For Two Remote Salvadorian Villages, the Iraq War Hits Close to Home

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Like the truth behind the colorful facade in the cemeterio, Tivito's death has convinced some local men that war is not all glory and exciting travel opportunities, admits Domingo Mendoza, the major of Guaymango and cardholding member of the leftist-FMLN party.

"There has been resistance to joining the army after Tivito's death, but sometimes that fear is overcome by the need for food," he says matter-of-factly. Guaymango is the poorest town in the Ahuachapan province, and significantly worse off than Tacuba. A whopping 93 percent of the town's populace lives outside of the village, in the campo, and Mendoza refutes any suggestions that Guaymango is somehow responsible for helping out Herminia Ramos financially in the wake of her son's untimely death.

"People die here every day. We can't just hand out money every time it happens."

"Far away from me"

We return to Herminia's house in the late afternoon and find her leaning against the pisa in a mint-colored dress, looking exhausted, but washing clothes nonetheless. She boasts a dignity in her stature, despite all she's been through. And suddenly our story is no longer about the complicated matters of controversial wars or financial compensation, but about the simple, naked tragedy of a mother longing for her child.

It's clear that she'd rather not talk about Tivito, given that guests will be arriving all week for the one-year anniversary of his death. But something in her eyes, her tired, mournful eyes, wants to speak.

"I don't want to remember how he was," Herminia says in a whisper. But I and the Salvadorian driver egg her on, prodding at her unhealed wound before the sun sets into the mountains.

"Did he work hard? What kind of work did he enjoy? Where did he get the nickname 'Tivito'?" Her youngest son tugs at her waist, needing his mother. "Was Tivito as handsome as this little one?" I ask.

Finally a response, and a smile: "He was a little chubby, actually ... he worked for five years in the fields before joining the army ... harvesting milpe and corn." She is speaking slightly louder than a whisper, and only the iPod recorder picks up every word. "He liked the army ... told of how he made good friends there."

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