“Gracias, Manolo, you mean,” Minerva laughs.
Then everyone starts in on me, how I’m next, and who is it going to be, and come on, tell, until I could cry.
Sunday evening, December 11 The capital
We just got back from marching in the opening ceremony for the World’s Fair, and my feet are really hurting. Plus, the whole back of my dress is drenched with sweat. The only consolation is that if I was hot, “Queen”
Angelita must have been burning up.
Imagine, in this heat wearing a gown sprinkled with rubies, diamonds, and pearls, and bordered with 150 feet of Russian ermine. It took 600 skins to make that border! All this was published in the paper like we should be impressed.
Manolo didn’t even want Minerva to march. She could have gotten a release, too, since she’s pregnant—yes! Those two are not waiting until she’s done. But Minerva said there was no way she was going to let all her compañeras endure this cross without carrying her share.
We must have marched over four kilometers. As we passed Queen Angelita’s review stand, we bowed our heads. I slowed a little when it was my turn so I could check her out. Her cape had a fur collar that rode up so high, and dozens of attendants were fanning her left and right. I couldn’t see anything but a little, pouty, sort of pretty face gleaming with perspiration.
Looking at her, I almost felt sorry. I wondered if she knew how bad her father is or if she still thought, like I once did about Papá, that her father is God.
1956
Friday night, April 27 The capital
My yearly entry. I cannot tell a lie. If you look considerably slimmer, diary, it’s only because you have been my all-purpose supply book. Paper for letters, shopping lists, class notes. I wish I could shed pounds as readily.
I am on a vast diet so I can fit into my gown for the festivities. Tomorrow I go over to Minerva’s to work on my speech.
Saturday afternoon, April 28 The capital
Honorable Rector, Professors, Fellow Classmates, Friends, Family, I’m really very touched from the bottom of my heart—
Minerva shakes her head. “Too gushy,” she says.
I want to express my sincere gratitude for this great honor you have conferred on me by selecting me your Miss University for the coming year —
The baby starts crying again. She’s been fussy all afternoon. I think she has a cold coming on. With rainy season here, everyone does. Of course, it could be that little Minou doesn’t like my speech much!
I will do my very best to be a shining example of the high values that
this, the first university in the New World, has instilled in its Jour
hun dred years of being a beacon of knowledge and a mine of
wisdom to the finest minds that have been lucky enough to pass
through the portals of this inspired community—
Minerva says this is going on too long without the required mention of you-know-who. Little Minou has quieted down, thank God. It’s so nice of Minerva to help me out—with as much as she has to do with a new baby and her law classes. But she says she’s glad I came over. It’s kept her from missing Manolo, who couldn’t make it down from Monte Cristi again this weekend.
But most especially, my most sincere gratitude goes to our true
benefactor, El jefe Rafael Leonidas Trujillo, Champion of
Education, Light of the Antilles, First Teacher, Enlightener of His
People.
“Don’t overdo it,” Minerva says. She reminds me it’s going to be a hard crowd to address after this Galindez thing.
She’s right, too. The campus is buzzing with the horror story.
Disappearances happen every week, but this time, it’s someone who used to teach here. Also, Galindez had already escaped to New York so everyone thought he was safe. But somehow El Jefe found out Galindez was writing a book against the regime. He sent agents offering him a lot of money for it —$25,000, I’ve heard—but Galindez said no. Next thing you know, he’s walking home one night, and he disappears. No one has seen or heard from him since.
I get so upset thinking about him, I don’t want to be a queen of anything anymore. But Minerva won’t have it. She says this country hasn’t voted for anything in twenty-six years and it’s only these silly little elections that keep the faint memory of a democracy going. “You can’t let your constituency down, Queen Mate!”
We women at this university are particularly grateful for the
opportunities afforded us for higher education in this regime.
Minerva insists I stick this in.
Little Minou starts bawling again. Minerva says she misses her papi. And almost as if to prove her mother right, that little baby girl starts up a serious crying spell that brings Dona Isabel’s soft tap at the bedroom door.