Irene was a medical student when the military kidnapped her in Argentina.
She was tortured and spent time in jail and under house arrest.
She is living in exile in USA where she is practicing medicine and specialied
in rehabilitation of torture victims.
A Visit to My Mother
It happened many years ago. It was a very warm winter. July, the sun was bright, the air fresh, transparent, pure; even some birds were singing. However, I couldn’t be happy. My body was heavy, numb, and tense. My head was spinning; I was trying to breath slowly and deeply, like in a yoga class, to relax. It didn’t work. My voice was not my voice; I wasn’t myself, I wasn’t there, another person walked for me. Finally the bus came. “A ticket to Belgrano, please.” I deposited my body on the front seat, right behind the driver.
“Sir, would you please let me know when we get close to the school?”
“Yes, senora.”
“My mamy has been working there for five years but this is the first time I take the bus to see her, you know?”
“Yes, senora.”
After the big turn we left paved streets. The bus jumped. My numb and tight body shook like a bag full of potatoes. Even though I tried hard to concentrate, I couldn’t remember the night before. What sound had really woken me up then? It Had happened at 3:00, the right time for “the others” to come. The shadows that hit homes. But it had been him. Pale, tense, he had whispered in quick words.
“They, the shadows, visited Sara’s place. They only looked for her. I was there but they covered my eyes and left me lying on the floor.” Then He left and I had gone back to bed. At that moment, I realized I was not myself.
“Here is the school, senora,” the driver voice reached me. I got up, slowly, with difficulty. I walked off the bus, landing on firm ground. I walked into the school, entered the principal’s room and asked for the second grade teacher, my mother.
“She is busy now, you’ll have to wait until the break,” the secretary told me, and left he room. I felt like screaming. I wanted to tell her that that teacher was my mother, that she was first my mother. I fel angry and jealous. I hated all the students, the same way I did when I was a child and I couldn’t have her at my school during the festivities because she was with her students. Oh, how I hated to share her!
I walked to the cental square, that brown and muddy spot called the “patio.” Nobody was there; the wind lifted the dust, and I could her the noises, laughter or silences coming from the classrooms.
I heard the bell, and one minute later she showed up. My mother, the teacher, in her light blue uniform, her pockets filled with pencils, pieces of chalk, paper, scissors. Her hair short, uncombed, her face with that eternal worrisome expression, that face that can light up and change so much when she smiles. That time there was nothing in her face, not even surprise. “Hola,” she said, “what are you doing here?”
“I came so say hello; well, I really came to say goodbye, mami. From now on, for your own safety, for mine, you can’t know where I am or what I am doing. I won’t go home any more, at least for a while. Last night they took Sonia, and I don’t know what will happen next. The police and the army deny having her. I hope she is alive.”
My heart was pumping so hard that I could barely hear my voice. There was a silence, the air became dense; her voice got through.
“That is not possible! What do you mean? I must know where you are, I promise I won’t tell anybody. I need to know if you eat, sleep, if you are safe. . . You can’t leave this way. . . and what should I tell your father?”
Mami, you can’t. This way is better, don’t you understand?” I was using up my last drops of energy. Listen, I’ll call you. . . I’ll let you know about me. I’ll call you to find out about the family, to see if there is news, if they went to look for me.” Words sounded sharp as knives. “I must go.”
Silence. No air. No sound. No laughter. A terrible smell covered us. The acid smell of fear. I kissed her and left. I don’t think I hugged her; I didn’t turn my head. My vision was blurred, but there were no tears.
I had to keep going. I left her in her light blue uniform in the middle of the brown spot. How did she get to the end of the school day, how did he reach her classes, how did she sleep that night and other nights? How did she cover my absence? What emotion did she hold in her chest after I denied the right to her daughter and gave her, in return, fear and incertainty? I don’t know. I have never asked you. mami. What happened to you during all the years that followed that afternoon? Because, after all, those dark shadows found me and took me away from everything, as you know, mami.