By Tali Goldman
At the age of 11, Andrea Krichmar went to the place her schoolmate’s father worked. There, she saw a woman chained and hooded. Later she learned that this place was the ESMA and she began to wonder who that woman had been, if they had tortured her, if she had had a child, if they had killed her. Her testimony was key to demonstrating that a clandestine detention center operated at the Navy School of Mechanics.
Andrea Krichmar looks up. From the other side of the window, a few feet away, a green Ford Falcon approaches. It parks. Two armed men step out of the car. A few seconds later, a hooded and chained woman gets out of the same car. Her body was languid, and the hair stuck out from under the hood. The gentlemen are pointing at him. They walk. And they disappear from her sight.
—Berenice, ¿What is that?
—¿Did you see how they do in S.W.A.T., when they chase people in patrol cars? Well, this is kind of like that.
***
You won’t leave this house unless you take a sweater with you, her mother had told her. Andrea told her that it was not necessary, it was hot. But her mother insisted. She was eleven years old and she had a tantrum: she told her that she did not want to carry it in his hand, so her mother lent her a purse and told her to put it in there. Later, she took her to Berenice’s house, on José de Bonifacio street in the Caballito neighborhood. Andrea and Berenice hugged. They were very excited.
It was the spring of 1976 and in a while they were going to go to the place where her friend’s father worked. Berenice’s mother told them that someone would pick them up shortly.
Andrea and Berenice got in the car. The driver shifted the gear to start driving. The mother waved to them and watched the green Falcon leave with her daughter and her young friend.
Berenice had told her that the house where her father lived and worked was very, very, very big. That it took up many blocks. That there was a huge garden and that in the house they could watch movies and play pool.
The green Falcon awaited the order behind the gate and entered. Andrea was shocked. It was not a normal house like the house she lived in. It was a giant property, with many buildings. The driver gave them a tour.
He explained that more people slept and worked there. He parked at the place where Berenice’s father worked. They entered. He was waiting for them in the dining room. Berenice’s father was struck by the little purse Andrea had.
—What do you have in there? —he asked
Andrea felt intimidated:
—A sweater, she answered in a low voice.
—A sweater? —he insisted again, as if interrogating her.
—Yes, my mom gave it to me in case I was cold.
Berenice’s dad grabbed the purse of her daughter’s friend and went through it.
Rubén Chamorro –aka Dolphin– Vice-admiral of the Navy, director of the Navy School of Mechanics (ESMA) and direct responsible of the Task Force 3.3.2, confirmed that, indeed, it was a little sweater. She looked her in the eyes and gave her back her purse back. Lunch will be served in a little while, he said.
***Andrea and Berenice went together to the Torcuato de Alvear School in Caballito. Since first grade they had decided to be best friends. After school they often played together.
The director, María Elena, was married to a military officer. Andrea and Berenice were in the B class. The funniest thing was when Berenice left the classroom during recesses and came back kicking the door and rolling on the floor. She was imitating the intro of the popular TV show, S.W.A.T., Police Squad. They were all humming the jingle and cheering their friend while she put out her show.
Berenice had four older brothers.
She was the only woman and the smallest. One day, Andrea had gone to her friend’s house, an austere, cold home. While they were playing, one of the brothers began to sing a song that made them laugh, it said like this: Los muchachos Perón… we can’t say. They imitated him. Many years later, Andrea realized that at her friend Berenice’s house she had learned the verses of the Peronist march, although covered by the son of a military officer.
***
Rubén Chamorro, Admiral Emilio Eduardo Massera’s right-hand man, sat at the head of the table. Andrea and Berenice, at the sides. Several waiters in white gloves offered them Coca Cola. Andrea accepted and they brought her a small glass bottle. She had never seen anything like it. At home, at best, they bought the big bottle. She was fascinated.
When they finished eating, Berenice asked her if he wanted to see a movie. Andrea said yes. Dracula was screened in Super 8. When the horror movie ended, Berenice told her that she wanted to show her something and that they had to go to her father’s room for that. They were quick so no one would see them. When they were alone with the door closed, Berenice opened the closet. Look, she said. Andrea was stunned. In the closet there were no clothes, there were more than a dozen guns. Holding her breath, Berenice challenged her again. And look at what’s under the pillow. Andrea turned around and saw that her friend was showing her an object that she had only seen in her favorite series: a grenade. And look what is here, she told her friend again, for the third time. Berenice opened the drawer of the bedside table, Andrea took a deep breath and approached: there was a gun.
