Chapter 21 The amnesty

 

At the beginning of the twentieth century, progress was moving rapidly in all fields, especially in Europe, the United States, and in the colonial territories or protectorates of the world powers. At the end of the 1920s, when Alexander Fleming discovered penicillin, many diseases caused by bacteria could be cured and in a few decades mortality was reduced. New utensils and machines were invented to make work easier and daily life less difficult. All these improvements helped us forget a little about the horrors of the Great War. Spain remained neutral throughout the First World War. However, in 1917 the echoes of the Russian revolution arrived, breaking out a social crisis that led to the closure of factories, financial bankruptcy, political uncertainty, proletarian mobilizations, strikes, etc. And to make matters worse, in 1918 the Spanish flu pandemic spread rapidly, so called because the Spanish newspapers were the first to talk about it, as they were the only ones not subject to war censorship. Political instability, the discontent of the army due to the disasters of the Moroccan war, the worsening of social conflicts, the growing economic crisis, and the rise of nationalism led to the coup d'état of General Miguel Primo de Ribera in 1923. King Alfonso XIII did not oppose the coup and appointed the rebellious general head of the government and military forces. The authoritarian dictatorship of Primo de Ribera lasted until the proclamation of the Second Republic in 1931.

In those years in Cuba, the First Republic was characterized by continuous instability, systematic corruption of its rulers, a very dangerous economic dependence on sugar and direct and indirect intervention by the United States; Cuba was not its own master. During those years, both the Cuban people and the Spanish suffered harsh hardships.

On April 15, 1931, the day after the proclamation of the Second Spanish Republic, Mariano called his brother Francisco by phone. That morning, upon hearing the news on the radio, he and Felipe jumped for joy, but Mariano thought it was better not to bring up the subject with his brother since, little by little, he had become a monarchist, detesting Republicans more and more.  

“Hello Francisco, I wanted to know how you were.”

“What a joy, Mariano! You haven't called in a while. We are fine, thank God. And you?” 

“We are also doing fine.”

“Have you heard about what happened in Spain. . . in the last municipal elections? You can imagine how irritated I am with the proclamation of the Second Republic and with the flight of King Alfonso XIII to Paris. I hope it happens like the first one, that it won’t last long,” he said bluntly.

“I just hope there is no bloodshed," Mariano answered seriously.

The two brothers continued talking for a long time, telling each other the details of their farming work, and before saying goodbye they began to talk about their children and grandchildren.

“We are having a lot of fun with our grandchildren. I'm not going to name them all as there are more than twenty," Mariano commented, laughing.

“Mother of God, twenty grandchildren! For now I only have eight, two for each child. But I hope to have more,” Francisco answered with a dull voice, denoting a little envy towards his brother.

“The important thing is not the number of grandchildren but that they are all in good health. Two little girls died in our family. Do you remember I told you about them in a letter?”

“Yes, and I'm very sorry,” Francisco answered. He was silent for a few seconds and suddenly he became animated talking about his grandchildren. “Teresa and Margarita, Cisco's girls, are beautiful. Juan, my María's boy, is very intelligent, María, his twin, is in poor health. And if you saw how funny José and Teresita, my little son Pepe's children are. On the other hand, I see very little of Francisco and Teresita, the boys of Teresa, my eldest daughter, because they live near La Bisbal.”

“All your grandchildren have the same names: José, Teresa, María, Francisco and Juan. What a mess you’re getting into!” Mariano told him, with a jovial voice.

“Don't you remember anymore? In Catalonia it is tradition to give children the names of their baptismal godparents, who are usually grandparents or uncles.”

“Of course I remember. I also called my firstborn, Juan, the name of our brother, may he rest in peace. I named the second José and Teresa for the girl who came later, to honor our parents. When the little ones were born, Nieves wanted to name one Ramona, after her mother, and the other Clotilde, after her grandmother. However, Cubans do not follow that tradition, which is why it seems strange to me now. By the way, how is Marieta? I haven't heard from her in a long time.”

“Marieta, with the house and the money that her late husband left her, is doing great. In her misfortune she was lucky and the two widows who live with her are a little quirky, but good people,” Francisco told him, in a cheerful voice.

“And her children? They must be older by now.”

“José and Engracia, they are married. The boy went to study at the Barcelona Nautical School, following in his father's footsteps and is now a captain on a long-distance ship. Engracia, on the other hand, lives in town.”

Before hanging up, Francisco hesitantly told him that Cisco's wife Carmen had recovered from the disorder she had suffered after the death of Teresita, her first daughter.

“Sorry, I didn't understand you correctly, what disorder?”

