In reading Ariel Dorfman's poem "Hope," from his
collection of poetry In Case of Fire in a Foreign Land, the
elements that seem most important to me are first that a son is missing. We learn that
this state of affairs has been happening since the previous year when the son was taken
on May 8. Next we are told that he was "taken"—he did not leave on his own. Against his
will, the son was placed in an unmarked car, without license plates, with promises by
those who took him that he would only be gone for a "few hours" for "routine
questioning."
As the poem continues, we find that the
parents have been unable to find out anything about him: whether he was dead or alive,
since May 8. The speaker is horrified by these events as well. He asks in what country,
in what world, could such a thing take place.
However, on
this day, the day the speaker is presently observing, things have
changed dramatically. A friend or neighbor (a compañero) has come to visit. He also had
been held prisoner in the "red house" at Villa Grimaldi, the house once owned by the
Grimaldi family. (We can assume they no longer live there—perhaps it has been seized by
the "police.") While there (and this man has only just been released that
day), the compañero heard their son's voice, which he recognized—and their
son's screams.
Ironically (and at first, surprisingly), the
parents do not lament the torture of their son, but are filled with hope (hence the
poem's title). Eventually we understand that this is because they
know that as of that day, he has been alive the entire time he has
been missing, and is alive still. We also know that their hope
extends to "next year," when after eight months they hope they may
again hear news of his torture and know—then as well—that he is
still alive. We grasp the fact that for them, death is the worst
piece of news they could receive. Their son's suffering helps them through their own
suffering by giving them something to pray for, to hope for—his continued
life.
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