Mariano, his face pressed against the train window, was about to depart for Barcelona. He would have never suspected that a year later, sitting in the same train car, his life would start to spin. He was about to turn sixteen, yet he felt like a man! He had hardly slept the night before. This was his first trip by train and before the sun came up, he was dressed and calling for his father to get up. It was the year 1872.
Mariano’s family went to mass every Sunday. After church, the men stayed in the square talking amongst themselves. The women rushed home to finish the meal preparation. Mariano played with his friends, but from time to time he would approach the group of elders to listen to their conversations. One Sunday, when he was about eight or nine years old, Mariano overheard the town mayor mentioning that the inside of the cathedral would soon turn a century old.
“What is a century?” Mariano asked him, with a quick glance at his father, as if asking permission to speak.
“It’s one hundred years,” replied the mayor.
“Our family was one of the first to settle in the village. We built a house right next to the cathedral,” said Jose Defaus Ballesté, Mariano’s father, proud of his origins.
The next day, Mariano arrived at the school long before the first bell rang. The teacher was preparing the classroom for the students to begin their day.
“I would like to know the history of the cathedral. Do you know anything about it?” Mariano asked.
“I am from Barcelona, but I have read the history of the town of Malgrat, and I will tell you what I remember. At the beginning of the 18th century, that is, in 1700, colonists were arriving from the south of France and improving the marshes, which until then were the source of many cases of malaria. Consequently, the small urban center was growing, and for that reason the chapel of the 14th century was small and was replaced by the monumental cathedral.”
The teacher stopped talking for a few seconds and then asked, “Have you understood?”
"Yes, the 18th century was the last century, right?”
“Correct, and thanks to the financial contributions of Agusti Gibert Xurric, in 1761 the first stone of the current church was laid. He was a very wealthy merchant, born in Malgrat but a resident of Barcelona. Due to its dimensions, it ended up being called “The Cathedral of The Coast.” The cathedral was a bit out of proportion for the small town. Most of its inhabitants were farmers, sailors, and potters; however, at that time, the sea was beginning to be a source of wealth and trade. In addition, the shipyard brought thriving business to town.
“Do you know what a shipyard is, Mariano?”
“Yes sir, it is a place where ships are built and repaired.”
“Very good! The Malgrat shipyard is very important for the construction of ships, some of them are even four tons. In addition, a number of ships arrive and depart to carry out the traffic along the coast towards Valencia and France.”
Mariano was satisfied with the teacher’s explanation. What caught his attention the most was knowing that such large ships were built in his town. Since that day, every time he passed by in the tartana with his father near the beach Mariano asked to go to the shipyard to see the boats.
The morning that they caught the first train to Barcelona, the town station was quite crowded. Some waiters were loading merchandise in one of the train cars, and in another they were loading mail sacks. There was a lot of activity with many people coming and going. Mariano noticed a family that had occupied half the platform - he had never seen so many suitcases and trunks piled up.
“In the summer, many well-to-do families in Barcelona, with many children and servants, take the train to spend several months in the coastal towns. They are the owners of the most beautiful homes,” his father commented, looking at Mariano who was totally astonished.
While waiting for the train to start, Mariano observed the details of the facade of the station and was thinking that he was three years old in 1859 when the building was inaugurated. He remembered that his father liked to tell him and his siblings the details of the party which occurred the day the first train arrived in Malgrat.
“You cannot imagine how many people were there. From the highest authorities of the region to the humblest. Everyone had adorned themselves with their best clothes. The mayor offered us a glass of sweet wine, to both the men and the women, which showed the importance of the occasion, and the town band played non-stop all day. At night, sardanas were danced in the main square.
José went to Barcelona several times a year to buy and sell seeds. He was a farmer; but more than farming, he dedicated himself to commerce. Mariano had left school some time ago and his father had taught him to till, sow, and harvest the land. However, José was in no hurry to show Mariano the secrets of his mercantile trade, knowing well the dreamy and adventurous side of his son.
At the third station, a very well-dressed gentleman wearing a straw hat boarded the train. “It is a great honor for the Catalans to have built the first railway line in the area,” José said to the man.
“I am from Mataró and on October 28, 1847, I participated in the inauguration of the first train line from Barcelona to Mataró. I will remember it all my life. Perhaps you may know who was the architect of the colossal work? I know very little, but according to what they told me he was a Mataronese, right? If you have time, I’ll tell you more. In the year 1837, the first train line of the crown was inaugurated by Spain on the island of Cuba, from Havana to Guines. Miquel Biada Buñol, a resident of Mataró, went to Cuba to make his fortune trading tobacco. They indirectly said he was a slave owner; and in a few years, he became very rich. The day of the inauguration he was present and immediately realized the advantages of the new means of transportation. Later, he told a friend that he wanted to return to Spain to build a railway between Barcelona and his hometown. It took him a few years to achieve it. First he went to London to better develop the project, and later with two partners he founded the ‘Companya dels Camins de Ferro.’ It started as a complex business adventure and a dream of progress for Catalonia.
When the train was approaching the Mataró station, the man in the straw hat got up; and while he was picking up his small suitcase, Mariano dared to ask him, “How long does it take to get to Cuba?”
“It takes about two months.”
“Two months? It must be very far!”
“It is on the other side of the Atlantic. It’s one of the islands where Christopher Columbus landed. I am sure you have studied this in school.”
José thanked the distinguished gentleman for sharing his interesting history. Mariano started to think about the map above the teacher’s desk, and all of a sudden he realized where Cuba was. During the entire journey, Mariano was silent, looking at the sea and imagining himself standing on the deck of a ship sailing to Cuba.
