Violeta Chamorro was a mother first, a ruler second

Her living room was full of dark wood furniture, like a shrine. And that was what Violeta Chamorro intended. The walls were covered with photographs of her husband, Pedro Joaquín: alone, with the family, at work. A glass cabinet held one of his shirts; it was caked with blood. On display too, and bloodied too, were his glasses, the coins from his trouser pocket and the floor-mat from his car. The car itself, restored from the attack, was propped on blocks outside. It was a blood-red Saab.