coffee fincas; and the
big landowners had no choice but to pay them, even when they had government troops on their land. Comandante Clarinero talked
to the
New York Times
and CBS News and so forth on a regular basis. He was banned from her father’s chain of TV stations. Now Sally would get to
meet him in person! Things were definitely looking up.
They reached the camp about noon, and everyone but Sally spent the next three hottest hours of the day resting in the shade
of the forest pines. She pestered many of the comandante’s guerrillas with conversation and explored the camp. People began
to move about again when the heat abated a little. She heard Gabriela calling her name.
“The comandante wants to talk with you,” Gabriela said.
Sally already knew that the biggest tent in the camp was the comandante’s office, but that he slept in a small tent too, like
everyone else. She had steered clear of his office till now, when she followed Gabriela toward it.
Four men sat behind a folding table under a canopy near the large tent, like judges at a bench. One had thick folders stacked
before him on the table, and although he clearly modeled his appearance on that of Pancho Villa, he lookedmore like a harassed schoolteacher who has just realized he is now going to have to read all these homework projects. He
was handsome and young, and Sally’s heart skipped a beat as he was introduced to her as Comandante Clarinero. Only one of
the other three men made an impression on her. He was a brutal, powerful man with piercing eyes with a large cigar in his
mouth and a big revolver on the table in front of him. His name was Paulo Esteban, and she could tell by his accent he was
not Salvadoran. Gabriela told her later that this Cuban had been picked personally by Fidel Castro as his advisor to the comandante.
Sally told her story in great detail. They seemed less interested in her than in Bennett’s films and how he knew Bermudez.
To her surprise, they never questioned her motivations. Was she of such little importance it didn’t matter why she had come?
Her annoyance at this was overcome by her awareness that she still could not have given them a clear answer if they had asked.
But they didn’t.
“Is that all?” she said to Gabriela as the two women left.
“I suppose so.”
“But don’t they need to know about my political stance and life-style and—”
“No,” Gabriela said shortly. “All they need to know is which side you’re on. We’re all here for our own reasons. After we
win and take power, maybe then we’ll see what differences lie among us.”
“That’s when the communists will squeeze out the moderates and socialists in order to grab power for the party,” Sally observed
acidly.
Gabriela smiled. “It often seems to turn out that way.” Sally welcomed the quick descent of night because she was exhausted
after her three-day trek and had taken no rest during the hot part of the day. She and Gabriel had been assigned a tent, and
she was just about to creep into itwhen she heard the notes of a trumpet playing a strange and mournful tune. She sat outside the tent awhile and listened to
old-fashioned dance measures and marches with all sorts of decorative trills that might have sounded very ordinary played
by a full brass band but which had an eerie quality played on a solitary horn at dusk in a mountain forest.
Sally walked toward the sound. She saw the handsome young comandante sitting alone on a rock playing a battered silver cornet.
The cornet’s notes were softer, more buttery, than the sharp, sweet notes of a trumpet. She sat at a distance, watching and
listening to the melancholy old airs until it was completely dark. At the end of one tune, the comandante got to his feet
without warning and walked back toward the tents.
Sally almost called after him, aware that he had not seen her there listening to him. But she did not. She made her way slowly
big landowners had no choice but to pay them, even when they had government troops on their land. Comandante Clarinero talked
to the
New York Times
and CBS News and so forth on a regular basis. He was banned from her father’s chain of TV stations. Now Sally would get to
meet him in person! Things were definitely looking up.
They reached the camp about noon, and everyone but Sally spent the next three hottest hours of the day resting in the shade
of the forest pines. She pestered many of the comandante’s guerrillas with conversation and explored the camp. People began
to move about again when the heat abated a little. She heard Gabriela calling her name.
“The comandante wants to talk with you,” Gabriela said.
Sally already knew that the biggest tent in the camp was the comandante’s office, but that he slept in a small tent too, like
everyone else. She had steered clear of his office till now, when she followed Gabriela toward it.
Four men sat behind a folding table under a canopy near the large tent, like judges at a bench. One had thick folders stacked
before him on the table, and although he clearly modeled his appearance on that of Pancho Villa, he lookedmore like a harassed schoolteacher who has just realized he is now going to have to read all these homework projects. He
was handsome and young, and Sally’s heart skipped a beat as he was introduced to her as Comandante Clarinero. Only one of
the other three men made an impression on her. He was a brutal, powerful man with piercing eyes with a large cigar in his
mouth and a big revolver on the table in front of him. His name was Paulo Esteban, and she could tell by his accent he was
not Salvadoran. Gabriela told her later that this Cuban had been picked personally by Fidel Castro as his advisor to the comandante.
Sally told her story in great detail. They seemed less interested in her than in Bennett’s films and how he knew Bermudez.
To her surprise, they never questioned her motivations. Was she of such little importance it didn’t matter why she had come?
Her annoyance at this was overcome by her awareness that she still could not have given them a clear answer if they had asked.
But they didn’t.
“Is that all?” she said to Gabriela as the two women left.
“I suppose so.”
“But don’t they need to know about my political stance and life-style and—”
“No,” Gabriela said shortly. “All they need to know is which side you’re on. We’re all here for our own reasons. After we
win and take power, maybe then we’ll see what differences lie among us.”
“That’s when the communists will squeeze out the moderates and socialists in order to grab power for the party,” Sally observed
acidly.
Gabriela smiled. “It often seems to turn out that way.” Sally welcomed the quick descent of night because she was exhausted
after her three-day trek and had taken no rest during the hot part of the day. She and Gabriel had been assigned a tent, and
she was just about to creep into itwhen she heard the notes of a trumpet playing a strange and mournful tune. She sat outside the tent awhile and listened to
old-fashioned dance measures and marches with all sorts of decorative trills that might have sounded very ordinary played
by a full brass band but which had an eerie quality played on a solitary horn at dusk in a mountain forest.
Sally walked toward the sound. She saw the handsome young comandante sitting alone on a rock playing a battered silver cornet.
The cornet’s notes were softer, more buttery, than the sharp, sweet notes of a trumpet. She sat at a distance, watching and
listening to the melancholy old airs until it was completely dark. At the end of one tune, the comandante got to his feet
without warning and walked back toward the tents.
Sally almost called after him, aware that he had not seen her there listening to him. But she did not. She made her way slowly
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