“When the girl died after a deadly flu, Carmen became depressed - she didn't want to get out of bed. It was so horrible for everyone to lose our two-year-old girl, so beautiful and loving. However, when my daughter-in-law had strength she got up, but we didn't let her leave the house. It seemed like she had lost her mind and we didn't want the town to know about it.”

“I did not know any of this. You didn't give any indication in your letters.”

“Sorry, we were so upset that we didn't tell anyone.”

“I think it would have been better for Carmen to go out a little, to distract herself.”

“She cried and kept repeating, “My little girl, my little girl!” She kept telling us that she had been stolen. Luckily, everything has passed and now she is much better. She was delicate for a few years; and it was difficult for her to get pregnant again, but she managed it. We all suffered a lot during that time.”

“Why didn't you tell me? I would have advised you to go see a specialist in Barcelona.”

“The town doctor treated her well and we didn't tell you because we didn't want to upset you.”

“I'm happy that she's better now.”

“Yes, now we all hope that Carmen gets pregnant again and that after two girls she gives us a boy.”

When Mariano hung up the phone, he thought that the people in his family, and in general those in his town, lived in fear that others would discover their misfortunes and that was why he hid them. In Cuba, however, people told each other their sorrows and they were not ashamed of their bad streak. On the contrary, sharing them was a way to heal them.

In 1933, after a coup d'état by Cuban army officers, Batista seized power and gradually made his way into the political vacuum between the corrupt factions of a dying government. Starting in 1934, Batista served as chief of the General Staff. Mariano and Felipe were worried about the coup d'état, but they hoped that things would not go from bad to worse. 

One afternoon, Felipe told Mariano that it was a good time to arrange his Spanish papers. Mariano wrote a letter to his brother, asking him to find out about his judicial positions, since he had learned that during the first years of the Second Spanish Republic there were several amnesties, for both political and civil positions. 

After three months, Mariano called Francisco to see if he had learned anything.

“Mariano, I have good news for you. I was about to write to you to tell you that you no longer have pending offenses with the authorities. You can now return to Catalonia. My house is your house,” Francisco told him.

“Thank you! I would like to return, but I am too old for such a long trip. I just hope that at least one of my children or grandchildren can one day come to see you.”

Felipe told Mariano that if he wanted, he would accompany him to Spain. Mariano replied that he would think about it, but that he no longer had the strength or courage left to return to his homeland.

Two years later, on July 18, 1936, his brother Francisco called him on the phone. Upon hearing the operator's voice, Mariano thought that it was very strange to receive a call from Spain, since it was usually he who called or who wrote to his brother. It was bad for him to admit it, but since his mother died, his contacts with his Catalan family were gradually diminishing. 

“The Civil War has just broken out,” Francisco told him in a worried voice.

“The last thing Spain needs is a war!” Mariano told him sadly.

Mariano was sad that the Second Republic had lasted only a few years and for several days his head hurt because he was so worried about this absurd conflict. He who had been through more than one war and seen so many calamities, could not accept it. He felt deep pain for his country and his family. After that news, no one else from the Defaus-Herrera family spoke again about embarking on a trip to Spain.

In those days of anguish, Mariano spent many hours talking with Felipe, searching for the reason for the war between brothers. “I believe that the political and economic instability of Spain during the government of the Second Republic derives from the numerous liberal reforms that sought to change society in such a radical way.”  Felipe stopped speaking for a few seconds and resumed his reflection, “For me, the changes proposed by Republicans were too fast.”

“Yes, the Republican reforms were traumatic and, as you say, they were largely responsible for the outbreak of the war. I'm thinking about agrarian reform and also military reform,” Mariano replied. 

“Yes, the landowners strongly opposed the expropriation of their lands and were supported by the conservative bourgeoisie," Felipe exclaimed.

“That happened especially in the south of Spain where there were many large estates. But from what my brother Francisco told me, what led to the most protests was the religious issue, both the rich and the poor, and of course the clerics, opposed when they took power away from the church.”

“The Republicans did not take into account that the mentality of the majority of Spaniards was not prepared for these extremely liberal reforms. You see, civil marriages, divorce, and the elimination of religious education were measures that collided head-on with the principles of Catholic morality,” Felipe told him.

“The regional demands of Catalonia, the Basque Country, and Galicia also played a part. When the Republic granted them the rights of self-government, it provoked fierce criticism from the right and the military, who saw in these rights an invitation to the independence of certain areas of the country and a risk of dismemberment of Spain,” Mariano said.

“You have mentioned military reform, right? If I am not mistaken, it consisted of the reorganization of the old and complicated hierarchical structure, with the elimination, through early retirement, of a large number of officers, something that the military did not like and created a strong and dangerous opposition against the government,” Felipe told him. 

