Chapter 9 Pinar del Río (English)

 

At one o'clock in the morning on the first Saturday of the full moon, Felipe sent Mariano a horse-drawn carriage to pick him up. It was led by a young mulatto named Mauricio, Felipe's right-hand man. The carriage headed towards Caimito, which was an hour away from the farm where Felipe was hiding.

During the journey, Mauricio told Mariano that the house where they lived for the moment was uninhabited. It had been abandoned after the pandemic; and the peaceful revolutionaries, as Felipe defined himself, had settled there.

"Aren't you afraid that you'll be found and that you'll all be arrested?" asked Mariano.

“They are not going to report us. The owner of the farm has joined us, and no one knows we are here; but we move locations very often so that they don't find us.”

“I see you trust me. I will never betray them,” Mariano said.

“Felipe trusts you blindly, but they could arrest you and make you sing with violent methods. That's why we travel at night, so that you can’t find your way back here.”

“Don't worry, I don't have a great sense of direction. Right now I don't know which direction we're going.”

"Don't worry, we've taken all the precautions," Mauricio said.

“I hope that sooner or later you will be able to end slavery.”

“Let us hope that, thanks to the intelligence, diplomacy, ability to act, and patience of Felipe and all the lawyers who work with him, the independence of Cuba and the abolition of slavery will be obtained, which would lead to many improvements in Cuban society. You have to know that some landowners are already giving freedom to slaves. However, there are others who are still buying them and exploiting them like animals.”

“I admire the pro-independence supporters who don't take up arms.”

Mauricio remained silent, for he feared that sooner or later, protests and lawsuits would end up involving the revolutionaries in fierce battles against the Spaniards. When they were about to arrive, he thought of Céspedes, Felipe's friend and comrade in struggle, who, at first with his peaceful uprising had hoped to reach a free Cuba without shedding blood. In the end he had to arm his followers and form an army; but unfortunately, he fell in battle in 1874.

Felipe received Mariano with affection and joy, hugged him as he did in Havana, patting him on the back. They talked, joked, and treated each other as if they had seen each other the day before, but in fact six years had passed since their last meeting.

At the end of two hours, Olivia, the mulatto woman whom Felipe freed from slavery, entered the room where the two men were sitting in the dark.

It had taken Felipe five years to prepare the plan to obtain Olivia's freedom. He managed to get a trusted woman to join the servants of the hacienda where Olivia was one of the many slaves who collected tobacco leaves. That woman was paving the way for them, but above all they were helped by yellow fever. On that farm, as in those in the neighborhood, there were many deaths, including the farm’s owner. The widow, like her husband, hated anyone who wanted to free the black slaves and it was not easy to come to terms with her.

The widow, rather than having an issue with Felipe, had an aversion to her brother-in-law, the one who gave freedom to the slaves he had inherited from his father. However, due to the economic problems that presented themselves to her after the death of her husband, she gave in to Felipe’s requests. Because she didn't want to see his face, Felipe managed to buy Olivia through an intermediary. From the moment she acquired her freedom, Olivia was so grateful to Felipe that she followed him wherever he went without question, even if her life was in danger.  

It was just before sunrise when Olivia disappeared from the living room and went to the kitchen, leaving the two friends alone. Felipe and Mariano spent the rest of the night talking incessantly. Mariano told Felipe about his progress as a partner in the grocery store and the thriving seed trade. Felipe gave him a summary of everything he had done in those five years. He had been studying and presenting petitions to the Spanish government for Cuba to obtain independence and for slavery to be abolished.

Felipe and his collaborators had managed to get the Official Gazette of the Spanish State to issue a law on February 18, 1880, that put an end to the state of slavery in Cuba. However, this law carried a series of conditions that slowed down the effective end of the slavery regime. That is to say, this law did not immediately turn slaves into free people. It transformed them into freedmen, who had to pay a large amount of money to their employers in order to be completely free. An eight-year period of patronage was established for newly freed blacks, during which they had to continue to work for their former masters in conditions very similar to slavery, since corporal punishment was permitted.

“Are you not satisfied with what you have achieved?” asked Mariano.

"We have achieved very little," replied Felipe.

“Something is better than nothing! You will see that sooner or later Spain will have to align itself with the laws of other countries.”

“Freedom now has an economic price, and that cannot be. We are struggling with the Overseas Ministry Department to put an end to this ridiculous system of Freedmen.”

"You're going to make it, Felipe.”

“I'm a little tired, and Olivia and I still have to hide. When I get slavery abolished for good, I can die peacefully.”

