Alberto
Julián Pérez ©
Doña
Argentina Nery Olguín was born in Villa Unión, in the province of La Rioja, on
the 25th of May of 1933. She was the tenth daughter in her family. Her father
worked as a laborer in the surrounding olive groves and vineyards. Argentina
learned to read and write in the small school of the town. At the age of
fifteen, in 1948, she married her boyfriend, Bernabé Gaitán. She was already
pregnant at the time, and they both knew that they would spend the rest of
their lives together and have a many children.
Bernabé
Gaitán was a carpenter’s apprentice. His father owned some land in the neighborhood
of la Virgen de la Peña, and there Bernabé built an adobe house for his family,
with the help of his father-in-law and his brothers. This was a time of
optimism for the people of Villa Unión. General Perón was generous with the needy
provinces of Noroeste, and many had taken loans from the government to plant the
vineyards and olive trees. Tourism was being encouraged. The area was one of paradisiacal
beauty. The town was surrounded by mountains that descended toward the valley, punctuated
by ravines of crimson clay. In the high altitudes one could find the trails
that brought together the earth with the sapphire sky. The air was pure, and
the zorzales and the viuditas, songbirds native to the area,
sang among the chañar trees and the jojoba shrubs.
In
1950 they received news that made filled them with joy. The First Lady of the
Republic, Evita Perón, would pass through the province in a caravan,
accompanied by a motorcade, and make a stop in the town. Evita wished to behold
the scenery of the area and converse with the lugareños, the local people. At that time, Argentina already had
two children, a son and a daughter, and she wanted Evita to see them. The
caravan arrived and stopped at the mayor’s home. The First Lady gave orders to
her bodyguards that the townspeople were to be allowed to approach and speak
with her. Argentina arrived carrying a child in each arm. The poor people of
the town surrounded Evita. They were mostly all women. She hugged them and took
the children in her arms. Argentina was attracted to her enchanting smile and
her gaze. Her eyes endearingly looked upon all who approached her. She handed
over her son so she could embrace him. Evita spoke to the young mother. She
asked her name. “Argentina,” she said proudly. She wanted to know her birthday.
She replied that it was the 25th of May.
“You
are the homeland, Chinita” said
Evita. “When you have a child born on the 9th of July, you shall call him
Angel. He shall be your protector. And I, regardless of where ever I may be,
shall watch over you.”[1] Argentina
looked at her in disbelief, but because this was Evita, so young, so beautiful,
anything was possible. Argentina was very much a believer, always went to mass,
and from that day prayed that Evita’s wish would someday come true.
Two
years passed, Evita died and, a few years later, Perón fell. The dictatorial
military governments punished the poor provinces of Noroeste, who had supported
Perón, and condemned them to abandonment. Bernabé and Argentina had a child every
year. The family continued to grow. Bernabé added more rooms and a workshop to
his adobe house. There he set up his carpenter’s shop. He was young and was a
very good woodworker. But the money did not go very far, and when the youngest
children were old enough, Argentina looked for work as a house cleaner in the
homes of the more well-to-do people: the doctor, the food store owner, the
hardware dealer.
There
was no good medical clinic in Villa Unión. The peronistas had promised that
they would open one, but when Perón fell the project was forgotten. The town’s
only doctor, Rafael Villagra, took care of a few births and of curing those
with ambulatory ailments. The midwives of the town assisted women in labor. Argentina
had had her children in her own adobe ranch. At the beginning of 1965 she had
already given birth to her eleventh son, but five of her children had died
while very young from fever, diarrhea, and malnutrition. She said that she had
six children who were alive and five who were little angels. She always took
flowers to their tombs in the cemetery of Villa Unión.
1965
was a difficult year. There was so much poverty. Arturo Illia had reached the
presidency with very little popular support. The population was not Radical.[2] It
was Peronista. [3]
The military leaders were already preparing another coup. They wanted to
completely destroy Peronismo. Theirs was to be a cruel dictatorship, to finally
eradicate the Movement. Argentina was pregnant once more. She expected the baby
at the end of June or the beginning July of 1966. She begged that he or she be
born on the 9th of July, the Day of Independence, so she could dedicate the
child to Evita. She resolved to name him Angel, or Angelita if she was a girl.
The military crisis worsened, and on the 28th of June of 1966 the military
leaders brought about the downfall of Illia. The next day, the 29th of June,
General Onganía assumed power. He said that this was the government of the
“Argentine Revolution”. “Argentine it will not be,” she said to herself.
On the
first of July, Argentina had a dream: she saw Evita in her kitchen, sitting on
one of the chairs made of algarrobo. [4] She was dressed in white, with her blond hair
up. “Saint Evita!” exclaimed Argentina in her dream. Evita looked at her with
her dark eyes full of sadness, and said nothing. She got up, opened the door of
the ranch, and left. Argentina understood that she had been given a sign. On
the 9th of July, at ten in the morning, in her adobe house, Angelito was born. His
father had made him a crib in his woodshop. He entered the bedroom where the
baby lay and presented it to his wife. “It is for Angel,” he told her.
