MAGNOLIAS

AMIDST THE THORNS

OF AYACUCHO
ENRIQUE GONZALEZ CARDENAS
Our memories of you
Francisco Saenz Raez
 MAGNOLIAS AMIDST THE THORNS OF AYACUCHO
ENRIQUE GONZÁLEZ CÁRDENAS
Our Memories of You
© Francisco Saenz Raez

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Cover adaptation: Mariana Barrientos

Translation: Brad Holmes
Diagramation: Dianora Gómez Nessi

Colection: Integrales
 CONTENTS

Dedication. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 7

Acknowledgements . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 8

Prologue. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 9

Translator’s note. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 11

Preface A kiss to the heavens. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 13

Introduction . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 15

Chapter one A splendid cradle . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 17

Chapter two The value of family, early lessons . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 25

Chapter three Fatal blow, orphaned. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 31

Chapter four Copologia . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 37

Chapter five The dilemma. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 43

Chapter six Between duty and desire . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 49

Chapter seven Giving back to my Ayacucho. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 59

Chapter eight Sundays in Huampani . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 65

Chapter nine Magnolias for Ayacucho. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 73

Chapter ten Punta Negra and the final years. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 83

Chapter eleven Our memories of you . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 91

556
 DEDICATION

I dedicate this book to my beloved wife Queti, my magnolia, who fills

me with enthusiasm every day, as a gift celebrating her birthday this
coming of January 7th, 2021.
A gift in return for her having given me four magnolias, my daugh-
ters, who shine and illuminate my sentiments.
A book that her father had always hoped to write, and never did.
Now it has been carved with hammer and chisel from the memory of
those who narrate this small compendium. A book into which, at last,
that desire has become reality.
I also dedicate this work to Lita and Chayo, daughters, and part of
the most sublime work of the protagonists of the stories narrated
herein, two magnolias who have illuminated our lives, and their mar-
velous children, living examples of the lessons bestowed upon them by
their grandparents and great grandparents.
The hammer is the collapse and sorrow, the chisel the rising and
triumph.

576
 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Without the much valued collaboration of family and friends who

have written their remembrances of and homages to Enrique, this lit-
tle book would not have been possible. The compendium of compiled
writings constitute the actual body of this text, and the spirit with
which they have been written are the soul, indeed, the nucleus of this
work.
I offer my eternal gratitude to each and every one who has dedicat-
ed their time in guiding this work. Their portrayals are no mere pieces
of the text, but rather the actual book itself.

586
 PROLOGUE
Gonzalo Quijandria Fernandez

Writing a prologue implies guiding the reader along a path which hopes
to present the work and assist in the understanding of the purpose sought
therein. In the present case this is clearly stated by the author in the dedi-
cation: it is a manifestation of his love for his wife, expressed via a devoted
recounting of anecdotes and memories of her father’s life; thus, it is a re-
confirmation of the validity of an objective which was always present in
the man’s life; to contribute to the happiness of those whom we love.
Describing an actual person, via the means of diverse perspectives,
and not only through the eyes of the author, is in itself a major challenge.
This book succeeds in placing these diverse perspectives drawn from
the life journey of Enrique Gonzalez Cardenas “Papapa” – those of rela-
tives, friends, and professionals – into focus, allowing them to converge
upon the essential feature of the man’s life: his love for family.
Another of the book’s characteristics is that it is directed towards
those intimate readers who knew Papapa, it succeeds in impregnating
every page with his presence, every description of time and place.
There is his constantly inquisitive gaze, his affability and his beloved
homeland of Ayacucho.
It is not by mere coincidence that the description of the man
reads almost like a guide of how to live, seeing that it is a description
made by one educator of another. As the reader can well verify, the
author is a university professor describing the life of a Doctor in ed-
ucation who dedicated the better part of his life to the formation of
young students. Thus, the recounting of anecdotes, places and indi-
viduals is woven with a precision that one can only describe as aca-
demic, leading to a non-explicit, yet evident purpose: to reveal the
life of a man who realizes the ambitious dream of forging a family
that rejoices in him in the aftermath of his life.

596
 Throughout the book, and via the diverse perspectives it integrates,
the attributes which form a portrait of the man are constantly repeat-
ed, Enrique Gonzalez Cardenas “Papapa”: simplicity, devotion to ser-
vice, generosity, elegance, eloquence, and chivalry.
This book makes no attempt at being a biographical investigation
into the complexities of a human being’s personality, rather, it serves
as a homage; and, asserts that - to rob one of the descriptions con-
tained within these pages - “to honor him is to honor the family that
he constituted and which maintains his legacy.”
But there is one attribute that escapes the various perspectives of
the Papapa’s life which this book also contains, and that I will take
license to mention, given that I as well had the privilege of knowing
him in the later years of his life: consequence. It is not by happen-
stance that the reader may seek grandiloquent and profound phrases
concerning the man in this book and not find any. It contains, in the
opinion of the writer, a fundamental logic: we are presented with a
man who expressed his sentiments in such an effective way as to be
able to transmit the same to relatives and friends, Ayacucho coun-
trymen and Lima neighbors, “companions” and political adversaries,
Peruvian and English-speaking sons-in-law and grandchildren, al-
ways, as described by the book’s collaborators, “without much para-
phernalia,” “only saying something when it had something of value to
contribute,” “did not express, but indeed engendered immense emo-
tion.” It is, therefore, the legacy of a man who walks a path traced by
his words, never in excess, for a free spirit is forever conscious that a
man owns his silence, and yet is a slave to his words. It was under
this consequence that I met him, and with that same commitment
witnessed his enduring his last days, understanding that complain-
ing about his health, no matter how much it corresponded to him,
would elevate his loved one’s sadness, those for whose happiness he
had so labored. And it is thus how he left us, without complaint and
in silence, consistent with his life’s goal, triumphant.
We allow the pages of this book to now do their work, and begin
the well-deserved homage to Papapa.

5 10 6
 TRANSLATOR’S NOTE

Some Spanish, plus a few Quechua words and expressions remain in

the text in order to provide a more appropriate and, hopefully, enrich-
ing context. Each first appearance is annotated in italics, with an ac-
companying footnote on the bottom of the same page providing the
most simple and direct translation possible.
An important expression appears in the list of the book’s charac-
ters. Enrique – the man this book is about – is referred to as Cholo.
Cholo defies simple description as it can be applied in very diverse
ways. The word is similar to “paisano” which the dictionary explains as
“a person of Spanish or Italian ethnic origin.” Cholo is specific to Latin
America, originating in the Andean regions. Thus its most common
use has been to describe a person who is racially and culturally con-
nected to this part of the world. It has hence spread far and wide, both
geographically and idiomatically. For example, I grew up in Southern
California hearing its use within the Chicano community.
In its most common and positive application it is simply used to
as an expression of recognition among people who share a com-
mon cultural sensibility. In its worst form it may be used deroga-
tively by someone seeking to demean a person based on racial or
classist discrimination.

5 11 6
 PREFACE

A KISS TO THE HEAVENS

This little story or biography about your presence, Enrique, is writ-

ten from the depth of the soul, the memories, and an eagerness to
see you again.
So let it be clear that this innocent recitation, this tight text, is ded-
icated to you, Enrique Gonzalez Cardenas.
The narratives, data, and experiences that are related here are all au-
thentic and adhere to the pure truth. If there is any distortion of reality
it is merely casual and insignificant. The purpose of those of us who
write this work is to allow the reader to navigate the facts, pains, experi-
ences, vicissitudes, successes, and joys of your exemplary life, sufficient
substance that left an indelible trail, as the reader will confirm.
Your sweet transit through this world, through our lives, was virtu-
ous and exemplary, not only because of its outstanding course and for
having left a path for those who follow your footsteps, but also for
being significant, delicate and tremendously human.
There would be no Enrique Gonzalez Cardenas without Ayacucho,
there is no life without being born, receive then, Huamanga exalted,
this homage in the memories of a man who was your creation.
This mortal was the tree, our memories are the fruits that he left,
and you, Ayacucho, the land that conceived him.
I consider myself only a gatherer of information gleaned from your
family and closest friends, that is to say, from the people who knew
you, listened to you and spent Moments in your loving company. It is
therefore, in reality, as your sister Tere made it clear to me, a compen-
dium, a set of stories narrated by various authors – your family and
friends – who dug into their hearts.

5 13 6
 This narration will be read by your sister Teresa, your brother-in-
law Ernesto, by your friends and mine, by some of your disciples, your
sons-in-law – members of the “rebel husbands’ syndicate,” by your
grandchildren and great grandchildren, your flesh and blood nephews
whom you loved so dearly, and by some of your lifelong companions
– men and women, by your stupendous and affectionate friend Yolan-
da de Valdivia – wife of your dear childhood friend. Your charming
and much beloved descendants: Miguel, Ceci, Edgar, and Jenny will
enthusiastically peruse the pages of this text beneath the quiet delight
of Juan Carlos who, from heaven, blesses the cheeks of his father Pe-
pinchín with tears. Sarita Pinedo, your chilcano1 companion, may not
read it, but she will listen to it, absorbed in the rhythmic afternoon
readings given by Tati, her adored daughter.
They will all devour these stories and they will surely be read and
re-read by your beloved daughters: Magnolia Theofila, Lita - the sweet
little teacher, Sara Luz, Chayo - the gentle beauty, and Queti, your
proud little baby of the family who bears your name.
I can most assuredly assert that no one else will read this book
(well, maybe my siblings), not as a result of the essence described
within this daring manuscript, but rather due to the writer, subjected
to his debut of this art of difficult confection and scant applause. This
is why a compendium of memories is better than a biography.
We continue on to relate the life-skills of a man who he himself
said, “live a life that is a game which you must know how to play.”
The cards have been dealt and the player is you.

1 Chilcano – Peruvian cocktail made with pisco and lime.

5 14 6
 INTRODUCTION
Ayacucho, a hidden city for some, and well known by others, nestled
in the Peruvian Andes of South America — a place often only heard
about — it evokes the terrible times suffered in the 1980s; however, for
us it is a solace of memories, a rejoicing of emotions.
We unearth a history full of sorrows and illusions shared by a mul-
titude of citizens who, in their poverty, carve out the present and build
the future. We mourn their torments, random and heavy, which we
call the “thorns of Ayacucho.”
These thorns contrast, in repeated frequency, or almost simultane-
ously and daily, with the ever pleasant joy that flourishes in the hearts
of all Ayacucho inhabitants who delight in the beauty of the region,
the goodness of their neighbors and the great events that quite natu-
rally occur in Ayacucho.
To be born in Ayacucho is a privilege, to live there is to die every
day, while yet enjoying every Moment, these joys or new dawns shall
be known from now on as “magnolias of Ayacucho.”
This brief and gripping story that begins among thorns, blessedly
revolves around a flourishing of magnolias held forth by the tenacity
of a man and the blessing of a God in whom he does not believe.
Locations: city of Huamanga between 1918 and 1935 and multiple
times between 1944 and 2010; city of Lima between 1936 and 1941
and between 1945 and 2010; city of Sicuani between 1941 and 1944,
the resort of Punta Negra between 1971 and 2010, city of Toronto,
Canada, between 1978 and 2009.

The characters:

Enrique father: the pharmacist.

Doña Teofila: the mother.
Enrique: cholo, Papapa, the main protagonist.
Magnolia: Mimi, Mandolia, Magdita, Queca, the wife.

5 15 6
 The gang: Enrique, Pepinchin, Federicón, Pacotoncito, and Abelicon.
The magnolias: Magnolia, Lita, Chayo, and Queti.
The beach buddies: Beto, Augusto, Coqui, Arturo, Andrés, Quique,
Carlos Enrique, and many more.
The wayfarers: Lucho Curí, Lucho Mora, Elmo Estrada, Leoncio
Liza, Alfonsito Roeckner, joined by Mon Cherí, Enrique’s student,
among others with Enrique.
The thorns: the sorrows.
The magnolias: the joys.

5 16 6
 CHAPTER ONE

A SPLENDID CRADLE

Huamanga, Ayacucho, Saturday, March 23, 1918. Don Enrique Gon-

zales Espinar, the pharmacist who never fails, left work early, he quick-
ly left his place of livelihood, his sustenance, and that of his family. He
spritely emerged from the pharmacy named Botica El Peruano, but
which should have been called the Pharmacy of the Needy. Don En-
rique, the pharmacist who never fails, kept the accounts of the debt-
ors, the defaulters and the uncollectible in an old, tightly bound five
hundred page notebook.
The townsfolk went to Don Enrique’s pharmacy in search of medi-
cines, credit, and smiles. Don Enrique, the pharmacist who never fails,
always had the remedies, a friendly face and long term payments.
But let’s not be mistaken, the pharmacy El Peruano was not only
frequented by the humble and needy. The rancid upper class and intel-
lectuals of Ayacucho also came in search of pills, syrups, ointments and
“injectables.” There was no scarcity to be found in the pharmacy that
never fails. It was always well stocked and the prices were affordable;
sales to the aristocracy financed the credit afforded to the lower classes,
a kind of Robin Hood of health received the wealthy with pleasant and
enlightened conversation which attracted the intellectuals.
A beautiful – quite beautiful – evening moon is common in Aya-
cucho. Distant, luminous stars can be seen at the top of the sky on clear
nights. The city of Huamanga dresses itself in colors every day, dresses
like a princess in the morning, illuminated by the radiant sun that warms
her back. A cold wind in the afternoons lifts her like a demure lady, re-
turning her home and leaving the sun on the horizon, hiding the green
and varied colors upon the mountainsides, and then falling again in the
calm evening, like an old soul curled up in total darkness.

5 17 6
 The Botica El Peruano, located in the centermost of the portals in
Ayacucho’s main square, enjoyed a privileged place, an exceptional lo-
cation for business. It housed a magnificent assortment of all kinds of
medicines and syrups, as well as potions skillfully mixed by Don En-
rique. Medicines such as these are always prepared according to med-
ical prescription and can only be manufactured by professional phar-
maceutical chemists like the man who never fails. The preparation of
potions which Don Enrique performed, practically in secret, was for-
ever the reason for the enigma and speculation associated to him on
the part of the Huamanguino2 population, especially the villagers, who
considered Don Enrique a kind of magical shaman, a celestial miracle
with divine powers.
Such was the pharmacy’s success that it left profits for the family and,
above all, afforded Don Enrique the luxury of never having to halt the
dispatch of an order, even if it was credited in long and painful install-
ments that, in many occasions, were never paid. “They will be paid in
heaven,” said Don Enrique, drawing a sweet smile on the corner of his lips.
Nonetheless, the dividends produced by the pharmacy also afford-
ed fine shoes, good food, Italian suits and ties, scarves woven with fine
silk threads made in large embroidery frames that were imported from
Spain and took up to seven months to arrive from Madrid to “the cor-
ner of the dead” – the name in Quechua by which the city of Ayacucho
is known. The scarves of Doña Teofila, wife of the man who never
fails, were long, the short ones were considered second class.
Don Enrique-never-fails was always punctual in opening and closing
El Peruano, eight o’clock in the morning every day of the week, every
week, every month, and all year round. Eight o’clock in the morning in-
cluding Sundays. The closure did not fail either, six o’clock in the evening
on the same days, every day, with the exception of Sundays and holidays.
This is when at ten forty sharp AM, Don Enrique would be seen, neatly
dressed in an impeccable gray suit, red tie and starched white shirt, enter-
ing the church of Our Lady of the Snow, the city’s cathedral.

2 Huamanguino: A person from Huamanga

5 18 6
 On his left arm he escorted his wife Doña Teofila Cardenas Hua-
mani, her head covered in a black scarf. Don Enrique entered with a
haughty and satisfied air, aware of the weekly work accomplished. His
wife always wore a demure dress that covered her knees and half of her
calves, patent leather shoes that protected and adorned her tiny feet
which she had slipped into her shoes through nylon stockings. The
Sunday Masses at eleven o’clock in the morning were unfailingly pre-
sided over by the bishop of the city, who never allowed himself to be
replaced. The eleven o’clock Mass, attended by the highest authorities
and the highest families, was the city’s big Moment, the right place to
worship and for the opportunity to see and be seen.

Don Enrique Gonzalez Espinar

5 19 6
 Don Enrique, gentile family man, elegant, with a sculpted mustache,
thin and small in stature, was a taciturn man, laborious and always well
spoken. He had been nicknamed “the pharmacist who never fails” not
only because of the facts described above regarding the wide assort-
ment his business offered, but mainly because of his astonishing punc-
tuality. The city of Ayacucho – guarded by the Peruvian Andes, majestic
and close to the sky, rainy, cobbled streets in the winter, with a thousand
nooks and crannies in which to dwell, very sunny in the summer –
moved at the pace of the man who never fails, this, as a result of one
night in the winter of the year 1904 when the following events occurred:
In the city of Lima, the results of the general elections were announced
with the triumph of the Civilista, aristocrat, lawyer and defender of the
rule of law, Don Jose Pardo y Barreda, of the national suffrage.
What then happened was that some unruly Ayacuchan boys, most
certainly Pierolistas – influenced by the predicament of some deluded
teachers who were said to have accepted the communist manifesto or
had perhaps attended some Catholic Mass given by a communist
priest at one of the thirty-two Ayacuchan churches – these high school
senor students of the San Ramon School, in protest, climbed the tow-
er of the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Snow. This is the only church,
known here as a basilica, where revolutionary voices were never heard
because the masses were celebrated by Bishop Fidel Olivas Escudero,
glutton and conversationalist, defender and friend of the noble lin-
eage, who was such a fervently enlightened Catholic personality that
he had published a catechism written in his own hand.
The San Ramonian boys, in an attempt to destroy the main tower
and the bell tower of such a beautiful monument, blew up the clock
that marked the hours of the city with a homemade explosive that,
while leaving the scoundrels’ bodies and hands bruised and burned,
left the tower intact with the hands of the clock zigzagging in pirou-
ettes in the wind.
With the useless clock, the schedules and the “to do’s” of Ayacucho
also flew through the air, the rhythm of life, lover’s dates and legal
deadlines all went flying.

5 20 6
 The city of Ayacucho lost its rhythm of activities, the time to get up
was confused with breakfast time, the time and duration of classes in
schools, institutes and universities became shorter and shorter, every
day people got out of bed later, bars opened earlier and romantic en-
counters lasted too long.
Three weeks after the chaos was generated, the judicial and admin-
istrative authorities of the city, dragged to the prefecture by the bish-
op, in heated debates, established that, until a new clock could be ac-
quired, the crowing of the roosters should be followed. As this did not
give the desired result, trumpeters were hired who, in staggered
schedules played every hour, one, two and even twelve loud trumpets
sounding like sirens.
Days later, due to their scandalous nature resulting in an overall
bad mood, the noisy siren blasts were changed in favor of a more pre-
cise military-style reveille. This did not provide a desirable result be-
cause the reveille frightened the pigeons of the main square and dis-
oriented the roosters, making them crow at all hours of the day and
amplifying the general chaos. The pigeons moved to the cemetery and
the balconies of the houses, dirtying the mausoleums and facades, the
roosters lost their voices from so much crowing and their resulting
hoarse calls roused the inhabitants from their siestas. The confusion
almost drove the town crazy.
The authorities, quite happily, about to give up and abandon the city to
its fate, were advised by a teenage parishioner, who, with a spark in his
eyes, said that he had seen a man, a pharmacist, who had never changed
his routine. “The pharmacist never fails,” said the sparkling-eyed boy. “He’s
always on time, everywhere,” the teen told the authorities.
That pharmacist became the city’s clock. If the pharmacist opened
his bedroom window on the edge of Calle3 Tres Mascaras, it was six in
the morning; if the pharmacist opened the door and his wife gave two
sweeps on the sidewalk, it was six thirty. The accuracy was fantastic
according to the mathematical calculations of this bright-eyed young

3 Calle: Street

5 21 6
teenager. At eight o’clock each morning the pharmacy was opened and
at six o’clock it was closed in the afternoons, these data were con-
firmed by the skills and mathematical intelligence of the young boy.
From that day the clocks of the citizens, authorities and city bells fol-
lowed the rhythm of Don Enrique “the man who never fails.”
Days later at the house of the prefecture, the bishop, in the company
of the mayor, the president of the Judiciary, the district attorney general,
the commander of the Civil Guard, the most prosperous merchant in
the city and two chief landowners, after an opportune meal accompa-
nied by French wine, at the end of the dinner he reached from the deep
left pocket of his black cassock, took out a beautiful and shiny solid gold
watch that hung from a golden chain and, blowing on it from the back
and to the side, took out cloth napkin to shine it. With a solemn and
proud smile he said quite happily: “Now I can set my beautiful watch to
the exact time. The eleven o’clock Mass will be celebrated at eleven.”
After this show of power, the prefecture, host of the event, did the
same with his wall clock saying: “A Swiss clock with a cedar wood
frame and gold and emerald veneers cannot be left behind, nor for-
ward,” at that same time, setting the hands of the clock on time, he
repeatedly turned a bright crank that launched the metronomic tick
tock of the very expensive artifact, a hanging banner wobbled as to the
rhythm of a military parade behind the vertical glass on the body of
the clock. The rest of the attendees, with the exception of the police
commander, their eyes ablaze with envy, almost simultaneously ex-
tracted from the small pockets of their vests some beautiful silver
watches with chains of the same precious metal and, without fussing
or polishing, set each hand in the same position. One of them said,
“Thank God for the blessed pharmacist.”
That’s how lunch ended, upon leaving the police commander was
heard saying: “I think I’m going to have to get a watch.”
We do not have, despite the previous anecdote, a bad impression
nor even the least erroneous opinion concerning the qualities of the
Ayacuchan authorities of that time. Suffice it to say that, in those
times, the city looked very beautiful and its squares and gardens were

5 22 6
well groomed. There was no garbage on the streets. Sporadic crime
was limited to the occasional scallywag stealing an orange or spout-
ing some ill-mannered flirtatious “complement” that might provoke a
police report. The district attorney, much less the president of the
Judiciary, had very little work, so there was administrative efficiency.
Order was the norm, even the designation of assault was forgotten.
The police, prosecutors and judges forgot its characterization and le-
gal meaning to such an extent that one Thursday afternoon a parish-
ioner was arrested for “assault,” because he jumped the wall of the
football stadium to watch the last five minutes of a game.
Everything was calm and harmonious, everything was holy in
those days. Ayacucho, in you evil succumbs and hope is born, to such
an extent that the only places that always had huge crowds were Sun-
day masses and confessionals, not so much for repentance and pain of
heart, but for pure devotion. Seeing that there was no sin in the Aya-
cucho of that time, there was not a single brothel, nor clandestine bars
– maybe a bar with limited hours. It should be noted that the penal
facility in Ayacucho was inaugurated in 1996 with only 450 male and
50 female prisoners which was named “Yanamilla Maximum Security
Penal Establishment.”
Carnivals were surpassed in crowds only by the Easter celebra-
tions, from the procession of Palm Sunday to that of the Resurrection.
However, we would like to highlight how impactful the procession of
the “encounter” was, in which the grieving townsfolk accompany the
image of the Nazarene suffering in pain until encountering Mary, his
mother. The pain of the Christ is reflected in the faces of the attendees
moved by his suffering. This pain is only surpassed by the passage of
the painful virgin who hurts to the depths of her being. The crowd is
overwhelmed in tears by the bitterness that can be read in the eyes of
the image and in the breasts of the attendees. You are not a human
being if reflecting upon the pain of the mother of Jesus in Ayacucho
does not rent your soul.
Ayacucho was an exemplary city at that time. The Gifts of God:
the colors of its countryside, the white clouds in the sky, the blue

5 23 6
velvet of the heavens, the graceful walk of its people, the cool nights
of a thousand stars, were forged by the work of man: the music of his
harps and guitars, the universal courtesy, the kind greeting in the
streets, the musical speaking always softly intoned, the spicy mis-
chievousness of the carnival.
No one noticed the brilliant jeweled incrustations of the president
of the superior court because the mayor of the city, with a powerful
voice, distracted them by inviting them to the kermesse4 that would be
held on the football field on April 25th to celebrate the seventy-fifth
anniversary of the Spanish foundation of the city. Tuesday, April 25th,
1905 was declared a provincial holiday.
The whole town attended the celebrations. The wealthy merchant
provided the liquor for such an important event; the landowners, not
to be left behind, gave away two young bulls and four pigs for general
amusement. The crowd came to the main ceremony. Don Enrique and
Doña Teofila also attended the party, but almost went unnoticed. The
authorities never told people how they solved the problem of sched-
ules, only the teenager with sparkling eyes, while sipping a glass of
cane liquor, was heard saying:
“The things life holds; whoever deserves them, does not have.”

