31. The Rest is Silence . . .
The telegram addressed to Mr. Pedro Livraga, Florida, said:
State of health of your son good in Olmos La Plata. He can be visited on Friday 9 to 11 or between 13 and 17 hrs. Only parents, sons or siblings carrying their appropriate identity papers. Col. Victor Arribau.
It was telegram number 110, and it had been sent from the Government House at 7:30 p.m. and received at 8:37 p.m. It was Monday, July 2, 1956.
Juan Carlos was still in Moreno. But it was clear already that his fate was being decided by the Pink House and not La Plata Police Headquarters. On Tuesday the third, they transferred him to Olmos. And his parents—who had assumed he was dead—anxiously counted down the days until Friday.
At last they saw him. They found it hard to recognize him: he had lost ten kilos, his face erased by bandages. That said, ever since his arrival at the penitentiary, he had been treated humanely and given appropriate medical attention. His health had actually improved considerably during these few days.
Giunta was also recovering from his anxious depression. At first, he’d been suffering a great deal from being grouped with the ordinary prisoners. That’s when he decided to speak with the director of the penitentiary and recount his strange odyssey to him. The director—a kindhearted man who was later replaced—looked pensive.
—Many have come to me with that kind of story —he finally replied.— But they’re not always true. If what you’re saying is true, we’ll see what can be done . . .
He ordered for him to be transferred to the political prisoner block. Giunta felt better there. The prisoners included communist and nationalist militants, union leaders, even a journalist, and with them at least he could talk, even if he wasn’t interested in debates about politics or labor.
Afterward, Livraga arrived. Giunta didn’t remember him. Juan Carlos, on the other hand, had held onto a crisp image of Livraga. The experience they shared brought them closer together. At first, Livraga had preferred to stay with the ordinary criminals: he still feared for his life and thought he had a greater chance of going unnoticed among them. Later his worries subsided and he asked to be moved to the other block.
Among the prisoners, one La Plata lawyer’s name kept coming up: von Kotsch, Esq. They mentioned cases of prisoners who had been set free thanks to his intervention. Máximo von Kotsch, Esq., a thirty-two-year-old attorney actively affiliated with the Radical Instransigente Party, did indeed devote his well-known dynamism to the defense of detained union members.31 Among them were the numerous oil workers tortured by the Province of Buenos Aires Police. Giunta and Livraga asked to speak with him, and von Kotsch, Esq., listened with awe to the story of what happened in the early morning hours of June 10 in the outskirts of José León Suárez. He agreed to defend the two survivors at once and, given the lack of a judicial process—they were at the disposal of the Executive Power—and of any real reasons that might justify their imprisonment, requested that they be set free.
On the night of August 16, 1956, the prisoners of the political block were getting ready for bed when they heard a guard’s voice order:
—Quiet, people! —and then:— If I call your name, come out with all your things.
A shiver ran through the block. Some would be set free, others would stay. Everyone listened eagerly while those whose names were called gathered their things together in a frenzy.
—. . . Miguel Ángel Giunta . . . —the guard rattled off,— Juan Carlos Livraga . . .
They were the last two on the list. They looked at each other in disbelief. They embraced. Then the same thought occurred to them simultaneously. Maybe it was a ruse to kill them. But there, leaning against a column outside the prisoners’ block, was von Kotsch, Esq., waiting for them. He was smiling. Giunta says he will never forget that moment.