A short story by Monica Gomez
Translated by Marisa Cano
It was a cool September morning and Spring was in the air, dewdrops slowly melted down the window, and fell in the garden with a rhythmical beat, while I got up to prepare myself a cup of coffee before going to the office.
Humming a tune. I turned the radio on to listen to the day's news and weather broadcast; and turning the dial I looked for my favourite announcer, the one that made me smile with his melodic voice which he used to encourage us, early birds, to start off to our daily jobs. I turned the dial right, left, left again, right; nothing, just a noise. How strange! I thought, it's not that early, there should be some program. Again, I turned the dial: right, left, left and right. Surprise!
I found a voice, but it wasn't the usual announcer, though his voice was very, very, familiar; and in the background you could hear a blunt, metallic noise, as I listened to the voice saying in a sad note: "... and the avenues will be opened, so that one day, not far away, Man may walk free..."
Hearing these words I knew something was happening and spilling the cup of coffee I ran into the street, full of anxiety, my hair in a mess. I could see nobody in the neighbourhood. I walked along the streets, one, two, three blocks away; nothing; only the steps echoed on the asphalt. My God, what is happening? My heart was praying; I hope what I heard was in a dream and I can wake up. Finally, I saw somebody in the distance, someone that, like me, was trying to find out what was going on.
It was a neighbour who nervously informed me: "Did you listen to the radio? The President has been assassinated, the military has taken over the Government, we've got to get away, right now, but I can't find my husband and I don't know what to do". And the woman, tears in her eyes, kept running up the street.
I thought to myself, what can I do? and despite not being a religious person, to my mind came all the prayers I had learnt when I studied with the nuns, Hail Marys and Our Fathers were flowing out of my mouth; but I could only wait and see. It was already 11am, four hours had gone by since I heard the voice, but to me it seemed like centuries; I just wanted to see my friends, relatives, anybody.
Outside there was nothing, only the sun giving out pale, somber rays, September warmth.
I turned around and slowly went inside, opening the front door and staring sadly at the house; I took out my dearest possessions: my books, photos, notebooks and records, and began to tie them up with different colour ribbons to send to my most beloved friends, some day. And holding a book, without reading its pages, I sat under the vine tree, breathing in the smell of the grapes, apricots and plums, trying to behold with my eyes as much as I could, seeing, as if for the first birds, the butterflies that danced in the garden, my fat, pampered cat washing its face; I touched the wood, the leaves in the trees, the dirt that the dew had moistened and let it slip slowly between my fingers, and then, holding the budgies' cage, I opened the door of their prison and let them go free, seeing them fly at first as if dizzy with their newfound freedom, and with a heavy heart I said goodbye to them as I watched them go.
Meanwhile, I could hear outside the metallic noise of boots that had stopped at the door.
[MONICA GOMEZ, from Chile, arrived in Australia from Chile in 1984. This story about the assassination of President Salvador Allende on September 30, 1972 is reprinted from A Bunch of Dreams, a compilation of stories in Spanish and English published by the Fairfield Community Arts Network, 1992. The book is available from the Carramar Community Centre, 86 Denison Street, Carramar, 2163. Gomez is currently preparing a book of short stories about Chile.]