In the Time of the Butterflies

338 Pages·1994·2.2 MB·English

by  Julia Alvarez

JULIA ALVAREZ
In the Time
of the
Butterflies
Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill
For Dedé
In Memoriam
PATRIA MERCEDES MIRABAL
February 27, 1924-November 25, 1960
MINERVA MIRABAL
March 12, 1926-November 25, 1960
MARÍA TERESA MIRABAL
October 15, 1935-November 25, 1960
RUFINO DE LA CRUZ
November 10, 1923-November 25, 1960
Contents
I
Chapter One: Dedé, 1994 and circa 1943
Chapter Two: Minerva, 1938, 1941, 1944
Chapter Three: María Teresa, 1945 to 1946
Chapter Four: Patria, 1946
II
Chapter Five: Dedé, 1994 and 1948
Chapter Six: Minerva, 1949
Chapter Seven: María Teresa, 1953 to 1958
Chapter Eight: Patria, 1959
III
Chapter Nine: Dedé, 1994 and 1960
Chapter Ten: Patria, January to March 1960
Chapter Eleven: María Teresa, March to August 1960
Chapter Twelve: Minerva, August to November 25, 1960
Epilogue
Dedé, 1994
A Postscript
Reader's Guide
About the Author
Preview of Julia Alvarez's Latest Book, A Wedding in Haiti
Also by Julia Alvarez
I
1938 to 1946
CHAPTER ONE
Dedé
1994
and
circa 1943
She is plucking her bird of paradise of its dead branches, leaning around the
plant every time she hears a car. The woman will never find the old house
behind the hedge of towering hibiscus at the bend of the dirt road. Not a
gringa dominicana in a rented car with a road map asking for street names!
Dedé had taken the call over at the little museum this morning.
Could the woman please come over and talk to Dedé about the Mirabal
sisters? She is originally from here but has lived many years in the States,
for which she is sorry since her Spanish is not so good. The Mirabal sisters
are not known there, for which she is also sorry for it is a crime that they
should be forgotten, these unsung heroines of the underground, et cetera.
Oh dear, another one. Now after thirty-four years, the commemorations
and interviews and presentations of posthumous honors have almost
stopped, so that for months at a time Dedé is able to take up her own life
again. But she’s long since resigned herself to Novembers. Every year as
the 25th rolls around, the television crews drive up. There’s the obligatory
interview. Then, the big celebration over at the museum, the delegations
from as far away as Peru and Paraguay, an ordeal really, making that many
little party sandwiches and the nephews and nieces not always showing up
in time to help. But this is March, ¡María santísima! Doesn’t she have
seven more months of anonymity?
“How about this afternoon? I do have a later commitment,” Dedé lies to
the voice. She has to. Otherwise, they go on and on, asking the most
impertinent questions.
There is a veritable racket of gratitude on the other end, and Dedé has to
smile at some of the imported nonsense of this woman’s Spanish. “I am so
compromised,” she is saying, “by the openness of your warm manner.”