He was
a beautiful boy and full of life. Bernabé often left his shop to go check on
him. Father Zanabria congratulated them. It was their twelfth child. Argentina
told him he was to be named Angel. The priest suggested that they give him
Michael as his first name, like the Archangel. Michael Angel would protect them
from the demons. It seemed like a good idea. The father loved them very much
and always tried to help them and to take food and clothes for the children.
One Christmas he brought them a small goat to celebrate the holiday.
One
month later, they had the fiesta of baptism. They prepared locro and empanadas, and
served a humble wine for everyone. [5] A
singer who was a friend of the priest’s came from Chilecito. He delighted them all with his zambas and cuecas, familiar songs and dances of the country. They enjoyed
themselves.
However,
things were not going well for the family. Poverty followed them. Don Bernabé
had two sons who assisted him at the shop, but they did not earn enough money.
There were too many mouths to feed. Argentina, who worked restlessly in her own
home caring for the children, spent her afternoons at the home of Dr. Villagra,
to earn a few pesos. Whenever he went
out, Bernabé would take Angelito to his shop and put him in his crib. It seemed
that he enjoyed the persistent song of the garlopas,
the wood planes. He loved the perfumes of fresh wood.
The
24th of December of that year, Argentina and Bernabé prepared for the Christmas
holidays. The evening had barely arrived when they put their children to bed, except
Angelito, who slept in his crib next to them. They kissed him and went to bed.
The next day, everyone was to be up early. Bernabé had made toys in his
woodshop for the children, and they happily awaited the fiesta. Argentina’s mother had prepared a turkey, and they were to
go have dinner at her house. They lay down and made love. Soon after, Argentina
fell asleep. In the early morning hours, she had a nightmare and woke up
gasping. In her dream, Evita had appeared. Her small body and her blonde hair
were the same as always, but her face was gaunt and her eyes were empty. She
feared the worst. She got up and went to hug her small child. She thought it
was a bad omen. Her husband tried to calm her by telling her to have faith in
God. He would protect them.
Nothing
bad happened to the family. For them, the end of the year was uneventful. The
political situation in the province continued to be delicate. One heard rumors.
The Gendarmerie, the local guardsmen, remained vigilant in the area. It was
said that guerrillas might be hiding in the mountains, some column detached
form Che´s troops, who was in Bolivia. It was believed that there could be a popular
upraising in Tucumán that would extend through all of Noroeste.
That
year, the winter promised to be a harsh one. The temperature went down in
April. May was cold and windy. At the end of that month, Angelito began to feel
bad. Argentina became alarmed. She was already 33 years old and did not want to
lose any more children. It cost her so much to have them and to raise them.
Each one was flesh of her flesh. She took him to Dr. Villagra, who examined
him. It was nothing serious. She worked at the doctor’s house as his cleaning
lady and he looked after her children without charging her.
In
June, Angelito was not eating well. He laughs, as always, and had a big smile.
His eyes were dark, black, like his mother’s. Argentina breastfed him, she had
good mother’s milk, and she did not know what was happening. On the 23rd of
June, he woke up with a fever. She gave him an aspirin and covered him up. That
night he began to cry. When Argentina raised him from the crib, she noticed
that his body was rigid. He could not move. Alarmed, she got dressed and ran to
the home of Dr. Villagra. Her husband followed. The doctor got up to attend to
the child. He examined the boy and told the mother that her son was in a very
bad state. He had meningitis. Argentina begged him to save him. Her son was an
innocent angel. The doctor replied that he was now in the hands of God. Her
husband pleaded with him not to leave him like that. He asked him to take the
child to a clinic and that he would pay him back. Dr. Villagra called an
ambulance and they set out to take him to Chilecito. At one in the morning of
the 24th, the ambulance arrived with a nurse. Argentina took the boy into her
arms and climbed into the ambulance. Her husband sat next to her. It was a cold
night, with a shining moon. The mountain scenery turned ghostly. They arrived
at El Cachiyuyal and Angelito breathed with difficulty. As they traversed up
the slope of Miranda, the mother felt something was wrong. They stopped the
ambulance by the side of the road. When the nurse examined the boy, she
confirmed that he was dead. Argentina broke out in a heart-breaking cry. Her
husband took her in his arms.
They
held the wake in their adobe house in the neighborhood of la Virgen de la Peña.
The neighbors of the small town of Villa Unión arrived to view the little
angel. His mother put a chair over the table in the kitchen and there she
placed the dressed up body of her son. Against the chair, she placed a small
ladder. This was what would take him to heaven. He had died an innocent.