4 Kermesse : Mass / religious service

5 24 6
 CHAPTER TWO

THE VALUE OF FAMILY,

EARLY LESSONS

Don Enrique rushed out that afternoon of March 23, 1918 breaking all
of his schedules. A young man interrupted his pharmaceutical work
with a message from home announcing the birth of his firstborn son,
whom he would call Felix for the happiness that overwhelmed him
upon his arrival, and Enrique for obvious reasons.
“This boy will bear my name, my family principles and my good
heart,” said Don Enrique. He made this declaration while smoking a
cigar. Truth be told, it was a Cuban sold in the city’s warehouse, but its
provenance and category of who smoked it, and given the importance
of the event, was called a “puro.” This is how Felix Enrique Gonzalez
Cardenas, protagonist of this tome, came into the world: a day that
ended with a surprising sunset in the midst of a seasonal downpour.
According to those who witnessed this scene, the sun and rain
united in the sky reflecting a beautiful rainbow which began at the
nearest bank of the Pampas River, reached the top of La Picota hill to
the west of the city sending a light from the sky over Calle Tres Mas-
caras and ending in the Choclococha Lagoon that bathed the feet of
the green hills that surround the city, green, very green, and clear, very
clear, the Ayacucho sunsets. A ray of light shown straight down from
the sky illuminating Don Enrique’s house. No one noticed.
Enrique, Enrique Gonzalez Cardenas (we will not call him Felix
Enrique, later you will understand why) had a quiet childhood, with-
in the warmth of a loving and strict music-loving mother, a disci-
plined and reflective father in love with the truth, and an extremely
harmonious and principled family. Enrique had three siblings: Jose

5 25 6
(Josecito or Santo Varon), an excellent pianist who suffered a terrible
accident when he fell from a wall, being naughty and rambunctious
from a tender age, leaving him crippled for life; Luis Enrique (Lucho),
his long wavy hair falling helical loops as a child, a future major gen-
eral of the Peruvian army, master’s degree in development and na-
tional defense having studied at the Camilo Jose de Cela University
in Spain and father of three exemplary children; Luz Teresa (Luceci-
ta as a child), teacher and school principal, very loving sister, exam-
ple of vitality and joy, always cultured and optimistic, mother of two
children, grandmother, great-grandmother and a main collaborator
of this work.

Don Enrique Gonzalez and Doña Teofila.

Enrique, in the first years of life, always accompanied his father

everywhere once he learned to walk, which took quite a while - not
because he was clumsy but because he concentrated his thoughts only
on abstract elements, and he never had the time, the desire, nor the
aptitude for manual tasks. Neither was he skilled at running, football
or billiards - incapacitated as he was by dreaming about the fine arts

5 26 6
or carpentry, electronics or weaving. He tried playing the piano, harp
and mandolin, but he never did well. His results with handicrafts,
dancing, and anything requiring hand eye coordination were null. He
was brilliant with oratory, literature and argumentation – “where did
this and that come from?” We will try to explain:
From the age of three his greatest pleasure was accompanying his
father, from bed to breakfast, from breakfast to pharmacy and then
back home. It was all about following his father and listening to him,
asking questions and getting answers, but answers that convinced
him. He would discuss everything, argue, and repeat the question on
the second or third day. There is no record of anecdotes or special
events until he turned twelve. It is known that until that age he had
three companions always by his side: his mother when he woke up, ate
and slept; his father the rest of the day, and his dreams and thoughts
twenty-four hours a day. Some conversations, it is worthy to note,
were from a very tender age with his father and were as follows:
“Father,” father he said, not papa, trying to tie the shoestrings that
his right shoe that, for some strange reason, he never knew how to tie
as well as his left, “why don’t we drink the water that falls as rain?,” he
asked at only the third year of his life.
“Drinking water, my son, must be pure, so we take it from the stone
distillery we have in the courtyard of the house. We must filter the
water in the same way we filter thoughts within a close family.” was
Don Enrique’s answer.
Three years later, when Enrique was returning from kindergarten,
he came running into the arms of his father, as he always did, and said:
“Father, rainwater is distilled and we can drink it. What’s more,” he
said in his very proper way of speaking, “rainwater is pure, very pure.
It is distilled because of condensation,” he confirmed, opening his eyes
in question.
Don Enrique, thoughtful, only succeeded in saying: “You forget, my
son, the minerals carried in water that is not pure, we need them to be
healthy and strong.”
He never forgot his questions and the answers he received.

5 27 6
 “Father, why is loving human and pardoning divine?”
“Father, what does it mean to be good?”
“Father, why did God create the wicked?”
“Father, where do we come from and for what?”
“Father, what do you want for yourself when you grow up?”
“Father, why does thunder, thunder?”
“Father, are you a conservative Catholic?”
“Father, do you love Mami or desire her?”
“Father, do you love my little brother more than I do?”
“Father, do you like chemistry more than poetry?”
“Father, why don’t you let me into the kitchen?”
“Father, you don’t like me to speak in Quechua, do you.”
These were Enrique’s questions from a very young age, we will
summarize here the answers that his father gave him and thus we
can interpret the educational philosophy and thought that Don En-
rique instilled in his offspring, especially Enrique, who never parted
from his side and seems to have assimilated the forms and reflection
of his father.
We will confine this evangelizing preaching to the selection of a speech
delivered by Don Enrique from a dais erected in the atrium of the cathe-
dral on Christmas 1930 when Enrique was twelve years old. This disserta-
tion reflects the family upbringing of Enrique and his brothers, explains
their love for family and much more, this is the speech:
“Dear wife, beloved children, relatives and guests, highly respected
ecclesiastic, administrative, judicial and police authorities of our city.
It is an honor for me to represent civility on this special occasion, the
honor proffered upon me by God and afforded me by the people who
accept my words and by you, worthy authorities.
The supreme value of the family, which we celebrate with deep pi-
ety on this Christmas day, is rewarded by the birth of Jesus and the
accompaniment at the portal of Bethlehem by his father Joseph and
his mother, our beloved Virgin Mary. The most sublime of events, the
birth of the child God, enlightens us all so that, following the example

5 28 6
of his parents, we may form a united family, supportive and bound to
the laws of the church of Jesus Christ and the laws of the nation.
There is no nation without citizens, there is no citizenship without
respect for order and law, there is no man if there is no family, there is
no family if there is no love. There is no homeland without sacrifice,
there is no one if there is no breadwinner.
We are all equal under the law, like water from the river, all water is
worth the same, there is no disability in any visage or profession of
faith, tolerance and civility are twin sisters and daughters of the same
God, the God of love who is born today.
We have come to this world to serve. Happiness is in giving, not
receiving. Those who have more are not happier, rather those who
need less.
Thank you very much and happy family holidays to all.”
This was the speech which, once completed, attracted an avalanche
of applause, greetings and congratulations. Don Enrique accepted the
greetings, but not the congratulations. In his mind there was nothing
to congratulate, everything he had said, according to his point of view,
was logical and normal.
The cathedral atrium where the podium had been raised illuminat-
ed by two hundred fluorescent lights, a nativity scene on the right and
a Christmas tree full of fruits and gifts for the poor children of the city
on the left, was filled with very well-dressed townsfolk – flowered
blouses, suits and ties of all colors – who were happy to be there. The
speech was delivered at seven fifteen in the evening of December 24th,
1930, as a closing day. The speeches of other characters were forgot-
ten, but this pronouncement survives to this day in the spirit of Aya-
cucho and in the deepest memory of Don Enrique’s descendants, the
man who never fails, and who this time got it right.
Enrique listened to his father’s speech sitting on the far side of the
square, with a blue ink pen in his hand and a notebook in the other.
Not every sentence that his father spoke merited an annotation, En-
rique was seen repeatedly making a gesture that imitated the move-
ment in the writing of the letter “v.” These days one might say that he

5 29 6
repeatedly wrote the Nike sneaker logo. He gave his approval on a
series of questions.
He stood up with a gesture of pride, put the notebook in his back
right pocket, the pen above the middle button of the shirt and at a
slow pace went to meet his siblings and his mother. Father would be at
the authorities’ toast until very late.
He was distracted while walking, watching the parade of Christmas
pallas5 passing along the street, offering beautiful Christmas carols.
The pallas were groups of girls, dressed in black on white skirts, and
pearl colored blouses, with multicolored necklaces and the hats tradi-
tionally worn by Ayacuchan women.
The word palla is a Quechuan word that alludes to “highness or
married heiress,” that is, an Inca princess who has been taken in mar-
riage. The Inca Garcilaso de la Vega relates that the colla was the wife
of the Inca, the nusta was the first daughter of the Inca and the young-
er daughters of the Inca when contracting nuptials took the name of
pallas. However, the Ayacuchan pallas were all girls – innocent school-
age maidens.
He arrived home late, entertained by the synchronized dances and
the beautiful songs of the pallas, especially contemplating on and ab-
sorbed by a girl with a white face, permanent smile and sweet look.
What a strange feeling. His heart stirred slightly. He didn’t understand
what was happening to him. He had never felt this before, he didn’t
like it, it distracted him from his thoughts. He managed to recover and
did not give it much importance.

5 Palla: Highness / married heiress – pronounced “paya”

5 30 6
 CHAPTER THREE

FATAL BLOW, ORPHANED

The days passed peacefully and harmoniously in the orderly, enthusi-

astic and fragile home of the Gonzalez Cardenas family. Very early in
the morning, the sweet song of the pichinchuro awakens everyone.
The melody of this American sparrow, which further north is called
“Indian pishgo” is interrupted only at lunchtime by the chirping of the
chicks of the Andean partridges. Doña Teofila’s toasted wheat soup
kept the four children robust. Don Enrique, with plenty of discipline,
made his four children drink a dose of cod liver syrup every morning
so that they would strengthen their defenses and remain immune to
bacteria. When her children’s little bodies had a slight fever, Doña
Teofila applied damp cloths with thimolina6 on their foreheads, much
better if it was the Leonard brand thimolina, the scrapes and bruises
were treated with a little Charcot ointment.
The economy of the province of Huamanga moved thanks to agri-
culture and livestock in the countryside that rural residents and small
ranchers worked with great difficulty. The poorest only produced for
family consumption, the merchants contributed by offering products
at times and locations necessary to the capital city’s inhabitants. Sun-
day fairs in the main square were no longer as frequent, they were
only common in the surrounding villages. Products imported from
Europe, mainly from England, invaded the world with the industrial
revolution and were demanded by the middle and upper classes.
While the pace of the economy prospered in the city but lagged
behind in the countryside, books filled the municipal library of

6 Thimolina: disinfectant ointment.

5 31 6
Huamanga. In this case, Huamanga refers to the capital city whose
name was changed by Simon Bolivar to Ayacucho – “the corner of
the dead,” in honor of the battle of independence and was also bap-
tized as the “cradle of Hispanic American freedom.” Such was the
impact of this act of independence and the weight of Bolivar’s or-
ders that cities with the same name, Ayacucho, were founded in
Argentina, Bolivia, Ecuador, and Venezuela. Huamanga, founded
in the name of “San Juan de la Frontera de Huamanga,” has since
taken the Wari7 name, “Ayacucho,” so for Ayacuchanos or Huaman-
guinos the name is indifferent and they call themselves Ayacuchanos
or Huamanguinos. The city has two names, but a single identity.
The Ayacuchanos are very proud of their city and their ances-
tors, admire the original Chancas8 and the Wari. They do not care
about their wars and disputes, nor do they feel wounded by the
massacres of the Inca and destruction of their Ancan or Wari an-
cestors. They are proud of the Incas and their extraordinary ad-
ministrative organization. On the other hand, every inhabitant of
Huamangano blood is fervently Catholic and Hispanic in custom,
prays in the manner brought by the Spaniards, worships the Span-
ish god, attends processions with images of Hispanic art, goes to
bullfights and celebrates in the carnivals to an extreme. Everything
is a mixture and confluence of races in Ayacucho, the Spanish lan-
guage and Quechua do not compete, they coexist harmoniously,
the is huayno9 danced with abandon and the marinera and the vals
are heard at night among the verbenas. The harp is played harmo-
niously with the guitar, the mandolin often accompanies the
quena,10 the Ayacucho spirit is great, and it flourishes with an iden-
tity unique to the Americas. An Ayacuchan who does not play any
musical instrument is rare. And scarce is the Huamanguino who

7 Wari or Huari: civilization that flourished in the region from about 500 to 1000
AD / Also the name of the principle city of that culture.
8 Chanca: Regional ethnic group. Anca – Regional ethnic group in Northern Peru.
9 Huayno: Marinera – Vals (Waltz) Traditional Peruvian music and dance styles
10 Quena: Bamboo flute typical to Andean folk music

5 32 6
does not cry while listening to a sad huayno. A heart that does not
beat fervently to the strains of the violin is not Huamanguino.
The sound of the piano bought by his mother resonated with the
melodic tune of huaynos, and Josecito, the youngest son, already
played the sad ones with great skill. The rest of the siblings never had
that ability. Enrique had made an effort on many occasions to learn the
piano and guitar, but never did well. He had a greater interest and un-
derstanding in reading, literature, grammar and law. Literature at-
tracted him from a very tender age, math and other exact sciences
were mere basic necessities for Enrique.
On Sundays the piano keys resonated carnival music that Josecito
rehearsed in order to go out and play, while Enrique and his two broth-
ers did their homework with great dedication. They never required any
tutoring in particular, father and mother made up for any deficiency the
school had. From the age of six, Enrique helped his brothers in the most
difficult tasks. In his free time, when he was not reading poetry, he
solved crossword puzzles with his father and took notes. This is how it
all went, with the blessings of the Lord, and everyone was fine.
On January 4th, 1931, it was cloudy and the storm struck at seven in
the morning. This fateful day dealt a very harsh blow to the Gonzalez
Cardenas family. We will be brief in the narrative, because the im-
mense pain caused does not permit those who remember it to breathe
and it most deeply stirs anyone who attempts to describe it.
The unceasing storm violently whips up the wind, and with it,
the leaves and branches of the trees in the inner courtyard. One of
the doors of the family house clumsily and repetitively slams
against the wall. Don Enrique had been taken to the hospital in a
frightening emergency, he wasn’t in bed. “Where is Papa? Where
are you, my father?” Enrique was heard with a muted voice at
twelve years of age.
There was no time to go to the hospital and accompany father.
There wasn’t even time to say goodbye. A sudden pneumonia that
attacked several days ago, disguised as the flu or nasty cold, destroyed
Don Enrique’s lungs and in a heartbeat carried him to heaven.

5 33 6
 Enrique shot out of the house down to the street of the hospital like
an arrow, but he was stopped by his mother a few steps from the house
when she saw him sobbing. “You are now the man of the house. You
have to be strong,” stressed his mother.
Twelve years old, a widowed mother, his little sister under two
years of age, two brothers, one preparing for his first communion and
the other coming out of confirmation and already Enrique was “the
man of the house.” He had to be strong! And he was, though with a lot,
a whole lot, of difficulty.
Pain became an inseparable companion, chasing him everywhere
as it had persecuted his father. From when he returned from the
cemetery he began taking refuge in books, working in the afternoons
and helping his brothers before bedtime. On the very morning of his
father’s burial, Enrique flew to his bedroom, pulled a book out of the
bedside table drawer, and bathed himself in tears. He drowned in
tears and took refuge in reading. He eagerly opened the text he was
looking for and, stumbling, read looking out of the window to the
horizon in the direction of his father’s sad pharmacy and screaming
in a loud voice said:

Remember the sleeping soul,

stoke your brain and wake up
contemplating how life passes, how
death comes so silently,
how quickly pleasure leaves,
how, after agreeing,
it delivers pain;
how, from this perspective,
any past time was better.

Enrique screamed between sobs that tore his mother and three sib-
lings apart. And he continued reading and shouting loudly enough to
be heard as far as the neighboring sidewalk:

5 34 6
 For if we see how the present as if in
an instant is gone and finished, if we
judge wisely, we will hold not what
has come to be as the past.
Let us not be deceived, no,
into thinking that what one
hopes for shall last longer
than what one has seen,
because everything must
pass this way.

A long silence like an omen of someone about to drown left En-

rique’s face pale. Already breathless, twisting on the floor in pain, he
breathed again with an exhale of agony, an agony from a soul that kills
the body. He came to his feet and continued to read, exclaiming and
screaming again in a vivid voice, in a tone of supplication mixed with
resuscitation:

This world is a path to the next,

which is a dwelling without lament;
better to prudently walk this day
without erring.
We depart when we are born,
we walk while we live, and we
arrive at the time we die;
thus when we die we rest.

He couldn’t read on. He fell to the floor feeling a terrible pain deep
in his stomach. An unbearable weight split his body in two, the middle
of his belly separated the diaphragm from the hips, leaving the lower
extremities aside. Even more painful was the symphonic moaning
emitting from his nose and mouth, the groans, the sobs were unstop-
pable. It clouded his reasoning, he couldn’t endure it, he didn’t endure
it; his soul was gone. “Where is my father?” he said. “Come to me, love

5 35 6
of my loves,” he shouted. “Why are you leaving? Why did you leave?”
he was heard.
That night he fell asleep without eating, nor did he have any food
for several days, to the point that his mother had to take him to the
doctor and to the priest. Nothing had healed these wounds, they re-
mained until his death more than eighty years later. Every time he
spoke of his father, even when he was older, tears ran down his cheeks.
That most painful night, he decided to call himself after his father:
just Enrique, no more Felix. “Nothing’s happy,” he said, “I’ll call myself
Enrique like my father. I will take my father in name and in my soul for
the rest of my life,” he said to himself with total determination.
We jump forward to say that once he was much older and a lawyer
he had the name “Felix” struck from his birth certificate and the public
registry of natural persons, removing it, legally and permanently. Only
the name “Enrique” figured in his electoral notebook.11

11 Electoral Notebook or “Libreta Electoral”: A national identity document formerly

used during elections.

5 36 6
 CHAPTER FOUR

COPOLOGIA

The Colegio Nacional “San Ramon,” the most emblematic of the city of
Ayacucho, was founded by the very same Marshal Don Ramon Castil-
la in 1848 on Thursday, August 31. It was initially named after the
marshal and was then removed for 14 years during the disastrous War
of the Pacific. The name was changed in 1936 to that of another mar-
shal, this time an Ayacuchan: Colegio “Mariscal Caceres,” in honor of
the dignified and brave Andres Avelino Caceres, national hero of Peru.
Enrique finished his remaining years of high school at the San Ra-
mon School, demonstrating himself to be an extremely focused stu-
dent; we are not exaggerating if we say that he was outstanding. His
grades from very young to fifth grade were surprisingly extraordinary.
Books during these years constituted the central axis of his life. His
family, as well, was always his essence and his guidepost.
For unknown though surely justified reasons – or probably because
Don Enrique’s paternal uncle was co-owner of the pharmacy, or for
inexplicable reasons in those times based upon being either male or
female – an uncle had retained ownership, perhaps not sole-owner-
ship, of the pharmacy while the widow Doña Teofila remained virtual-
ly abandoned with her four children.
There was no doubt, Enrique was now responsible for the suste-
nance and care of the house. Doña Teofila divided her time between
household chores, a part-time job as an educational assistant and
some other work typical of the women of that time, such as sewing
and cooking, in order to earn a few coins.
It was thus that Enrique, from a very young age, had to work as an
copyist and assistant in the commercial activities and offices of some
generous friends of his father who, due to the affection they professed

5 37 6
for Don Enrique and given the seriousness that his son demonstrated
in all his doings, provided him the opportunity to work in their offices
and businesses. At the same time, Enrique discovered that helping his
schoolmates with schoolwork and studies also brought in some mon-
ey. And so it was that he became, from such a tender age, an elemen-
tary and even a high school teacher. All this was carried out with the
parents’ and students’ knowledge while being hidden from the teach-
ers of the school who, sometimes out of jealousy and sometimes out
of envy, repeatedly tried to prevent such magisterial undertakings. It
was once heard that there was an outcry on the part of a teacher,
whose name remained unmentioned, who issued a complaint submit-
ted to the principal of the school to not only to prevent Enrique’s tuto-
rial endeavors, but to expel him from school on charges of illegally
impersonating a teacher.
This complaint gave rise to young Enrique’s having to rise very ear-
ly that morning and run to his father’s closet and pull out his Sunday
suit, dressing in front of the mirror and imitating his father’s gestures.
He adjusted his pants, his shirt with cufflinks, and awkwardly tied the
long tie around his neck. He rushed out without having breakfast. A
long night of rehearsing allowed Enrique to put forth an impeccable
defense before the surprised principal and the board of teachers. We
will try to present the facts of this so amazing episode and the argu-
ments that Enrique wielded:
“Mr. Principal of this esteemed San Ramon School, very worthy
professors of the council, dear parents and attendees in this hall. I find
myself in a difficult situation, presenting myself before you in this
room accustomed to the most beautiful recitals, as a subject who has
broken the laws and regulations of the school,” Enrique began.
“One of my blessed teachers, a sacrificing professor, led by internal
forces unknown to me and that, although I have witnessed them, I
could never dare to qualify, denounces me for having taken his selfless
privileges, having damaged his honor hurts me even more because my
intentions in helping my classmates in their school work have the

5 38 6
same and great purpose that my teacher and the entire teaching staff
of this wonderful campus all pursue.”
“I want to tell you, Mr. Principal and gentlemen of the faculty
council that the motives, the passion and the values that my teacher
chooses in each of his classes are exactly the same as I bring to my
classmates. What little I teach my friends is exactly the same as what
my teachers have taught me. So if my teachers bring good to their
students, I do nothing but help in that endeavor. Any success that I
may achieve in this mission is therefore the success of my teachers.”
This was Enrique’s central argument. The room was absorbed and
mute. When the attendees began one by one to express themselves in
vigorous applause, Enrique raised his arm and putting his hand up in
a stop sign forced them to silence – a complete and prolonged silence
that was only interrupted when Enrique approached the very foot of
the stage energetically throwing up his other hand, but in a respectful
way, holding a document stating:
“I refer to the exams. These are the notes of my... of our students, in
them you will see how they have evolved since, following in the foot-
steps of my teachers present here, that which I have imparted them, I
do not teach, I only offer assistance!”
The Principal attempted to take the floor but couldn’t. The ex-
citement invaded the room and the applause and hurrahs of the
attendees ended the session. A group of students who had sneaked
behind the door and through the windows had seen these scenes
burst into the room and carried Enrique on his shoulders, who,
with a face of joy that had not been seen since January, laughed
proudly. The thin part of the red tie had unraveled and trailed
across the floor. There was no doubt that this red tie was his fa-
ther’s and was relatively long only due to the difference in sizes
between him and his father, but how well it suited him intellectual-
ly and courageously. No one noticed neither that the jacket and
pants were his size. As he left the room, Enrique was only heard to
say: “I think I’m going to be a lawyer.”

5 39 6
 But let’s move to the “copologia.”12 We understand by copologia
not the study or art of glasses, or drinking from glasses, we understand
by copologia what Enrique himself repeatedly said – as the adult he
from a young age embodied – whenever he was happy:
Enrique said that when he was very young, of school age, returning
home tired from working and going to school, in high school, one af-
ternoon his neighbor across the street, despite being a man of working
age and capable of producing, did nothing but get drunk on cane alco-
hol until he could drink no more, a man who wandered through life
always drunk and whose parents had thrown him out of the house
because of so much drinking, as so many had closed the door on him
and did not let him in. The drunk, when he saw Enrique approaching
with books under his arm, so knowledgeable – almost the entire town
knew Enrique as he was famous for being a very focused and studious
young man – sputtered gutturally: “Enriquito, you dumb little black
boy, copologia is better than education” and “plonk” threw a rock at
the door of his family’s house. “My father’s house” he said, “plonk”
another rock, “my mother’s house” and then “plonk” another.
We tell this story with almost the same words that Enrique used.
He told it with eyes shining with happiness, saying to whomever: “He
called me black because of the color of my skin which is darker than
that of my parents. And he sure knew that I was studious, that’s why
he mentioned education,” ha, ha, ha, he laughed.
That afternoon Enrique looked at the drunkard’s eyes for the first
time. He heard his words, but he didn’t laugh, he sat on the edge of the
gutter that ran down the edge the street and reflexively began to read
– read and think – to think.
This brief story marked Enrique’s life in an important way. It re-
mained unforgettable, not because of the plonk of the rock, but be-
cause of the lessons it brought him. Duty was essential for a fruitful
life. The appearance and sadness in the drunkard’s gaze reinforced his

12 Copologia: Pronounced Có-po-lo-hía – “Copology” / An invented word. “Copa” is

a glass for drinking wine or spirits.

