Shattered Memories

 If she does not do for us what she did for the Russians; kill her

  The reason we brought you out of it was to give you the chance to agree to work with us.

  I have prayed for years for my memories to return.   The frail fragile remnants of slices of moments of my past prior to the inhumane injection of MKULTRA into my life creep into my conscious mind like an unexpected phantom.  I remember a parade, a loud bang, something suddenly covering my head.  I felt my body leaving the ground.  I don't remember what I felt at that moment.  I don't remember feeling fear or confusion, I don't remember feeling anything  One second there I was enjoying the excitement of the Piccadilly Circus, as only a five year old could, the next second my life would be changed forever.

As I become less of an efface for exclusively only housing vague yesterday's traumatic memories, I  wonder how I can take the next step.  How can one step out of a quagmire that someone else created and continues to fortify the murky soil of lies. Several days ago, I remember the fact that as a senior in high school the senior female class was to spend two weeks in a local convent. I was excited about the prospect of spending quiet time without distraction in prayer. 

Teenagers and confinement not surprisingly created an interesting and unique situation. The routine in the convent was regimented and very rigid.   

I started writing about the time I spent in the convent a few days ago but the emotional impact of the full details which I later found out about the stay caused me to postpone continuing to write.

Someone I had known for years but had not seen for a long time came by one day for an unexpected  visit.  I don't know where I had been that day but when I entered the house there she was sitting and talking to the person who I believed at the time was my sister.  I was very glad to see the girl as I now remember that I was very fond of her.  

For the first few minutes that day, the girl, the person I thought was my sister and I talked about things in general.  Things like how have you been?  what are you doing now?  Nothing of any major significance. Since, I had been told that the friend had decided to become a religious Nun, I asked her if she was on leave from the convent.  I knew enough regarding religious novices to know that prior to a person  taking the final vows  they must spend time away from the convent.  When I saw the girl at the house that day, I thought this was the reason she was not at the convent.  When I questioned her regarding this matter she told me that she had  decided not to take her final vows.  When I asked her the reason she had changed her mind she hesitated. I could tell that she was almost in tears so I immediately apologized and tried to change the subject but she pushed herself and stated that things were not what they seemed. I then shared with her that I was thinking about spending some time in the convent after the few weeks I had spent there as a senior in high school.  The friend seemed puzzled.  She looked directly at me and stated with this incredulous expression on her face, "You were in the convent for two years not two weeks."

I know a little about the concept of a protective self.  For me, it is like an internal valve involuntarily rotations.  On that day, after hearing the words, you were in the convent for two years not two weeks, suddenly, in that room reality rotated and the transition of the words I had just heard had been spoken miles away.   Some emotional section of me had left that room.  I don't remember when the friend left the house.  Trauma, abuse, mental torture. the inhumane indifference which would allow for the justification of devaluing a human life. 

What I heard in that house that day instantly vanished from my memory. Mentally, Int  remember I still only remember the two weeks spent in the convent.  I remember hearing some of the girls plotting escapes.  wo weeks seemed like a short time for any stay but for some of the girls it was like an imprisonment. How the girls ever found a phone too this day reminds a mystery to me as I can't imagine the Nuns not locking up all assess to phones but some of the girls found phones and one night I heard that they had ordered a pizza and they were very pleased the the would be delivered.  It seemed that in previous years other students had found a way to have pizza delivered to the heavily gated, fortress-like convent.                                                                                                                                                                 

I don't remember having to share a room with another student.   I do think that some students did share a room because they wanted a roommate. I vaguely remember that we might have been asked if we wanted to share a room or not during the orientation.    

Of the time I remember in the convent, it was peaceful.  I remember writing that (the silence was more loquacious than).  Sorry but I don't remember the completion of that writing.

I remember hearing the excitement of some of the girls on the day the two weeks ended.  some of the students had been comparing the convent to a prison.  Within the first few weeks some of the students had phoned their parents asking them to come and get them but none of the parents had been accommodating.

What happened between the day the other students and the other 102 weeks in my life is still unknown to me.  I have a few memories of those 102 weeks which seem more like faded shadows in a dream than reality.    

