Where Gringos Don’t Belong (excerpt)

Posted on May 20, 2015


The woman at the end of the table jerked her head towards the lawyers as though she’d just been slapped. Slightly built, sharp featured, intense, she’d worked for a travel agency in the Centro Historico that George noticed hadn’t reopened since the Night of Horror.

“Authorities? Yes. Several of us tried to dodge around the grenadiers with their shields and gas masks to plead with them stop firing their pistols and teargas and let those running away disperse but instead, as I begged one of them to listen to me two federal police grabbed me from behind, threw me against a wall and tied my hands together behind my neck.”

She went on to detail her arrest—cell phone, money, purse stolen, shoes ripped off, shoved, kicked, threatened with rape, with having the nipples cut off her breasts, with never seeing anyone from her family again. Claudi reached for George’s hand and cursed under her breath as she listened.

Another of the Coordinadora women verified the account, adding that she had evaded arrest when a terrified shop owner pulled her and several others inside his tiny artesanias business and locked and barred the door. She said that she’d seen soldiers and police responding to orders given them over the cell phones pressed against their ears and added that residents had reported that a number of infiltrators wearing Popular Assembly shirts and carrying homemade skyrocket launchers had gathered near a little park to drink beer and joke with police in one of their white pickups.


Posted in: Fiction