5 40 6
convictions, the drunkard’s lack of spirit, his diminished self-worth, his
abandonment, would be unacceptable and odious conditions for his
life’s future. “Education was my second father; learning will always be
my stronghold. Education is better than a sad, wayward, and unproduc-
tive life. This underpins the family,” Enrique repeated with conviction.
So copologia is a holy word, a word that ignites spirits, it is now, for
the entire Gonzalez family, a philosophy of life, copologia picks you up
after falling down, copologia shakes your soul when you fail, it does
not leave you lying there, it doesn’t “plonk.” Copologia is indeed worth
more than just education, copologia is saying NO to adversity. But the
other side of the copologia is abandonment, the drunkenness of liquor,
pride or envy, scourges that must be avoided. Children, grandchildren
and great-grandchildren know this, and sometimes, reluctantly, we’ve
learned it from daughters-in-law and sons-in-law.
The drunkard’s visage in this story, in its most beautiful or perhaps
saddest essence, reminds us that this same man left to abandonment,
drunk and battered, before had bright sparkling eyes of contempla-
tion. This was the same young man who knew of a very punctual phar-
macist and advised the authorities, and he was the same cute little boy
who heralded Enrique’s birth.

5 41 6
 CHAPTER FIVE

THE DILEMMA

Saturday afternoons surprised Enrique, immersed in studies through-

out the school year. He interrupted his reading only on Thursdays and
Saturdays at six in the afternoon to attend the outdoor concert played
by the municipal band which twice weekly entertained the population
with beautiful melodies.
The outdoor concerts were delicious in those days. Enrique – con-
stantly full of pain and suffering from the arduous transitions the family
was going through, without money and in need – found solace during
those Thursdays and Saturdays listening to and observing the beautiful-
ly dressed municipal band dressed in blue military style uniforms.
The Ayacuchan crowd circled around the square along the sur-
rounding promenade, the men walking around clockwise to the right
and the women in the opposite direction in such a way that they could
watch, smile and even wink, although the wink was rarely noticed due
to the scant lighting, despite the beautiful moon and the stars that al-
ways illuminated the Huamangan nights.
This ritual was carried out in summer, autumn and spring.
During the rainy season the concerts were suspended and the ro-
mance halted. The seasonal pause, it is said, a certain mayor, who
shall remain nameless, wanted to modify during the 1930s when En-
rique, already a teenager, was promenading to the beat of the munic-
ipal band. This imaginative mayor decreed that Ayacuchan happi-
ness should be celebrated all year round and, therefore, also between
the months of November to March every year. This decree came into
force for only fifteen days because a downpour of hail made the mu-
nicipal band, passers-by, the mayor and his entourage run, including
his wife who was rather overweight and, wearing a tight outfit,

5 43 6
slipped and fell into a mud puddle leading to more than a few laughs.
The oral history of Ayacucho relates that this event resulted in the
divorce of the aforementioned mayor.
Among one those many Saturday afternoon promenades, there
was the day when Enrique, only fifteen years old, saw a delicate body
walking towards him and his buddies. A group of seven girls, all of
them teenagers and students from the girl’s school, in a slow and
synchronized step approached from about fifteen meters in the op-
posite direction, and among all of them, Enrique spotted a familiar
silhouette. At twelve meters he caught her gaze, at ten meters her
smile, at three meters he recognized the sweet palla who had stirred
his heart several years ago and whom he could never forget. At two
meters he gave a sigh, and at one meter he said hello and oh! for the
first time he saw a wink, yes, a wink, and this time, without a doubt,
it was meant for him.
Ever since that afternoon Enrique never missed the concerts, nei-
ther on Thursdays nor Saturdays. Between the back and forth, the hel-
los and winks, Enrique was captivated, excited to be alive once again.
Since that afternoon, though his laughter was more frequent, his stud-
ies were often interrupted by lovely daydreams. Self-absorbed, he saw
in the air the face and figure of that beautiful girl, the beautiful palla
with the rhythmic walk and smile that changed everything. Only one
more step was missing: a date.
Enrique’s friends, who were more gregarious and experienced, ad-
vised him to make a date, a romantic date. This is when Enrique wrote
a note that, as he remembers, said something like:
“My joy of seeing you at the concert nights is beautiful; however,
my eagerness to hear you urges me to ask you out on a date. This
Thursday afternoon at six thirty, instead of at the concert, I want to see
your silhouette by the pool of the church of Santa Teresa.”
The church of Santa Teresa – its setting – is a quiet, solitary, beauti-
ful, discrete; a most appropriate place to guard the secrecy the occasion
deserved. In the sanctuary of the monastery housed within this colonial
complex is a community of cloistered nuns who pray, prepare delicious

5 44 6
sweet desserts, and scrutinize the sins of the suffering populace of Hua-
manga. Its solid stone architecture is a testament of the people’s Catho-
lic faith. Santa Teresa and its monastery consist of, without a doubt, the
most beautiful architectural complex in the city.
The beautiful and innocent palla came to the appointment dressed
in a demure lilac dress, white shoes freshly polished with a rag soaked
in drops of sheep’s milk, which was always used to preserve and shine
ladies’ patent leather shoes and purses which shone from afar. Her
purse, small but elegant, of the same material and color of her shoes,
hung from the right shoulder of the palla and completed the frame
that made her lively eyes stand out from the fair face and the youthful,
saintly beauty of this beautiful young girl with long black braids and
fine silver earrings.
Enrique arrived to his first date with his hair slicked back with hair
cream, an old leather belt with a buckle shaped like a saddle – inherit-
ed from his father – gray pants – a little short – well-shined leather
shoes with worn soles, socks from the pharmacy, a white shirt and a
smile that said it all. The world was new to Enrique, he regretted not
going to Mass with mother, he promised to do so in gratitude to God
for the joy of living. The sky was beautiful again, like when he was
walking with father. How beautiful the night was, how beautiful the
young girl was, how beautiful the immense stone wall, beautiful En-
rique with his dreamy face.
The date was very short but intense, profound. They held hands,
contrasting Enrique’s rough, brown hand with the delicate, small white
hand of the palla. But there was no contrast in the joy, innocence and
desire in either of them. A brief conversation, a kiss on the cheek, a
new date made for Saturday. It was sensational. The time could have
been longer if it were not for the fact that at nine o’clock a chorus of
female voices was heard singing a beautiful hymn: it was the cloistered
nuns singing to Jesus.
Enrique’s friends, clever and playful sorts, had followed Enrique
without being seen. They did not want to miss the debut of such a
superb heartthrob. After he had said goodbye to the girl, they came

5 45 6
out of their hiding places and asked him: “How was it? What hap-
pened?” they insisted, “How did you feel?”
None of them had ever been on a romantic date. From then on it
didn’t matter to them that Enrique was not good at playing soccer and
that he only played as a goalkeeper; from then on Enrique was a leader
and a champion. Given the darkness surrounding that place, they had
seen nothing of that evening’s encounter. Enrique only managed to
say: “I had my first sexual experience,” and it was true if we take into
account sexuality in all its dimension. A kiss on the forehead was a lot,
it was everything.
Enrique acquired a new routine: going over his lessons early in the
morning, helping mother at breakfast and lunch, school until five in
the afternoon, the evening secretarial job in the messy municipal of-
fice – where he later managed to work as a teacher at night school –
the kid’s homework until nine at night, his and his classmates’ home-
work until the wee hours of the night. Occasionally a prayer before
sleeping, a letter to the palla and six hours of sleep.
The evening routine was different on Tuesdays and Thursdays be-
cause of the romantic dates. The concerts were out of the picture, the
meetings with his palla were his priority. On weekends, football and
hanging out in the mornings, reading in the afternoons and again
homework in the evenings.
This self-regulation was only interrupted during Moments when
thoughtful plans for the future invaded his mind. These reflections led
him to write on the back cover of his favorite book, The Black Heralds,
this annotation:

My goals and commitments:

1. Educate my siblings and everyone around me.

2. Improve the lives of my mother and siblings.
3. Advocate for just causes and contribute to my Ayacucho.
4. Create a solid family.
5. Write a book.

5 46 6
 His strict routine, his friends, his sweet lover, placed Enrique in a
dilemma difficult to resolve: on one hand he had his studies, on the
other his beloved palla and his friends. There was not enough time. He
chose his studies.
A fervent wish could not be fulfilled due to lack of economic re-
sources, his senior year put him in an even greater dilemma: he was
awarded a scholarship to study education at the Universidad Mayor de
San Marcos in Lima. He received a letter from Lima which was opened
by his mother, whom Enrique found crying inconsolably that after-
noon. “He’s leaving, my son is leaving,” lamented Doña Teofila, throw-
ing the letter into Enrique’s hands, who avidly verified that the presti-
gious university had admitted him, and had awarded him a scholarship
to continue his studies majoring in education!

5 47 6
 CHAPTER SIX

BETWEEN DUTY AND DESIRE

The carnivals of 1936 were not as hectic for Enrique as they were in
previous years. The comparsas13 of maidens in groups of fifty or more
who paraded through the streets of the Plaza Mayor beautifully
dressed in airy, white skirts, showing flirtatious legs in perfect harmo-
ny, the faces painted white with scented talc, did not attract his atten-
tion this time. This parade, a beautiful and cheerful sampling of folk-
loric music of guitars, Ayacuchan drums and hollow reed flutes, this
time, did not awaken any enthusiasm for dancing.
Doña Teofila that Sunday in March prayed the rosary very early,
took a leather belt onto which she had concocted a hidden back
pocket made from a long rag. Into this she stuffed the scarce few ten
soles14 bills and some coins she had obtained from the sale of her last
chandelier and her “valuable” silver chamber pot that she never used.
This money would be used to maintain Enrique during his first weeks
in the capital.
A cloth suitcase with two handles, the leather belt, a pair of sneak-
ers, three shirts, two pairs of underwear, and a gym uniform that was
used for playing soccer was the luggage for this long trip to the capital.
The farewell was terrible, painful, the “man of the house” was mov-
ing out. Mother felt widowed for the second time, his siblings or-
phaned twice. The family dog began to howl, in the distance a trumpet
from the Plaza Mayor was heard to the rhythm of hurtful carnival.

13 Comparsa: Varied carnival street music and dance. Common throughout Latin
America.
14 Sol: The currency in Peru

5 49 6
Enrique listened to the trumpet intone the agonizing “Sound of Si-
lence” and not the huaynos nor the marching music.
Enrique that day woke up and rose at the usual hour that day, taci-
turn, serious, as was normal for him. Those traits that were hidden
since he met his sweet palla became evident again and remained for
many years. The sadness he always carried in tow, but hidden from his
family, this time was very clearly noticeable; the osca15 face that char-
acterized him could not be disguised by his dark complexion.
He shined his shoes with black tar polish, tying the left quickly and
the other with difficulty. He put on his clean and well ironed denim
pants. His little sister Tere meticulously brushed a little lint from his
shirt and put the brush in the suitcase. His mother, looking at him,
told him: “You can’t go to the great and sophisticated capital dressed
like that,” she handed him the gray suit that his father wore on Sundays
which she’d had altered to fit him, and made him put it on. “This way
you will arrive quite properly to your uncle’s house.”
The night before traveling he hid five notes written on paper, all
written with the same care, with the same tenor and the same verse.
One he hid in the very center of the Main Square, the second on his
mother’s nightstand, the third in a crack in the gate of his school, the
fourth between two stones of the highest wall of the church of Santa
Teresa where he had been on so many nights.

The note read:

I don’t want to leave but I’m leaving, I’m going very far away;
Huamanga, my land, land of my sorrows, my loves, I don’t want
to leave but I’m leaving.

Goodbye, my little ones; goodbye, mother; dear mother, I am gone.

Sweet palla, goodbye; friends, I’m leaving and I don’t want to

leave; another sky awaits me, but soon I will be back.

15 Osca: Red

5 50 6
 Land of Huamanga, thorns and flowers you have given me; I
promise you, I am leaving, but I will return.

On a poor little burro I am sadly leaving, on a golden steed I will

return.

The bus trip to Lima took about twenty-four hours, on firm dirt
roads, which however became muddy in the rainy season. Yet for En-
rique it took two full days and long nights. At the end of the trip the
pants of his suit looked worn in comparison to the jacket that served
him alternately as a blanket and a pillow. The tie choked him more
than once, awakening him almost asphyxiated. His thoughts revolved
between the past and the future, there was no present. The ordeal of
the trip ended on the third day at dawn.
The bus stopped suddenly in front of the Palace of Justice in the center
of the city. The driver turned on the radio and clearly heard that new song
that reached his soul: “Goodbye town of Ayacucho, perlaschallay.”16
There are at least assumptions as to the authorship and origin of
this huayno. The first was told to him personally by a childhood
friend with whom Enrique had had many good times, the exception-
al Ayacuchan harpist, Florencio Coronado. Which was later con-
firmed in the radio program, The Musical Herald, on National Radio
of Peru. Florencio said that this huayno, half sad and half joyful, was
composed in honor of the battle of Ayacucho fought for Peru’s inde-
pendence in 1824.
The second assumption, put forth by the also famous Ayacuchan
guitarist, and Enrique’s godson, Raul Garcia Zarate, who said that the
song was inspired by the military exploits of the famous Huamangan,
Andres Avelino Caceres, much loved and respected hero and politician.
The third version, held by Enrique to be the most reliable, is the
one that states that it was Luis Uchurri, a merchant fond of guitar mu-
sic and a native of Acocro, a beautiful town near Huamanga in the
highlands of the department of Ayacucho, who frequently traveled for

16 Perlaschallay: Quechua word meaning “my little pearl.”

5 51 6
business to Huamanga and fell in love with a beautiful Ayacuchan
named Perla and was soon rejected due to certain slanderous accusa-
tions propagated by a jealous lad. Hence in honor of Perla, his beloved,
the verse “perlaschallay,” which translated into Spanish translates as
“my little pearl,” is the most accurate assumption. This is demonstrated
by the following translation:

Good bye Ayacucho town, perlaschallay, good bye

Good bye Ayacucho town, my Perlita,

ripuqtaña qawariway, perlaschallay, no matter

how far away I am, my Perlita,

I will never forget you, perlaschallay I will

never forget you, my Perlita.

This evocative huayno has several versions. Here is the best known:

Good bye Ayacucho town, Perlaschallay.

Land where I was born, perlaschallay.
Certain ill choices, perlaschallay. are
forcing me to leave, perlaschallay.

Pagarinsi ripuchiani Perlaschallay.

Manapita adiósnispa perlaschallay.
Causaspaycha kutimusaq perlaschallay.
Huañuspayga manañacha perlaschallay.

Good bye Ayacucho town, perlaschallay.

Where I’ve suffered so, perlaschallay.
No matter how far away I go, perlaschallay.
I will never forget you, perlaschallay.

On June 28, 1930, this sweet, and inconsolably cheerful song was
recorded for the first time, which is sung and felt by all Ayacuchanos
and Peruvians.

5 52 6
 Enrique’s new home would be that of his aunt Magdalena Gonza-
lez Espinar, sister to his father and wife of a Spanish gentleman named
Juan Sanchez. Enrique walked fourteen blocks to his uncle’s house lo-
cated in the neighborhood of Santa Beatriz, very close to where the
National Stadium would later be built in 1952.
The arduous journey, the long walk, hunger and exhaustion, depos-
ited Enrique in front of his aunt’s house: battered, disheveled and dis-
turbed. He rang the doorbell on the second floor yet no one answered
his call. All the inhabitants of the house were asleep. The door of the
house opened two hours later. His aunt and uncle, bewildered by the
gray lump that slept under the facade, could not hold back their tears,
and with overwhelming kindness and affection gave him hot milk,
bread and bologna, and a muffin smeared with sauco17 jam. The sweet
taste of that muffin always remained in Enrique’s memory.
His cousins, four girls and one boy, brightened up the house of his
Aunt and Uncle Sanchez. This was his new home, and his cousins Gra-
ciela, Naomi, Consuelo and Leonor (Juancito), made the house shrill.
Juancito, later Major General and Secretary of State Juan Sanchez Gon-
zalez, was as studious as Enrique, although of a more sympathetic char-
acter. Enrique was very affable, but always with a stern countenance.
Nonetheless, they became great friends. Enrique also won immense af-
fection from cousins, aunts, uncles and visitors to the home.
The harmony of the home allowed all its members to carry out
their school, military and university studies with great success. En-
rique achieved high grades in his education studies at the Universidad
Mayor de San Marcos, obtaining a doctorate degree. Juan, as we have
already mentioned, achieved an outstanding military career; the girls
were very happy and experienced all the adventure any women might
desire and each lived to a very ripe old age.
Enrique was successful during his college years between books,
days spent in Ayacucho with his colleagues and with friends from Ay-
acucho living in Lima, plus his time dedicated to the publication of the

17 Sauco: Elderberry.

5 53 6
Ayacucho youth newspaper which he founded. The nostalgia of seeing
his mother and siblings again and visiting his beloved land spurred
him on during his hard battle. The palla was soon left behind. Every
Christmas he returned to this land that welcomed him with extreme
sweetness, only to say goodbye again between tears and sorrows.
One afternoon he felt a severe pain in his belly combined with an
unbearable fever and headache. He was rushed to Archbishop Loayza
Hospital in serious condition. It was an acute appendicitis that had
completely filled his belly with pus. Upon entering the operating room,
Dr. Marcial Jauregui, about to operate on him, seeing him entering on
the stretcher said: “I don’t give this boy half a chance to live.” However,
his aunt’s and cousins’ prayers performed the miracle of seeing him
check out on the fourth day, rosy-cheeked and brimming with health.
The most important extracurricular activity for Enrique in his
youthful years was, nevertheless, to meet with his group of Aya-
cuchan friends with whom he had formed an organization called the
Asociación de Jóvenes Ayacuchanos (AJA).18 The members of the
group were Ayacuchan students of various universities and ages, and
Enrique was the eldest.
With the money he earned in the teaching profession, every two
weeks he could send some money to his native Ayacucho. In this way
he helped to move the lives of his mother and siblings forward. Every
time he made a money transfer to his family home Enrique said to
himself: “I think I am fulfilling my first goal – ‘to improve the lives of
my mother and my siblings’.”
During the Saturday festivities, huaynos ayacuchanos were danced
and were repeated tirelessly. Many times to the rhythm and harmony
of the sound of the harp of Florencio Coronado who, at first, was hired
to play, but who, later, and for a long time, played only to please his
friends and to accompany them under a rain of beer and dancing.
The songs were danced to with hometown friends, whom were
Ayacuchan. Enrique had learned to dance through a lot of effort. His

18 Asociación de Jovenes Ayacuchanos: Ayacuchan Youth Association.

5 54 6
favorite step was to jump on his toes with both feet together, like
jumping rope. He was jumping up and down to show off his height as
well. Actually, he danced horribly, but the mental concentration he
applied to it gave him a certain grace which everyone applauded. The
zapateos19 in the huaynos he performed quite well – generally – and
it seems that almost unconsciously, he always preferred to dance with
girls with nice white legs.
During one of the traditional festivities he met a very beautiful,
open and passionate girl whose name was Caesarea. Enrique main-
tained a loving relationship with her for many months. He fell deeply
in love, but his inexperience in the conflicts of love ended in his losing
her, leading to a young man’s disillusion and provoking a certain de-
gree of depression.
He came to believe that he would never fulfill his dream of starting
a family. He even thought about following in the footsteps of Queen
Elizabeth, who married her homeland. He also thought he should
marry an Ayacuchan girl.
At the beginning of his studies in education, Enrique’s desire was to
work in the schools of Ayacucho; however, he could only obtain a
teaching position as a elementary teacher of Peruvian literature and
history in the city of Sicuani in the department of Cuzco. Given his
economic circumstances and the scarcity of opportunities in a coun-
try where getting a steady and formal job was like finding a needle in a
haystack, he had to accept the position. The good thing about this job
opportunity was that working in the mountains and near Ayacucho,
for a lover of mountains, blue skies and rain, would give him peace of
mind and bring health to his lungs, because the humid air of Lima had
already wreaked havoc on his respiratory system.
Enrique now held the chair left by the illustrious and very famous
“indigenist,” Jose Maria Arguedas, author of three famous books: Los
Ríos Profundos, Todas las Sangres and El Zorro de Arriba y el Zorro de
Abajo. Those who saw Enrique on the first day of school say that his

19 Zapateo: A regional style of tap dance

5 55 6
presence and poise surprised the students, who went on to give an
account to the young principal, telling her: “The new teacher believes
in what he says.” “He knows what he’s doing,” they added. This greatly
intrigued the principal.
While not all the Gonzalez Cardenas family could go to Sicuani, his
mother and younger sister Teresa, then in her next to last year of high
school, accompanied him. Lucho some time ago, when he was barely
sixteen, had begun a military career as a soldier – that is, he had en-
tered as a basic recruit because he was not old enough nor did he
possess the resources to enter officers’ school. His brother Pepe stayed
in Ayacucho taking care of the house and cultivating his musical and
recreational attributes.
His stay in Sicuani provided some economic and emotional relief
and the days passed placidly and harmoniously. Teresa was Enrique’s
student during her last year of high school. Doña Teofila sought income
working as an educational assistant. Enrique, quite solvent in academ-
ics, won the affection and admiration of the Sicuanense20 community.
He had several lovers – almost all teachers or nurses of the town.
On their first night of passion, the principal is said to have shouted:
“The students are right; this teacher knows what he’s doing.” Leaving
the room, radiant and satisfied, she added to herself: “the fox has fallen
into the deep river, he has no blood left.”
From this passionate affection a baby boy was born, as Enrique
would tell years later. The young principal became pregnant without
wanting to. Enrique, upon hearing the news and knowing that she did
not want to have the baby, told her not to worry, that he would keep
the child, but this would not be so, the baby lost his life at moment of
birth, entangled in the umbilical cord.
The causes of the breakup between Enrique and the young lady
from Sicuani are not known. It is said that he traveled to Cuzco after
the unfortunate event. For Enrique, eager to have a family, it was a
blow that he could never forget nor would he hide.

20 Sicuanense: Pertaining to Sicuani

5 56 6
 Upon his return from Sicuani he completed his doctorate in educa-
tion, became a professor at his own university and became a high
school professor in the subjects of Peruvian literature and history. He
taught with passion at several schools such as Hipoito Unanue, the
Centenary, and highly prestigious Guadalupe School on Alfonso
Ugarte Avenue. He excelled as a teacher and leader who is remem-
bered by his students and teachers of that time. At the Guadalupe
School he was baptized with the nickname of “Mad Dog” for his de-
manding nature and how he punished the students.
It was known that Mad Dog was one of Enrique’s favorite phrases
he would employ when one of his students did not answer a question
or had not done the homework or did something they shouldn’t have.
That was when he called them Mad Dog, and at other times he said to
them, “Do no evil.” Sometimes he would tell the students to “get ‘m
outta here” so that the students would gather around the one in ques-
tion and give him a “knuckle sandwich.”
As he was leaving the school and was out on the street, the stu-
dents shouted from the windows, Mad Dog, see ya’ later, Mad Dog. He
was amused and left smiling.
“Mad Dog.” This is the nickname many students affectionately
greeted him with on the streets for many years afterwards.

Professor Enrique.

5 57 6
 CHAPTER SEVEN

GIVING BACK TO MY AYACUCHO

During his college years, Enrique became passionate about the princi-
ples of APRA, the American Revolutionary People’s Alliance party,
created by Victor Raul Haya de la Torre in 1924, and founded years
later in 1930 as a political party. The principles that captivated Enrique
were “solidarity with all the oppressed peoples and classes of the
world.” This was the only principle according to Enrique, the others:
Anti-imperialism, political unity of Latin America, nationalization of
land and industries and internationalization of the Panama Canal
were, for Enrique, instruments, the first principle was immovable, the
instruments or tools could be adapted.
He studied law after obtaining a doctorate in education. With his law
degree he felt more independent and he opened a small law firm, Estu-
dio Gonzalez Cardenas, in rented premises, first on Jiron21 Monzon and
then at the 354 Jiron Pachitea in the city center. Later he managed to buy
a smaller office in the same building, suite 306, “modest but dignified”
on the third floor, it was equipped with a tiny elevator, which Enrique
never used because “we have to warm up the legs,” he said.
During these years early in 1945, with some of the creditworthiness
that his profession lavished upon him, Enrique fulfilled another of his
goals: He was able to bring his family to live in Lima with more comfort
and finally “all together again.” That is to say that Enrique was the man
of the house, the pater familias, once again. His mother’s care encircled
him, his profession provided sustenance and roof over their heads on
the second floor of a small cottage in the neighborhood of Santa Beatriz,
near the Sanchez cousins, in order to be able to visit them.

