Rest in Peace

In Washington's white-marbled Pan American Union building last week, frock-coated representatives of Nicaragua and Costa Rica squiggled their signatures on a treaty of friendship. The treaty ended ten weeks of bickering over the invasion of Costa Rica from Nicaragua; it also symbolized the eclipse of the Caribbean Legion. In Nicaragua, Dictator "Tacho" Somoza celebrated the occasion by knocking off work on his sugar refinery (the country's largest) now abuilding on his Pacific coast barony at Montelimar.

Tacho cocked a stained canvas hat over one eye and bellowed: "Yeah, we signed a treaty with Costa Rica. It just puts into writing everything that Nicaragua stands for anyway. No Nicaraguan has to sign a treaty to let the world know he's friends with his neighbors."

The general gnawed a stalk of cane. He spat out a wad, and with it his requiescat on the Caribbean Legion: "That damned legion is out of action, anyway. They couldn't get any more dough from Tio Pepe [Uncle Joe] Stalin, I guess . . . That Costa Rican business was just a guerra de galleticas [cookie war] to keep [President] Figueres [of Costa Rica] in power."

Fat Pigs. Things at home were fine. "You know, the Nicaraguan has a tremendous heart. If you do something for him, you can lead him around by the nose. If I tell one of these that I'll give him a pig if he'll fatten ten pigs for me, I'll come back and find one pig fat and the rest skinny. So I tell these guys that I'll give 'em a pig, but don't tell them which one. Then all the pigs are fat."

Tacho's fat-pig policy was paying off. For diehard Nicaraguan exiles, the legion's end meant that nothing short of a thunderbolt could now topple Tacho. Homesick and penniless, they had begun drifting back to make their peace with the porky dictator. He was glad to see them: "I want all Nicaraguans home. I like to have 'em close, so I can keep an eye on them, bless 'em."

Night Tribute. Meanwhile, other Central Americans said a requiescat of another sort last week. Just 15 years ago Tacho's Guardia had cut down his old rival, Augusto Sandino. On the night of the anniversary, somebody scuttled across the runway at Managua's Xolotlan airfield to leave a memorial to the slain revolutionist: a bunch of red carnations, straw flowers and bougainvillea. At dawn, the fat tire of a Nicaraguan air force C46 rolled over the flowers, staining the black macadam with scarlet pulp at the spot where the Guardia is said to have buried Sandino.

Tacho was still living by his iron creed: "Let them try anything. If they're tough enough to shove me out, then they and not I should be here."

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