6 Páginas 10 Centavos

AñO I SANTO DOMINGO 17 DE JUNIO DE 1965

THE YANQUIS CAME TO “SAVE LIVES”

Civilians Assassinated by the Gringo gun on June 15 and 16 in the Tragic Massacre of Santo Domingo

—But they’re just children, he said to anyone listening. He passed around the photos of the dead young men and women, half dressed, bandaged, waiting to be buried, to his compatriots and begged them to be careful and not to take careless risks. What had he gotten them all into?

He took a ride with Miraluz to the president’s palace. Since his arrival he had yet to visit it because the days slipped through his fingers with the endless work at the headquarters. —I just want to see something, Don Chan told Miraluz, who chauffeured him in the borrowed car. An image he had seen in the papers had been itching away at him. It was a photograph of Caamaño with the palace as a backdrop.

—Must bring back memories, Miraluz said, looking at the palace, the iron gates, the pronounced dome, the four guards in front, the almond trees at the entrance. —You had some balls to sneak into that place while Trujillo was still alive.

—Let’s get out of here before we get killed, Don Chan said.

He looked away from Miraluz, out the window, to hide the feelings of betrayal consuming him. In 1961, the Trucker drove him to a palace so Don Chan could prove his invisibility. But it wasn’t the president’s. And if he hadn’t gone to the palace in 1961, what building had he stolen the letter opener from? Don Chan chewed the last of his cuticles wondering why had the Trucker misled him? To save Don Chan from killing himself? Who else knew the truth? The Trucker must have conspired with someone.

Don Chan returned to the headquarters suspect of all his comrades. The Trucker had fled in 1963 to Puerto Rico. Don Chan had no one to turn to, to be angry with, to blame. Suddenly he felt alone and vulnerable. Because of this he talked all the time, telling people what to do, uneasy when people sat around. —A movement requires movement, Don Chan said and then demanded that if they didn’t have anything to do, they should walk in place to rile up some energy in the room. He feared that he had misled the Invisible Ones into a war that could never be won.

All those hungry, shirtless soldiers with sticks, rocks, guns, attacking planes and tanks, running for cover. People were holding up mirrors outside their windows to blind the pilots. Why are they attacking the women and children finding cover at home? The radio announced that the families of the pilots had been abducted and brought over to the Duarte Bridge to discourage the pilots from attacking the area. The casualties were many, many unidentified.

—Can we just stop everything so we could think for a minute? There has to be a better way than this mess.