21 Jiron: A small street / something equivalent to Drive or Way.

5 59 6
Aprista Enrique runs for parliament.

5 60 6
 Enrique actively participated in APRA, his union with the so-called
JAP, Juventud Aprista22 Peruana – Peruvian Aprista Youth – and later,
during his multiple trips to Ayacucho, he enrolled in the party, becom-
ing a candidate for deputy of Ayacucho on two occasions.
During these years he led the formation of a group of intellectuals, all
teachers, in which his great friend Juan Torres Garcia, Rafael Vasquez Al-
varez – who was years later godfather at the baptism of Enrique’s second
daughter, and the historian Telmo Salinas all participated. The gatherings
had intellectual purposes, although once invited to a trip to Chile, Juan
returned with the nickname of “Wolf” and Enrique that of “Little Wolf,”
whatever antics had generated these nicknames they never revealed.

Deputy Enrique.

22 Aprista: Member of APRA, the American Revolutionary People’s Alliance

5 61 6
 It was known that, during the campaigns of 1962 and 1963, he
traveled tirelessly by mule and horse throughout the department of
Ayacucho. On one occasion, in the neighborhood of Quinuapata re-
turning to the capital Huamanga, a very devout Catholic lady said to
him at the end of a rally of the “Aprista fraternity”: “Enriquito, I pray to
the Lord of Justice that you may be a deputy,” to which Enrique replied:
“With or without the Lord of Justice, I will be deputy.”
He was elected deputy in both the 1962 and 1963 elections, though
he was also removed by coups in 1962 and 1968. In the second elec-
tion he became vice-president of the chamber and chairman of the
constitutional commission.
It is also known that while president of the constitutional commis-
sion of the Chamber of Deputies the Aprista party presented a bill that
was considered to be important. Enrique did not give his approval of
the aforementioned measure. Though he was pressured by the presi-
dent of the Senate, who was at that time the powerful Dr. Luis Alberto
Sanchez, Enrique argued that the proposed law was unconstitutional
and that he would not support it.
This contempt for the orders on the part of the Aprista hierar-
chy was denounced before the party leader at the meeting of the
Aprista parliamentary “cell” attended by all of the party’s deputies,
senators and leaders. Luis Alberto Sanchez, when asked by Víctor
Raul Haya de la Torre what state the bill was in, very loudly and
angrily replied to the surprise of the attendees: “Our colleague
Gonzalez Cardenas will not authorize a procedure. He does not
feel like raising the bill before the senators,” to which Enrique re-
plied: “The bill is unconstitutional and I am not going to pass it,
out of respect for my country and out of respect for my party. I do
not wish to become the laughing stock of deputies Ramirez del Vil-
lar and others who are constitutionalists.”
Given the above exchange, the attendees remained silent with the
consent and implicit approval of their fellow leader, Víctor Raul. Con-
fronted by this, Luis Alberto Sanchez, always sharp and intelligent,

5 62 6
managed to say: “What happens is that comrade Gonzalez Cardenas
conjugates the verb “power” with the letter ‘j’.”23
Everything was left there, nothing else was heard about that bill.
The congressional assemblies, together with the Government,
were dismissed by the military coups of Perez Godoy in 1962 and
Velazco Alvarado in 1968. With this second blow, Enrique returned to
his work as a lawyer in his small firm on Jiron Pachitea.

Vice President of the Chamber of Deputies Enrique

23 Joder, pronounced Hodér: To fuck with, ruin or make things difficult. As opposed
to Poder - Power

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 CHAPTER EIGHT

SUNDAYS IN HUAMPANI

The young Ayacuchans in Lima became ever more friends, more

dancers and lovers of the jarana.24 They learned to dance the waltz
and also the tango that was very popular among the middle and upper
classes of the city of Lima.
They founded Ayacucho Day which they celebrated every year. They
created the Ayacucho Departmental Club located in a rented room on
Brazil Avenue. This place witnessed discussion, polemic discourse,
speeches, literary essays as well as revelry, drunkenness and romance.
All the members of the Ayacucho gang were engaged in productive
professional work and were more than thirty years of age, but a small
problem remained: they were all still single while the rest of the Aya-
cuchanos and provincials were not. Thus, in an assembly meeting they
decided that “permission is given and there is an obligation to fall in
love. Falling in love for life” and obtaining a stable partner.
The group met three or four times a week, on Tuesdays AJA ses-
sions discussed national issues and ways to help Ayacucho, on Thurs-
days to edit and publish Ayacucho, on Saturdays at noon to play sa-
po25 at any one of the many provincial restaurants on weekends,
digging deeply into their wallets, they enjoyed lunch at the Rosita

24 Jarana: Festive gathering full of live music, dancing and drinking. More than just
a party.
25 Sapo: A game similar to darts, but instead of darts and a dart board, large metal
discs - sort of like big coins - are thrown at a wooden cabinet with holes in its
front. A “bull’s eye” is getting the disc into the mouth of a brass frog fixed on top
of the cabinet. Sapo – means Frog. Impajaritablemente – Inevitably. Serrana(o)
– A person native to the sierra – mountains.

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Rios restaurant in the Rimac. Saturday night was the “impajaritable-
mente”, an excuse to dance and party until dawn. The restful Sundays
were dedicated to nature walks and enjoying the mountain sunshine
in the vicinity of Lima.
The ever-active group invited provincial girls, especially the serra-
nas,26 to their Saturday parties and Sunday walks. The five members
exuded charm with an embellishing innocent transparency. The girls
very much enjoyed their amiability and companionship. Enrique’s life
was about to take a huge turn, a complete turnaround – a springboard
to emotional stability that would shed the weight of the thorns that
had been exhausting him and holding him down.
The weekend walks to Huampani were quite beautiful. Getting
their feet wet in the river reminded them of their land in the Andes.
Looking at the blue sky was comforting, doing pirouettes for their fe-
male companions made them important. But this time, that Sunday in
1951 was merciless for Enrique. Because the events that occurred that
Sunday afternoon did not let him sleep for the next seven days, until
the following weekend.
He saw again that cheerful, aloof, and distinguished lady who had
paid no attention to him during the last party at the Moyobamba club.
That day she had hurriedly left quite early, ladies of her class did not
permit themselves stay beyond eight thirty in the evening.
Nonchalantly throwing a stone into the river and making it skip
across the water several times he asked her looking at the sky, as if he
didn’t care much about the answer: “Could you tell me your name?”
She, a lady who handled people quite skillfully answered him looking
him straight in the eye: “Magnolia. My name is Magnolia,” she repeat-
ed. Everything ended right there for Enrique, or rather, everything be-
gan; his heart did not race, it almost stopped, and he only managed to
ask: “Have you ever been to Ayacucho?”
Something intervened, happily? – unfortunately? The conversation
could not continue because the hired bus was already about to head back.

26 Serrano, serrana: a person from the sierra.

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 That night and for several nights thereafter Enrique couldn’t sleep.
“How stupid I’ve been. How stupid I am,” he said, and his friends had
explained that Ayacucho was important to them, “for us,” they told
him, “you can’t ask a girl about that,” they insisted.

Enrique and Magnolia fall in love in Huampani.

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 However, for Magnolia the event had a positive meaning because,
when telling her mother what that “Ayacuchano she likes” was like and
about their last short encounter, Doña Sara, very wise and pragmatic
in her thinking, said: “If he asked you, ‘Could you tell me your name?’,
it means that he is a cultured man. The mamarrachos27 that you have
known before would have asked you ‘what’s your name?’ –or maybe
‘who are you?’ From all you tell me, my daughter, he is a serious man;
a little ugly, but serious. That little black fellow has a future. It doesn’t
matter that he’s ‘serrano’,” she added, and said no more.
All the members of the gang looked forward to Sundays in Huampa-
ni. There they met or took their friends, their “puntos.”28 In Huampani
they got excited, fell in love, broke hearts or had theirs broken.
The five-membered club, instantaneously, became a ten-mem-
bered one, but the events, revelries and drunkenness continued
with the same fervor. One Saturday night, after a prolonged dance
session and being already early Sunday morning, the five friends
and their wives were already on their way, exiting the premises on
Brasil Avenue. As they were leaving they realized that Florencio
Coronado had fallen soundly asleep on a chair after having played
the harp and drunk so much beer. They had to load him into Pe-
pinchin’s car. The caravan of cars took good Florencio home which,
to their great surprise, was on the second floor – at the heights – as
they said, of an old colonial house.
Carrying Florencio up to the second floor, as heavy as he was, was
very difficult, especially due to not knowing what door it was, and
extracting the keys out of the harpist’s pocket took endless minutes.
This delay caused the five Ayacucho lambs to also fall asleep, so Flor-
encio was carried by the five ladies with great difficulty.
Five days later, Florencio called the boys in desperation because he
did not know where his harp was and had already filed a police report.
It took a long time before the group was surprized by finding the harp

27 Mamarracho: Losers, lowlifes.

28 Puntos: score.

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in the trunk of Pacotoncito Montes de Oca’s car, happily just in time
before a couple of policemen arrived looking for him at his house.
Pacotoncito got the scare of his life, and ever since checked and
cleaned the trunk of his car daily.
Magnolia’s entrance swept through the world surrounding Enrique
like a gale. He altered his schedule, his routine and above all his inner
world, the wounds from the thorns began to heal.
In a courtship that lasted less than a year, while the smile on En-
rique’s face became their daily bread, it was necessary for Magnolia,
before getting married, to complete her thesis in order to obtain her
social services degree; in this endeavor Enrique’s assistance was of vi-
tal importance. So Magnolia, who was a very experienced and effec-
tive sweet talker, put the monkey on Enrique’s back, that is, he became
responsible for the thesis being completed. Enrique looked over the
draft thesis that Magnolia had nonchalantly prepared and immediate-
ly discarded it. In a few months the new thesis written by Enrique was
approved with honors and Magnolia became a social worker with a
university degree endorsed on behalf of the nation.
Enrique and Magnolia were married on March 21th, 1952. Every-
thing was happiness, the desire to start a family was approaching. But
Enrique made a big mistake: he took Magnolia, with her overwhelm-
ing personality, to live in the house in Santa Beatrice. The marriage
and Magnolia’s presence wreaked havoc on the family home. The jeal-
ousy of Doña Teofila infected the three siblings; their co-habitation
was difficult. The invader not only robbed Enrique’s attentions, she
also intended to take Enrique himself.
Over time, thanks to the prayers of Doña Sara, Magnolia’s moth-
er, all wounds and blunders were overcome. The marriage went
ahead and the friendship and affection between mother-in-law,
brothers-in-law and wife followed the road of understanding and
harmony. Doña Sara’s prayers reached so high that Magnolia, in less
than two weeks’ time, managed to rent a small house on Montero Ro-
sas Street. So intelligent and kind was Magnolia, advised by her clever
mother of course, that the new house was very close to the house

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where her mother-in-law and brothers-in-law were – a situation with
which everyone would be satisfied. Excepting Enrique’s wallet.

Enrique and Magnolia get married.

5 70 6
 No more than a year and a half had passed after the Enrique’s and
Magnolia’s wedding, when on Monday, September 14th, 1953 she gave
birth to a little girl who, by the fairness of her face and her gaze, resembled
her mother and, for the way she stole their hearts, resembled her father.
Her godfather, Pacotoncito, and Enrique, stood frightened at the
door of the maternity clinic of the hospital in Lima, awaiting the birth
of a boy with a box of cigars in their pockets.
Magnolia Teofila, Lita, was a blessing from the first second of life.
So clever, she began walking before the age of one and spoke three
languages before the age of fifteen. The love that his father had for her
was beyond measure. The birth of the baby provoked tears of emotion
so intense that they celebrated with a two-day binge. Lita now has two
children, a grandson, and a granddaughter to come. She currently lives
in the city of Toronto, Canada, with her husband Jack Dickey, and they
come to spend every summer in Punta Negra in their parents’ house.
Only a year later, on Friday, September 17th, Sara Luz – Chayo –
was born. “Sara,” after her maternal grandmother and “Luz,” after Aunt
Luz Teresa. Sweet, soft and “the most beautiful” according to Enrique,
she was always Mother’s favorite. Today she has four children and
eight grandchildren. She lives in a harmonious home in Lima accom-
panied by her husband Chris Palasz, an United States citizen.
Two years and two months later, on Monday, January 7th, Enriqueta
– Queti – was born, named after her father, also known as “Memori-
on,” for her amazing memory, or “Pellejita,” the nickname given to her
by Uncle Pepe because she liked the taste of grilled chicken skin. A
living portrait of her father due to her perseverance and sense of jus-
tice. She currently has four daughters, six grandchildren and two more
on the way. She lives harmoniously married to her husband Francisco
Saenz in the city of Lima.
One day someone left a letter under the door of the house, Enrique
and Magnolia read the letter and did not know how to interpret it, it
had no signature or author, it said only:

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 These are the flowers that grow Ayacucho:

Retama, cantuta, amancae, lirio blanco, rosa silvestre, gladiolo sil-

vestre, mutuy, orquídea, Matucana (cactus), qarwanchu (amor seco),
wawilla, qera, chikmo, imilla, sunchu, anku kichka, waraqu kichka,
kiswar, sankay, raki raki, totora, garbancillo, anawi, tasta, pinko pinko,
mallaw, pinqa pinqa, tuta Wayra, salvia, malva, yawar suqu, sallqa
manzana, chamba, verbena, mama killa.
The most beautiful is the cantuta. There are no magnolias Aya-
cucho.

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 CHAPTER NINE

MAGNOLIAS FOR AYACUCHO

44 B.C.

In an exalted procession, the Egyptian queen Cleopatra enters Rome

carried by two hundred golden-robed Roman plebs to the very center of
the city. Forty trumpeting foot soldiers, dressed in beautiful red and
purple cloaks, play a rhythmic and triumphant march. In the other cor-
ner of the city, twelve buglers mounted on white horses answer the
trumpets in perfect synchrony, a thousand drums thunder in unison.
Commoners run everywhere looking for a location to see above the
crowd in order witness this procession of such a unique character. A
thousand legends have been told about the face and skin of this spectac-
ular personality. The thirteen-meter-long, forty-yard-wide multitude
advances in slow motion. Cleopatra, undaunted, looks on to infinity,
behind her a huge bust of the god Ra shades the queen from the sun.
A staircase hidden under the walk allows the queen to submerge
accompanied by her son Cesareon. The deafening applause frightens
the nobles and excites the people. The beautiful Cleopatra has entered
Rome. Caesar, the emperor, proud, watches and receives his radiant
beloved with joy.

1962 A.D.

After a sixty-minute flight, a Faucett Airlines plane lands at Ayacucho

airport. Passengers remove the oxygen masks worn over their noses in

5 73 6
order to withstand the altitude and avoid the accompanying nausea.
A staircase pushed by two young men is placed in front of the door
of the majestic four-meter-high machine. The engines are shut down,
inertia causes the two propellers to rotate.
When the cabin door is opened, a figure evokes an explosion of
joy from the crowd there to accompany the deputy. Magnolia,
smiling in an elegant floral dress, with a Jacqueline Kennedy-style
hairstyle, removing a white glove and waving to the attendees,
slowly descends the stairs followed by three small Magnolias in
white shoes and socks at the ankles – in the style popular before
the Cuban revolution – and their white blouses and dresses, also
flowered, creating harmony with their small earrings and little well
groomed heads.
The four Magnolias proudly descend the stairs filling the city with
a light that makes the crowd accompanying the deputy burst with joy.
These four magnolias have changed Enrique’s life. The formerly dis-
tressed inhabitant of the city of thorns has resurfaced flowered with
Magnolias. The city of Ayacucho, as it deserves, will also resurface in
light of prosperity.
The band of musicians, unexpectedly – instead of following behind
the deputy’s car – trails the three little Magnolias and their mother.
This is because the deputy is being followed by dozens of fellow Apris-
tas, the Magnolias are followed by the municipal band and two hun-
dred boisterous children bound for the tourist hotel in the city.
Such were the arrivals of the Magnolias to the city of Huamanga
during every school holiday. They were there then to support the head
of the family in the campaigns, and then after, when Enrique, unseated
by the coup, assumed the position of District Attorney of Ayacucho.
As an example we can narrate the arrivals and visits of the Magno-
lias in Huamanga a few years later, between the years 1970 and 1972.
From the moment the plane landed, arrivals consisted of a popular
celebration for the children of Ayacucho.
During the nights in the Main Square, when, starting from the
tourist hotel, the three how teenaged little Magnolias went for a walk,

5 74 6
they were in charge of making the youthful hearts of the Ayacucho
youngsters beat with anticipation, who, dusting off their guitars, cir-
cled the “flowers” playing songs in beautiful rounds. More than one
Magnolia would witness her first declaration of love there, though it is
not known, nor does one care to let it be known, if any were met with
some acceptance.
Thus was the entrance of the Magnolias into Enrique’s life: extraor-
dinary, transcendent and revolutionary. He left the thorns behind for
the flowers.
From then on, it is said, that there are indeed magnolias in Ayacucho.
At night, when Magnolia was not in Ayacucho, Enrique, surrounded
by friends, sang this song to the rhythm of several Huamangan guitars:

You are the angel of my life

angel of my dreams.
You are the magnolia hidden
within my heart

Everyone has told me

amaña kuyaychu nispa
But now knowing the truth
manamya atillanichu.

Creenkichu qonqanayta
creenkichu saqenayta
In my final hour of agony
I will call out your name

When the eldest of the three Magnolias, Lita, was in her last year
of elementary school, Enrique and Magnolia decided that, with Lita
moving on next year to high school, it was necessary to take the three
girls out of Hans Christian Andersen primary school and enroll them
in “a good school; Where they could learn the English language” ac-
cording to Enrique, “let it be Catholic” said Magnolia and “let it be af-
fordable” said Enrique.

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 Santa Rosa Maryknol School was chosen seeing as it meet all the
required characteristics plus being close to their new home in the dis-
trict of Lince.
Some years before, in 1957 and 1958, Enrique, a very involved
university professor, had become president of the National Associa-
tion of Teachers of Higher Education (ANPES), a union organized to
represent teachers advocating professionalization and improved ed-
ucation for Peruvian children. Via Enrique’s proposal, as was dissem-
inated in all the media, ANPES flew under a new flag, the flag of
secular education.
This thesis advocated the gradual elimination of religious educa-
tion and the promotion and development of secular education
throughout the country.
What Enrique and Magnolia did not take into account, when En-
rique went to the interview with director of Maryknol College, Fa-
ther Lawler, is that he was aware of the thesis on secular education
and knew very well who the author and leader of such an atrocious
educational proposal was. Suffice it to say that Lita and her sisters
were not accepted into this most efficient school. The interview
edged on discussions that frightened the school secretary. Enrique
left the interview disgusted but above all worried, not about the ed-
ucation of his daughters, but about what Magnolia would say. Hap-
pily, Magnolia just said, “If I had gone to the meeting, the girls would
already be enrolled.”
Life is full of surprises. A year and a half later, Enrique assumed
the position of president of the budgetary commission of the Con-
gress of the Republic, and as such, he was in charge of allocating
the Nation’s educational budget and the budget items particular to
the parish schools. One Thursday afternoon he received a strange
visitor who, as announced by his secretary, had come to ask for an
extension of the budget and governmental financial aid for his
school. It was Father Lawler, who did not recognize Enrique and
submitted the request, to which Enrique replied, “Don’t you recog-
nize me, Father Lawler?”

5 76 6
 The girls began their studies at Maryknol College beginning the
following year.
As previously mentioned, Enrique, after the coup, returned to work
in his law firm on Jiron Pachitea where he served as a trial lawyer in
civil, criminal and family law.
During the years after the coup and the dissolution of the Con-
gress, in the face of the identity crisis and the ideological wavering that
the Aprista party began to suffer, Enrique presented a thesis proposing
the “Renewal and Radicalization” of the party, the renewal of the cad-
res of leadership, removal of the party’s managers and radicalization in
the face of the authoritarian affronts of the military government.
This thesis caused a stir in the party. The proposal for Renewal and
Radicalization was approved and fully accepted in the Plenary of the
Congress of the Aprista Party, but when it was brought before of the
party leadership, it was rejected.
The anger of Haya de La Torre and the leaders of the party reached
such an extreme that Enrique, on principle, renounced the Aprista
militancy. He made it very clear in his resignation letter that he re-
nounced the militancy, but not the party, because he had always con-
sidered himself to be an Aprista and faithful to its ideology.
Enrique, indignant and conscious of preserving of his good name,
published the letter he addressed to Víctor Raul Haya de la Torre in
the newspapers. Most of his peers would not even let him speak.
Paradoxically, a few years later, he ran for the position of District
Attorney for the city of Ayacucho. After a difficult examination and
“despite” being an Aprista, he earned the post. This was achieved by
his extraordinary qualities and an excellent evaluation exam, over-
coming the malevolent opposition of the president of the jury, Hector
Cornejo Chavez, who tried to disqualify of him by citing Enrique’s
Aprista affiliation. Nonetheless the rest of the members of the jury, in
a decision that proved their honesty and justice, did not succumb to
Cornejo Chavez’s twisted pressuring to discard this candidate, nick-
naming him “Bow-legged Cat,” a reference from great humorist Soph-
ocles. Thus, Enrique was reluctantly approved by Cornejo, and to his

5 77 6
great pleasure because, due to his tenure as the District Attorney of
Ayacucho, he could later retire with a good pension.

Enrique takes his oath as District Attorney of Ayacucho

5 78 6
 While he was working as District Attorney of Ayacucho his mother
Doña Teofila died in Lima from a gastric hemorrhage. After an ago-
nizing fifteen days she was carried to the kingdom of God. Enrique
traveled from Ayacucho and was at his mother’s side during the long
days in the hospital.
To lose their 71-year-old mother was another blow after life al-
ready seemed to be mocking them, as two years earlier, Doña Sara,
Magnolia’s mother, had also died. This combined family mourning
was a companion to the house for a long period. All this bitterness was
dispelled only by the girls’ laughter, especially when they traveled to
Ayacucho.
During his tenure as prosecutor he was congratulated several times
by the Supreme Court and by the National Council of Justice because
he always kept judicial proceedings up to date. He had no pending
procedures, contrary to what he encountered upon assuming office.
His work as Ayacucho District Attorney only lasted a few years,
political pressures and accusations of favoring Apristas once again
provoked the National Council of Justice, composed again by the inef-
fable Cornejo Chavez during the Velazco government, promoted to
attack and remove him from the position, leaving Enrique without a
job, without money, with three school-aged daughters, an outstanding
debt on the construction of their new house in the resort of Punta
Negra and a wife working part-time as a social worker.
News of his removal was made known to Enrique by the call of a
friend who had seen the resolution published in the official newspaper
El Peruano. This event wreaked havoc again on the family, causing
much sadness and indignation on their spirits.
Short on money and already having returned to Lima, he sold the
piano in order to pay for a disclaimer, published in the newspaper El
Comercio, expressing his protest and indignation in the face of the
ominous accusations and pretexts for his dismissal. His central argu-
ment was that a prosecutor could not be incriminated for the rulings
given by judges, “If I am dismissed, what are they then to do with the
judges?” stated one of the lines of his magnificent disclaimer. But there

5 79 6
was nothing more to be done, it was a political decision of an author-
itarian and malevolent government. That was it. The only useful fact
was that his conscience was clear; his pockets were empty and his
spirit on the floor.
In order to distract us from this, we will relate an anecdote his
daughters recount about Enrique when he was prosecutor. Enrique,
a man of short stature, talked a lot about a particular lawyer, a mem-
ber of the Superior Court of Ayacucho, who was nicknamed “Ve-
larde Alvarez the Mouse.” While at a meeting at the Palace of Justice
they saw that their father was the same height as “The Mouse.” En-
rique often said, “I proudly have the height of Napoleon Bonaparte.”
The greatness of a man is not measured from head to toe, but from
head to the heavens.
However, his iron-will and extraordinary qualities once again set
him on the path towards professional practice as a trial lawyer in his
modest and very dignified office on Jiron Pachitea.
His work as a lawyer was very successful. He had clients from all
social classes, he helped country folk and neighbors of the studio in
their various court cases. He lawyered for the likes of Minister Jorge
Camet Dickman and for the chocolatier on the corner with the same
diligence and professionalism.
In 1985, despite the reluctance of the Magnolias, he decided to run
for deputy of Ayacucho; the Aprista party had decreed an amnesty and
this was the opportunity to reintegrate into political life. However, the
evaluation committee of the party was chaired by Abel Salinas, a char-
acter of presumed intelligence, yet influential within the party and
who, due to his indigenous features and his horrible chuto29 hair which
he parted in the middle was nicknamed “Unwary.” “Because he is the
only Inca who has a car,” the opponents of the party said in a mocking
mood. This “feigning little man,” it is said, despite his having praised
Enrique in a private interview, ruled out his candidacy.