I remember a nun who had been a teacher at the high school being at the convent for a while.  As it had been in my childhood whatever method which was being used to alter my reality so that I did't remember the every day activities of my life was once again employed during my time in the convent.

I don't remember crucial things like having breakfast.  I don't remember taking showers or dressing.  I don't remember conversation with any of the Nuns nor do I remember talking with anyone outside of the convent. 

There are only two things that I remember.  One day the Nun who was a teacher in the school I was attending prior to the convent stay came where I was sitting on the grounds of the convent.  I had heard one of the Nuns who lived at the convent say something to the effect that the Nun from the school had a close friendly relationship.  I have always loved being in nature and was seated outdoors on this one occasion that I remember the Nun's visit.  Sister, as the Nuns were called by the students found me seated in the cemetery which was located on the grounds.  I remember that she told me that the Nuns who lived in the convent were worried about me because I spend so much of my time in the cemetery, that I might be considering  harming myself.   

The time I spent at this high school was during the period of the Cuban revolution.  Because of the revolution members of the Fulgencio Batista family, the ruling class of Cuba at the time were removed from Cuba.  Because of the removal of the Fulgencio Batista  and his family one of Batista's sons became a student of the high school  I was attending at the time. The young man was aristocratic, impeccably mannered, and exceptionally handsome.  In school, the entire student body from the freshman class to the senior class did not exceed five hundred and fifty students.  I met the Batista young man because he became a member of the Spanish class in which I was enrolled.  

The Spanish class was very small there were only seven students including myself and one of the students was an Italian boy named Dominic.  Dominic's aggressive verbiage toward the females in the class had delegated him to a row of his own. I felt sorry for him and one-day decided to sit in the chair in front of him in his own private empty row.

Dominic was also unbelievably handsome.  Once I began to sit in front of Dominic I found him charming, annoying, an interesting conversationalist and overall a somewhat tolerable person.

There were times when overheard one of the other female students make a comment like he hasn't said anything to upset her yet.  Other phrases like give it time she will be back sitting with us.    

The Spanish was very informal and with such a small class size teacher allowed Dominic and I to keep our daily conversation going without fear of chastisement.  

The Nun who taught the Spanish class was originally from a Southern United State.  It was not until the Cuban student joined the class that I learned that we were being taught Spanish by a person with a Southern Drawl.

The teacher made few demands on us as students. She didn't require that we speak only Spanish in class.  I don't remember ever being given homework from this class. Although this was my second year of taking Spanish my Spanish vocabulary was very minimal which became very obvious once the Batista student joined the class.

By the time the Spanish class was ingratiated by the Cuban student Dominic was again sitting alone in his isolation.  As predicted, one day, he made an inappropriate remark to me which I found extremely insulting and humiliating.  In my stunned shock, I stood in front of him, turned a ring I on the third finger of my right so that it would be perfected centered then I processed to to use as much force as I could manage to slap him as hard as I could.       

After the first slap landed my anger did not subside and the inclination to go back for a second round forced my right hand backward again with the full intention to land a second  blow.  the second attempt was unsuccessful as Dominic grabbed my wrist stating, "I deserved the first one."

I walked to my left maybe one row maybe two rows over and sat in the third seat behind two other students.  My bottom lip was trembling so intensely that one of the other girl students went in her purse pulling out enough Kleenex to slow a flood.                                                         

It was maybe a few weeks, maybe a month, after this incident that the Cuban student joined our Spanish class. Dominic was still occupying his own private row and the Cuban took a seat in the same row with Dominic.   After Batista had been in class a few weeks, Dominic approached us ladies requesting to sit in the row next to us.  We the girls of the class could of course not say no to the request without seeming to be rude to the international guest so Dominic sat in the row immediately to the left of mine and three other female students and the Cuban sat directly behind me.

I am not sure that the Spanish teacher was very knowledgeable in Spanish.  In the two years I took her class I don't remember her writing on the blackboard.  I don't remember ever getting homework.  I knew a few phrases in Spanish like; what is your name?  How old are you?  What school do you Attend?  I knew a number of adjectives and nouns but would not after two years Spanish class be able to keep a conversation or order anything in a Spanish speaking restaurant.     

