Rivas was left filled with shouts and blood and fires burning
in the sun’s glare
and we returned to that blue port nestled in hills
with their curved yellow coconut palms swaying
and a small Costa Rican ship in the harbor.
There were high winds that night
with the moon swift among the silvery dark clouds.
— And De Brissot in a hospital bed, angry at Walker …
And in León the nights were cool
with distant guitars below wrought-iron balconies
and the wind swinging the golden lamps in front of the houses.
And as we neared the city
we heard from afar the sentries pacing back and forth
and an “alerta” one after the other running from street to street.
The voices of the people sounded strange to us
and their words ended faintly as in a song.
And the sentry’s cry was as musical as a bird’s in the evening.
Just the way in snow-covered small towns in the States,
come evening one hears the watchmen’s voices
cheery, full and clear.
And the cry of “alerta” resounded once more.
The girls in Nicaragua
wore rosaries with gold crosses hanging from them
and strings of pearls around their heads and black tresses.
And we fell in love with the women of that land.
One day we embarked on the Virgen, for Granada,
in front of those two silent volcanos like two blue guards.
The lake was glassy smooth
and all at once herons everywhere flew over the lake
as if great white flowers, toward islands where they sleep,
and flocks of screaming ducks took off in search of shelter.
At night we stopped the trembling engine in front of Granada,
and only the waves against the boat could be heard.
We covered our lanterns with canvas,
dropped anchor stealthily,
attached a cable to a tree on the shore,
and lowering some launches, we disembarked.
No one could see us advancing in the darkness with our black uniforms
— the darkness full of fireflies and crickets —
hearing every little noise as if a big racket.
And by the time the alarm was sounded in the thick towers it was late,
as the dawn suddenly rose from the waters lighting
the foreign streets, grave and empty
of the captured town:
with filibusters in black uniform on the streetcorners
and our flag with its Red Star at St. Francis.
And then there was peace.
Walker spoke of peace and National Reconciliation
and kneeling with Corral in church he swore to observe the Constitution.
–E.C., trans. Jonathan Cohen
Axé.
coldhearted scientist وداد 