29 Chuto: Thick black hair typical to people of the region

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 The news was received by Enrique on a visit to the party when he
saw that he did not appear on the list of people considered for the
candidacy. I personally accompanied Enrique on this diligence and
when I left, saw him devastated. The news, the indignation, the party’s
lack of correctness left him very sad. Amnesty was for everybody
but one. Because “Gonzalez Cardenas would overshadow them”
was heard to be said by most humble Apristas in Lima and Aya-
cucho. It took quite a while before this wound to Enrique’s spirit
would heal, though it never did completely; giving up politics and
leaving his party was an unexpected and painful turn. Still, he nev-
er abandoned his Aprista convictions.
Years later, when his daughter Queti got married, stopped practic-
ing, and then began working with her father in the law firm where
only he, his secretary and his paralegal Don Carlos worked, she said
that Enrique would jokingly say that there were three “izas”: Enfermiza
(Sickly), Petiza (Tiny) and Escurridiza (Elusive).
Enfermiza was his secretary, named Elvira, who got sick from any
pretext in order to miss work; Petisa, a very short lawyer who had her
studio on the fifth floor who constantly came down to consult every-
thing, and Escurridiza, a client who did not pay for legal advice and –
when Magnolia would arrive at the studio – would slip away and hide,
sometimes in the bathroom, sometimes in the closet and even once
under Don Carlos’s desk.
Once, while having to present his defense for a case and before the
second chamber of the criminal court in the Palace of Justice, after the
district attorney and the State prosecutors had rested, it was Enrique’s
turn as a defense lawyer to present his allegations. The judges, sexage-
narians all, had fallen asleep during the lawyers’ extended ranting, espe-
cially since this diligence was being carried out after lunch. Out of the
five judges, three slept with their eyes closed and one slept almost lying
in his seat. Enrique hit the dais with a loud open-handed smack and said
loudly, “Am I talking to the walls?” while continuing to bang on the table
making a raspy noise. The judges woke up frightened, and all the attend-
ees burst into laughter. It was all quite charming and humorous.

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 On Thursdays, invariably taking a break after a day’s work, he would
take his assistant Don Carlos to have a couple of pisco sours30 at Club de
la Union, a secret they kept from Magnolia’s ears – though she always
suspected it because Enrique came home without any hunger. The pisco
sours were always accompanied by a turkey sandwich. Enrique hurried
Don Carlos to leave the place after only two piscos, telling him: “Two
piscos are enough for us, the rest are for the drunks.”
Every year in June or July, in those days, he traveled to Canada to
excitedly visit his daughter Lita; he relegated the law firm in confidence
to his assistant and paralegal Don Carlos, who had only four years of law
school. “Don Carlos,” he said, “you are responsible for the office in my
absence.” Confronted with Don Carlos’s doubts and expression of un-
certainty, he said again: “You are capable of this and much more,” he
emphasized with aplomb. “And whatever happens, call Queti or Petisa.

The four Magnolias

30 Pisco: Peru’s national drink, a potent liqueur distilled from grapes

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 CHAPTER TEN

PUNTA NEGRA AND THE FINAL YEARS

The seaside resort of Punta Negra on the outskirts of Lima was always
Enrique’s solace and relaxed retreat. As will be read later in the next
chapter, his best years, the sweetest, occurred in Punta Negra. He
liked the sea, the sun and the sand very much, the meetings and talks
with his friends were his delight. Smelt ceviche and caucau31 prepared
by Magnolia accompanied by beer al polo32 made him say: “I am a
serrano with coastal customs,” he said, and laughed.
At this point in the marriage, Enrique and Magnolia formed a unit,
to such an extent that they had become mutually identified, Enrique
called her Queca, which is the feminine diminutive of Enrique.
Enrique and Magnolia were always present at family events, their
daughters’ or sons’-in-law birthdays, grandchildren’s weddings,
great-grandchildren’s baptisms, graduations, first communions, con-
firmations, etcetera, etcetera. They never missed Christmas and New
Year’s dinners, always with gifts excellently wrapped by Magnolia or
with cash that they put in the their grandchildren’s shirt pockets. They
also did not miss Sunday lunches. What was also invariable is that
they arrived late, seeing that Magnolia always went to the salon before
any event.
Enrique was always very well dressed, as he was when he worked
as a lawyer, wearing impeccable clothes, white or light blue shirts
and very thin ties of generally Canadian origin. He also arrived at
important meetings in a suit and tie. At family events he wore
multi-colored polo shirts chosen by his daughters for countless

31 Caucau: A regional dish with many variations, basically a tripe and potato stew.
32 Al polo – Ice cold, referring to the Earth’s poles.

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birthday or Christmas gifts. His official dress at Punta Negra was
shorts and polo shirts, sans collar, during the daytime; for meetings
at the club or friends’ houses he presented himself with a light pair
of trousers and brick colored short-sleeved jacket which he inter-
changed with a another similar creation but in light blue. These two
outfits, which were his signature dress, he had brought from Canada
to at his daughter Lita’s urging. He looked cheerful, distinguished.
When he went out on the street dressed in a suit Magnolia would
quite often say to his daughters, looking at Enrique with pride: “What
a fine composure your father has.”
Enrique’s relationship with religion was rather unique. He at-
tended Mass on Sundays in order to accompany Magnolia. On the
day he married he did not receive Communion, yet he never said a
phrase or prayer meant to offend or belittle Catholic rites. “This is
nonsense,” he said on October 19 as he accompanied his family at
dawn to the procession of the Señor de los Milagros (Lord of Mira-
cles), appreciating the good sermons of the priests, “how well this
priest speaks” he said, “how well spoken” he blurted out in the mid-
dle of the Mass. He actually communed with Catholic principles.
His life’s norm was solidarity, helping others. “What kind of Cath-
olic are you? You don’t look like a Christian,” he said when someone
wouldn’t help. On the other hand, he considered civil marriage to
be the only one of importance.
On one occasion, in 1992, at the beginning of the Mass celebrat-
ing their Ruby Anniversary, 40 years of marriage, urged by his
daughters to confess and receive Communion and not being able to
refuse – very rarely would he do so at the request of his daughters
– he knelt at the confessional and, in a not so very low voice – due
to his incipient deafness – his granddaughter Milagros heard the
whole confession: “I’m actually here to please my daughters,” he
told the confessing priest; what the priest said was not heard, but
Enrique continued: “Actually I have no sins, I only act well,” again
the priest was not heard, Enrique continued: “I only act well, I am
here by commitment.”

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 Enrique accompanied by the Magnolias celebrate their Ruby Anniversary.

It is not known if the priest gave him absolution or any penance,

but what is known is that during the sermon the priest changed the
words of the liturgy, replacing the reading of the date with the parable
of the Pharisee and the publican: “There are people” said the priest
“who are like the publican, they believe themselves good and censure
the Pharisee,” the priest said and looked at Enrique. Enrique had com-
muned that day in order to please the four Magnolias.
At all of the important meetings Enrique, during coffee or the last
drink, took the floor to offer a few sentences to family and friends,
speeches that left their mark throughout the family. He always did so
with propriety and thoughtfulness, he focused his speeches on the val-
ues of friendship and solidarity, correct action was always the implicit
message in his speeches. Enrique had communed that day for the hap-
piness of the four Magnolias.
It was on the occasion of his grandson Jason’s civil marriage, sec-
ond son of Sara Luz, after the municipal secretary said, “I declare you
husband and wife,” Enrique, who was way in the back in the garden
with a glass of champagne in his hand, raised his eyebrow when the

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municipal employee said “sign here,” and as Jason placed his signature,
Enrique’s sonorous voice was heard: “The animal is dead,” the laughter
of all the attendees exploded.
It is very important to mention the multiple efforts he made in his
life to ensure that the Ayacucho Club had a respectable headquarters
in the city of Lima. Thanks to the efforts of Carlos Enrique Melgar,
the club was able to acquire a large plot of land in the municipality of
La Molina.
Tirelessly, Enrique made the arrangements for adjudication and
then the construction of the main hall and the areas for the dining
room, kitchen and other facilities. Without any money, due to the low
and often unpaid dues of the Ayacucho members, Enrique in skillful
negotiation, with the land already registered, face to face with the ex-
perienced negotiator Erasmo Wong, managed to build all the environs
required by the club, a respectable monthly payment for the mainte-
nance of the buildings and the renovation of everything built after a
few years; all this in exchange for the use of the parking lots for cus-
tomers of the Wong store in La Molina.
The Ayacucho Club was always Enrique’s desire, passion and pride.
He was president of the club on several occasions, and in the end he
was appointed president for life.
Entering the twenty-first century, when Enrique had already ex-
ceeded 80 years of age, he suffered a heart attack that put him on
the verge of death. Hospitalized for several days, when leaving the
clinic he did not want to go home but to walk on the seashore and
then eat some ceviche. But that is not the most surprising thing.
On the following Monday very early he summoned a Pandero33
sales rep in order to sign a contract to buy a new car payable in
seven years.

33 Pandero: Local car dealership.

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Enrique President of the Ayacucho Club

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 His last years were spent close to his family, surrounded by his wife,
daughters, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. He never stopped
meeting and getting together with his sister and brother-in-law Ernes-
to. Visits to the Ayacucho Club were part of his routine and of course
Punta Negra with its diversions and reunions with his beach buddies
were a constant joy. He continued to dive into the ocean and swim
several laps in the cold water pool until the last months of his life.
At the age of 92, in 2010, a painful disease, lung cancer, devastated
the body of this admirable man. He never complained during the
painful crisscross between hospitals, doctors and X-rays.
Already in his last moments in the Javier Prado Clinic in the city of
Lima, health had reached an unsustainable limit:
“Papito, do you want a priest to come?” one of his daughters asked.
He, signaling with his arm, lying on the bed, made a gesture with
his hand that meant NO, GET OUT.
“But, Papito, are you sure?” “The daughter insisted.” He is a priest
for last rights.
Following we have transcribed one of the only two poems we
have found written by Enrique. He wrote it approximately in 2005 at
the age of 87.
It only remains for us to narrate, as we move on to the next chapter
of this book, other memories of the exemplary life of Enrique, my fa-
ther-in-law, my friend, who called me “Wayran aparusunky,” because I
was so thin that “the wind is going to take you,” he also called me “the
devil,” because of my animosity and jokes, those that are told between
men, frightened him in his nobility and old innocence.
He taught me the value of life and the truth, my disguised shyness
transformed into courage to face life and its challenges. My tendency
towards pessimism was changed to optimism. I remember when he
entered a cancer surgery and, more frightened than sick, his face
showed no emotion as the stretcher advanced to the door of the oper-
ating room, he told me: “Optimism son, optimism.” This changed my
perspective on surgery and life.

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 One Day

One day I will come

No longer standing
One day I will come
No longer with a firm step
Nor with eyes open.

One day...
lt will be like every day,
In which for me the world is over,
I will come... without coming...
And I will go... without becoming.

One day...
In which life will have no meaning
Nor words nor hearing

One day...
In which everything is for that
day and for always.

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 Silence
One day...
–and all those that remain–
In which I will no longer move
nor be moved;
A day-like every day,
that will separate me
from everything,
that from everything
will segregate me;
that there will be no
lattice nor encouragement...
That day...
will no longer be a day.
That day will be a time
without telling, in which the
firepit and the ceramics
will have an endless dialogue...
without words...
A endless reading... without letters

“Do you repent of your sins?” said the third priest who visited him
on his deathbed. Silence. Enrique did not answer. “Do you repent?” the
priest insisted. “Yes, I repent,” he said to the priest and consenting to
the wishes of his daughter who was listening to him, although a ges-
ture of indifference showed that he died by his own rules.

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 CHAPTER ELEVEN

OUR MEMORIES OF YOU

Teresa Gonzalez (Tere, niña Lucecita, sister)

In the city of Huamanga, capital of the department of Ayacucho, Mr.

Enrique Gonzalez Espinar married Mrs. Teofila Cardenas Huamani,
from whose union their four children were born: Enrique in 1918;
Juan José in 1919, Luis Teodoro in 1924 and Luz Teresa in 1927.
Enrique from his childhood proved to have a calm, responsible and
studious character. During primary and secondary studies he distin-
guished himself as the first student in class.
He helped in the pharmacy because he liked to collaborate and at-
tend in the sale of small medicines in the pharmacy called El Peruano.
When our father dies, Enrique, as the older brother, takes respon-
sibility. He was only twelve years old, about to turn thirteen. As the
firstborn and having younger siblings he was soon appointed night
school teacher for the Municipality of Huamanga, assuming a lot of
responsibility, this in order to help our mother financially.
In order to continue his higher studies he traveled to Lima where
he graduated with honors majoring of Education in the School of Litu-
rature of the San Marcos University. Upon graduation, he travels to
Sicuani, province of the department of Cuzco, where he serves for
three years as a teacher at the Mateo Pumacahua School.
He returned to Lima accompanied my mother and me. Now in
Lima he taught in several schools in the capital. While still teaching he
graduated as a Doctor in Education and finished his legal studies, re-
ceiving his degree as a lawyer. He carried out his profession defending
various cases. His first law firm was on Monzon Street in downtown
Lima.

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 He married in 1952 Magnolia Pinedo Hidalgo in the Church of the
Immaculate, with whom he had three daughters.
• He had several lovers in the city of Huamanga, beautiful girls
whom he would accompany home.
• When he was working at the school in Sicuani he had an affair
with the principal of the school, who was an intelligent and sim-
ple person with whom he had a child that died.
• Enrique was much loved by many people who were important
to the city of Huamanga.
• Creation of the San Ramon School in the city of Ayacucho, ac-
cording to the law 22 .12.1964, while he was deputy. As a gesture
of encouragement he instituted a monetary award to the stu-
dent making the greatest effort during his 5 years of study,
which is awarded on August 8 every year.
• In the first government of Dr. Alan Garcia Perez, between the
years 1985-1990, the government provided use of property in
the district of La Molina on which the Ayacucho Departmental
Club has currently been operating for 35 years.

Magnolia Teofila Dickey (Lita, the sweet little teacher, daughter)

He was baptized as Felix Enrique Gonzalez Cardenas, but then he

abandoned the first name and was called Enrique. His first grandson
was born in 1978 and that wonderful man was again renamed and
became “Papapa.”
Now, assembling the significance of my father’s achievements and
steps, I see, as if on a billboard, his life as a teacher, professor, lawyer,
Member of Parliament, District Attorney and above all his greatest
distinction: that of being an example of life and love.
We owe everything we are to him and my mother. It was his wise
advice, his tranquility, his serenity as he went through life, and how he
faced his final days with admirable stoicism, when without complaining
he accepted what was to come, that taught us that we have to be strong.

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 My father taught us that the “beautiful family that we are,” as he
used to say, must be kept together and supportive at all times. For my
Papi, family was the main thing and that’s why my sisters and I have
tried to keep our families strong and together.
His love for Peru, for Ayacucho, his homeland, for Punta Negra, his
beach; and of course by my Mami, his three daughters, his sons-in-
law: Jack, Chris and Paco, who father considered as his sons, the ones
he would have liked to have had, allowed us to have in Papapa a living
example, ever-present.
The ten grandchildren, the four grandsons-in-law he came to know,
have, like my sisters, anecdotes, sayings, Quechua expressions, ges-
tures, legal jargon that were part of their daily lexicon. Remembering
them brings smiles to our lips.
The joys that Papapa gave us are many and powerful. The exempla-
ry teachings he shared with all who knew him make him always pres-
ent in our memory and that is why he lives as our protector.
His fruitful 92 years were the fertile soil that our whole family has
known how to take advantage of, so that, in the harvest of good peo-
ple, it serves to flourish and illuminate the faces of the magnolias mak-
ing them shine in all the fields.

Carlos Vicente Saenz (Don Carlos, disciple)

I want to leave embodied in these lines the most unforgettable mo-

ments of my life. It was a very difficult time for Peruvians, moments of
terrorism and inflation. I, a law student, wanted to be “a good lawyer.”
My mother, very intuitive, one day told me “to practice is to learn,
it has been said. I have a good teacher for you” and that’s how I got to
know Dr. Enrique Gonzales Cardenas, an exemplary man if there ever
was one to be found. I witnessed him as a father giving the sweat off
his brow to care for his beloved daughters; he loved and respected his
beloved wife as if he were writing the most beautiful verses of love; his
grandchildren were to him like angels set before him.

5 93 6
 He was capable of everything for his homeland and for his beloved
Ayacucho. I still remember that a group of his countrymen searched
for him in desperation with the news that they no longer had facilities
in Lima. Without hesitating he assumed the role of leading that group
of Ayacuchanos and did not tire until the Ayacucho Departmental
Club was established, as he always said, “on beautiful premises.”
I am also a witness to how he helped so many people without fi-
nancial resources in their judicial affairs.
I still remember the early Mondays when he corrected as he said
the nonsense and grammatical bestialities committed by the very
same columnists of the newspaper El Comercio in an ironic tone he
also said “the writer Mario Vargas Llosa narrates his stories very well,
but I would have liked to teach him how to spell.”
I still remember that day when we were walking through the corri-
dors of the Palace of Justice and we crossed paths with Javier Alva
Orlandini, the then senator of the Republic to whom he rebuked:
“Oye,34 Javier, stop screwing up the country,” he only managed to re-
spond, “Enrique, we need honest people like you in Congress,” he took
me by the arm and said: “Hurry up, Don Carlos, the bigmouth Vargas
is waiting.” I still remember his teachings on judicial periods and pro-
cedures, his impeccable writings, his extraordinary speeches in the
courts. We never lost a trial. Ironically he told me “the worst thing
would be a draw, but we will never lose.”
I still remember our escapades in the Club de la Union, having a
couple of glasses of pisco sour, our stops in one of the hidden corners
of downtown Lima to eat our lunch at 1:00 pm where, between his
teeth, he would say, “Today we’ll take a little break from our beloved
Magnoolia.”
Learning the duties of a lawyer with him was most entertaining
and dynamic. His proactive and positive tone was always present in
the face of adversity; indeed, men like him are few: ready to give his life
for his homeland and family.

34 Oye: Hey. Literally - “listen.”

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 I thank God and the Virgin Mary for having known him, and if I
was not by his side his last days of his life it was precisely because he
taught me that responsibilities at work and family come first.

Milagros Saenz Gonzalez (itos, pititos, granddaughter, daughter

of Queti and Francisco)

My memories begin in my adolescence. I don’t have many memories

of him from when I was a child, I just remember that it was forbidden
to take things from his desk or play around there.
The first thing that comes to mind is breakfast in the mornings. We
got up early to go to the bakery, chatting, to buy bread, cheese, ham and
on the way we invariably stopped at the newsstand to buy the newspaper.
I will never forget Papapa always eagerly reading everything, I
mean everything, the headlines of the newspapers that were displayed
on the kiosk. He stayed there for hours. He read the headlines and al-
ways bought three or four newspapers which he always read thor-
oughly. I also remember all those times, when passing by the corner
newsstand on the way to university, seeing him standing there reading
the headlines.
Whenever Papapa read something interesting in the newspaper he
cut it out and handed it to us. I also remember that if he liked what he
read he would put it under the glass on his desk.
Then in the last years at the university he would have lunch at home
and we would drink a Cuba Libre or Peru Libre while we waited for
lunch to be ready. There I learned about many episodes of his life:
when he was a teacher in Sicuani, his time in the Aprista party, how he
met Mimi and she “cajoled him about his poor art,” of his love life and
many other things, both good and bad. I realized that we were not the
holiest of families. We were human, terribly human.
He was always attentive and affectionate with his granddaughters,
he cared a lot about us. During my final exams, he took me to the uni-
versity so that I would be calmer and more secure, and go over my

5 95 6
lessons. When I worked in the Ombudsman’s Office my sweet grand-
father would take me and pick me up, he did this because one time I
got very scared because some creepy guy began to follow me down the
street. He also picked me up for lunch many times.
Papapa drove the car like a bullet; the older he got, the faster he
drove. I remember when we stopped walking to Mass and he took us
in the car, I prayed more in the car than in church.
Also Papapa was my private waze35 when I had to go to downtown
Lima. It was incredible, he explained to me with gestures and signs
how to get to various places I had to go. I remember one time I was
very nervous because I had to go to La Salle School. I called him and
both he and Mimi kept company with me on the phone the whole
time. He certainly had a map of the city in his brain.
Nor will I forget how he celebrated my sister Daniela’s jokes: ha,
ha, ha Danielita! And how he celebrated his birthdays... everything
happening in Punta Negra with his friends, Jele jele Jep, Pepinchin,
Los Montes de Oca and a lady who danced and threw confetti. He
wrote down the names of all those who had called him to greet him.
He also wrote down the date of purchase of his toothpaste.
Finally, I remember “my dear and illustrious Papapa” as the equilib-
rium of the Gonzalez family. And like a loving and caring grandfather,
even when we were already grown up. He didn’t miss my receiving my
Master’s Degree and even though I was already married and my par-
ents were with me, he insisted on paying for the taxis and my food.
And when Bernardo, my eldest son, was born, he and Mimi came to
see the sleeping little boy... or, rather, to see me sleeping.
Now that I look back, what a blessing it was to have had such a
grandfather and to have been able to enjoy him so much and for so long.

35 Waze: Navigational app. Picapica – Confetti

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 Enrique and his family. The fourth promise.

Jorge Gonzales (godson and paralegal at the law firm)

I always remember how my godfather instilled in me the love of read-

ing, books and good literature.
I remember as a child, when I visited him at his house, while the
grownups were talking, he allowed me to go up to the second floor to
his library that was extensive and varied, and where, I’m sure, I looked
over a legal book for the first time in my life.
I also remember Enrique’s patience, because I was a shy child,
but when we talked about cultural or political issues, I loved to
participate and he always encouraged my ability to analyze and,
above all, the fine speech and proper expression that always char-
acterized him.
I remember all the times when, as my godfather, he never missed
my birthday always accompanied by my godmother Mimi and a gift.

5 97 6
 I remember a few brief internships at his studio, his meetings, his
energy, his good humor, but also the toughness, and his indignation
with that which did not seem right.
His birthdays, his advice and Mimi’s when I got married, are so
many things that come to mind.
But, the best lesson he ever gave me near the end when, the Sunday
before his death, I visited him and he, feeling very poorly before I had
arrived, was happy and we talked for two hours with a joy and opti-
mism that, until this day, I remember which shows me that, even upon
his final departure, Enrique did so without regret, knowing that he left
not only a lot of memories, but an imperishable impression on those
who continue to carry him in their hearts.
May he rest in peace and may we meet again one day.

Fanny de Melgar (friend, wife of Carlos Enrique Melgar)

There are so many things, so many years that we knew one another. The
one who knew him most was Carlos my husband; Enrique and Carlos
Enrique had always been very close friends for so long, and then when I
got married, I met Enrique and Magnolia, and then of course I’ve known
girls from when they were babies.
Carlos tremendously insisted: “Buy yourself that land,” he said. He
was referring to the land in Punta Negra that belonged to the wife of
Commander Marchena. “Buy yourself that land,” he repeated and
Enrique said: “No… this one... the other one,” he replied very reluc-
tant to buy, until he finally convinced him. Magnolia and I hurriedly
went to close the deal and bought it. They were dying to be there in
Punta Negra.
At ten o’clock at night they cut off the lights in Punta Negra and
well, the most complicated thing was to make the girls eat, they did
not like to eat very much, especially Queti, who was the most picky
about food.

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 Enrique always went very early to bathe in the club’s swimming pool,
he swam very well. Enrique belonged to the club “Los Caminantes”36
that made up a large group of veteran residents of Punta Negra who
walked several kilometers and then ended up being a weekend gather-
ing that seemed more like a beer drinking contest.

Ernesto Tapia (natural native of Coracora, friend and collaborator

of this work)

My great Doctor

Warm morning, hot encounter.

I met the great Doctor, in his own office.
Friendly with everyone.
Humble behavior, superb elocution.

With Queti we become close,

his beginnings with law.
The goal was to collect, document
and file, Great love from
father to daughter, admiration
a reciprocation.

The following gathering, your home.

