the storm not come why did I get such great sleep why
did the babe not cry why was the morning so lovely and the people so happy and
world look its best today and your food taste especially grand today? Why? my
mother sits and looks at me for a while or may be awhile no it is a short time
no a long one and then my mother speaks to my baby his baby our baby no to me
When I was a little girl there once was a feral cat that came into our town no
one knew where it came from it just appeared one day and it walked right down
our main street into the plaza and laid down in the center no one paid it much
attention for the first few days it was there and it would spend most of the
time in the plaza lazing away and then get up towards dusk and disappear and as
I said this happened for a few days until some of my friends and I started to
play with the cat we acquired some yarn and then we used a small doll my sister
your aunt Clarita no longer wanted and it would play with us and we enjoyed
playing with it always in the plaza it would always be in the plaza and never
leave until night and return sometime in the morning and some times it would
grow bored with us and lay down and some times it would follow us like when we
went to school or Mass and some times not and we children loved it and our
parents grew found of it and soon the whole town did people would leave milk or
meat scraps out for it place it in front of the cat in the plaza and we all
enjoyed the cat very much Madre then pauses for a moment to wipe the baby’s
face clean then she continues But one day we all came out in the morning and
the cat was gone several days passed and the cat still stayed missing and some
said the jealous widow who lived wanted everyone’s sympathy killed the cat
others said it was the butcher’s mean dog or the butcher himself a few believed
it was just a very old cat and wandered off into the nearby woods to die but
most joked that it left for the big city to become a famous cat Madre laughs no
more so giggles no more so smiles to herself in thought and then continues
Whatever the reason the cat was gone and life returned to the it was without
the cat and a few months later I remember bringing up the cat in conversation
at lunch with my mother and father and sisters and brother but my father did
not seem to remember the cat Cat what cat? he said and Mother remembered a cat
but did not remember all that I remembered and this was true for mostly all the
townspeople no one seemed to remember the cat it just faded in and out of our
town and lives and memories and even now I do not remember all the things I did
with the cat all I remember now is that there was a cat and we were all fond of
it Madre looks at me with a smile and I do not know what my face looks like
because it is a fine story but I do not understand what she means no I do I
know but I do not like her for saying so no I do I love her but it is with
great sadness—abrupt noises—I turn my
attention to the other room Madre
looks at me and I at her. Carlos’s transmitter noises then stops then noises
again then silences on off on off rests cries sleeps wakes I must answer it I
cannot but I will I will not I am—Hello.
1 The
rhetoric was written on the back of an advertisement for a film about a guitar
vagabond who wandered from one town to the next on his way to the city to
become famous. Everywhere he went he played his music. People loved him. Then
the night he arrives in the city a beggar asks for a pittance. The vagabond
says he does not have any money and begins to walk away. The beggar stabs the
guitar vagabond in the back and smashes the guitar. The vagabond dies. The film
is called: Absurdo.
