ARO TOLBUKHIN IN THE MIND OF A KILLER
We'II take that Iift.
How do I obtain the rights to the footage?
It's simpIe. Just sign these two papers.
Here and here.
That gives you access and aII rights to the footage.
According to the wiII, you inherit Lise's rights.
There's no probIem.
I'm aIways moved when I come here.
It's Iike going down into catacombs.
AII these cans are Iike forgotten corpses,
sIeeping angeIs.
Waiting to come aIive again with the Iight of a projector.
A Iot of these cans wiII soon be in the trash.
If you'd come a coupIe of years Iater,
maybe you wouIdn't have found what you are Iooking for.
This is aII that's Ieft
of ''In the BeIIy of the WhaIe'' that I shot with Lise.
These must be the interviews with the prisoners awaiting execution.
Let's have a Iook.
This Super 8 footage from the Mission was given to us.
In Lise's film archives,
we found an unfinished documentary on the death penalty.
There was an interview with Aro Tolbukhin,
a Hungarian executed in Guatemala for burning 7 people alive.
We were struck by Tolbukhin's story.
We decided to complete the unfinished project.
We began with Lise and Keetman's
footage and notes
gathered in the early 80s.
The footage included interviews with people who knew him.
And also one with Tolbukhin while at the Pavon Prison.
A few weeks after that interview
Tolbukhin was executed in May 1982.
I went out and waIked to the shed
where we kept the fueI.
I fiIIed one of the cans
and went to the cIinic.
The first one to see me come in
was Rodrigo.
Rodrigo was a Ketchi Indian boy.
He had a gangrened Ieg.
When Rodrigo saw me come in,
he thought I was bringing water.
He toId me he was thirsty.
I thought that was funny.
He was...
the first one I doused.
At first he Iaughed.
Then he started crying
because the fueI stung his eyes.
The others asked me what I was doing.
I quickIy poured gasoIine onto the others.
Then I went over to Martina, the oIdest.
She was at the far end.
I got nervous
because I heard the nuns arriving...
So I just did it.
Hans Wyss has been arrested for burning 7 people alive.
Among them, women and children.
He set fire to the ''Mission of the Divine Redeemer''
near Coban.
Suffering from serious burns,
he is now being treated here
at the regionaI hospitaI in AIta Verapaz.
His entry into prison is impending.
We now know that the name Hans Wyss
conceaIed the identity of Aro ToIbukhin,
a native of CégIed, Hungary.
Since 1 958, he worked as a merchant marine.
After 1 6 years, he came ashore here in Puerto Barrios.
Over on that hiII, among those trees...
That's where they found him.
Hans arrived just after the quake.
Many peopIe were injured,
without a home,
Iost, and wandering around the countryside.
They came how they could,
all asking for help.
We had huge problems trying to tend to them all.
They arrived in terrible shape.
We had neither sufficient manpower or facilities.
It was a disaster...
Hans didn't get here by himself.
He had sores aII over his body.
During the first month
he had very high fever.
His condition was very serious.
We aII thought he was going to die.
Saving him seemed impossibIe.
FortunateIy, one of the nuns
working with us...
She dedicated aII her energy to caring for him.
She saved him!
SeIma!
-Is Carmen Curt in? -Just a moment.
-HeIIo. How are you? -Fine. I'm Lydia.
Nice to meet you.
We've come for the interview.
For years, I didn't want to talk about Hans.
He reminded me of the war...
I ''couIdn't'' taIk either.
I was afraid...
I didn't know if I wouId return to GuatemaIa.
The fact is...
it was better to Iisten, watch and shut up.
Now, things have caImed down
and I see it differentIy.
Now I can taIk. That's why I'm here.
Hans was a good man.
At least he seemed so to us.
You could tell he had suffered a lot.
And was still suffering.
He arrived very sick.
He tried hard to get well.
He learned Spanish and helped us.
We needed his help.
It was a terrible time.
People arrived daily in dreadful states.
He helped us a lot.
He always lended a hand, helped out.
In 1 978, the war got worse.
This was the beginning of an exodus of the natives.
We asked our congregation in Spain for some money.
Not much,
but enough to renovate a shed
to be used as a clinic.
We could then care for more people.
Sister Carmen took on
responsibility for the project.
Hans... That's how he was known to us...
He was constantly at her side,
working, helping her.
Is that the same clinic he burned?
Yes.
But you loved those people?
Yes, but that's got nothing to do with it.
So why did you burn them?
I aIready toId you.
I did exactIy what I wanted:
KiII those 7 sick peopIe.
Why keep taking care of them?
What for?
Water...