“Don't talk to me about the military! Keep in mind that the Spanish army has always had a lot of power and so many privileges,” Mariano exclaimed.

“Well, let's stop talking about the defects of the Republic and think about the fact that despite all the obstacles that were presented to it and its short life, it provided Spain with an advanced Constitution, gave the vote to women, built many schools, began a timid recognition of national plurality and attempted to reduce social inequalities and military intervention,” Felipe said smiling.

In the mid-1930s, the owners of the farms Esperanza and Bonanza were around eighty years old and each one was aging in their own way. Mariano had become more of a homebody. His children and his foremen took full charge of the farming and selling the harvest. Nieves did not lack energy. She could not sit still and stayed busy baking bread or firing pots in the pottery. Felipe learned to drive and bought a car, but he did not completely abandon his horse cart in the barn. He continued to take it out often. He went to school every day to read a story to the children and to encourage the teachers to continue their noble work. Olivia, on the other hand, had not been to the school for a long time. She had been losing enthusiasm for the children and did not leave the house very often. Felipe used to go mid-morning to pick up Mariano to take him to the gathering at Café de Las Ovas or to the House of Catalans in Pinar del Río. There they met with other Catalans who had settled in the area. However, every two or three months, Felipe took him by car to Consolación del Sur, where a certain José Prats, a friend of his, lived. In 1830, the brothers Mariano and José Prats Roura left Malgrat for Cuba with a few silver coins in their pockets, but no one knows how they managed to become rich by investing their four dollars in tobacco plantations. In 1860, loaded with money, they decided to return to their hometown where they had two splendid mansions built. The eldest of the Prats brothers decided to stay in his homeland and brought his family and two black maids. The Prats couple had only girls, four in Cuba and two in Catalonia, perhaps that is why the man, seeing that no son arrived, sold his part of the Consolación del Sur estate to his brother José and stayed permanently in Malgrat. His wife, Maria de la Cruz Santana, was a Creole, with hazel-colored skin, with thick curly hair that was wrapped around her head and tied up in a bun. Her lovely black eyes stood out from her beautiful face, and her long earrings hung from her ears, carved silver plated earrings that gave her a stately air. 

The women of the town looked at her as she passed, and as she turned the corner they murmured, “Those earrings are too showy, it's not like she was a marquise and she can't get them off," one said.

“Don't be envious, you would like to be as beautiful as her,” the other replied.

It was difficult for the Creole and her two maids to adapt to the climate and Spanish customs. During the early days, they were seen around the town, bundled up with hats and scarves and looking lost as if they were completely out of place. The rich women of the town began to invite the Prats couple to social gatherings and Maria de la Cruz little by little was welcomed and respected by the community. 

On the other hand, Hilda and Lupe, the two maids, had a hard time being accepted by the population, who looked askance at them when they hurriedly crossed the streets to go shopping in the stores or the market. Lupita was the most scared and cried easily when she felt put down because of her skin color. One day Lupe wiped away her tears and said to Hilda, “Hildita, we are the only black people in the region. During my life I have suffered many humiliations, but the worst is now. I feel dirty among white people. On the plantations all the slaves were black or mulatto. How much I miss my little black people!”

“Don't think about it, here we eat every day, we sleep on a cot and we live in a nice house, a few steps from the sea. Furthermore, our owner treats us well.” 

“Sometimes she yells at us.”

“Only when she's nervous Lupita, you have to look at the good and not the bad," Hilda answered, with a mellifluous voice that instilled tranquility.

On Sundays, the two black maids went to eleven o'clock mass with their mistress who dressed up just as she had seen the rich women of the town do. “Why do these women dress up so much, if Mosén tells us in his sermons that we must be simple and humble?” Lupe asked Hilda.

The priest began to get attached to them and invited them to recite prayers. Hilda and Lupe learned to pray and the parishioners, seeing those girls so devout, lost their distrust in them. The two maids did not marry, as they did not get any suitors; but over the years they got used to the new country and continued to take care of their owner and her family until death.

José, the Prats' little brother, was widowed very soon. His wife was a sickly woman who could not endure the long trip and a few months after arriving in Spain she died. The widower Prats and his two sons, José and Juan, came and went from Cuba every now and then to take care of their businesses which, starting in 1898 with the arrival of the Americans, began to go from bad to worse. The two Prats boys were not as lucky as their father because, due to the disasters of the war, the competition of American financiers and various natural calamities, the profits were increasingly scarce. In the 1920s, Juan Prats got tired of traveling and sold his part of the tobacco farm to his brother José, who continued to take charge of the company.

