Blood of the Dawn

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Claudia Salazar Jiménez. Blood of the Dawn

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“This may one be the first novels to talk about this issue from the women’s point of view, and in a very effective way. . . . Blood of the Dawn is an original addition to the abundant literature on this difficult and polemic episode of our recent history.” —JAVIER AGREDA, LA REPUBLIC

“I have to control the pain at my center, absorb it until it disappears and dissipates in a vapor without weight or consequence. Dominate my flesh, my eyes, their skin. The body itself does not exist. What exists is a forceful act. A retaliation from the State. A gestating woman. Pieces of an informer. Bits of a traitor. There are also (they always say) massacres. Devastation. Quotas. Papers, letters, one atop the other, mounting with excessive order. Discipline exists. The word exists but doesn’t hurt. It cuts, but doesn’t hurt. Kills, but doesn’t hurt. Genocidal explosion. Hammer and sickle. The red sun. The dawn.”

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You’ll also never know, little Romero, that I saw Fernanda almost every day. We worked together in the poorest parts on the outskirts of the capital, organizing projects for communities. At the Teachers’ Union rallies we were always together. So many times the police’s water-cannon trucks flung us to the ground with their blasts of water, but we kept pushing forward and resisting. And you’ll never know, Major, that while Fernanda was very hard on herself and said little, her generosity was boundless. She was a workhorse, tireless when it came to organizing. Politics and revolution: that was all she talked about. Focused. Her mind centered on it. The perfect militant, ready to give her all for others. I watched her rise to the highest ranks of the armed struggle, to the peak of the Guiding Thought. The revolution made flesh.

I know what I’m talking about. Hold fast to your rage and hate. Keep them burning within. Hate will pave the way to great things. Come with me to the Federation’s auditorium next Friday and you’ll find out what I’m talking about, Marcela. You’ll see what words can do. That’s where it all started. Words are just hot air, but since you ask, I’ll come. You know nothing, Romero, and will never understand the heroism of Comrade Two.

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