Catalina Guzmán de Ascencio, Arráncame la vida

Catalina Guzmán de Ascencio is the protagonist of Angeles Mastretta's first novel, Arráncame la vida, published in Mexico in 1985. This first person narrative recounts Catalina's sentimental education from her marriage at the age of 15 to the governor of Puebla, Andrés Ascencio, a ruthless caudillo, to her widowhood some twenty years later. A relatively uneducated girl, Catalina is a blank slate which Andrés hopes to mold for his own purposes. Cut off from her family, with few friends and no activities to speak of, Catalina devotes much of her early married life to accompanying her husband on his political rounds and observing the machinations of post-revolutionary Mexican politics at his side. Witnessing her husband's violent and corrupt behavior, Catalina tries to some extent to resist him, but her rebellions are small and private. She eventually pursues a love affair with another man, whom her husband finally murders.

Sharply critical, humorous and irreverent, Catalina's greatest success in rebellion is the text itself, in which she unmasks three essential national myths: the myth of the Revolution, the myth of Mexican womanhood, and the myth of Malinche. As a text within the Novel of the Revolution tradition, Arráncame la vida is a view from the underside, or rather through the looking glass, the mirror that Catalina is to Andrés. The perspective of the wife allows us to see the main actors in this post-revolutionary drama with all their blemishes. While Andrés, the great orator and man of the people, goes out to give a speech, we stay behind the scenes with a cynical Catalina who reveals how hollow his words are.

The image of the perfect, long-suffering Mexican woman, embodied in Andrés' fictitious first wife, Eulalia, is refuted by Catalina's profound humanness, her use of "indecent" language, her sexual desire that culminates in an affair, and her refusal to sacrifice herself emotionally in the maternal role given the impossibility of fulfilling it authentically. When her husband tells their child that "matar es trabajo", Catalina abandons her mothering role, separating from her children emotionally in order to shield herself from the pain of watching her children take after their father:

...resolví cerrar el capítulo del amor maternal. Se los dejé a Lucina...Al principio los extrañé...Desde esa noche cerré mi puerta con llave. Cuando llegaron en la mañana los dejé tocar sin contestarlos...Se fueron acostumbrando y yo también. (66)

The model Mexican wife is undone in this woman who desires freedom and self-direction and who, instead of suffering silently, tells all in this narrative, and quite possibly is responsible for ultimately poisoning her husband.

Catalina also recalls another powerful image of Mexican womanhood, Malinche, the traitor. Catalina functions as a translator for the various poblanos who come to her asking her to intercede with her husband, who is an outsider, on their behalf. As a poblana herself, she belongs to this community, but her ability to influence her husband is limited and often she stands aside as he commits yet another atrocity. It is important to note that while Catalina avoids identifying with the suffering people who come to her, they do see her as "one of them". A woman whose husband was killed by the governor comes to see Catalina after the death of her lover, Carlos, and offers Catalina the poisonous tea:

Le regresó el odio cuando mataron a Medina y a Carlos, y no entendía que yo siguiera viviendo con el general Ascencio, Porque ella sabía, porque seguro que yo sabía, porque todos sabíamos quién era mi general. A no ser que yo quisiera, a no ser que yo hubiera pensado, a no ser que ahí me traía esas hojas de limón negro para mi dolor de cabeza y para otros dolores [...] Me las llevaban porque oyó en la boda que me dolía la cabeza y por si se me ofrecían para otra cosa. (my italics, 192)

Catalina is a complex and ambivalent protagonist. As she matures, Catalina is continually confronted with the choice either to ignore her husband's activities, allying herself with him to benefit from his crimes, or to break away from him and side with those oppressed by him, refusing to profit from their losses. She is repeatedly given opportunities to make connections with other women and other powerless people, to "wake up". Ultimately, these are connections that she does not make. Catalina lives with Andrés, bears children with him, raises the children of his other women, serves as his secretary and second-in-command, helps him win elections and openly enjoys the rewards that come with his position. As she admits, she is his accomplice: "Me hubiera gustado ser amante de Andrés...Además, a las amantes todo el mundo les tiene lástima o cariño, nadie les considera cómplices. En cambio, yo era la cómplice oficial" (55).

Being his accomplice means not only actively helping him by being the perfect wife; it also means willing oneself not to see things, preferring to ignore, forget, and not make certain connections. In the life of an intelligent woman, we can only assume that this causes great tension: "Yo preferí no saber lo que hacía Andrés" (55); "...ya de regreso se me habían olvidado." (69); "Así que olvidé a los Maynes" (72); "...me olvidé de los doce campesinos" (78). The word "olvidar" appears with startling frequency throughout the novel, as Catalina chooses to forget what goes on just outside the borders of the text. Catalina is also supported by others who would rather not know things, like her father: "Por supuesto no le contaba yo nada. El no quería que le contara, por eso se ponía a hablarme como a una niña que no debía crecer..." (58). The connection between knowledge and growth is clear here; she is supposed to not know and certainly not discuss these things; she is supposed to remain a child.

But Catalina cannot defend herself by saying she simply never knew or she forgot. There are moments in the book where she reveals herself not just to be implicated in his crimes by her acts of omission, but when she actually receives pleasure from these crimes. Speaking of her husband, the general: "Tenía unas manos grandes. Me gustaban tanto como les temían otros. O por eso me gustaban. No sé." (63). After Andrés carries off a young girlfriend of his daughter, setting her up on a ranch near Jalapa, Catalina responds defensively, instead of identifying with the pain of the girl and with that of the mother, a woman very similar to Catalina herself:

A mí no me dio coraje, qué coraje me iba a dar, si toda la familia Ibarra sigue cargando con la vergüenza. Esos días hasta los disfruté. Me daba risa: que el general se robó a la compañera de Marta y que la mamá se está volviendo loca. (71) When speaking to Andrés, she states her position outright: "...y quítame a los guardaespaldas. No valen lo que les pagas. De todos modos yo juego en tu equipo y tú lo sabes" (84).

Yet Catalina does not "play on his team"; she wants to play on both teams and commit to neither. For as much as she is the official accomplice, benefiting from Andrés' crimes, she also is a spy, observing, ridiculing and then exposing the inner workings of the government and her marriage. The tension that results from her ambiguous position both inside and outside the circle of power - and her ambivalence about this position - creates a compelling and complex protagonist who demands a careful reading.

Alice Edwards, Ph.D.
Mercyhurst College,
Erie, Pa.

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