Mariano liked to go to the Prats estate to chat with José and hear news about Malgrat, especially when he went to see him when he had just arrived from Barcelona. The time he was most impatient was at the end of January 1934, because he wanted his colleague to tell him about the great event of November 19, 1933. This date was the most anticipated electoral Sunday in history, where for the first time the women's vote was granted and joined that of men in the second elections called by the Spanish Republic.

However, as the years went by, he realized that he had become too old to ride a horse and he waited, like May rain, for Felipe to take him by car to Consolación del Sur. 

Chapter 20 The Bonanza estate

 

Gabriel was setting the table for his masters and the guests who had just entered the farm to have breakfast. It had dawned without clouds and the first light of day made the leaves of the trees and plants in the garden shine. Gabriel was smiling because he liked these visitors. Olivia was very kind and Felipe always joked with him and called him “buddy.”

“Gabriel, sit with us,” Mariano told him.

“I appreciate it. I would like to but I can't because the cook gets nervous when I ask her to make Spanish dishes. The garlic soup and also the Madrid Stew turn out very well, but when you turn the potato omelet it breaks and that's why today I want to make it myself. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining about her. The woman is a marvel at preparing the delicacies of our land.”

“Leave the omelet behind and stay with us.”

The four of them sat smiling under the shade of the vine and Gabriel, after giving orders to the cook, sat with them for a while.

“Do you no longer live in Havana?” Nieves asked them.

“No, we've moved,” Olivia said.

“We bought a property very close to here, it was the surprise we wanted to give you today,” Felipe said happily.

“Don't tell me, it's the same one I told you about a long time ago?” Mariano exclaimed, smiling.

“Yes, it's the Bonanza Farm," Olivia said.

“What a joy! I can't believe we're going to be neighbors!” Nieves said.

“It was a bargain since the property was abandoned. We have only been able to renovate one part of the mansion, the one that was in better condition. We have demolished the other and converted it into a large patio. The garden has also been remodeled and many fruit trees have been planted. Our gardener and a team of bricklayers have worked tirelessly. We still have things to do, but we can now settle in. We arrived last night to stay,” Felipe told them.

“What a rogue you are! If you had told me before I would have helped you,” Mariano said.

“You already know that I like to hide news from you so that when you discover it you will be amazed!” Felipe answered laughing.

“I had noticed cars coming and going on the Bonanza property, and when I asked the master builder who had bought the house, he told me that the owners were a couple from Havana, but I would never have imagined it was you,” Mariano told them.

“I already told you that my former master paid me for the years of slavery and I was able to study, but perhaps I didn't tell you that last year, when he died, he named me in his will, leaving me a good amount of money. With this gift, Olivia and I can live comfortably.”

“To celebrate, we invite you to dinner,” Nieves told them.

“Thank you, we gladly accept your invitation," Olivia replied.

“This afternoon I want to introduce you to our carpenter Lucas, Isabel's son. It's a shame he's not here now, he's gone to town to pick up some pieces of wood at the Las Ovas train stop,” Nieves announced to them. “I didn't know Isabel had a son!” Olivia answered.

“We didn't know it either! Isabel had him before I met her, but she hid it from everyone. He was raised by Rogelia, the woman who also acted as her mother,” Mariano told them.

“Lucas is a magnificent cabinet maker. In addition to dedicating himself to carpentry, he is making us mahogany tables and chairs. They are beautiful! We are delighted with him, he has settled in Gabriel’s little white house,” Nieves told them.

“Lucas is a very good boy, we get along well. Now forgive me, but I have to go back to the kitchen,” Gabriel dared to say.

”How is Isabel?” Felipe asked Mariano.

“She is doing well, I am glad you asked. A priest patiently taught her to read and write. Now she sends me long letters, and little by little she has been improving her handwriting and spelling.”

“You did tell me Isabel's story! When I met her at your wedding, I really liked her,” Olivia told them, smiling.

His reunion with Felipe was like a recharge of enthusiasm for Mariano. Since then, the two couples grew closer, spending long evenings together. Olivia was a great babysitter and loved playing with the children in the yard, while Felipe taught Ángel board games.

Time went by and Ángel, at the age of twenty, fell madly in love with Eloína, a girl from Las Ovas, and stopped playing chess and dominoes with Felipe. His future in-laws raised cattle and when the farm's old accountant died, they hired him to keep the accounts.