In the worst of the war, in the hardest times...
he helped me to keep going.
To find courage,
to face that situation.
We jeopardized ourselves
by hiding guerrillas.
We also helped those trying to reach the border.
We became a refuge for a lot of people.
They all came to the Mission.
Orphans were left with us.
Many children lived with us.
Sometimes they were left in the chapel.
Sometimes at the doorstep of the clinic.
What could we do? We had to keep them...
What about that child?
Kuti was a special case.
Kuti was actually born in the Mission.
His mother was very young. She came here alone.
When she arrived she was about to give birth.
It was a dramatic situation.
We heIped her. I tended to her myseIf.
She survived the birth, but...
She survived the birth, but was very weak.
She Iost a Iot of bIood and died a few days Iater.
We couIdn't do anything.
The baby stayed with us at the Mission.
''Our Father, who art in Heaven, HaIIowed be Thy name...''
He named the baby Kuti.
In Ketchi diaIect that means ''saved from fire''.
That's how we baptized him.
He was a delicate child,
often sick.
He slept in the dormitory
with the other children.
But his crying was a problem.
He kept the others awake.
So Aro started taking him
to his room
to put him to sleep.
After a while, I also started going there
to spend time with them
when I finished work.
-Good night, RauI. -God bIess you, Sister.
People started talking,
saying that it wasn't right.
That I spent so much time with them,
in his room with the chiId.
That wasn't Iooked upon weII.
When I Iearned of those rumors
I stopped doing it.
I wondered whether those rumors
were founded or not.
In a way,
it was true.
We had formed some kind of famiIy.
We felt very close.
On one hand, I felt bad
for being a nun.
On the other hand, I liked the feeling
that I had for them.
I didn't know how to put a stop to it...
So I prayed.
I prayed a lot.
I asked God to help me.
But I realized
the situation was not in God's hands.
We were the ones
to make the decision.
When Aro was Iearning Spanish,
we read passages from the BibIe.
I remember this passage in St. Matthew.
About the exorcism of a chiId.
He read it so often that he knew it by heart.
He rareIy taIked about his feeIings.
But when he did, he was frank.
He toId me he understood very weII,
because he had Iived through it.
He toId me he had been possessed by a demon.
When we learned...
We were very sorry to see her transferred
to a new posting.
We accepted it as best we couId.
She was beIoved here in our community.
I think it was the first time I made a decision...
I was a IittIe seIfish.
I took the decision to Ieave.
That situation wasn't good for me.
I never did teII him that it was my decision.
I don't think he ever knew.
It's my work.
My duty is to obey.
I'm a nun.
I'm obIigated to go where they send me.
It hurts me more than you.
Don't think it's easy for me to Ieave.
So many peopIe need me here,
so many peopIe I Iove.
But I have to do it.
I've aIways thought...
that my vocation is to serve.
To serve as if I didn't exist.
Maybe that doesn't matter to you.
But I have vows to respect.
I can't.
Can you take this for me?
Did you Iove him?
Yes, I Ioved him. I Ioved him a Iot.
I don't know how to expIain it.
It's not the same Iove as I feeI for my husband...
But I Ioved him.
We were very close.
Now, with some distance...
It was more like brotherly love.
Someone to feel close with, to always count on.
He also made me see religion in a more human way.
Closer to the people...
He had much to do with me leaving the order.
We were surprised
how peopIe from the Mission taIked about him.
The man we met in prison
was cynicaI and coId-bIooded.
The contradiction was confusing.
But you know
how stubborn Lise was.
She insisted until she found what she wanted.
-Do you remember him? -Yes I do.
When the Sister Ieft...
he went crazy.
He Iost controI.
He started drinking.
He roamed about doing nothing.
He disappeared for days...
He couIdn't bear being aIone.
He went mad.
I was worried about him.
His behavior made us nervous.
But this wasn't reason enough
to expeI him from the community.
This had been his home.
Maybe we didn't do the right thing
by keeping him here.
Maybe we didn't do the right thing,
but where would he go?
He was bad.
He was bad because...
In the beginning, peopIe Ioved him.
Then he acted badIy when the Sister Ieft.
They moved her away.
I think he had reIations with the Sister.
Then he feIt IoneIy...
He burned himseIf aII over.
The priest toId me to caII the poIice
before the peopIe Iynched him.
When the poIice came, they found
among his things some press cIippings
about various murders.
That's when they realized he was such an evil man.
Aro Tolbukhin is now held
in Pavon Prison since recovering from his injuries.
He was taken into custody by the AIta Verapaz court,
where he confessed to new crimes.
He is heId responsibIe for the deaths of 5 pregnant women.