Magnolia great hostess,
being good friends with Paco,
what better presentation
could there be.

Gonzales Ayacuchano, Tapia de Coracora, empathy assured. We

went to the Ayacucho club, a beautiful place in La Molina. The best
President, always well supported.

36 Los Caminantes: The walkers

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 It was he who forged that place, excellent management he provid-
ed, a greatly gifted businessman, how he loved his homeland, this was
the example he gave to me, and I will never forget it.
Great character Gonzalez, well known and loved, great friend,
great gentleman. Throughout his life, a fruitful lawyer.

Paqpakapas pitukuy kuspas

Like the paqpaka very dismayed.

yanan ripuqtin llakita takin

He sings so sadly, when he has lost his love.

Chayna sonqollay wañuy wañuyta

Like this, my heart will also die…

Yawarta waqan yanay chinkaptin

And will cry bloody tears if I ever lose you.

Enriqueta Gonzalez (daughter, lawyer, La Pellejita)

One of the people who most influenced my life was my Papi. His ex-
ample, his principles, his prudence, solidarity, stoicism, and his love
inspire me to transmit and share his memory.
When I was born, my father told my Mami that he would call me
Consuelo Enriqueta, as I was baptized, because they would no longer
have children and that is why I would be his “Consuelo” and Enriqueta
because he was Enrique, although my father was about to call me Au-
gusta Libertad, because I was born in 1957, the year in which APRA
came out from the underground and into freedom.
I remember in my childhood seeing my Papi jumping rope. He liked
to exercise. I see him running behind our bikes in the Parque de la Res-
erva. He was an ever-present father. He was also an inveterate reader.
Ever since we were little he left us some reading every day and we
had to make a summary of this, which he reviewed once he arrived

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from work. He instilled in us the habit of reading and the spirit of
self-improvement and competitiveness. He said the best gift for him
was to be first in class. When he went on a trip, in his letters and
postcards, he never left out of that request. He always challenged
and motivated me to be a better student, I don’t think he did this
with all my sisters.
He compared me with another girl who was a very good student.
He liked to “pick on” me by saying, “You should eat Marinita’s nails,”
that was the girl’s name, and he managed to motivate me because I
became an outstanding student. I remember that, at the end of fifth
grade, I had hoped to receive an award but they didn’t give me one. I
was sad and Papi was even more frustrated than I was and, very upset,
he asked me not to make him go to the closing ceremony if there were
no prize.
Once my sisters and I, teenagers, were at the door of the house
with our friends and several of them were making noise, he came out
and energetically told them: “You can go make noise in the park.
And you, inside,” he told us three sisters. He and my Mami raised us
like that, with tough love. My Mami said that my Papi was great and
he was, although he was apparently a tough and even sullen man. My
Mami said he was like bread: hard on the outside and soft on the
inside.
I recall my father’s immense love for his beloved Ayacucho. He was
twice deputy of Ayacucho. Whenever he could, he traveled to his
homeland, for his campaigns, to do works or just to visit and, some-
times the whole family traveled. He was a great speaker, he spoke very
well and we accompanied him to many meetings. I loved being there,
listening to his speeches.
When we went to Ayacucho, we had lunches, meals and my dad
loved to sing his classic “Adiós Pueblo de Ayacucho,” dance his huayno,
and to see that my Mami danced better than any other Ayacuchana.
Generally, we traveled at Easter, which coincided with their birth-
days, and once their friends celebrated them with bullets in the air
instead of rockets or fireworks.

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 On his birthdays there were frequent serenades with Florencio
Coronado and his harp and sometimes with Raul Garcia Zarate and
his guitar. There were so many guests who went out to dance filling
half of the street in front of the house.
My Papi was warm, I constantly felt his affection, though he was
not very effusive with his demonstrations of affection. But he was al-
ways by our side, especially when we needed him, always ready to help
us. With us his daughters and his grandchildren, there was always his
outstretched hand and a shoulder to support us. His phrases were:
“Here we are,” “That’s what I’m for,” “No problem.” The most important
thing for him was his family; as it was for my Mami, his beloved Que-
ca, always doing something for or with us. Both were strong-willed.
The five of us had breakfast and dinner together and when there
was no work, we had lunch together where the conversation was very
fluid. We all knew about everything. We never touched my Papi’s place
at the table, meal times depended on his schedule, and we always wait-
ed for him. When he got home, my Mami and we three daughters
would run out to meet him. Even if he took a long time before lunch
or dinner, my Mami would wait for him to eat together, otherwise he
would resent it.
My Papi was a teacher and doctor of education. He spoke with a lot
of propriety and with a very rich language. He constantly mentioned
the rules of spelling and grammar. We never heard him curse at home
and he wouldn’t allow us to say even “no friegues.”37 He told us “you
scrub the floors.” Nor did he allow us to whistle, he said it was typical
of street porters.
I’ll never forget my Papi and the Casa del Pueblo, as the Aprista
Party’s premises were called, the Masses held here in order to raise
funds for the Christmas for Ayacuchan Children, where my Mami
made tripe soup, a typical Ayacucho dish, to my Papa’s delight.

37 Friegue: Slang for “complain.” Fregar – Means to wash or scrub, hence the play on
words.

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 As I was a child I learned to sing the Marseillaise Aprista, there was
an APRA logo on the floor at the foot of his bed and white handker-
chiefs with the Aprista star logo and an image of Victor Raul Haya de La
Torre’s face on the table. He always behaved according to his principles.
When I was a schoolgirl, I had a suitor that my Papi felt wasn’t right
for me. One day he sat next to me and said, “Quetita, don’t you think this
guy isn’t for you?” He reflected a little on it and that was it. He let me
think about it and decide. He didn’t impose upon me again. Until now I
am impressed by his prudence, without a doubt, he was a wise man.
As a lawyer, my Papi was my example. I was struck by his commit-
ment, responsibility and intelligence. He was very studious, I always
saw him consulting his books. He was very dedicated to his clients.
Many were not charged and others were charged very little. Still, we
lived off his income as a lawyer.
During the 1950s, there was a famous criminal, Tatan, who had
been committing crimes since he was a minor, and who was being
tried for several of his robberies, most of which he had committed
when he was a minor. So in his defense, my Papi alleged he was could
not be held liable for several of the charges, and, successfully convinc-
ing the judge with his thesis, he was not convicted. It was a success, it
appeared in the newspapers of the time, with Tatan shaking his hand
and the newspapers stating something like: “It’s hard to tell who is
happier, the lawyer or Tatan.”
I had the privilege of practicing with him for six years of my career.
He was my best teacher. We exchanged ideas about defenses, plead-
ings, and writings in general. My Papi gave me a lot of confidence as a
lawyer, and when I was quite young, he gave me the responsibility of
presenting the oral arguments before the court. He was also very hap-
py when my daughter Maria-Gracia studied law.
On his desk he had an “exfoliator,” as he called it, where he put the
pages of the calendar and which served as an agenda. Here he wrote
down the fees paid by his clients on the first day of the month thus
keeping track of his income. He commented that some clients had a
very good “hand” and others did not, depending on how the month

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went, which was always a reason for laughter and predictions, de-
pending on who made the first payment.
As I think about him, he was funny and sarcastic in his expressions.
It was very hilarious to hear him say to his secretary or to me when he
dictated or asked us something he would say “bray” or “why don’t you
braaaaay?,” and when you answered something very emphatically or in
an altered tone he would say “shh, shh,” as if he were soothing a horse.
In order to become a lawyer, I maintained a file of a case that my
Papi had worked on for more than eleven years, which he recom-
mended that I present. He helped me prepare my file with so much
patience. He was happy and proud with my degree. We really enjoyed
being colleagues. When I had a lot of work, he always offered me his
help. He loved to accompany me on my presentations, exhibitions and
was one of the best participants of the hearings we did for in-house
lawyers and those from outside the firm with whom I collaborated.
He spoke of life and death so naturally and with so little concern.
His registration number with the Lima Bar Association was 898, that
is, among the first thousand lawyers registered. Even though he was
then an octogenarian, we would go together in order to vote for mem-
bers of the board of directors. We laughed a lot because when he saw
the old men at his table, his contemporaries, many not as well pre-
served as he was, he said “ha, ha, this man lives on his word of honor.
That little old man can’t go on, not on his life,” so it was, every year, he
would comment tongue in cheek, without mocking. It reflected his
way of taking life as it comes, lightly.
He was very enthusiastic. He always undertook new projects and
had a natural optimism. When my sisters got married, he and my Mami
decided to study English when they were both older. Every afternoon
my Papi did his homework and my Mami copied is work. Two semes-
ters went on like this. Then on the third my Papi – who had applied
himself the most – failed. My Mami passed with an outstanding grade.
Rarely have I seen him so affected; nonetheless, he re-enrolled.
He wanted to learn how to use the computer, the BlackBerry, and
when he had a heart attack at the age of 86, a few days after he left the

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clinic he bought a new car. He did not allow himself to be overcome by
adversity nor was he afraid of dying.
I admire his attitude towards his deafness, he used his hearing aid
even though sometimes he couldn’t hear with it, he adjusted it, raised
the volume, and the high pitch of feedback could be heard; he still
couldn’t hear, but he didn’t complain. That little noise from his hearing
aid was heard very loudly in the hall where he come to support Mila-
grito’s thesis presentation, of which he could hear little or nothing.
However, he left happy and very proud, saying that his granddaughter
was setting the pace for her sisters and cousins.
He repeated simple and profound phrases: “He who shall not be well
punished should stay very quiet,” “Divorce is not a problem it’s a solu-
tion.” He was a lover of his family and was married to my Mami for 57
years. He was determined that we should live happily and intelligently.
All the same, my Papi was a believer and promoter of marriage, he
wanted all my daughters, his granddaughters, to get married. During the
prenuptials of Milagros and Maria-Paz he gave endearing speeches. He
was fond of his two grandsons-in-law. When Danielita fell in love with
Manuel, my Papi told me that he liked him, that he was frugal like him and
that he would like them to get married. They did so a few months after he
passed away. When Maria-Gracia fell in love with Hans, every time “la
Danesa” butter advertisement came out, he told me “there is my Maria-
gracita,” although he never got to know Hans personally.
Even during his sad and cruel illness he provided many lessons. In
the two and a half months he battled cancer, he didn’t complain. He
was brave. He confronted it with stoicism. Despite the difficulty of
breathing and the pains he had, he did not lose the ability to transmit
his love to us or to admire the beauty of life: one day, sitting in front of
the window, looking at the garden in which a robin was sitting in a
tree, he said to me: “Look, what a beautiful little bird, what a beauty!”
and she never tired of admiring it.
My Papi knew he was dying and didn’t want to do it in my house,
he demanded that I return him to his. He didn’t want to say goodbye
to my Mami or us. He knew that if he did, we were going to break

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down and he couldn’t have endured seeing our suffering. When my
Mami was crying desperately, my Papi would say, “Queca, don’t do
that.” He wanted to convey his serenity to us.
Finally, another sign of the love he gave us hours before his depar-
ture, when the priest, who applied the holy oils, asked him if he re-
pented of his sins: my Papi, holding my hand with his eyes closed, did
not answer. The imprudent priest kept asking, “Do you repent for
your sins?” then I replied, “He has no sins, he is a good man,” to which
the priest replied, “If he does not repent there is no absolution.” Imme-
diately, my Papi, in order to give me peace of mind, said, “I repent.” He
did it to give us peace of mind, because of the love he had for us, be-
cause my Papi was not a believer.
I must finish my memories by thanking my Papi for his constant
example, for being the tree that always gave us shade and protection,
for having married his perfect complement, my beloved Mami, his
Magnolia, with whom he formed a united family, which today allows
me to have, in my sisters, my best friends.

Jorge Ricalde (friend and collaborator in the 1985 campaign)

In 1983 and 1984 I met Dr. Enrique, then former deputy for APRA, at
his home in Huamanga, on Jiron Cuzco, a few steps from the church
of La Amargura, the oldest of the churches in Huamanga. He invited
us to a lunch prepared by his beautiful wife, and there he told us that
he was going to run for congress and asked us if we could support him
in the campaign.
That’s where we met the most, because I coordinated the places
where we were going to go and drove the car to the different districts
and communities near Huamanga.
The anecdote for me was when we went to the Carmen Alto dis-
trict. As people arrived to the meeting, a lady on the street came up to
us and said, “Please come to my house for lunch.” The doctor immedi-
ately agreed. The house just was five steps away and she offered us

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mondongo38 and puca picante39 with chicharron.40 I learned later from
my cousin, a judge in the Superior Court of Ayacucho, that the lady
with whom we had lunch had a court case there.
Once my cousin saw Dr. Enrique sitting eating some tunas41 offered
by a humble paisana42 on the sidewalk of the street outside the market,
in front of the church of Santa Clara of Jesus the Nazarene, patron saint
of Huamanga, my cousin was surprised to see his simplicity.
At the end of that campaign he advised me to go to Lima to work
as a chemical engineer, because in my homeland there were no oppor-
tunities in my profession. That’s how I met Dr. Enrique and that’s how
I landed, with his help, a job in Lima.

Ernesto Saenz (family member and friend)

I will be extremely honest: when my brother got married, something

told me that at some point he was going to collide with his father-in-law
and that it would be difficult for them to get along because they were
very different people, but I was wrong, they got along very well. They
were different on the outside, but very similar on the inside.
He was completely virtuous and committed to his work as a lawyer:
I once asked him for professional help, not only because of his profes-
sional ability, he did it pro-bono, furthermore, once I had explained
the case, I noticed how committed to my case he became.
Once, after I had praised Magnolia’s attentiveness, he said to me,
“Look, Ernesto, for a man, the most important thing in life is to marry
a good wife.”
On another occasion he commented something like: “I have pushed
hard in order to form my brave daughters to face life, so that they can

38 Mondongo: Tripe.
39 Puca picante: Spicey regional dish seasoned with chilis and annatto.
40 Chicharron: Deep fried pork rinds.
41 Tuna: Prickly pear fruit.
42 Paisana: Provincial woman

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become worthy people and, among other things, to be the best wives,”
he said it naturally, without emphasizing any of the words, but it de-
noted so much security that it moved me.
And then he added with eyes gleaming with pride: “That’s my prize,
my daughters are my prize, and that fills me with happiness. I married
the best woman in the world,” he added.
He was always very frank. Once, speaking on religion and marriag-
es, he told me: “I do many things for love, I go to Mass because Mag-
nolia, my wife, likes me to. To be married is to consent,” he said with a
bit of resignation.
In another conversation referring to fidelity, he said: “I consider
that fidelity is sometimes difficult, for both men and women, but in my
case I fulfill a commitment of honor with myself and with her, in my
case I am faithful out of love.”

Humberto Ugarte (friend from Punta Negra)

Enrique was such a kind and gentle person, that having spent time
with him is now something of a personal gain. It was a constant way of
learning and seeing life with simplicity and erudition – traits that
characterized him.
Enrique and Magnolia, from the time they arrived in Punta Negra,
were neighbors and very close friends of my parents.
Patty and I also became close friends with them. On one occasion,
we saw Enrique and Magnolia going for a walk and Enrique invited us
to have a beer and I very seriously responded, saying: “This time it has
to be in our house.”
Once at home with a bottle of whiskey, we convinced Magnolia,
who never drank liquor, to accompany us with a single drink. Enrique
told her “have some, Magdita girl, it won’t hurt you.” “Well, just one,”
Magnolia said, and with that done, she had another, and another. She
told us after just getting up at nine in the morning the next day: “I’ve
never slept so much.”

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 I incorporated Enrique and Magnolia into my group consisting of
folks much younger than them. Gatherings were held at a table, near
the pool. Enrique and Magnolia became regular participants in the
group all summer. Enrique’s conversation earned everyone’s respect
and affection.
When one of the wives arrived, Enrique would stand up and hold a
chair for her, demonstrating his chivalry. Some members of the group
couldn’t take it anymore and secretly told him: “Don’t stand up any-
more, because our women use you as an example and want us to do
the same. Don’t make things complicated for us,” and he replied: “I’m
sorry, guys, I invite you all to my house for a last beer.”
One of the saddest memories is of that last summer, when he asked
me to listen to Los Morochucos. Listening to them he said, “That’s the
music I like. How nice, thank you, Beto.” I replied that I was going to
give him one of their records.
Months passed, he got sick and one day I went to visit him, we talked
and I saw that there was a record of Los Morochucos on his alter. I told
him to forgive me for not having given it to him, and that everything
was complicated by his absence and his illness, and there was no chance.
I gave him a big hug. It was the last time I saw him alive.

Sara Palasz (Chayo, pretty one, daughter)

Talking about Papapa is almost impossible without mentioning Mimi,

I being the second daughter. I must say that I always felt so attended to
and spoiled.
As a child I saw my dad always working, very hard, long hours, but
I never felt that he put us aside. My Mami helped us understand this.
She also worked, she did so until a certain time.
We were not only a very close family, but very open in terms of our
communication.
I remember our walks to the beach or in the countryside, and they
are happy memories not only of the times we spent in these places, but

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on the way there. There was a real sharing, we talked a lot about every-
thing: our parents’ and our work, the family, our activities and every-
thing we could share, without fear and with openness.
Papapa loved to swim in the ocean and so did we. At Punta Hermo-
sa when we were very young, he had us accompany him.
There were times when I felt that I couldn’t keep up and I was a
little afraid, but knowing that he was there made me feel safe.
Papapa loved the beach, he liked swimming very much. We also
went to La Isla in Pucusana and to Naplo. He always had some friends
or relatives to visit. In Punta Hermosa he had a very pleasant group
with whom he enjoyed a lot.
In the end, in Punta Negra he spent many, so many happy years
with us, his young daughters, with his friends Los Caminantes who
walked back and forth to Punta Rocas, then participating in the club’s
activities, watching his grandchildren play all the sports. He went to
their awards presentations. Both of them were very engaged grand-
parents, very enthusiastic and always faithful to their family.
As a child my hair was curly. One day I had such a tantrum when
they were combing my hair that my papa put me in the cold shower in
my clothes, shoes and gave me the message loud and clear: “There is
no place for such fits.” I don’t remember if I had any more, surely I did,
but not so barbaric or with such a reprimand.
I also remember that, when I was very young in elementary school,
during a Christmas play I was an angel near the manger, and both he
and my Mami came to see me. They did so whenever we had perfor-
mances or presentations. They always did so, even as grandparents,
they never missed anything with their grandchildren. They were the
most enthusiastic spectators, whether for sports, school activities and
even graduations, not to mention their grandchildren’s weddings.
Papapa was lucky enough to see three great-grandchildren, and
Mimi eleven.
A lover of his career and proud of it, Papapa was also an innate poli-
tician, since childhood. His principles and values were unwavering, as
was his faithfulness and enormous love for his homeland Ayacucho.

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 As children, he taught us to answer the question, “Where are you
from girls?” We answered: “Limeñas,43 but Ayacuchanas at heart.”
He was also faithful to his political ideology and coherently became
a deputy of Ayacucho. At that time there were two chambers (deputies
and senators). He obtained the most votes on the list of deputies in
Ayacucho, even more than Victor Raul Haya de la Torre himself. He
taught us to sing La Marseillaise Aprista and he greatly instilled in me
to always pay attention to politics.
He genuinely cared about his homeland, he did great works in Ay-
acucho, such as the creation of the institute of physical education. He
was a true politician who was interested and worked for his homeland,
his beloved Ayacucho.
The three of us were just girls but we knew about his projects, we
knew the people around him. During his political campaigns his faithful
companion, my mother, also made us participants in the activities. We
accompanied them through the different provinces of Ayacucho. I re-
member that the president of France at that time, Charles de Gaulle,
came to Peru as a parliamentarian. They went to the reception of the
Governmental Palace very pretty and elegant, “de frac”, Mimi in a long
green dress, along with their friend and deputy of Madre de Dios, Alber-
to Mallea and his wife Blanca. They told us that they had a great time.
In my school days I also received his help in all kinds of literature and
history topics. We had a beautiful library at home that helped us in our
homework and research, not only for us but also for our schoolmates. The
friends were not only mine but also those of my sisters and my parents.
Then their parents would become very close friends with our parents.
I went to a liberal Catholic school. We saw religion as a Christian
life, doing work, and not with fanaticism or paporreteo.44 That, along
with the faith my mother and grandmother taught me, was the foun-
dation of my faith. Also the behavior of my father, who, although he
was not a practicing Catholic, behaved better than most. He was a

43 Limeña: Person from Lima.

44 Paporreteo: Mindless parroting or reciting of doctrine or dogma.

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man of good, with firm values and unwavering principles. He support-
ed and respected our faith. He advocated secular education and co-ed-
ucation, but accepted our religious education.
To speak of Papapa as a politician is also to remember the great ser-
enades he had for his birthday where, attended by Raul Garcia Zarate,
Peruvian guitarist recognized worldwide – who made my Papi his best
man – and Florencio Coronado, world-class harpist as well. By danc-
ing, we learned to value good Peruvian music. Papapa taught me to
zapatear and enjoy huaynos. Mimi and my sisters liked to participate
in his music.
Remembering him in Punta Negra, and when years later he en-
joyed and loved his house alone with Mimi, is to see them walking
along the beach to Punta Rocas and then sitting at a table at the
club enjoying with his group of very dear friends with whom he
spent fun times.
They were well known in Punta Negra by various groups, highly
esteemed and admired as an exemplary couple. After Papapa died I
was able to corroborate this. Not only from people from Punta Negra,
but from many other circles in which they moved.
The support I had from Papapa was so great when I finished school
and entered the Tourism School. Every morning I woke up to take
myself to school. It was hard for me to do it because I was very sleepy
and he called me “puñuyjotjo,” which means sleepyhead in Quechua.
I remember the earthquake of October 3, 1974 that hit Lima and
the entire south coast, down to the city of Pisco. Papapa, walked about
sixteen or more blocks to my school to see how I was doing. We both
walked back together.
Once I had grown up, I understood the trust Papapa and Mimi had
placed in us. This made me feel so dignified. I felt so honored, it meant
that I never wanted to let them down. They totally trusted us, our de-
cisions and actions, and that, for me, was the basis of success. By
learning this, you try to do the same with your children. You give them
the message that they are capable of everything they set out to do:
“Love and firmness, the basis of good self-esteem.”

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 Papapa accompanied me to my job interviews when I was still in
the Tourism School, he waited for me and encouraged me. When I
graduated and went away for a year to study and work in Minneapolis,
I got married and then got my first job at an airline, which made him
very happy.
Papapa achieved a full life, above all he taught us that the family is
the basis of success. He would say: “My beautiful family,” he himself
and God blessed him with this; his beloved and faithful companion,
his three beloved daughters, then three dear sons-in-law and ten be-
loved grandchildren who truly enjoyed their grandparents.
When I met my future husband, Papapa was very cautious, very
prudent, attentive, because he did not know his family, but he trusted
my judgment. I shared Chris’s letters openly with him. When we got
married he felt confident in my choice and felt happy with Chris’s fam-
ily. That’s how, on my wedding day in 1976 Papapa took communion,
which was very significant for me.
Mimi and Papapa were very happy for us and at the same time sad
because I remained in the USA, but they understood and respected it.
Papapa and Mimi were highly esteemed by my in-laws.
He never stopped writing to me, we never stopped talking on the
phone and he sending us cassettes, recordings, songs and feeling close.
Then came the first grandson, whom I named Christopher Enrique
in honor of him and whom he called Chrisquique.
They came to visit us and he and Mimi stayed with us for a month
in order to enjoy our family.
Papapa, once we had returned to Peru and my second son Jason
was born, “Jaysiñito” he called him, was an active grandfather in the
lives of my children, not only did he spoil them, but he also educated
them and participated in their activities, took them or picked them up
from pre-school with Mimi.
Then, when I got pregnant again, I was afraid to tell him the news
because he would think it was too soon. But he said, “What are we
going to do?”, and Grace was born, the “little princess” as he affection-
ately called her.