Mariano let Olivia and Felipe start taking care of the school he had founded. The couple, in addition to touring the region in a horse-drawn carriage to pick up illiterate children, dedicated themselves body and soul to teaching them to read and write. Later, they founded a traveling school for adults that consisted of a cart full of books, a small blackboard, and some wooden boards with notebooks and pencils. At dusk, when the workers finished the work day, the cart would stop at a different farm each day, the supplies would be unloaded from the cart, and the laborers would sit in front of the blackboard to learn to read and do accounts.

The students' families were very grateful to them and gave them chickens, rabbits, hams, and vegetables; and when they could, they gave them a hand with the chores on the Bonanza farm.

Olivia couldn't have children. She was raped several times by the plantation foremen and after two abortions she became sterile. “I am a barren woman,” she said to Felipe one day, sobbing. “You are an extraordinary woman, I love you very much. I don't care that we don't have children. There are so many orphans in Cuba!” Felipe answered her, kissing her.

The two farms, Esperanza and Bonanza, had a chunk of adjacent land, but were separated by a stream. The first had immense cereal fields, an orchard, a large water storage tank, stables and corrals, a large garden with flowers and tropical plants, and a forest on the mountain side with royal palms that reached twenty-five meters in height, oaks, cedars, mahoganies and low-growing plants. In addition to the mansion, which Ángel's grandfather had built, there were other buildings: the school, the hermitage, the laborers' barracks and the little white house. The Bonanza estate was much smaller, since after the war one wing of the old mansion was demolished and the most fertile pieces of land were expropriated by the Spaniards. The gardener who cultivated their garden before they arrived saved some trees from the land burned during the war and planted others, so that the masters could pick bananas, pineapples, coconuts, avocados and mangoes. Little by little the Bonanza estate became a dense tropical jungle. However, the garden and patio that Olivia cared for and watered was sparser, with some ornamental plants and large flower pots.

When the weather was good, the two friends, during their morning walks, would go to the stream, from where they called each other. Year after year, the two did not stop joking, shouting with their hands close to their mouths. ”Do you have lemons?” Mariano shouted.

“I have bushes, but I haven't seen lemons,” answered Felipe.

“Don't play dumb, I can see them from here.”

“Do you have lynx eyesight?”

“Don't trick me - you’re hiding the lemons from me.”

“I wish I had them," Felipe shouted.

“I can't hear you!”

“You're deaf?”

The years were passing quickly. On the Esperanza farm, the children were becoming adults without their parents realizing it, and little by little they began to pair up with girls or boys from the surrounding area. The first one to get married was Ángel who went to live at Eloína's parents' house in Las Ovas, but every now and then he returned to visit his parents.

Two years after the wedding, Mariano went to Eloína's parents' farm, riding his mare, to meet Eloísa, his first granddaughter. Nieves had gone the night before to help the midwife, since the birth was difficult.

That night Ángel passed by the farm on his way to Ovas, to tell his mother that his wife's water had broken. Nieves wanted to accompany him to look for the doctor, but they could not find him because he was assisting another woman who was in labor with the whites' midwife. The doctor's wife told them to go look for Octavia, the blacks' midwife. Octavia lived with her mother in a neighborhood in Las Ovas and when Ángel asked her to follow him, she took off her apron and silently got into the horse-drawn carriage. Ángel and Nieves were in front and Octavia behind, the journey was brief and they hardly spoke. It was raining when they arrived. Octavia, after washing her hands, ran to the bedroom where the woman in labor was.

“The baby comes breech," Octavia said, after putting a hand inside Eloína's body.

Octavia was a small woman of few words who had learned the trade by observing her grandmother, a black slave who had a good hand for difficult births of cows and horses.

Eloína pushed and screamed in pain for long hours without any result. Ángel was desperate hearing the screams. Her mother-in-law, who was a very delicate woman, was waiting outside the door with Angel and did not let him in; however, in a fit of exasperation, he entered the bedroom and hugged his wife. Shortly afterwards, Nieves and Octavia immediately saw that Ángel was very pale and advised him to leave the room. While Octavia was pulling the baby's legs and buttocks, Nieves hit Eloína on the cheeks, as she seemed to have lost consciousness.

“Hold on woman, the girl is about to be born,” Octavia told her sweetly, but with determination.

Eloína regained strength upon hearing the midwife's words and asked her almost breathless, “It's a girl? She is alive?”

“Yes, she is alive. Push! We already have her here.”

At that moment, Octavia pulled out the baby, which immediately began to cry. The mulatto midwife achieved what few doctors would have achieved - the newborn emerged from the mother's womb without trauma or other consequences derived from the long breech delivery. The baby's parents and the four grandparents cried with happiness when they saw her, so small and so cute.