***
Before going back, Berenice invited her to play pool. It was a huge room in which they could be alone without being disturbed. But in the middle of the game, Andrea looked up and looked out the window and saw the hooded woman in chains. Her languid body, and the hair sticking out from under the hood. They went back to the house on José de Bonifacio Street in the same green Falcon
Andrea’s mother went to pick her up and they went back home. Neither of them said anything.
***
With the return of democracy, in the first marches organized by Mothers and Grandmothers of Plaza de Mayo and human rights organizations, Andrea was always present. She slipped past the women in white handkerchiefs who carried photos of their children. Had they tortured her? Had they murdered her? Did she have a child? Had she been a victim of the death flights? She looked at the black and white photos and thought about the woman she had seen hooded seven years ago. Her languid body, and the hair sticking out from under the hood.
She had never told anyone.
By 1985, Andrea had already turned twenty. The CONADEP was beginning to take shape and advertisements to encourage any citizen who knew, met or had been a victim or a relative of the disappeared to come forward to give testimony, invaded the radios, newspapers and television channels. Andrea felt challenged by those spots.
Was it time to speak?
That day in September there was a teacher strike. Andrea took advantage of the fact that she had to finalize some administrative details downtown. She was with her boyfriend Alejandro, the only person with whom she had shared her story. A twist of fate determined that, before going to the offices to do the paperwork, she passed by the door of the San Martín Theater, where CONADEP had its headquarters to collect testimonies.
She felt that what she had to say would be worthless, that it would not be useful, but she owed that woman. She went in and took a number. There were 24 waiting people before her. She started to feel bad, her pressure dropped. She approached the girl who was organizing the line.
—Look, I have something very short to say and I want to know if it works, because if it doesn’t, I’ll just go. I was a friend of Chamorro’s daughter, who was the head of ESMA. When I was little I went to spend the day there and at one point I saw a woman getting out of a car hooded and chained.
Tell me if this works or not because if not go, I’ll go. The girl distributing the numbers told her to wait there. In less than five minutes, four men in suits came down the stairs looking for the girl with blond hair and blue eyes who had a testimony that could be of use to them. They told her to please come with them.
They entered an office with four or five desks. Andrea was in the middle. And she told then what he knew.
«You have no idea how big your story is,» said one of them.
«We are the lawyers who deal specifically with the ESMA case,» another explained. “We worked hard to demonstrate that a clandestine center of torture and detention operated at ESMA.”
“Your testimony is going to be key in what we are doing.”
«If we had a bottle of champagne, we would open it right now.»
A few months later, Andrea would be sitting on a bench and swearing to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth. She felt relief, but mostly happiness.
***
The last time the two childhood friends saw each other was in a bar near Acoyte and Rivadavia. Between 1982 and 1983. They were still teenagers. Sitting face to face at a table, the conversation was not fluid. The game of S.W.A.T. and horror movies were now in the past. Andrea felt that something had changed, her friend was no longer her usual self. She felt gone, empty. Different from that time at the school event, Andrea in the middle, Berenice with her. A few years later, she learned that Berenice Chamorro had committed suicide.
***
«Berenice was a victim, I have no doubts about that.»
It is the second straight day that she has visited the ESMA Site of Memory, her eyes are glassy and her throat gets dry.
—This was the living room, there we saw Dracula, the table was here. He sat there and we sat here.
After that visit in 1976, Andrea returned to ESMA only on March 24, 2004, when Néstor Kirchner decided to open the doors of that center of terror.
As she walks, Andrea remembers.
«That’s the window I see her through. Yes, and that’s where the Falcon parks. It’s there.”
Andrea speaks in the present tense. She remembers her in the present. And feels she still owes her something.
«This is something between her and me,» she says as if it was a movie title.
Almost by chance, without wanting it, she bears the mark of the most tragic history of Argentina. But still, she wants to know who that woman she saw was. What happened to her next.
That’s why she keeps talking, telling, testifying.
Chronicle published in Anfibia Magazine