AII murdered and burnt between 1 979
and 1 981 .
It was a sensationaI case
It caught the pubIic's eye.
There wasn't much enthusiasm to defend ToIbukhin.
I saw it as a professionaI chaIIenge.
I was younger then.
I defended anyone for the experience
and the chaIIenge of decIaring them innocent.
ToIbukhin, in his confession
before the court said:
''I have kiIIed 1 7 other women.''
And he added this detail:
The women were pregnant.
And all these 1 7 women,
were kiIIed in the Iast 1 2 years,
whiIe he traveIIed the worId
as a merchant marine.
He says he burned them.
But when two of the women's bodies were exhumed,
pIastics bags were found on their heads.
And traces of gamezan in their hair.
Gamezan was used by the miIitary during the war
to make peopIe confess.
The women had no signs of burns.
The women had died from other causes.
The Hungarian consuIate in Mexico toId us that
they had records of an Aro ToIbukhin.
We identified him in Guatemala as Aro Tolbukhin.
But this information didn't match
what Tolbukhin told us about himself and his family.
He wasn't telling the truth.
Not even about his own identity.
Why did you choose pregnant women?
They say you didn't kiII those women.
Who knows better than I do?
Why did you burn them?
Did you have a reason?
He maintained at aII times
that he'd not onIy kiIIed 7 peopIe at the Mission,
but aIso 1 7 other victims.
Our defense
had no effect.
He aIways kept to his same confession.
Why didn't you aIIow your Iawyer
to defend you on the grounds of mentaI incapacity?
Because I'm not insane.
Do you think your sentence is fair?
What do you want to know? If I deserve to be kiIIed?
I don't think he kiIIed those 1 7 women.
There are too many contradictions.
Judging by the personaIity that he showed us,
he suffered from serious deIusions.
I think he invented aII of that.
According to Dr. Barrios,
Sister Carmen reminded you of your sister,
your sister SeIma.
He often repeated this word.
I thought it meant something Iike ''thank you''
or ''pIease''...
I didn't know untiI he toId me
that SeIma was his sister's name.
She was his twin sister who died. They had been very cIose.
When we taIked to the prison psychiatrist,
Lise showed even more interest in him.
She decided to ask for a second interview.
Aro agreed, but on one condition:
that there wouId be no camera.
I stayed outside. Lise went in aIone
with a smaII tape recorder.
She taped the interview with ToIbukhin.
Why didn't you ever use it?
The reason is simpIe.
It aII feIt Iike
fantasy to us.
It didn't match the criteria of objectivity
which we tried to respect
above aII other things.
Aro Tolbukhin was born in 1940,
in Cégled, a small town near Budapest.
Along with his twin sister, he grew up
in a wealthy rural family
of Bulgarian origins.
His father was a promising young doctor.
He fell in love with Sophia Gaal.
They married a few years later.
This happy period was interrupted
by the birth of the twins.
After our birth, mother was Ieft disabIed.
She couIdn't do anything.
She was aIways in bed.
Our father was so strict that he wouIdn't Iet us see her.
Not us, nor the rest of the famiIy, who never visited again.
Our father went a IittIe out of his head.
You know what I mean?
He took care of her,
fed her.
We were raised by a nanny.
She came to breast feed us
and then stayed on.
She taught us to pray.
The chiIdren were aImost identicaI,
apart from their voices.
She had a beautifuI voice.
She started to pIay the piano at a very young age.
But Aro's voice wasn't cIear.
He began to sing and pIay the piano much Iater.
He had been born with one finger missing.
Didn't your mother take care of you?
She was aIways in her room.
My father kept it Iocked.
Didn't you ever see her?
WeII,
in photos, yes.
We sent her notes.
She answered in Ietters that father read to us.
Sometimes we heard her pIaying the piano.
In her room,
aImost aIways the same song.
THE EMPTY DRESS
Their games were usuaIIy based on their mother.
They got used to her absence.
Their father's behavior seemed normaI to them.
Now the wish.
That Mama gets better.
Our father made us beIieve that she was aIive in the house.
That day we reaIized she wasn't there.
No one made them beIieve
that she was there.
CouId their father made them beIieve that?
He kept her memory aIive.
He dedicated himseIf to work.
The children were confused.
They couldn't understand that
their mother died giving them birth.
They were very young...
I tried to explain things to them
as they didn't know
what birth and death were.
Near the house, there was a forest.
There was a big, dried out tree.
I showed to them the pretty branches
that sprung out from the dried trunk.
I told them her mother
had once been like this beautiful tree.
She had carried them in her belly...
until she got sick
and died like the tree.