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 We spent endearing years of love and union with him, with Mimi,
of complete sharing, summers in Punta Negra, school activities, extra-
curricular activities, events, competitions, and family weekends.
After ten years in Peru and with my family in Toronto, Canada, my
fourth son, Danielito, the “jovencito,” as he called him, would come
after nine years. During the year we lived there, there were annual
month-long visits in which they did the same thing: share. Every time
they returned to Peru, Papapa shed his tears. He was very sensitive
and sorry to be separated from us again; however, when I left I insisted
on the importance of giving children a routine and habits.
When we returned to Peru, already with the young children and a
baby boy, we continued to count on their support – totally uncondi-
tional support. We continued to get together on weekends. We shared
Christmas, birthdays and all kinds of events and achievements, they
were an important part of everything. He truly close with his grand-
children even when they were university students.
If Papapa had anything, it is that, apart from enjoying his family, he
enjoyed life. He appreciated it, felt happy and enjoyed everything from
the simplest to the most exotic things. He was a being who knew how
to live. I also feel that he left this for all of us: his joy of living.
As a righteous and just man, he helped through his profession and
also from within the family.
As a man who respected institutions, he founded the Ayacucho De-
partmental Club, first the AJA, then ADA (Ayacucho Departmental As-
sociation), for which he, his lifelong friends and their wives work tirelessly.
He enjoyed his grandchildren’s weddings, he never stopped danc-
ing with his daughters and granddaughters. He enjoyed every moment
and everything seemed beautiful to him. That’s what Papapa was like.
On Sundays he would have lunch at my house, sit on the terrace
and when he looked at the garden he always repeated the same thing:
“How I like your house,” and we would tease him saying: “You have
never told us that.” He enjoyed everything. It was a pleasure to share
that affection that he put into everything. His sense of humor was light
and he would laugh at the same joke over and over.

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 He loved to eat Chris’s cooking and said, “Queca, I like this,” Mimi
would say, “Let’s see if you’ll eat it at home.” It was a spaghetti Bolog-
nese, he didn’t like pasta, but Chris’s; of course. He loved ice cream.
Papapa called me Tallito as a child. The teachings he left me, the
messages he gave me and his love will always be with me. He really was
an example of life. His sayings that I will never forget:

When you respect yourself, you make yourself respected and you
respect others. Caesar’s wife not only has to be honored, but to
appear so. He who is honest with one dollar, will be with a million.

Papapa lives in us and will continue to live forever for everything he

left us along with his Queca, his beloved old girl.

Tita and Jorge Luna (friends from Punta Negra and more)

There are so many memories that come to mind when we think of En-
rique. Most of them date back to our beautiful summers in Punta Negra.
During those summers we enjoyed seeing him with his beloved
wife Magnolia, going to the club of his loves and bathing at Bikini
Beach.
We saw him enter the strong puntanegrino45 current which, despite
his autumn years, he did with courage, always accompanied by his
daughters and then his grandchildren, who with amazement and fear
saw him enjoy those beautiful moments.
How can one not recall the delicious lunches in his house at Punta Ne-
gra, especially at Easter, where our beloved Magnolia prepared for her fam-
ily and some friends, including us, the rich cod accompanied by fine wine.
We loved talking to him about current political issues. He always
had a broad and flexible view of difficult events in our country. His
way of expressing himself calmly, assertively, positively and above all
realistically, made us reflect on what we were experiencing.

45 Puntanegrino: in reference or pertaining to Punta Negra

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 Enrique’s generosity was always present, also his unconditional af-
fection for friends, we being his daughters’ friends. He and Magnolia
enjoyed spending time together as much as we did.
One of the anecdotes that we remember most was the one in which
we had already moved from the beach and the Gonzalez couple invit-
ed us to have cod prepared by Magnolia for Easter lunch. It was so
much fun that Enrique asked us to stay overnight in Lita’s room and
we lovingly accepted.
How can one not recall when they joined the Punta Negra Club
and they came by all tables greeting all the members, demonstrating
such respect and affection. Enrique was an institution in the club, he
went directly to his table next to the pool to talk with friends.
Our last memories go back to visiting him at his home in Lima,
having lunch with him, talking, laughing and enriching ourselves with
his stories and admiring love with which he spoke of his family.
At the end of his days he said goodbye to us, “I know what I have,
and I know where I’m going.”

Daniel Palasz (Grandchild, jovencito, son of Chayo)

I remember how Papapa always liked to repeat the same jokes and knew
that I would always laugh, so he never missed an opportunity for me, six
or eight years old, to recite the famous “Sorry about the cat Ramon.”
When I was between twelve and fourteen, I passed the summers
living with my grandparents at Punta Negra. We arrived in Punta Ne-
gra and my duty was to open all the shuttered windows. I did it as I
could in order to then go to the club to play. My grandfather always
said the same phrase to my grandmother: “Queca, did you see how
fast he did it?”
Watching him read the newspaper every morning caused me to do
the same and be able to have more topics of conversation. He always
told me, “The best way to write well is to read more and more.”
At lunchtime the three of us sat at the table, and we always
played the album of “Los Morochucos” (the only one we had). After

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the twentieth time we put it on, my grandfather smiled after being
served his glass of pisco with Inca Kola and said to my grand-
mother: “Queca, this is more cholo than I am,” followed by his char-
acteristic laughter.
The truth is that all these memories are so vivid for me and they
make me happy when I return to them.
For as long as I can remember, he called me the “jovencito”46 until
his last days, as I was the youngest of his grandchildren.

Franco Klinge (friend from Punta Negra)

Mr. Enrique Gonzalez was a very nice person in personal relation-
ships. A cultured person, with very good conversation.
I was always struck by the affection he demonstrated for his wife
Magnolia and his entire extended family.
I saw them arrive at the Punta Negra club where Mr. Enrique
swam despite his advanced age. Then a group was formed with very
pleasant conversation.
I met him very late in his life and I would have liked it very much if
it had been sooner.

Augusto Linares (friend from Punta Negra)

Thinking of Dr. Enrique Gonzalez is to remember a cultured, intelli-
gent, professionally successful man, whom I had the pleasure of meet-
ing many years ago in the throes of the profession. I remember the
advice I received from him and admire him, because despite our age
differences, he made himself loved by the group for his human quality
and gift with people: always accompanied by that beautiful woman
named Magnolia who was his lifetime companion.
A big hug to the family and in eternal remembrance of this MAN.

46 Jovencito – Joven – Young person. Jovencito – Little young man.

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Andrea Munoz (friend from Punta Negra, wife of Andres)

I remember Don Enrique, sitting with Magnolia at a table at the club

with his small sharp face, waiting for us to arrive to take out his bottle
of liquor and have a drink with us.

Jorge and Rosi Solari (friends from Punta Negra)

If we are to describe what a gentleman Don Enrique Gonzalez was,

we have such beautiful memories of him, always so attentive and po-
lite with his interesting anecdotes.
It is as if I were watching him go down to the club with Magnolia
holding her arm, such a gentleman, carrying the beach bag.
We will always remember you as an exemplary couple, greetings in
heaven, Don Enrique.

Juan Rivero (friend of Enrique, Magnolia, Chayo, Queti, Chris and

Francisco)

Choosing something relevant about Don Enrique Gonzalez is very

difficult because everything I knew about him was relevant.
The best definition is that he was always a good man, upright, hon-
est, firm in his convictions and above all, eternal love for his family.
Ahh, but there was something I had to counterbalance, he was a
true Aprista. Don Enrique was an old guard Aprista, passionate con-
cerning the welfare of the public, nothing was beyond putting all his
effort into making a better, integrated and equitable country, with bet-
ter distribution and opportunity for all.
I remember with great pleasure the times we talked about politics,
in his house in Punta Negra. I could never convince him that other
options were better.
But conversing with him was always a lesson in profound consider-
ation, he never abdicated his convictions, what he considered to be

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basic principles. Don Enrique was so wise that, for as much as he pro-
voked me when I was younger, he always behaved like a teacher, where
reflection won over passion. I miss those conversations.
Don Enrique welcomed me and my family with an unparalleled
cordiality, so much so that I was at times worried that his beautiful
daughters and sons-in-law might be jealous, ha, ha, ha.
I remember that for Easter, Don Enrique, favorite son of that city,
made sure that our trip was one to be greatly enjoyed.
He traveled alone, his beloved Mimi stayed in Lima. He was in
charge of getting us the hotel (already very difficult to get for those
dates), of visiting us every morning making sure we were well. He pre-
pared the program for us and in many of the activities we shared, we
felt his concern such that we felt spoiled.
I also remember that once at club Ayacucho there was an activity
that we attended. Such was his expression of affection for me and my
family that in one part of his speech (more than once did he do this) he
introduced me and with so much praise that I blushed, any more than
that and I would be the owner of the BCP. The degree of affection he
gave us was so great that he made us feel like we were each another of his
children, and I am a witness to the immense affection he gave to them.
All of this was a constant pleasure.
Don Enrique and Mimi were always our extended family. Not on-
ly do we hold an immense affection for them, but a recognition of
how much they gave us and especially that of feeling part of their
beautiful family.

Maria del Carmen Riva (friend of Lita in Canada)

I remember the day I met them, I went to visit Lita so that she could
introduce us and there was an immediate a mutual congeniality that
over time turned into admiration and affection.
Your father had, among many, a great quality: communication, he knew
how to externalize his feelings with an elegance typical of a gentleman.

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 I consider myself flattered to have been friends with your dear par-
ents for a short time.

Betty Bustamante de Bazo (friend and schoolmate of Lita)

I love Enrique and Magnolia so much.

I love Don Enrique and I always have him in my memory with great
respect, but I do not know how to express my feelings in words, I have
never known how to do it. I would like to have that ease of writing, but
I do not have it, unfortunately.
A man among men, noble, intelligent and of very good sentiment,
loving father and husband, responsible, respectful, cheerful.
Every time I saw him and we met he would talk to me and make me
feel like a very special person for the whole family.

Maria-Paz Saenz (grandchild, marvelous twin sister, daughter of

Queti and Francisco)

My earliest memories of Papapa include the house at Punta Negra and

his TV without remote control, sitting in front of him at night he
stooped to change the channel, with his knees bent and leaning on
them as he was moving the little round thing that clicked. Then he
would sit back on those woven chairs that lasted so long. He watched
the program Risas y Salsa47 and died of laughter: “Ha, ha, ha.” I didn’t
understand anything, but I was struck by the scantly clothed sexy
models.
I don’t remember many conversations with Papapa. I didn’t have
many conversations with Papapa, but do I remember very well how he
made me feel, always completely welcome. I also have some memories
from the house in Lima, he at his desk or especially on his typewriter,

47 Risas y Salsa – Laughter and Salsa- long running, very popular Peruvian television
comedy program.

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loud every time he typed, always using his index fingers. Small ges-
tures, such as pulling the kitchen table to make a space for me there,
things like that were an important part of this feeling of always having
a place for me in his house.
I know he bathed in cold water, Mimi told me, I know he jumped in
the shower to warm up. He would get up early to go buy the newspa-
per, read all the other headlines, and to bring back bread. In Punta
Negra I accompanied him to buy chicharron for breakfast, those walks
in the morning were very special for me.
Another of my earliest memories was his car. It had super stiff
steering and I could see his effort when he had to turn right or left, the
windows down and him screaming at the other drivers after picking us
up from school. He took my older sisters, with Mimi, to their swim-
ming lessons.
He liked to give me soft head-butts, just uncomfortable enough
that I didn’t like them, even though I know they were a sign of love. At
the table especially, he tilted his whole body towards me, his head very
close to mine and I had to respond the same.
When I was older, in the mornings in Lima, I also remember him
going out to buy bread, the newspaper, and to read the headlines. I
remember his desk and how I liked to browse through his drawers. I
remember how he dipped his bread in his coffee with milk and how he
never missed having a drink in the living-room before lunch, often
accompanied with music.
At the table he made me laugh a lot, he would breathe out super
hard and then say, “Sorry about the little cat.” Other times we laughed
at Mimi’s expense, when she complained about something Papapa
pointed to his temple with his index finger and moved it with the ges-
ture intimating that she was crazy. He was a jester and made me laugh
a lot. We chatted during lunch and had a great time.
During 2004 we lived three months with the Papapas, no, it was
not great, it was super challenging.
One of the big conflicts was over turns in the bathroom. We had to
survive with a just one complete bathroom, we the members of this

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new coexistence: Papapa, Mimi, Milagros, Daniela, Maria Gracia and
me. Papapa didn’t make any fuss, never complained, nor did he ask for
recognition for this; but he never occupied that bathroom again. He
started using the small service bathroom on the rooftop. It made life
easier for all of us. I’m sure we made him quite uncomfortable. Mimi
made it clear to us a couple of times, Papapa never.
One of the most vivid memories and in which I can still feel his love for
me is when I was already about 21 years old. Maria Gracia and I went to
their house crying. We wanted to stay to sleep there with the Papapas.
With just one sentence Papapa made me feel all his love and sup-
port: “That’s what we here are for,” he told us. That’s what I think about
and that’s what I feel every time I remember. That unconditional sup-
port: with few words and without much paraphernalia, he knew how
to transmit his love, his affection, his containment.
Papapa was not Catholic, I have no idea if he believed in heaven, even
on his deathbed he refused to confess. He shouted at the priest (one of the
three who went to give him his last rites) “Manan!”48 (There’s nothing to
repent), he told him when the priest asked him about his sins.
However, and in awareness of his multiple defects, if there is a heav-
en, I imagine him there. And here too, he is with us in every memory, in
every anecdote, in everything we have inherited or copied from him,
and he is with me every morning as I comb my hair with his comb and
remember how much he loved me and how much I love him.

Sara Mijichich (Tati, niece of Magnolia)

There are people with whom we do not share blood ties but who, in-
credibly, become impeccably engaged with your life, with their way of
thinking, as if they had always been there, and that just by looking into
their eyes you can guess what they are thinking, in complicit silence.

48 Manan – Quechua for “No.”

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 That’s how you and I were, Uncle Enrique, from different genera-
tions, but enjoying each other, admiring your intelligence and elo-
quence, sharing the love of reading, writing and spelling, things that
perhaps are outdated these days.
I have vivid memories and so many anecdotes with you, many of
them with Mama, with whom you laughed out loud with jokes almost
always told over and again; more than brother and sister-in-law, you
were friends. Or trying to get you abandon your best friend, your type-
writer, and teach you how to use a computer for your files. We never
found out who Zoraida Moron49 was, but every time that name ap-
peared when Windows started up, we couldn’t hold back the laughter.
Dear Uncle Enrique, today you are no longer physically among us,
I thank God for your life, for the fatherhood you gave me and for
showing me the strength of your love for family. You were and will
continue to be a great inspiration to me.

Esther Braiman (“Esthercho,” friend and university classmate of Queti)

He always treated me like another daughter, creating at some times those

little bright moments that never fail, he had so much fun. The lunches at
Papapa’s and Mimi’s house were a joy, the table always well set; Mimi in
the kitchen, Enrique and Esthercho,50 as he called me, enjoying ourselves
with the inevitable great pisco with soda and lemon.
If I have to rescue any story from the past, it is the story of how he met
Mimi: “This lady cajoled me,” he said, “she cajoled me so that I would do
my thesis,” he repeated and laughed with his face lit up all the time.
I hold the spark and the laughter in the depths of my heart. Mimi
saying, “Ay, Cholo.”
A thesis united them and the postgraduate and doctorate made the
formation of the solid family that always was with them.

49 Zoraida Moron: Apparently she was the registered user of that computer’s Win-
dows operating system.
50 Estherecho: Estrecho means long. Esther is a tall woman.

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Maria Gracia Saenz (granddaughter, marvelous twin, daughter of
Queti and Francisco)

For me, to think of Papapa is to think of Punta Negra. Our family spent
many summers there. With such nostalgia I remember the silent and
lonely nights I spent there with Papapa and Mimi when Maria Paz and
I stayed on summer weekdays.
There were very few families staying there. I remember the walks at
night, going out for picarones,51 and especially the nights in the living
room of the house, watching TV on that old television on which you
changed the channels by turning a dial. And when moving from one
channel to another, it made a sound like, clack.
With more joy I remember how the house looked at daytime,
cheerful, well decorated, with the sapo game in the backyard and that
nice bar that Papapa loved. Papapa also liked to bathe in the ocean
very much. I remember that in Mimi’s bag were his earplugs and a
comb to comb him hair after coming out of the water.
Watching him put in his ear plugs before getting into the water, and
taking them out when he came out, was a ritual; he did it every time
without fail, just like the little comb that was passed through his four
hairs after the water.
And of course watching Papapa bathe in the ocean is something I
will never forget. And not because of his skill (or lack thereof ), but
because of the fear of seeing him get in. Bikini beach has a strong cur-
rent, and since Mimi did not know how to swim, she would put her
granddaughters in the little pool next to the beach. Then to see Papapa
enter the rough water, and swim as if were nothing, was very scary.
On the weekends, Bikini beach was crowded. Whenever Papapa
entered the water you could see him among all the young people, a
balding-white-haired old man who was as seasoned as they were, that
was Papapa.

51 Picarones: Deep fried dough rings, like an unleavened doughnut, served with
sweet syrup.

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 I still remember the time a huge wave passed that scared all the
children, and when the wave passed and the heads began to come out,
Papapa’s did not come out and a boy shouted: “What about baldy?
And the bald man?” worried about him. But only a few seconds later
Papapa came out as if nothing had happened. Ha, ha, ha.
To think of Papapa is to also think of the Ayacucho Club. Especial-
ly in my younger memories. The Ayacucho Club was very close to our
house in La Molina, so the Papapas could come to visit us before or
after, or pick us up and take us from the ceremonies that were held
there. I remember many Sundays I spent at the club where Papapa was
at board meetings, or if there was a big event, Papapa was always on
the podium giving some speech or host presentation.
Lunches at his house, Papapa always sitting at the head of the table,
asking for soup and Mimi would say: “Ay Cholo, soup and mote52 is
enough for you. He likes nothing more,” she said.
Papapa spent a lot of time at his desk, which was full of papers and
had books on one side and the other.
Papapa kept the gifts that we grandchildren had made for him in
pre-school on his desk. I will always remember the paperweight mouse
figure that I made in pre-school that he kept all his life. But, well, in his
office Papapa had two tables. One that was his desk for working, and
another little table in front for his typewriter. Come to think of it, it
looked like a little table for his assistant or secretary. Papapa spent
hours there and I remember when he had visits from people, I can
imagine all the clients or friends he helped.
I still remember a friend who came to ask for help for a trial, I lis-
tened to what Papapa said out loud, and talked about the “deceased”
file and other words that I did not understand and that, at that time,
seemed invented. I heard him speak in such a strange way that, instead
of amazement and pride, I was afraid that he was already getting old
and talking nonsense. I was very impressed.

52 Mote: A type corn porridge consisting of boiled, soft, semi-whole kernels

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 My memory of Papapa, where I saw him most alive and happy, were
at his parties with his Ayacucho friends at Punta Negra. They were
crowded, all well dressed and perfumed and ready to have fun. The day
was spent between dancing, food, drink, and of course speeches and the
poetry of his friends. And at the end there was never a lack of the classic
cry of their Ayacucho parties: Hele, hele, hep!, Hep hep hep.

Christopher Enrique Palasz (grandson, Chrisquique, son of Chayo

and Chris)

SUCCESS
One day, at one of the family lunches, I sat in front of my grandfather
and, with the classic cuba libre in hand, asked him: “Papapa, in your
opinion, how does one define the success of man?”
He paused briefly, put his glass aside, rested his arms on the couch
and pulled himself closer. Once there, he enthusiastically replied:
“Chrisquique, for me, the success of man is that he knows how to iden-
tify his path in life and pursue it.”

LIFE’S PURPOSE
On another occasion, we were chatting with my brother Jason about
the purpose of life. As we did so, our beloved Papapa listened atten-
tively to us without saying anything. This was very typical of him.
At some point, we both became silent. We are silent and waiting
for Papapa’s words in order to know who could be right. But also to
understand his point of view.
The reason we were interested in understanding his point of view
was because Papapa was a quiet man. And because he was quiet, we
knew he only spoke when he had something of value to contribute.
This is one of the reasons why we respected him so much.
He dazzled us with this message: “Chrisquique, Jason, in life we are
going to have several roles,” he said, and continued: “Naturally, we are
not just one thing, but being human beings, we must also understand

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that there is always a point of connection in us. And for me, that point
of connection is the purpose of being human.”
He was silent for a few moments and in a slow voice said: “And
what I have seen in my own life is that point of intersection, where
everything comes together and occupies a space of importance, those
moments that allow me to be a person who brings forth love.”

GENEROSITY
I was 24 years old and had begun to spend summers outside of Peru,
so I was no longer going to enjoy many summers there. We entered
the restaurant invited by Papapa and when I saw the menu my mouth
watered. Then I started to order: mixed ceviche, octopus in olive oil,
some mussels and a shrimp soup – to which Mimi questioned:
“Chrisquique, are you going to eat all that?” she said this in a soft,
soothing tone.
Noticing this, Papapa Cholo placed his hand on Mimi’s and affec-
tionately said: “Let him be, Queca, he no longer lives here and I’m sure
he wants to try it all. Just ask for what you want, Chrisquique,” he added.
I think this was one of the moments that has marked me the most in
my life. Understanding what the desire to give, give and give more is.
My grandfather was one of the most generous people I have ever met
in this world. He always gave much more than others expected.
To finish the story, for dessert I ordered pancakes with caramel-
ized milk.

LESSONS
The family. The example. Honesty. Ethics. Love. Listening. Effort. In-
telligence. Be happy and charitable.

UNFORGETTABLE MEMORIES
Summers at Punta Negra with the family:
Without a doubt, some of the best times of my life.
The meaning of life is what each of us decides to give it.

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 Following Papapa’s teachings and advice, I have realized that the
only reason for being here is to be happy. Happiness that is made by
moments of emotion, emotion created by the people with whom you
have the joy of being with.
This is something that was absorbed into my self and way of being
by this great man, due to his vision, passion, way of seeing and living
life and knowing how to enjoy, with and from, his loved ones.

Christmas at their house at 506 Los Jazmines

Laughter, smiles, connection, emotion, passionate discussions, moments
of altercation as well as enthusiasm. Authenticity. Security. Affection.
Thankfulness. Delicious meals. Gifts. Presence. Facial expressions etched
into my memory. Formation of fundamental values. Support. Love. Family.

VALUES
“The only problem that has no solution is death.” Enrique(ta) Gonzalez.
In addition to Papapa there is one person who has had a great influ-
ence on my life: my beloved godmother, Queti. One of the reasons why
her presence in my life has had such an impact is because, in her, I have
seen many of the characteristics I admired about Papapa. Primarily,
their courage to face things. Whatever happens, come what may.

ENRIQUE GONZALEZ CARDENAS

I believe I have been concise in my summary of anecdotes, lessons and
memoirs with Papapa Cholo. The reason is because I know that my
Papapa was a man who spoke righteously. For that same reason, I
know that he, along with my beloved Mimi, hears, sees, and celebrates
us from above. In this way he is now observing the impact he had as a
man. The most valuable, I’m sure, his number one business: THE
FAMILY, which he cultivated with a lot of love and through his great
example of discipline, strength and firmness.
Papapa cholo, I miss him so much! – And I would love to have him
here to ask him more questions. Though I feel like I finally understand
a lot of the things he shared with us.

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 Papapa cholo, a stoic man, with an unparalleled mental capacity,
truthful and correct, who fought for the TRUTH, happen what may,
no matter what.
This was Enrique: a happy and very successful man.
Dear grandpa, I share your vision and carry you in my heart while
I continue my own mission. And in it I will continue to share your
stories, lessons and experiences because through them you have given
me countless tools that allow me to show the way to thousands. And
so, I will not stop until I positively and authentically impact billions of
people who need me.
PAPAPA, Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! With love and admiration.