At first, Eloína did not want to have another child because she was scared by how much it cost her to give birth. However, three years later everyone was jumping for joy again after her new pregnancy. Octavio was born so quickly that Eloína wanted to name him after the midwife. Andrés, Josefina, Bernardo, Esther, Leonardo, and Maria de los Ángeles were also born in a short time, but Eloína always wanted Octavia to be by her side.

Juan, the first-born of Nieves and Mariano, married Manuela, a girl from Puerta de Golpe and they went to live a few kilometers from the Esperanza farm. They had eight children, the first five were girls: Gudelia, Nieves, Mariana, Esther, and Cristina (called Cuca). Juan had given up hope, when two boys were born, Enrique and Gilberto. José, the second born, had five children, the first three, Joseito, Alfonso, who was very small and everyone called him Chiquitín, and Tití, who was called Mariano like his grandfather. Many years later, José had two more children with his second wife. Teresa also gave birth to five children: Mariano, Emilio, Regino, Pedro and Nena. Nieves and Mariano's little daughters, Ramona and Clotilde, were slow to marry and neither of them had children. More than a house, the Esperanza farm looked like a school as children of all ages ran around the patio and garden.

Nieves and Mariano were very entertained and happy with their grandchildren, who grew to be twenty-five in number. However, there was also mourning in the family: María de los Ángeles died at the age of seven from a mysterious stomach illness and Caridad, Enrique's twin, died during infancy. Another misfortune came years later: José was left a widower with three children when his wife Pastora, who was in very poor health, died of typhoid fever. Nieves and Mariano welcomed José at the Esperanza farm for a few years, until he returned home after marrying a very pretty girl, whom everyone called La Niña and with whom he had two more boys, Armando and Roberto.

Olivia and Felipe enjoyed babysitting when they went to the Esperanza farm. Gabriel also loved to play with the children and patiently taught each of them to ride horses on the foals that he raised himself. Lucas was making beds and high chairs for that group of children.

Gabriel's hair was turning gray, but he never wanted to stop working on the farm. He had been born in Angelito's grandfather's tobacco barracks and had never left Las Ovas. He married Nélida, the cook's daughter, and Mariano gave the couple the keys to the little white house where he had lived for the first few years. Gabriel was widowed very soon when his wife died giving birth to a stillborn child. When Lucas arrived, Gabriel welcomed him into his little white house. Lucas had gotten used to being hidden, so when the Spanish withdrew and he was no longer a fugitive he did not want to leave the farm. Every morning he went down to his carpentry workshop where the smell of wood lifted his spirits and he set to work diligently. At the age of thirty, he took a girlfriend and married her a year later, then went to live in the little white house. The girl, a beautiful mulatto, lived with Lucas for a short time, as she eloped with a stranger, a street vendor. Gabriel and Lucas were left alone in the little house and instead of despairing over their bad streak, they became good friends and enthusiastically devoted themselves to the care of the inhabitants of the farm. The two helped organize the parties and willingly participated in them, becoming true members of the Defaus-Herrera family. When everyone got together for lunch or a snack, Olivia and Felipe never failed. One afternoon, Enrique, one of Nieves and Mariano's grandchildren, asked Felipe, “Tell us a feat from the war of independence.”

Felipe told the children that before achieving independence, Cuba had managed to abolish slavery, but at a dear price for the blacks, because during the Great War the plantation slaves fought on the side of the separatists who promised freedom and equality, but they never achieved anything, since most of them fell at the front or were brutally murdered by the Spaniards in retaliation.

“That was a great injustice!” declared Mariano.

“I want to talk to you about the death on the battlefield of the two great Cuban leaders, Manuel de Céspedes and José Martí, so that you understand that armed conflicts lead nowhere," Felipe told them. When Felipe finished narrating the war episodes that day, he stood up and with a theatrical gesture said, “When I was young, I was a peaceful revolutionary. I walked the streets, taking on the world. My companions and I were convinced that the future was in our hands, that our actions today would create the future of tomorrow, but I did not in any way accept that blood would be shed. Tell them Mariano . . . tell them that you and I wanted independence without wars.”

“Yes, and another thing that Felipe fought for was equality between whites and blacks. In our family we have achieved it - black blood runs through your veins and I am very proud of it,” Mariano told them.

“Even blacker blood runs through mine," Felipe told them, bursting into laughter.

Chapter 19 Teresita and Francisco

 

The children of José Defaus and Teresa Moragas who were most alike were Mariano and Francisco. Both were insightful and had piercing blue eyes along with reddish hair. When Mariano went to Cuba, Francisco had just turned nine years old and was the most serious and sagacious of all the brothers. From a young age, he began to read on his own the books that his teacher lent him. He would take them to the attic, his favorite place in the house, and disappear for hours and hours.