I told them they were full of life
like the pretty new branches of the tree.
One day I took them to the cemetery...
I told them their mother's body
was under the tombstone.
But, she...
She had gone to Heaven to be with God.
Our Nanny said we wouId aII go there.
Sometimes God caIIs some before others.
The best ones go first.
She aIso said...
AIthough our mother may be buried in that tree,
she had been so good that she was sureIy in Heaven.
We continued to take her food and write her letters.
The food rotted.
No one answered the letters.
But we felt good there.
We were warm and content.
One day, something changed
We both noticed it and later shared it.
We felt so good, we tought it was the Heaven
that Nanny had told us about.
We didn't see our mother but it was the best thing
that ever happened to us.
We continued for years,
in secret.
They were together and aIone for a Iong time.
Their father was away a Iot with his work.
The children grew up.
When she turned 1 4,
she entered the conservatory.
But Aro
went to the local school.
Now, only on some weekends,
they were able to be together.
Selma adapted easily.
But Aro suffered
from this separation.
When summer arrived,
once again, we were
the three of us together.
Selma continued with her music classes.
The communists had placed
new families in the house.
He pIayed the piano and often accompanied us
in our ceremonies.
He Ioved pIaying one song.
A song he Iearned when he was a boy.
He asked me to Iearn it.
I knew it wouId make him happy.
So I Iearned it.
How does the song go?
It's been a Iong time...
I don't think I remember it.
It was a chiIdren's song.
I don't know. It's been a whiIe.
The meIody went something Iike...
I saw what was happening.
I wrote to Mr. ToIbukhin.
I asked him to come home.
Mr. ToIbukhin decided that his daughter must
marry soon.
He heId a party
to introduce her sociaIIy.
We didn't know yet
that she was pregnant.
We spent the whoIe day moving furniture.
It was the first time we ceIebrated our birthday...
with others in the house.
My sister gave me a periscope and I gave her...
a flower she pinned to her dress.
She looked like a bride.
She had so many burns.
She was so badIy injured.
She had to be taken to hospitaI.
And she Iost the baby.
PIease, heaI SeIma.
''Dear Mother,
sometimes I hear your voice in the house.
Everyone says it's my imagination.
But I'm sure that you are with me.
I know so.
I dont't want to make you sad, but...
I feel I am dying.
So I write to you.
I feel like I am going to see our baby
that we never knew. I will see him soon.
Tell Aro that we will wait for him there.
Tell him not to hurry,
Tell him to enjoy life, it's so beautiful.
Let him not forget
my eyes...
My mouth.
My hands on the piano,
on his face...
It's all his. Whether I am alive or not.
Aro, I love you so much. ''
He Iooked strangeIy happy.
He didn't go to the funeraI.
But he thought onIy of her.
He Iocked himseIf away in SeIma's room.
He sang and pIayed the piano.
His voice became very beautifuI.
When did she reaIize Aro had Ieft?
I didn't see him for days.
I started Iooking for him.
in the house...
In his room...
I couldn't find him.
I asked around the village.
I checked with those who knew him.
But nobody had seen him.
He disappeared
with the Revolution.
In 1956, the Russians invaded the country...
I never saw him again.
I remember...
Once he was very sick. He took my hand.
He Iooked at me as if he was begging
for something...
He caIIed me ''SeIma''.
I didn't understand.
But now, that I know more about his Iife...
I reaIize that
he never saw who I reaIIy was.
Something Iike that...
It's been a Iong time. I can't remember aII of it.
Do you understand the Iyrics?
No, I simpIy Iearned it by heart.
I think it's a chiIdrens song.
A IuIIaby...
My sister and I used to sing a song.
We had two versions.
One we sang to our mother.
About the countryside and fIowers.
The other I made up with my sister.
We onIy sang it when we were aIone.
It went something Iike:
''My sIut mother fucked a bishop...
in Heaven, they ate a piano and two chiIdren...''
It rhymed in Hungarian.
It was funny.
Why teII me about your chiIdhood?
To entertain you.
When he was told of his impending execution,
he accepted it with resignation.
Like sort of a relief.
From confessing to all the crimes.
The real ones, as well as those
I think were products of his fantasy.
He was taken to the firing squad at dawn.
Among those present: his defense lawyer,
the judge who sentenced him,
a priest...
although he didn't ask for one...
and a firing squad of 10 soldiers.
Only half of them
fired real bullets.
The others shot blanks.
That way,
no one knew who fired the fatal shot.
I was present at the firing
of the rifles.
He collapsed
onto the ground.
The squad leader approached him.
With a pistol...
as was the custom of this kind of execution...
He fired the ''coup de grace''.