This assignment is based on Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s Chronicle of a Death Foretold. It is a diary entry which will allow the reader to enter Angela Vicario’s head and get a completely different side of the story. This entry also intends to focus on the details of Angela’s and Santiago’s relationship, since in the book it isn’t even made clear whether they are engaged or not. This diary entry explores Angela’s feelings of guilt, the motive for her actions, and most of all, her love for Santiago. This is a creative piece of work which was written to fit into the context of the story and to explain things that Garcia Marquez decided not specify in the novella.
Dear Diary, The stench entered my nostrils and flowed into my lungs, invading and marking its presence on every inch of my body. There was no escape. The fresh smell of death lingered in the air, reminding me of the best and at the same time worst memories of my life. The musky scent of his body was infinitely replaced with the aroma of guilt. I can recall numerous times where I’d wished he would die. That he would burn in hell and never return.
I had fooled myself into believing that his absence might make the eternal pain leave. He’s gone, murdered by my own flesh and blood, but the pain still lives. It reigns my body, only now it is stronger. My thoughts feed it constantly and it grows inside me, it’s roots penetrating my heart. Yet, I still love him. Love can drive us to do such unreasonable things. My love for him is the purest form of love, the unconditional type. Through so much pain and hatred, the love I felt for him still lived. I had wished him dead, from jealousy and anger, but even as I revealed the truth about our relationship, I wept in sorrow.
I knew exactly what they were going to do to him, yet that had not stopped me. I could have made up a lie. With so many men in the town, many other men could have been responsible for my shattered heart and dignity. But they weren’t. And I didn’t want them to be. He had done it, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Until the day I die, I know I belong to him. I am his, and he wasn’t mine. No matter how much I wanted him to be, he did not seem to want to lead an honorable and acceptable marriage. My family would have never accepted our sinful relationship, if you could even call it a relationship.
We never saw each other, we weren’t together, but after that one day, our souls had been united forever. He had come to do some business with my brothers. They weren’t at home, as a matter of fact, I was the only one there. What happened next, I will never be able to explain. I opened the door, and in front of me stood a man I had know my entire life, yet who had never had any kind of special effect on me. But this time it had been different. No words were exchanged, nothing needed to be said. Once our eyes met, our souls fused, and the he shut the door behind him.
That afternoon was never mentioned again. Sometimes I would see him at the market, or while I was out in town with my mother, but I didn’t dare to speak to him. He continued to live his life, with his fianci?? , as if nothing had ever happened. Until one day, when he knew I was alone, he came to speak to me. At first I didn’t open the door. He had treated me like a dog. Used me and then discarded me as trash. For weeks I had cried myself to sleep. How could I have lost something so precious as my virginity to such a disrespectful creature? I had given him reason to disrespect me.
Yes, I was always aware that the afternoon we spent together probably gave him the wrong impression. It would have given anyone the wrong impression. But that is the thing. To me, he wasn’t anyone. And I had hoped that he too had felt the union of our souls. That he had understood that the acts that followed the sound of the door slamming behind him were merely the physical representation of the magical spiritual energy we had just exchanged. I had not expected him to appear at my doorstep the next day with a bouquet of flowers or to serenade me, that would have been very suspicious.
All I wanted was a simple hello, and acknowledgement of my existence. A look. The temptation was too great, as my heart pounded in my chest, I tuned the handle, the squeaking of the bolts sending chills down my spine, and looked at the terra cotta floor. I did not dare to look him in the eyes. God knows what effect that might have. I could feel every particle of my body tingling. His stare penetrating me. The silence was no longer welcome. Unlike the first time, it was an uncomfortable silence. I felt violated by his presence. I could feel his eyes undressing me, the idea made me cringe.
Yet, for about fifty seconds I could not bring my jelly like legs to move, my voice had vanished, I stood there motionless. Then suddenly shut the door in his face. I was completely unaware if anyone had seen him stand there. After all, if someone had seen us, the news would travel fast, like anything that happens in this town. I started panicking. I didn’t know what to do. Part of me wanted to open the door, embrace him and beg him to run away with me. Part of me wanted to slap him, remembering all the tears I had shed for him. But the biggest part of me just didn’t know what to do. I finally managed to turn my back on the door and sit down.
Then my salty tears started running down my cheek and into my lips, making me taste the pain and confusion I was feeling. I had never imagined I could feel so dirty and at the same time pure. The love I felt for that man was pure. My actions were not. I had sinned and gone against everything my mother had taught me, everything my family was known for. We were known for being decent girls, with polished moral values. I didn’t know if I wanted him to pound with his massive manly fists until the door fell apart or if I wanted him to leave and never return. He left and took all the hope I had in my heart with him.
I too returned to my everyday life. Slowly he started to fade from my everyday life, I didn’t forget him, but simply managed to lead my life without being interrupted by the thought of the man I loved and hated at the same time every time I tried to do something productive. I blamed myself for everything that had happened. I had made myself vulnerable to the situation. I had come to terms with my mistake. Until one day, I received a letter. It was anonymous, so that my parents nor the mailman wouldn’t be suspicious. But before I even opened it, I knew who It was from. The paper smelled like him.
In the letter, he asked me to wait. Declared his love for me and told me he was going to speak to my family. After all, he was wealthy and I’m sure if he had done things properly my parents would have approved. But he hadn’t. I waited and waited. Things changed, and I just kept on hoping. Then, Bayardo came. I thought Santiago would have stopped the engagement. Interrupted the short courtship. Everyone in town knew what was going on. But he never did. That coward never did. I replied to his first letter after I received the music box Santiago sent me, telling him to come and ask for my hand before it was too late.
He never even replied. I saw him on the streets with his fianci??. She greeted me. He averted his eyes, refusing to even look at me. He deserved to be killed. He stole all the love I had in my heart. He is the man I love. And the only man I would ever be able to love due to the intensity of my emotions. He stole my heart. I stole his life. If I couldn’t have him, then no other woman would. Now I’m drowning in guilt and pleasure. Choked by sorrow, blinded by the tears. We’re leaving for Manaure soon. I must go and help pack.