Death Toll From El Salvador Quake Nears 700

A R M E N I A, El Salvador, Jan. 17, 2001 -- Although 682 people had already lost their lives to this weekend's earthquake, it was the 683rd death that brought the sense of tragedy home to the shocked people of ElSalvador.

Sergio Moreno, a 22-year-old musician who was pulled alive fromthe rubble after spending 31 hours entombed under cinderblocks anddirt, died late Tuesday at a hospital.

His near-miraculous rescue had captured Salvadorans, providing aray of hope amid the despair. After calling for help from beneaththe rubble with a cellular phone, rescuers worked more than twodays to free him. But his heart and kidneys failed shortly after hewas rescued. Doctors revived him and later amputated his legs, butwere unable to save him.

Local television stations broke away from regular programming toreport his death.

A Ravaged Countryside

Even as signs emerged that everyday life was returning after theearthquake — lines snaked around the block at newly reopened banksin the capital — the isolated countryside largely stood still inhunger and mourning.

In Las Colinas today, a neighborhood near San Salvador that was buriedby a landslide, a few crews looked for bodies. But they worked more slowly, the sense of urgency gone with the hope of finding survivors.

Meanwhile, a magnitude-5 earthquake rattled nearby Nicaragua atabout 1 a.m. today, sending residents of the capital, Managua,running into the streets. The quake cracked walls and shookbuildings slightly, but no deaths or injuries were reported.

The death toll stood at 683 in El Salvador and six more inneighboring Guatemala. More than 2,500 people were injured andnearly 45,000 others were evacuated.

In many places, authorities were overwhelmed by the sheer numberof bodies. Many were buried in a long pit at the municipal cemeteryin Santa Tecla, the town where Las Colinas is located.

Marcela Pena, 31, remained at the spot where her house oncestood, looking for her 14-year-old daughter Betrisia. She said shehas been at the morgue and the cemetery to look for her, but hasn'tfound her.

"I see the bodies and I am sad," she said today. "Butthere are too many bodies to be sad. I have grown accustomed todeath."

Many Salvadorans living in the United States began arriving onflights today after days of desperation trying to get home. InSan Salvador, people waited for hours to withdraw cash at newlyreopened banks, bottled water was snatched off of shelves andseveral restaurants and businesses opened their doors offeringscaled-back services.

Just God and the Helicopters

Much of the countryside appeared further from recovery.

In Comasagua, a city 17 miles west of thecapital where more than 140 people were killed and roads wererendered impassable by landslides, hungry residents swarmed aroundU.S. Army helicopters bringing food, water and medicine.

"All we have is God and the helicopter that brings food," saidhousewife Fidelia Guardao.

Virtually all businesses remained shut in Armenia, aworking-class town of 30,000 people 25 miles (40 kilometers) fromthe capital where 124 people died.

Truckloads of fruit began rumbling into town, allowing theoutdoor central market to sell limited amounts of food. There willbe no meat here for some time, however, because the localslaughterhouse collapsed in the quake, killing a watchman and a penfull of scrawny cows.

Electricity has been restored, but the only water to be foundcame from dusty puddles in the middle of buckled streets.

Futile Efforts

Jose Vallentin and nine other men from the dirt-poorneighborhood of San Antonio set out walking along the highwayTuesday in search of food and drinking water. The subsistence applefarmer had heard rumors there were aid trucks distributing supplieson a highway shoulder 10 miles (16 kilometers) away.

The rumors were true, but the mammoth Red Cross truck pulledaway just as the group was arriving. All the food was gone, theywere told. They were given three Gatorade bottles filled withpurified water. Vallentin's share was about a quarter of a bottle.

When they returned home, a group of volunteers in a rusty yellowpickup was handing out plastic plates heaping with black beans andtortillas. Vallentin's wife, Rosa, had braved a two-hour line tobring him a plate of food.

Vallentin walked into what was left of his home — a mountain ofsmashed roofing tile flanked by two sloping brick walls. Hisdaughter, 7-year-old Veronica, was sitting on the cardboard boxthat now doubles as her bed.

She had trouble opening the bottle's lid. He helped her open itand watched as she took a long drink. When she finished all thewater was gone.

"Today we eat," Vallentin said, smiling at Rosa. "We can findsomething to drink tomorrow.