Eternity was a guaranteed thing for him. Over the table, she placed
chrysanthemums. She asked her relatives and neighbors to come up and see the
little angel. Everyone told her that he was beautiful, and that she had yet one
more guardian angel to protect her. On the 25th, they buried him in a small
coffin his father made for him, in the cemetery of Villa Unión, close to his
other little brothers who had passed away before him. There they placed a cross
with the following inscription: “Miguel Angel Gaitán, r.i.p. 7/9/1966 – 6/24/1967.”
Life
continued in its course. A short time
afterward, Che was assassinated in Bolivia. The gendarmerie calmed down and
stopped patrolling the area. In the cities, the popular resistance made itself
known. In 1969, the workers at Rosario y Cordoba rebelled. Doña Argentina found
out what was happening on television, which she would sometimes watch at the
home of the doctor.
In
1970, Doña Argentina organized a mass in remembrance of her deceased children.
By this time, she had given birth to two more. In 1971, one of her daughters
died. Argentina was once again pregnant. In 1972, she had her fifteenth child.
She begged God not to take any more of her children. She had nine living
children, and she did not want any more to die. She prayed to her son, Angel.
He had always been so special to her. He was the only one for whom Evita had
appeared. She could not forget her words. Now he was by the side of the saint.
Argentina heard that Evita’s body had been returned to Perón. It had suffered a
long exile. Her embalmed body was intact. Doña Argentina commented to herself
that it would be wonderful to see her son, Angel, again. She remembered Evita’s
words: “Angel was going to protect her, and she, herself, would be looking
after her from heaven.”
It was
heard that Perón would return to the country. Argentina thought she would like
to go to Buenos Aires and see the General if he ever returned. She would recount
to him what Evita had told her that day in Villa Unión, and she would tell him
that she appeared to her in her dreams at night. But they were so far from
Buenos Aires . . . it would be so difficult to go, and it was even more
probable that he could not receive her. Finally, it was announced that Perón
would return on the 20th of June of 1973.
In the
month of February, the town experienced several days of stormy weather. It was
the season of the Zonda wind. It rained a lot, and the sky was filled with
lightning. Doña Argentina had a
premonition. That night she could not sleep. She was afraid. Something special
was about to happen. Finally, the next morning, the sun came up. It was hot.
Around noon Don Silverio showed up at her house. He was the caretaker of the
cemetery. He said that part of the cemetery had flooded and that the coffin of
one of her children had been unearthed. Doña Argentina knew it had to be the coffin
of Angelito. She ran with her husband to see him. Bernabé raised the lid of the
coffin. It was Miguel Angel. The baby was intact. It seemed that time had not
passed. Doña Argentina lifted him and took him in her arms. He was like a doll.
She kissed him. She thought that perhaps Evita was a doll, too. She asked Don
Silverio Vega to please build her son a tomb made of brick, so that her little
angel may rest in peace. Don Silverio did so, and everything returned to
normal.
In
town, everyone was aware of Peron’s return. It was no longer prohibited to be a
Peronista. No one was beaten or incarcerated for shouting, “Perón! Perón!” or
for singing the Peronista March. People could even have a picture of Evita and
Perón in their homes. The 20th of June approached. This was the day of the
announced return. Doña Argentina was
very happy. On the night of the 19th, she had a dream. A friendly and familiar
figure appeared. She saw Evita sitting by her son’s grave. She smiled when she
opened the tomb. The bricks moved and Angel’s coffin appeared. Evita raised the
lid and took the child in her arms.
At
noon, Don Silverio showed up at her house again. Something strange had
happened. During the night, the wall in Angel’s tomb had fallen. The coffin was
open, and the lid lay by its side. The child’s body had not suffered any
damage. He told her that he was going to notify the police that there were
vandals about in the city. Doña Argentina asked him not to say anything, everything
was all right. She ran to the cemetery to see her son. She took him in her
arms, cradled him, and sang him a song she had learned from her own mother. The
bricks of the tomb were spread around, as if someone had pulled them one-by-one
with her own hands.
That
night they heard that serious riots had taken place at the airport in Ezeiza
shortly before Peron’s arrival. They went to the priest’s house so they could
see the news broadcast. There had been a shootout between the Montoneros and
the Guardia de Hierro. On the screen, Perón appeared as he waved, and everyone
smiled peacefully. The General had
returned at last.
Don
Silverio reconstructed the tomb two more times when the previous scene was
repeated. In the morning, the small coffin would turn up outside of the grave,
without its lid, and with the small body exposed to the light and air. Doña
Argentina supposed that it was the will of her son, who wanted to see the light
of day. She agreed with her family to construct a room at the cemetery, much
like the living room in a house, where they could place Angel’s unearthed
coffin. The body was perfect, as if he had died only yesterday. “He is not
dead,” the mother said, “He lives.”