Dominic became an ideal emissary for the Cuban student.  He was like a junior diplomat.  Dominic mannerism  changed.  He was combative and withdrawn.  After introduction, let's call the student Juan just to give him a first name.  I honestly don't remember the Cuban's first name but let's call him Juan as that is a good name in any language.          

The student in Spanish class did talk with Juan regarding the situation in Cuba.  We of course did not press him as we were told not too and  we were sensitive to his feelings and sudden dramatic change in his life,

Juan's demeanor is polite and friendly.  He was not standoffish or snobbish. After two or three weeks in our class Juan asked me if I took a bus to and from school.  I am sure he knew the answer to the question before asking it and when I said yes,  he asked if he could ride the bus with me until I got off at my stop.

I knew nothing about Juan's living situation but what I did know was that a chauffeured limousine was at the school to pick him up each day after school. 

Juan explained that he wanted to get to know more about the average American and that that was not possible riding in the back of a chauffeured driven limousine. 

I will leave to the imagination of the reader to visualize the reactions of the passengers of the bus when they learned that a chauffeured limousine followed the daily until I got off the bus and the Cuban would go get into the limousine.

From the first day of our ride, I directly the Cuban that we would sit in the very last seat of the bus as it was a long roomy sit where we both could sit and be comfortable.  The first weeks of the ride, Juan and I exchanged as much conversation as our limited knowledge of the other's language would allow. I could tell that Juan was very pleased at having an opportunity to experience an ordinary life void of expectations and restrictions.  

Each day when we got on the bus there were cordial exchanges among the other passengers and Juan and myself.  I had begun to recognize some of the passengers who rode the bus daily.  We had the same bus driver everyday as that must have been his route.  After a few weeks of riding the bus the driver became more relaxed when communicating with Juan and I was concerned.  He jokingly asked, Juan one-day, "You make her pay her own fair."  I think Juan may have answered something to the effect that she won't let me pay.  

As the weeks progressed  the passengers on the bus felt comfortable enough with us to begin friendly interactions.  After paying our fares, we would turn around to be met with smiling faces asking questions like, "How was your day?'  "Is that your limousine following the bus?"   "Why are you riding the bus?" "If  were able to ride in a limo rather than a bus, believe me it would be the limo."

After a number of weeks several of the daily passengers felt comfortable enough to come to the end of the bus seating themselves directly in front of Juan and myself.  The friendly questioning continued.  The passengers made curious inquiries such as; "is that a private school you attend?"    "Is it difficult to get into school?'   "Are the academic requirements to get into the school very high/"

The dialogue developed between the passengers on that bus and the young  displaced Batista was humbling and very moving.  Individuals who never thought that they one-day would meet a person of Juan's social, economic, political status soon found themselves feeling comfortable in his presents.  

The reality of the bus exchange seemed to help the young Batista validate in his mind the managerial direction his father had intended to veer Cuba towards. One of the passengers on the bus with respectful sensitivity brought up the subject that the poor people  in Cuba did not have access to education or healthcare.       

Juan's friendly demeanor did not become defensive when this subject was raised.  In school Dominic and other students had broached this delicate subject with Juan who quickly acknowledged that a vast inequality which existed between the ruling class, people of wealth and the poor.  Juan firmly stated that the gross injustices were one of the first things he father had intended to address.   

A young man, a daily on the bus passenger, who looked like a high student began to perch himself in front of Juan and I daily.  When asked, the younger man told us his name was Tomas.  When I  began to pronounce the young fellows name in Spanish that pleased him very much.One day, Tomas asked me what he could talk with Juan about when I told him John Coltrane both of the young men's faces demonstrated being excited.

The language barriers between the two did not subside but somehow their communication increased.

I don't remember when the bus ride ended.  I know that the stay at the convent had not taken place before the rides.  I heard through someone at school that Juan and his family had been given residency in Spain.  I also heard that Juan was to become engaged to a member of Juan Carlos family,  the then king of Spain.

  Of the few things which I remember about the two/two years stay in the convent was a visit from Juan where he said to me, " I did not want it to happen this way."  " I didn't want them to do this to you."

MKULTRA.