His mother got along very well with him and did not scold him when he acted without asking permission or when he disappeared. “I prefer ten Franciscos over one Isidro!” she shouted at her son Isidro, running after him with a wooden ladle. When Isidro was expelled from the seminary, Francisco entered that sad building without a complaint. It was not difficult for him to adapt to the school routine, where he followed the same tactic as at home: he found the attic and he would hide there to read. There he found closets, mattresses, broken chairs, and various other junk. Being so silent and diligent, the priests who taught him, immediately began to praise him. He was a model student, and according to Father Prior he was going to become a good priest. However, Francisco was very clear that he was not going to be a clergyman. At school he did not make many friends. He liked to be alone and dealt with the events of his family with quite a bit of detachment: Mariano, who does not return from Cuba, Marieta's wedding, Isidro at sea, Juan who goes to war, falls ill and in the end, he marries Teresita.

The first time he returned home and saw his sister-in-law, he felt a pang in his chest. He liked that girl, but being his brother's wife he had to get her out of his head. He would sneak away so he wouldn't have to talk to her. Teresita was a girl with thick black hair, lively eyes, full lips and a dark complexion; she looked like a mulatta. Her family was from a nearby village, but she had an Andalusian grandmother, from whom she had inherited her smiling and extroverted character. She loved talking to people and had become friends with all the neighbors.

Since Teresita appeared in the house on Oller Street, Francisco began to spend more time in Malgrat, but he continued to avoid his sister-in-law. He had a hard time when his brother Juan died of pneumonia. In addition to the sadness of that loss, he had a feeling that he would have to leave the seminary and that the responsibility of taking care of his family would fall on him, being the only male child left in the family home.

Francisco was nineteen years old when his parents told him that he had to marry his sister-in-law. “Teresita is the ideal woman for you, but she has to get pregnant before celebrating the wedding,” his father told him abruptly.

“Have you lost your mind? How am I going to force Teresita to sleep with me?”

“I'll talk to her,” his father told Francisco very seriously.

“It seems like a very crazy idea to me,” Francisco answered.

“José, you get ahead of yourself! I don't want to lose Teresita either, but we can't force her to do that,” Teresa said.

“The parish priest told me that we must act quickly, because a widow cannot live under the same roof as her deceased husband's unmarried brother.”

“Father, don't say anything to the poor girl, I implore you," said Francisco.

“Let me be, I know what I'm doing. If you don't marry Teresita I'm going to disinherit you.”

“José, have you gone crazy?” his wife asked him, whimpering.

“Look Francisco, I give you three months.”

Francisco left the kitchen with his head down. He liked Teresita, but he didn't know how to do what his father asked him to do.

José Defaus Ballesté, being very stubborn, sent for Teresita that same day to come to his office and told her: “We are so happy with you that we don't want you to leave, but for appearances and to save your honor it is not good for you to live in the same house as Francisco. You should marry him.”

“I am also very comfortable with you, but this seems hasty to me. I know very little about Francisco,” Teresita replied.

“You have three months to decide if you want to stay in this house or return to your father's house.”

“Thank you for the trust you have in me, but love has to be a reciprocal thing.”

“Stop loving things and think about your future! Ah! I forgot, before the wedding you have to get pregnant.”

“Pregnant! Do you want me to go against religious principles?”

“Teresita, the parish priest says that it is a special case, that what you and Francisco are going to do to save your reputation is not a sin.”

“Not having had children with Juan, you and the priest are afraid that I will be sterile.”

“No Teresita, not that, we just want you to stay in this house.”

“And what does Francisco say? He always avoids me.”

“No, woman! I'm going to take care of Francisco.”

Teresita went to her bedroom, where she began to cry. She felt humiliated and had a feeling that José Defaus was going to force her son to marry her, threatening to disinherit him.

“I'm sure that Francisco doesn't love me and even though we've lived for a few months under the same roof, I don't know anything about him,” she said to herself, sobbing.

Not knowing how to act, she went to tell Mercedes, her best friend. “Do you like Francisco?” Mercedes asked her point blank.

“Yes, he seems like a good guy to me, but he is very shy. When he sees me, he moves away. How are we going to have a child?”

“I don't know what to tell you Teresita, maybe it would be better if you left that house. But where are you going to go? If I could, I would welcome you into our home. But you know that since my father is sick we have been going through hardships.”

“I hope your father gets better.”

“The doctor says he will be cured. It's pneumonia, but he's already on sick leave.”

“I'm really glad. . .” She was silent for a few seconds and then added, “I don't want to leave, I get along very well with my mother-in-law.”

