Power Struggles

By Catherine Joanna Hazlitt

Señor Abel had his young niece and nephew over ever since their father had made a run from Argentina before the borders shut down. Their mother had come to him one morning, asking him to look after Anselmo and Adelita for a day while she put in her part in the rising union strikes around Santiago. But she never returned till then.

Anselmo was a robust young boy of 11. Rough brown curls framed his deep, dark eyes, and he had come that day with his mother, carrying a ruffled football. Adelita on the other hand, had bright blue eyes, a charming smile and beautiful amber hair. She stuck tight to the folds of her mother’s dress and sobbed quietly with her face stuffed into a fluffy teddybear. She didn’t look up at Abel until it was suppertime and he had cajoled her to come, holding out a Dulce de Leche.

It had been 3 days now, and Abel was on a call with a friend. The call seemed rather tense. At one point, Abel walked out of the study to the small window that overlooked the narrow alleyway near the building. He could faintly hear the distant chants of protest and gunfire.

“Anselmo! Nene, get inside now! It’s not safe!” Abel shouted through the window sill.

Sensing the fear in Abel’s voice, Adelita came closer to him. “When is mami going to come, tío?”

“Now, you don’t worry about mami, reinita. We will be alright,” said Abel, himself unsure.

Anselmo had come up and wondered what happened. “What’s all that noise? Why are people shouting?”

Abel walked back to his study and nodded a few times gravely into the phone before hanging up. He called both Anselmo and Adelita into his study.

He took Adelita on his lap and asked Anselmo to sit on the stool beside him.

“Escuchen niños, Chilé is not safe for us. I will be honest with you. Your mother is anywhere out there, and it is dangerous for us to go look for her now. You will have to stay with me for a while longer. Is that alright with you?”

Anselmo held a very stolid face and said nothing. Adelita looked at him but then looked at Abel and nodded firmly. They had never been in his study before and Ansel’s eyes quietly darted all across the room, finally resting on a framed image on the wall directly in front of them. He walked over to it. It was an image of Abel as a young boy standing beside a man who looked rather powerful, surrounded by many people. In the background, the Machu Picchu towered over them glistening green against the golden rays of the sun.

“That’s Señor Neftalí Reyes. He’s a very compelling man. I only have this picture to remind me of the first time I met him as a young boy in Peru. He has been a force that has inspired me to live and be passionate in what I do. Come here I will show you some of the things he writes.”

Abel lifted a thin case from the shelf behind him.

In these lonely regions I have been powerful in the same way as a cheerful tool or like untrammeled grass which lets loose its seed or like a dog rolling around in the dew…

That night, the three of them were rudely awakened by the sound of a ringing phone in Abel’s study. Abel scrambled out of his bed, feeling rather groggy. He had just drifted into that space between reality and fantasy, and did not appreciate the blaring wake up call. In spite of himself, he barked into the phone, “¿Qué deseas?”

A minute into the conversation, his face turned pale. He quickly hung up, went to the room, woke Ansel up and began packing a small briefcase. “Get dressed, we’re leaving on a road trip.”

“What? I thought you said it wasn’t safe to go out?”

“It isn’t but we’re going undercover. I need you to keep an extra lookout on your sister.”

By the next half hour, they heard the low rumble of a nondescript pickup truck outside their building, which blended into the dark. Abel pushed Ansel ahead of him, carrying Adelita in his arms and getting into the truck.

The driver wore dark glasses and had the rest of his face tied in a dark bandana. He said nothing. To Ansel’s surprise instead of heading to the main road, they headed to the smaller outroads that led out of the city.

They had almost made it when the driver slowed down as they neared an outpost. He shut off his headlights and loomed quietly. Unfortunately, in spite of all his precautions, an officer garbed in military attire holding out a long gun stopped the truck.

Abel protectively held Adelita closer, wrapping her entirely in the shawl. He pushed Ansel further into the seat, making him seem rather small. The officer growled something to the driver in Spanish. What followed was a rapid conversation, with the driver displaying some papers under the officer’s light. And then they were allowed to go through.

“That was too close,” said Abel. “It’s not safe…,” he murmured.

It was nearly daybreak when they reached what looked like a hospital. Many cars that were – according to Ansel – “official-looking” gathered at the front of the hospital. The driver drove past and took a turn to the back of the hospital. Abel got down with the children.

By now Adelita was wide awake and close to tears. Abel told Ansel to keep an eye on her and follow him. Abel met with someone who walked with him to a special ward. Abel asked a nurse to look after the children while he went in.*

He crouched down to look Ansel face to face. “You remember that powerful man in the photograph?” Ansel nodded.

“Well, he’s now here in this hospital. But there are some pretty mean men who are trying to hurt him, see? So I’m just here trying to help him, okay?”

Ansel suddenly looked more resolute.

Abel walked into the isolated room with the other man. Señor Neftalí Reyes lay there looking calm and peaceful. Abel greeted him and then told him of the situation in Santiago, his voice sounding grave. He explained the reason he was there.

“We have reason to believe that Pinochet will do anything to shut down the opposition. He has men all over Chilé. We cannot trust anyone here. Someone is out to get you. We will take you back home where one of our own nurses will care for you.”

Señor Reyes instantly understood the gravity of the situation, and got prepared to leave. The other man took to leading him into a special bulletproof car. Abel stayed back at the hospital. He had looked at Señor Reyes’ medical file and the name of the doctor. He had his own investigations to conduct.

He inched his way to the nurses’ lounge room. No one was there except for a medical doctor – The one with his name on the medical file in Abel’s hand.

Abel casually strolled into the room and shut the door behind him. “Doctor Márquez?” Abel had full control over the room.

“What would you say if I told you that I have tangible proof that you were injecting an unknown substance into Señor Reyes?”

Without missing a beat, the doctor replied, “Why, that I was ordered to do so, of course.” “And paid, as well,” he added smugly.

Ansel had been waiting for a long time in the lunch room where one of the nurses had given them some berliners. Presently, he looked up to see Abel entering the room.

“Did you help the powerful man?” asked Ansel.

“Indeed,” Abel winked at Ansel confidently.

By Catherine Joanna Hazlitt