They
raised the little house for Angelito.
This marked the arrival of 1974. At the end of June, their youngest son
became ill. He had a fever. The next day, they woke up to find his little body
rigid. Doña Argentina remembered in horror what had happened to Angelito. She
ran to the office of Dr. Villagra. He examined the child and told her that
there was little to be done, to prepare for the worst. He had meningitis, much as
Angelito had suffered. Doña Argentina grabbed the child and took him to the
cemetery. She placed the child directly in front of Angelito’s intact body. She
said to him, “My son, I ask you for the life of your little brother. Save him.
Don’t let him die. I ask for this on my behalf and for Santa Evita.” Angel’s
face was filled with light, as if he was alive. “I beg for a miracle,” his
mother repeated.
With
the sick child in her arms, she went to the door of the rustic adobe crypt. She
left the cemetery and returned to her home. She laid down her son, who didn’t
move, in the crib that had once belonged to Angel. She fell asleep in her bed
by his side.
Sometime
afterward, she woke up. She approached, with some trepidation, her son’s crib, fearing
that he was dead. As she lifted the little body, a faint cry surprised her. The
child was crying. She kissed him and hugged him. He was hungry. She understood
that he had been cured. She breastfed him. Angelito had granted her a miracle.
She communicated the good news to her husband, who could not help but be
astounded.
That
night, in her dream, Evita appeared once more. This time she was smiling. She
looked like The Madonna. She had a child on her lap. When she looked at him, she
realized it was her son Angel. “I told you, Argentina, that I was going to give
you a Guardian Angel who would look after you. And here is the Angel,” she
said. “Spread the news to the town. Until the end of your days, I want you to
look after his grave and to take care of him. Many will come to see him, and he
will grant miracles.”
The
net day, she went out with her youngest son in her arms. She showed him to her
neighbors. She told them that Angelito had granted the miracle. He had saved
him. He was an angel of miracles. The news spread throughout the town. That
afternoon, when she went to visit Angel, she noticed many toys on his grave.
Someone from Villa Unión had been there and had left them for him.
After
a while, a woman arrived with her three-year-old son, Pedrito. “I’ve come to
ask the little angel on behalf of my son,” she told Doña Argentina.
“Ask
him,” she said, and she left. The woman was on her knees in front of the little
angel as she held her son’s hand.
A few
days later, a neighbor came to look for Doña Argentina. Her nine-year-old
daughter was sick. She had suffered a
strange malady and was unable to walk. She had a fever. The doctor had asked if
she had been vaccinated. She could not feel her legs. It could be poliomyelitis.
They both went to the neighbor’s house and raised the child. They took her to
the cemetery, to the adobe crypt of Angelito. Doña Argentina lifted her son
into her arms and approached the little girl, who touched him with her little
hands.
“Angelito.
Miraculous Angelito,” the mother said, “I ask for my daughter Evangelina. Let
her walk, help her, save her.”
Doña
Argentina told her, “Ask on behalf of Santa Evita.”
“Angelito,”
the woman repeated, “I ask on behalf of Santa Evita.”
She
asked the girl to kiss the little angel. The mother returned to her home with
her daughter in her arms. The following morning, she returned to visit Doña
Argentina. She had her daughter at her side. She was walking. She hugged Doña
Argentina. “Señora! Señora! The miracle was granted!” she said. The three went
to the cemetery. Angelito was there, with his eyes almost open. It seemed as if
he was looking at them. Doña Argentina asked the girl to take the body of the
boy and to hold him in her arms.
The
next day, the first of June of 1974, Perón died. Doña Argentina and her husband
went to the Church of Villa Unión to pray. “Lord,” she said, “now they are
together. I pray for their souls, that they never again be separated. The
General and Evita have been so tortured in life, please grant them peace in
death.”
On the
second, she returned to visit the little angel. She took baby’s clothes. She
had promised Evita that she was going to care for him. As she arrived, she saw that
various people from the small town waited for her in front of the crypt. They
brought their children. They said they had come to visit the little angel and
to ask on behalf of their children. A little girl placed a doll in front of the
open casket. A little boy placed a toy car there. Doña Argentina asked them to
help her change him. A woman held him while she removed his clothes. His skin
was intact. His body was fresh. “It is a miracle,” she said.
Doña
Argentina dressed him in new, clean clothes. Her son looked precious. The
visitors got on their knees before the little angel of miracles. The mother
left without saying a word as they prayed.
Translated
by Rolando J. Díaz
[1] Chinita is an affectionate nickname given to
rural women. May 25, 1810 was the day that began the independence movement, and
on July 9, 1816, independence was proclaimed. These are dates of national
celebration in Argentina.
[5] Locro is a hearty thick stew, made with corn, beans and potato soup, associated with native Andean civilizations. It´s one of the national dishes of Argentina.