“Well, I would let Francisco act, to see what happens.”

“I don't know what to do, really!”

“You don't do anything.”

Another afternoon she went to see her father, who told her: “You are a poor widow, you have no choice but to accept the wedding with Francisco. We cannot welcome you back, we have too many mouths to feed”

“Do what your father says,” her aunt begged her, crying.

She also went to talk to the priest, who made her dizzy with the number of things he said to her, trying to convince her to accept the offer from her late husband's family. But she was hesitant. One day she remembered the books that Francisco left on the dining room chairs, the town teacher lent them to him. Therefore she decided to go see him for advice.

The teacher told her that it was not fair that a woman should be forced to marry a man she hardly knew and advised her to write a letter to Francisco. “The correspondence, to avoid raising suspicions, can pass through my house,” the teacher told her.

And when she told him that Francisco was avoiding her, he replied, “He is still very young and inexperienced in love. He feels self-conscious in front of you.”

Teresita wrote a letter to Francisco.

Dear Francisco,

As in a dream, I entered your house at the age of eighteen. Juan was five years older than me. He was always kind to me and respected me during the time we lived together. You may be wondering if I loved him. I can confess that I admired him for his kindness and intelligence and that I suffered a lot when he died. Juan was my only and faithful suitor since I was fifteen. Even though I was afraid of him at first, little by little I got used to him. My parents, being poor, saw a good match in Juan. I couldn't let them down, so, without being in love, I agreed to marry him.

My marriage did not last very long, but in that year I have learned many things. All your family members were good to me. They always supported me, even when I proposed remodeling the mansion, something that no one had ever done before. You always avoid me. From time to time you leave a book on a chair in the dining room, which I read while you are all taking a nap. Have I offended you in something without realizing it?

I would love to talk to you.

I hope you answer me

Teresita

Francisco answered her that same day and from then on he continued writing long letters that he took to the teacher to give to Teresita. Little by little, they began to get to know each other and by letter they made an appointment to meet secretly in the attic of the house. Every night they talked by the light of a candle until they fell dead with sleep. The first thing they did was start conversations about the books that Francisco lent Teresita, but as the days went by their feelings began to emerge and the letters were less formal and more passionate; however, when they saw each other in the attic they were distanced and did not dare to approach.

One night Teresita told him:

“I'm really liking the last book you left on my chair.”

“Which book was that? I don't remember anymore,” Francisco said, playing dumb, so that she wouldn't notice that he had turned red.

“Madame Bovary by Flaubert.”

“Ah, yes, I remember. Emma, the protagonist, is unhappy with her husband; she dreams of passionate love that she cannot find even with her lover.”

“Yes, while I was reading it I felt sorry for her, but also for her doctor husband. The poor man didn't know how to show love to Emma.”

The next night while they were still talking about Emma Bovary, Francisco took her hand, caressed her hair and kissed her. Teresita hugged him. They fell on an old mattress in the attic and they loved each other with a passion unprecedented for two people with so little experience in love. The days passed and they continued to love each other and were happy despite all the complications that that clandestine love entailed.

After a few weeks Teresita discovered that she was pregnant. At that time, her father-in-law, seeing that nothing was happening, told her that he could no longer wait and that the next day a car would take her to her hometown, where her aunt would give her shelter.

Francisco blushed when he announced to his parents that Teresita was expecting his child. Everyone jumped for joy, and they prepared the wedding quickly.

Francisco was in love with Teresita and seeing his parents happy, he thought that the time had come to take the reins of his father's businesses. He began to go out more, to go to church every Sunday, and to hang out with his father's friends: the notary, the veterinarian, the mayor and the town doctor.

One Sunday the priest told him: “You have to get away from the teacher and get closer to the church.”

“But the teacher is my friend.”

“You already know what I'm talking about, you owe me a favor. I saved your reputation and Teresita's, you can't continue being friends with a republican teacher, who by the way is going to have to leave town soon.”

“Don't throw him out! He's a good man.”

“I know, but he doesn't get close to the church and he is a bad influence on the students. I have spoken with the director and they are going to replace him.”

Francisco thought it was unfair what they were going to do to the teacher, but after the priest's threat he knew that he had to stop attending the gatherings that he organized in a café in town.

The poor teacher was fired and returned to Barcelona, where fortunately he was employed in a school recently founded by a group of young teachers with innovative pedagogical ideas and techniques, very close to the educational method that Maria Montessori disseminated in Italy a few years later. Francisco lost his best friend and the priest kept his promise: Francisco and Teresita's marriage was officially recognized. Francisco, little by little, abandoned his republican ideals and became a monarchist like his father.