Daniela Saenz (granddaughter, Danielita, daughter of Francisco and Queti)

My first memory of Papapa was accompanying him to the office of the

judiciary and then to his office in downtown Lima. A black woman of
about thirty years arrived, they conversed over things that I did not
understand because of my age, but what surprised me was that Papapa
called her “morena,”53 not in a derogatory way, but very simply. My
grandfather was like that, very direct and transparent and without ra-
cial prejudice. He proudly called himself “cholo,” although now that I
think about it, he was really serrano and not cholo.
That day he also explained to me what “ad honorem” meant: you
had to help whenever you could. He always spoke clearly, sometimes
using formal words and even being a little cutting, but I always felt
very kindly towards everyone.
Papapa was impatient, he and Mimi made the waiters of Punta Ne-
gra tremble. He was used to being taken care of, and being well cared
for, accustomed as he was to how Mimi waited on him so.
He sat at the table and did not ask, he pointed out with his hand
what he wanted you to pass to him without saying a word. He was

53 Morena(o): A dark skinned person.

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impatient and sharp, but I don’t remember him being like that with
me, I was never afraid to say or do anything and I never had to check
myself in front of him. On the contrary, he praised my recklessness
and naturalness, celebrated my every occurrence, and despite being
quite formal, he enjoyed my “shortcomings” very much.
I remember one lunch, Mimi made my favorite dish “aji de gallina.”
Mimi never sat down, she always had something to do, and from the
kitchen she shouted to me: “Danielita, how is the chili chicken?” I re-
plied with complete frankness: “It’s delicious, but a little chewy.” Papa-
pa could not stop laughing, he made me repeat it again and again
laughing: “Ha, ha, ha,” Mimi was obviously peeved. Papapa repeated
that anecdote a thousand times, he told everyone.
From then on, I was his favorite culinary critic, I would try a bite
and he would ask me, “How is it?” And I knew he was looking for the
ingenious answer, our mission was to annoy Mimi, and we took charge.
“Ha, ha, ha,” he laughed. “How witty this little girl is,” he would say and
grab my nose. It was strange the way he grabbed my nose.
In the early 1990s, Mimi traveled to Canada for the birth of “Baby
Palasz.” Papapa moved into our house, and as my dad would say, he
was like “a sorrowful soul dragging chains.” Papapa missed Mimi more
than it seemed possible. But for me it was the best thing that ever
could have happened.
Mimi and Papapa were yin and yang, Mimi was the one who kept
order, was hard on you if you behaved badly, and Papapa was more
consenting. Was he upset? Probably yes and he would say “how bar-
baric,” but I don’t remember a single time he drew my attention.
During that time at home, he and my dad took turns taking me to
school. It was a commute from La Molina to Miraflores every morn-
ing. There was nothing in my life I enjoyed more than being alone with
my Papa or Grandfather. I remember with great gratitude the conver-
sations I would have with my Grandfather, not all of them were deep,
but as with my dad there were always opportunities to talk about life.
I was 8 or 10 years old and those conversations have impacted me to
this day, making me a better person.

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 He once said to me, “Look at the houses here, how can they be so
big and luxurious!” he said, and I asked, “Why, Papapa? Your daugh-
ter’s house is the same as these, what’s wrong with it?” and replied,
“Inequality, a lot of difference.” Papapa was an Aprista, and he had no
pity for the poor, he felt helpless because of the lack of opportunities.
He didn’t believe in hand-outs, what’s more, he made me scare the
poor children away. That season, one thing that happened was we
went to Mass together, as we were leaving, children came to beg for
alms when we were in the car, and my job was to scare them away.
Papapa let out a horse laugh. “The thing is, inequality is not solved by
giving them a Sol every Sunday,” he told me, “that only serves to ease
the awareness,” he added.
Papapa was an intelligent and quick witted man and loved people
who were the same. “How smart this little girl is. Let’s see, Danielita,
the capital of Lambayeque?” “Chiclayo, Papapa.” “Very good. And the
capital of La Libertad?” “Trujillo, Papapa.”
When I didn’t have time to do my homework he helped me. I re-
member being in sixth grade and I had to make an oral presentation
about a department of Peru. Obviously I chose Ayacucho. Papapa
made me love Ayacucho. He wrote my essay, the page I would present
was on typewritten and spoke ceremoniously of Ayacucho with a
church on every corner, its magnificent beauty. It was clear to me that
the teacher would know on the spot that I didn’t write it.
But the task was really to sell it, I learned it from top to bottom,
including the part that said “PRAISE TO MARIA PARADO DE BEL-
LIDO, LONG LIVE THE WARIS AND THE POKRAS!”
I asserted that I was a real Ayacuchana. My teacher was so fascinat-
ed that she gave me 20 (100 %). Papapa was very proud of me.
Obviously my group chose Ayacucho. We made puca-picante and
sang “Adiós, pueblo de Ayacucho.” I learned a little Quechua. Papapa
translated the part into Quechua for me. I sang and danced with such
pride and conviction that they invited me and my group to perform
for Teacher’s Day. “Pajarinmi ripuchakni, perlaschallay....” Papapa was
proud of me.

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 Papapa was very generous to his grandchildren. For my birth-
day, we had a tradition of going to buy my gift. I would go to lunch
at his house, we would discuss over lunch and the three of us would
go out, I would choose, I would try four or five things, and they
would help me choose one. Then Papapa said: “I also like this one,
we’ll take both.” Mimi said, “No, just one,” but we ignored her, and
they always gave me two, there were always two sweaters, and usu-
ally woven.
When Papapa got sick it was very hard on everyone. For me the
worst thing was to see a man who was always such a master of himself
not being able to control the decisions or the information that was
being handled about his situation. But he always remained dignified,
always calm.

Christopher Palasz (Chris, son-in-law, husband of Chayo)

On August 24, 1974, I met Enrique and his family at his home. I bor-
rowed a guitar and sang an American song for everyone, “The House
of the Rising Sun.” I will never forget seeing the three daughters sitting
on the carpet in the living room and Enrique and Magnolia attentive
from their armchairs, listening to me sing.
The exceptional thing about this meeting was that I could not have
imagined that, in less than two years, I would be celebrating my mar-
riage to Chayo in the United States. Less so, I didn’t expect that Enrique
would love the melody of this song so much that, through the next three
decades of his life, he wouldn’t stop asking for it to be sung again.
Enrique became a real blessing in my life. Coming from a family
with a father who was absent since I was seven years old, and every-
thing that that story entailed, Enrique not only became my second
father, but a model. He was not a father to whom I turned for advice,
but whom I looked up to and admired. I learned via his example of
love for his wife and daughters, sons-in-law, grandchildren and ex-
tended family.

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 He promoted the togetherness of the family and family reunions. A
noble being full of kindness, of great intellectual capacity and an ex-
ample of healthy living, a lover of discipline, reading and study.
He was most willing to exchange ideas and concepts. A man who
taught that the kind of person you are, regardless of your situation,
depends more on your culture, your essence and your universal values
of common good.
Enrique was also fortunate to be able to contribute to his three ca-
reers, education, that of lawyer, and as a politician.
But I have one regret: Enrique always said that he wanted to spend
time writing his memoirs, poetry, among others things. It is regretta-
ble that he did not manage to do so. If he had written his memoirs, it
would have been a significant contribution to political, social and jur-
isprudential life.
Another aspect that I share with my father-in-law is the fact that he
lost his father at the age of twelve and had to ensure the development
and well-being of his entire family from an early age. I was left father-
less in my home at the age of seven.
I feel that one of the effects of this loss is the conviction that when
you grow up, you will seek to achieve a greater and broader presence
in the lives of your children. I perceive a lot of similarity because of the
importance we attach to our role as parents.
His infectious laughs, his attention to every anecdote about family
members, his love for politics, education, literature, law and Peruvian
football was always evident.
• He was a lion in his professional pursuits, and a meek and hum-
ble lamb when it came to his wife and daughters. He was happy
to protect and watch over his family’s progress.
• He was strict when giving his daughters permission when they
were single. Shortly after meeting him, I asked Enrique for per-
mission to go out Chayo, Queti and their new boyfriend Paco.
Enrique said to return home at 9:30 pm and then later 10 pm. It
cost me, but I managed to get permission until 11 pm (Paco had
suggested that I ask for permission, because Enrique liked me).

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 • He loved his beach house, his second home. He loved walking
along the beach and returning home to quench his thirst. En-
rique stood behind his bar, you might not have enough water in
this house, but “here there will never be a lack of beer; cold, as
cold as the South Pole,” he said. This he would exclaim with a
smile like the friendly, generous, hospitable and attentive man
he was. He really liked to socialize at home.
• In 1976, Chayo and I got married in Milwaukee. Despite his
limited ability with English, although he could read the newspa-
per, there was immense affection between Enrique and Magno-
lia and my family.
• He brought a damajuana54 of pisco, and we prepared pisco
sours. My family didn’t speak Spanish either, but after a couple
of piscos my brother Mark would exclaim “Long live Pisco!,” and
all my English-speaking relatives would say “buenos dias,” “bue-
nas tardes,” “buenas noches,” and “hola, como estan?”
• Days before the wedding, Enrique met the father who officiated
the religious ceremony and despite not being a practicing Catho-
lic, he consented to confess before such an important occasion.
• I pleasantly remember the times he enjoyed reading stories to
his grandchildren, my children and nieces.
• While Enrique’s first loves were his daughters and his wife, it
was more than evident that the three sons-in-law loved Enrique
very much and he all of us.
• It was his habit to always rise early, shaving slowly while listen-
ing to news, and then taking a shower in ice cold water. He had
his ritual when getting into cold water in the bathroom, first he
would start jumping and yelling “that, that’s, that’s it...” and when
he covered himself completely with the ice water his cries in-
creased in volume and resounding joy: “Thaaat’s it, yeees,” he
exclaimed.

54 Damajuana: A large glass bottle with a handle.

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 • At breakfast he always took his vitamins B and E. When he was
younger he had bee pollen and honey.
• He always had a positive attitude. And on days when he had to
present himself at the Palace of Justice, he was always prepared
from four in the morning on the same day or from days before.
• He told me a story that explained why he never learned to cook:
when Enrique was watching the house help in Ayacucho cook,
his father when he found Enrique there was disturbed and in-
toned to his son, saying: “Son, your time in this house must be
spent dedicated to studies. To your room,” adding, “I never want
to see you in the kitchen with the female employees again.” He
never set foot in the kitchen again, and he never even learned
how to boil water.
• He was a professor in Sicuani, replacing Jose Maria Arguedas.
Also a professor at San Marcos, deputy of Ayacucho, District
Attorney of the Superior Court of Ayacucho, lifetime president
of the Ayacucho Club.
• He would say, after the walks on the beach, I’m “as thirsty as a
camel,” which “only could be quenched with a good ice cold
beer.”

I will always share this feeling and love for the man who has im-
pacted my life more than any one. Enrique will always live in my mem-
ory, in my heart and in how I see the world.

Grace Palasz (granddaughter, the little princess, daughter of Chris and

Chayo)
Papapa for me was, and always will be, a loving, attentive, wise, gentle-
manly grandfather and simply a great person upon whom I, as his
granddaughter, could always rely.
Always cheerfully greeting me at his home when I arrived and al-
ways making me feel welcome. Offering me something to eat, and if
there wasn’t anything, he would go out and buy it.

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 For my Papapa I was his “little princess,” he looked at me with such
sweetness when he spoke to me, or when he called me and we talked.
He made me feel incredibly secure.
I was able to share so many years with him, numerous summers
together in the house at Punta Negra. While our parents went to work
we stayed at the beach and he along with Mimi accompanied us to our
classes, the club, the beach and our famous zabuidas55 in the ocean
together. Making mischief with my siblings and cousins. There are
countless memories with them.
I will never forget the times they came to visit us in Canada, and I
accompanied him on the bus singing: “My beard has three hairs, three
hairs has my beard, but if I hadn’t three hairs, then it wouldn’t be a
beard,” we sang at full volume. Everyone was looking at us and we kept
singing.
He was always present at all my important events. First commu-
nion and graduation in Canada, graduation from high school and uni-
versity in Lima.
He also went to all the swimming competitions and soccer matches
in Canada and, by the way, he would yell at the other girls who were
fouling with a loud “what an imbecile.”
Once we had returned, they were a great help picking us up from
school, since my parents were at work. While I was used to my Mami
being late for me, my Papapa was always on time. I loved watching his
grey car coming to pick me up, he always on the lookout and attentive
to everything.
At my wedding I had the opportunity and honor to dance the Blue
Danube with him.
An event that I will never forget was when, already 92 years old
and in his last months of life, my first daughter, Arantza, the first fe-
male great-granddaughter, was born. Not only did he show an im-
mense desire to see me, but to meet his great-granddaughter. He

55 Zabuida: Wading and dunking in the tide at the edge of the of the ocean shore.

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imposed himself on everyone and said, “If no one takes me I’ll go by
taxi.” And so it was, he came to see me and to meet her.
And so there are many more memories, but I’ll stay with these plus
something that he always taught us; that family is the best business
you can build.

So, thank you, Papapa. I will always miss you!

Elsa de Mejía (Ecuadorian friend from Canada)

Among the countless visits by the Gonzalez Pinedo couple to Toronto,

we were part of gatherings, with enormous satisfaction and predilec-
tion, sharing experiences as parents, friends and sharing adventures
with Ecuadorian friends and Peruvian neighbors, always with a touch
of humor, appreciation and reciprocal chivalrous discourse.
I must say that I am very short in height and in an unforgettable
meeting at the Casa de Espana (a restaurant) in Toronto, Magnolia,
with her good humor, when she saw her husband and me face to face,
she said: “Cholo, how comfortable you look standing in front of Elsita
at the same height.” We expressed our happiness by hugging and giv-
ing an affectionate Latin kiss, it was cause for a spontaneous celebra-
tion with laughter and friendly hugs.
Thank you for giving me the opportunity to participate and
bring to mind one of the many unforgettable memories between
our families, friends of yesterday, today and always, even if they are
no longer with us.

Joshua Dickey (grandson, Joshuita, elefant herder, son of Jack and Lita)

These lines are dedicated to my grandfather, also known as Papapa.

He always acted firmly, with pure love and tenderness and
showed people his love without speaking, without words. That was
Papapa. He showed his kindness by trying to talk to me without

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spoken language. He did his best to make me feel good by being
sincere and firm and it was great to be around him.
He had the power of love with people and tenderness in his com-
munication. He tried to keep his arms open so that I could talk to him
and I liked to be close to Papapa, who always tried to talk to me, I had
a hard time understanding him if he didn’t speak slowly.
Papapa was a man of his word, of discipline, order, and pure love.
I wish I could say more about Papapa, but, for me, that’s him, for
the boy who grew up without him by his side. It was difficult to get to
know him more because of the lack of the language, I dealt with my
garbled Spanish and he with his also garbled English. I can say that
Papapa was a real grandfather who treasured his grandchildren and
welcomed them with open arms.
I have memories of him when we played “tope, tope carnerito”56
and hit each other head to head, while he tried to teach me words in
Quechua that were very difficult for me. I remember and smile think-
ing about him.
I loved my Papapa very much and I couldn’t show him so much
because we were so far away, because of the great distance, but we
were together in my heart.
Your Joshuita, as you used to call me.

Mariano Villar and Mariela Menna (Argentine friends from Canada)

Papapa, our Peruvian grandfather. He affectionately called us his Ar-
gentine grandchildren.
We learned to love him before we meet him personally. The whole
family from Peru was part of the conversations at Lita’s and Jack’s house.
When they came to visit, we prepared in advance to receive them.
One summer (2003) the doorbell rang, and there were Mimi and
Papapa. They had arrived by taxi from the airport. Lita and Jack were

56 Tope, tope carnerito: Children’s game of butting heads like rams, Carnerito – Lit-
tle ram.

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going to pick them up but Papapa, very anxious, could not wait for
them, so he decided to take a taxi.
Papapa recounted many anecdotes and we listened to him very
carefully. Mimi was his number one fan, she regarded him proudly.
We were lucky enough to receive them on a visit to Argentina, in
the city of Rosario. It was in the month of July (2007), in the middle of
winter. We took them out to eat roast beef, walked around, and
watched a tango show that Papapa enjoyed very much.
Papapa, tired of eating meat and sandwiches, felt like having some
vegetable soup. He said, “I want vegetables.” In Argentina everything is
prepared with ham and cheese, we prepared him a rich vegetable soup
in order to satisfy his whim.
We always remember him with much love, we carry him in our hearts,
grateful for the gift that life gave us to be part of this beautiful family.
Tell him about us, tell him that we love him very much.

Jason Palasz (grandson Jaysinito, son of Chris and Chayo)

A decade without Papapa Cholo.

It has been difficult for me to begin this story due to the expansive
and intense presence of emotions that this has generated in me. And
the reality is that this is how Papapa Cholo was: a man who did not
express, but rather generated immense emotion.
What Papapa left me were his intentions, his ideals and his values.
Although he did not declare himself a Catholic Christian, he was the best
example of this, demonstrated by his help and love for those around him
and especially by his support and unconditional love for his entire family.
Despite being a very strict and rigid person, he always wore his
heart on his sleeve. In my childhood years, between the ages of two
and four, I remember him taking me to his room in the middle of the
night if he had heard me cry. Although the memories are not so clear,
there remains a feeling and impression of a very strong and very pres-
ent figure. He emitted serenity and tranquility.

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 Papapa was a very elegant person, very orderly, very prudent. He
had his clothes folded and ready for the next day, down to the detail of
the folded handkerchief and socks. He always put on his socks delib-
erately and delicately.
Chatting with him was a gift. He gave you his time, his attention,
his serenity and his inner strength. He always listened before he spoke.
You felt heard! Then, he spoke slowly ensuring you understood; he had
a sophisticated vocabulary, worthy of a lawyer.
When I would escape from work to have lunch with my grandpar-
ents, he always started with the hot soup and his sliced chili, always
carefully prepared by his beloved “Queca.”
I loved hearing him speak, which he loved to do, at his beloved
Ayacucho Club or at gatherings with family and friends. He was a
born orator, and although short in stature, he conveyed the presence
of a giant!
When we were moving to Canada, at a lunch at Pepinchin’s and
Yolita’s house, Papapa took the floor and dedicated a message of “see
you soon.” It was in 1989. I was moved to hear him as his voice broke.
Papapa couldn’t contain his emotions on that occasion.
“Family is unity” is and will always be the phrase that I take most
from him. It’s an idea he would say and repeat several occasions. But
more than saying it, he lived it.
While we were living in Canada, he always visited us at least once
a year. Always with the intention of helping in anything that would
contribute. He didn’t mind suffering a little for his family.
When I returned from Canada, we lived in his house for a few
months. As I was then in the middle room, and in the process of
adapting myself emotionally. I had some homework to do on the story
“The Carmel Knight.” The truth was I couldn’t care less about doing it
at that moment, and Papapa perceived this. Seeing that had had no
intention of completing the homework, he wrote the report himself
on his old typewriter. I got a super grade.
I loved seeing him as the king of his castle, and a super host – al-
ways offering his peru libre or cuba libre – worthy of his free spirit.

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 A lead foot when driving, he liked to step on the gas – even well
into his old age – which definitely worried any passenger. But that was
how Papapa was with everything, which, although he appeared to
have the body of a mouse, he possessed the heart and soul of a lion.
Another of his famous phrases definitely has to be “the animal is
dead,” a phrase that he launched on the day of my civil marriage, as ink
was barely put to paper.
His “final days” were pretty hard, for everyone. For Papapa it was
physical pain, still, he obviously was not going to allow himself to be
seen suffering, so he did his best so that no one noticed. He didn’t
want to create any kind of burden, ever; not even while fighting that
damn disease.
The last time I saw him was on a trip I took in August 2010 just to
visit him. I told him that I my first child would be born in January
2011, and that, whether he meets him or not, it does not matter, since
he will always be engraved in his heart and that he would bear the
name of Santiago Enrique.
Even in his death, he unites us. Here is part of a note to my family
I rescued after this trip:

As much as he leaves me with immense sorrow, I know that Pa-

papa would not allow anyone to be sad; since his message is
clear: positivity, and always moving forward. I have a lot of faith
that God has the best plans laid for a man like Papapa, who has
done so much good in this world. And even if he never proclaimed
himself to be a practicing Catholic, he practices the values that
God taught us more than many of those who say “yes, we prac-
tice.” Papapa, God’s word!

Papapa was the patriarch of the family, the one who united, the one
who guided, the one who inspired. With his death, the human, familial
and personal compass also dies. I can only thank God for the man,
human being, father, and grandfather he was.

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Marsha Dickey (granddaughter, Marshita, daughter of Jack and Lita)

Even though Papapa left us a decade ago, not a day goes by that I don’t
think about him. I often remember him accompanied by a peru libre
(pisco and Inca Kola) in his honor, as he continues to live in my heart,
not to mention that from time to time I look at the scrapbook I made
for him after he asked. He loved the one I had made about women and
aging for the university, which I shared with both my Mimi and my
Mami and he said, “Can you make me one about my Marshita?” so of
course I made one for him while I was in Peru, which turned out to be
the last visit I had with him.
It was always a pleasure to talk to him and he always offered me his
advice and good wishes because he and I had a unique relationship,
me being his granddaughter from afar. But no matter the distance, I
could always feel his love and support on a daily basis and with any
adventure or project I was involved in at the time.
When he came to visit us in Canada, he always wanted to sit with
me and go to all my baseball games to cheer me on. I always appreci-
ated those moments because I really felt like he wanted to be involved
in my life and get to know me as a person. He even had the opportu-
nity to meet Jeremy, who at the time was just my boyfriend, but told
me he was “good people,” which clearly meant he liked him, so I’m so
glad my Papapa met my husband and gave him his blessings.
No matter where we were, we always enjoyed each other’s compa-
ny, even if he was just reading the newspaper in a chair or at his desk.
I always liked to sit near or in front of him.
The best times I had with Papapa are those in Punta Negra (that’s
probably why I love going there). So many memories of us, swimming in
the ocean or just watching him go around in the club pool are the things I
remember most from my childhood. But the best memory I have of him
is simply being in his company enjoying the day, sunbathing, eating good
food, and having a cold beer with him (once I came of age, of course).
My Papapa was a special man, he was the pillar of our family, very
proper and a well-respected member of the community. He was proud

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of his place of origin and prided himself on being a great father to his
three daughters, loved all his grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
He lived 92 years and definitely passed on his wisdom and knowledge
to all of us. He was a great example of how to live life to the fullest.
I wish he could see me now or we could have one more phone conver-
sation on my birthday because I miss him calling me, but I know he’s al-
ways with me because there’s a red cardinal who often visits us and it
comforts me to know that he’s always looking over us. I love you, Papapa!
Your Marshita, as you used to call me.

Jack Dickey (son-in-law, Yack, husband of Lita)

Papapa was very special person in my life, especially when memories

of our Punta Negra beach come to mind.
When we were visiting Peru, his favorite phrase was “Vamos, Yack,”
pronounced with Y not J. We both went for frequent walks in our
bathing suits, from El Puerto to Punta Rocas. We left our sandals and
t-shirts and threw ourselves into the sea. Then we would return to the
club for a few beers.
All the time we spent together, we never stopped talking, me with
my paltry Spanish and he with his paltry English, but we still had some
good times.
I remember when we packed the cars to travel from Lima to Punta
Negra and as Papapa asked me to organize the trunk, he baptized me
with the name of “El Ordenado.”57

57 El Ordenado: The organized one.

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Enrique on the beach at Punta Negra

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 Finally, when Mimi or Lita were upset, he taught me the phrase
“Serena Morena” and that is a reflection of one of the lessons I learned
from Papapa, to remain calm and serene at all times, but the funniest
thing was when he told me that he was St. Enrique and I was St. Jack
(both for being married; he to Mimi and I to Lita, ha, ha, ha!).
I always remember him fondly, I liked to see how he enjoyed com-
ing to Canada, and how we traveled and admired the landscapes.
Someday we will continue to travel, Papapa!

Carlos Muente (friend, nephew of El Lobo and schoolmate in grade

school and college of Queti)

So many memories of Dr. Enrique Gonzalez Cardenas, from my

school days, El Lobito and El Lobo as I heard they greeted each other.
They were very good friends, he and my uncle Juan Torres Garcia, and
had spent their political adventures together in the people’s party, as
they called it.
What would they had done together to earn this “wolf ” designa-
tion, is a secret that our beloved Zoilita and Magnolia, our wives,
would never tell.
Years passed and I had graduated as a lawyer and was already in
practice there were the times that, in order to promote the cases under
our charge, one had to go to the trials and the court, which I did regu-
larly. On these occasions I went very early to downtown Lima.
When I was still young, proud to arrive before 8:30 am to enter the
Palace of Justice to review my cases, Dr. Enrique Gonzalez Cardenas
was already leaving to review his. We met and a, “Hello, Carlitos, how
is the family?,” was his affectionate greeting, and so for many years,
being the doctor with all of his years always hardworking and respon-
sible, continued to arrive to the courthouse earlier than me.
This example of a serious and hard-working man helped me to be
a better professional.

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Patricia Muente (friend, wife of Carlos)

I enjoyed Don Enrique, up close, in his golden age. How he enjoyed

the beach and the sea! Like the gentlemen of his generation and with
the sweetness that only men in love have, he would reach out his hand
to his Magnolia to help her get up.
They walked together on the sand and entered the sea, cold and
defiant, as they had done for more than 50 years. The grandchildren,
alert, surrounded them, sure to remember every summer when their
grandparents played with them on the shore. But it was just the two of
them, Enrique and Magnolia, on the crowded beach, holding hands,
their footsteps firm but slow and the aura of love competing with the
summer sun. A beautiful example that we hope to follow.
Lima - September and October, 2020

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Enrique and Magnolia together eternally.

5 147 6
SAENZ RAEZ’S OTHER BOOKS

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