Mariano loved Barcelona and could not stop admiring the imposing buildings and the great avenues. He accompanied his father to the mercantile offices. It was almost two in the afternoon when they went to have lunch at the restaurant Les Set Portes, very close to the port. Mariano stood with his mouth open counting the seven doors and admiring the modern decorations of the establishment. They each ate a portion of esqueixada (a Catalan dish of shredded salt cod) and a plate of arrós a la cassola
In the afternoon, they entertained themselves by walking through the neighborhood of the cathedral and along Las Ramblas. Before retracing their steps, Jose wanted his son to admire the recently inaugurated Teatro del Liceo.
Close to six, they arrived at the station and took the train back to Malgrat. During the return trip, Mariano asked his father, “Why do so many Catalans go to Cuba?”
“Some are voluntary emigrants who want to make their fortune. Others are forced to because they are soldiers recruited in colonial wars or because they fled the country.”
“I would like to go to Cuba.”
“What are you saying? Are you crazy? You are my firstborn, and you must carry on the Defaus family business. Let’s hope that those damn riots will end and that soon we will return to more peaceful times.”
Riotous months followed. The situation in Catalonia went from bad to worse, and in almost all of Spain the civil war intensified, the so-called Third Carlist War. José did not return to Barcelona with his son in order to avoid being involved in violent actions, street protests, social conflicts, and public disorders. The lack of volunteers for the army was made up for by forcibly recruiting boys from seventeen to eighteen years of age.
Every morning, the postman used to pass by the houses of the village whistling a happy tune, but a few months back he had stopped singing. Many families feared that he would bring them bad news. The poor man was having a hard time, and sometimes wanted to abandon his bag full of letters and run away. However, he was trying to smile, even though he knew that sooner or later he was going to give them the mandatory military recruiting card. At the end of the summer of 1873, Mariano was summoned to the headquarters of the army in Barcelona, where they had to report within two days.
Teresa Moragas Gibert, Mariano’s mother, was desperate. She could not stop crying. The younger children surrounded her without knowing exactly what was happening. When José entered the house, everyone ran to him. Mariano entered the house shortly after his father, and hearing the uproar he knew that bad news had arrived.
“I do not want you to go to war to be killed," Jose told Mariano.
“Tell me what I have to do father, and I will do it,” answered Mariano.
“I am going to ask the mayor for help, but I don’t want to bribe anyone. Our family has never done that; however, I know that there are some residents of the town who are willing to offer him money to falsify their papers. Nor do I want you to go to the mountains and become a bandit. I will go and see the priest.”
“I could go to Cuba,” said Mariano.
“What are you saying? We will find another solution!”
That same afternoon, Jose went to see the mayor. The poor man was overwhelmed by visits from desperate parents. When José entered his office, the mayor told him that he could do nothing. For months, he had helped avoid the recruitment of Malgrat’s boys, yet this time it was impossible for him to help.
The secretary, who was a very practical man, told Jose that the only solution for the military age young men was to escape.
“I don’t want my son to hide in the mountains.”
“If Mariano stays away till the riots are over, maybe he can come back, or there is always the possibility of going to Cuba.”
“Cuba - no way, it’s too far away and who knows if we will ever see him again.”
“Better to go to Cuba than to die in the war,” said the secretary. “Look José, some people from Malgrat have settled in Havana. Do you remember the pharmacist Sarrá? A few years ago, the two Sarrá cousins went to Cuba and founded a pharmacy. The day after tomorrow, Jose Sarrá Catalan, will return to Cuba again with the ship La Isabela. Mariano could go with him. The Sarrás are very important people both in Catalonia and in Havana. It would not the first time they helped Catalan boys who were fleeing the war.”
“I do not know. I do not know, it seems very risky to me.”
“Right now, I am going to send a telegram to the pharmacist so that he can obtain the passage of the ship for Mariano and fix the papers for him. It’s the best thing your son can do,” said the mayor, putting his arm around Jose’s shoulder to encourage him.
José went to talk to the town priest, but as he feared, it was useless. He stayed a while in the obscure part of the church asking Virgen del Carmen to protect Mariano.
He returned home discouraged, but at the same time determined to follow the mayor’s instructions. It was late and the little ones had gone to bed already.
Teresa spoke to Mariano in a low voice. “What will we do without you? I know you are very brave and you are not going to look for trouble, but this breaks my heart. Promise me you are going to write a letter every fortnight,” the mother asked crying.
“I don’t want to die in the war. I will flee to France through the mountains. Don’t worry mother, I know how to take care of myself.”
“You don’t have to flee to the mountains. You will embark for Cuba,” Jose said, “Pharmacist Sarrá will accompany you. Tomorrow you will go to Barcelona by train. You are to meet him at eight in the evening in front of the restaurant Les Set Portes. The ship will leave at one in the morning.”
“I am ready to go to Cuba.”
“Teresa, will you help him pack his luggage? It’s hot in Cuba so you do not need warm clothes, but for the journey take a jacket. Also send a blanket, candles, paper, envelopes, pen, inkwell, and a couple of books for the trip. I will sew a pocket on the inside of the jacket to hide documents and a wad of bills. Should we also give him the silver coins that we have hidden in the chest behind the wooden virgin?”
Teresa smiled. She knew that José, like all husbands, was the one in charge at home, but she appreciated that he asked for her opinion, even if what he decided was done later.
Mariano could not fall to sleep. All night he was thinking about his father’s plans. On the one hand, his dream of going to Cuba was taking place; on the other hand, he was afraid of leaving his family. He did not know if he could ever return to his homeland. What he was sure of was that he would never lose ties to his parents and siblings.
“I am going to write several letters to them from the ship, another one as soon as I arrive, another when I have settled in, and another ..” And thinking about that list of things he wanted to do, little by little, he fell asleep.
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