“Don't say that Felipe, you are going to improve the current law of abolition of slavery and perhaps make Cuba free without shedding blood.”

“That will be difficult. I trust José Martí, as I trusted Céspedes, but historical memory tells me that peaceful resistance in the end leads to arms. I also admired Carlos Manuel de Céspedes. In addition to being a rich and handsome man who had lived in Europe and spoke several languages, he was a cultured and sensitive person, a poet with very noble ideals, and capable of keeping up to date with scientific and technical advances, philosophical doctrines as well as artistic and literary movements. In the republic he wished to found, he wanted a law that would organize universal primary education, black and white together, with itinerant teachers and schools with workshops. He was a friend to me, but I didn't follow him when he took up arms and joined more aggressive separatists.”

“However, the uprising of Céspedes was the fuse that ignited the battle to obtain the abolition of slavery, right?” asked Mariano.

“Yes, but at a very expensive price. Slaves enlisted in the ranks of the rebel army voluntarily or forcibly. Blacks were cannon fodder, and there was a lot of racial discrimination in the troops, despite whites and blacks fighting on the same side for ten years,” Felipe said.

“It is said that on both sides there were more than 100,000 deaths, including those killed in battles and due to tropical diseases. Many young soldiers of the Spanish army who had recently arrived in Cuba fell ill and died without actually participating in battle.”

“Yes, it was a real massacre.” Felipe was silent for a few seconds and then he resumed speaking. “I remember that Céspedes wrote: ‘Among the sacrifices that the Revolution has imposed on me, the most painful for me has been the sacrifice of my character’ I am not going to sacrifice myself, freedom must be achieved without shedding blood. If José Martí declares war on Spain, I will withdraw from the organization.”

“I admire you, but you've been running away for too many years, maybe it's time to think more about you and Olivia.”

“I will try. I don't know when I’ll be able to see you again, Mariano.  I promise you that as soon as things get better, I'll look for you,” Felipe told Mariano.

At dawn, they said goodbye and Mauricio accompanied him back to Havana.

At the end of 1880, Angel Hernández, owner of a hacienda in Pinar del Rio, showed up at the store of the three brothers. “I've been told that a certain Mariano Defaus works for you.”

"I'm going to look for him, he's in the back room," said Pedro as he pulled back the curtain and called Mariano. "You have a visitor," he said.

“Good morning, I'm Angel Hernandez, I've been told that you are a great expert on grain seeds.”

"I can help a little,” Mariano replied, happy to hear that he had a good reputation in the community.

"I don't know anything about grains. Since I was born I've seen only tobacco around me," said the landowner, smiling.

Angel continued to ask him other questions and finally said, “I want to plant wheat on the land I inherited from my father and remove the tobacco plants. I need you to work with me on my farm.”

At the age of twenty, Angel had told his father that he wanted to study in Spain. His father did not approve of his heir going so far but, being an intelligent person, in the end he gave his consent and paid for his son’s medical studies. His brother, on the other hand, stayed on the hacienda to take care of the tobacco plantation.

he first day Angel attended an autopsy he fainted as the blood made him dizzy. He thought he was going to get used to it; however, over time his discomfort did not improve. He accepted that he did not have the skills to be a doctor, but he finished his degree so as not to quit halfway. In Madrid, one afternoon he went to the neighborhood of Lavapiés to buy a pitcher and he met Nieves Herrera. Nieves belonged to a family of potters, they molded pieces and sold them in the store. When Angel entered the pottery, he was captivated by the sight of the potter's daughter, who was mending the clay pieces on the shelves. From then on, Angel went to see Nieves every afternoon and one day he declared his love for her. Nieves was eighteen and Angel was twenty-two when they married. They lived in Madrid for a few months, because soon after Angel had to return to Cuba with his wife after the death of his parents and his only brother due to yellow fever. That day, Angel also told Mariano that he had good foremen and good day laborers, he just needed a grain specialist.

“I am offering you a good job and if we see that everything is going well and that we understand each other, we could be partners.”

“And why do you want to replace tobacco plantations with wheat fields?”

“Everyone tells me that I'm crazy, that you earn much more with tobacco, but I have already consulted with agricultural experts, who have told me that my land is good for grains and that crop rotation would be good for it, because for too many years it has been planted only with tobacco plants. The poor land can't take it anymore, and that's why I want to make a radical change in the farm. Also, I abhor slavery and don't want to make a living by inhumanely exploiting black people. Chance has led me to own a farm that was meant for my brother. I am grateful for my destiny, but I want to change it. I have given freedom to all the slaves, but many of them have stayed to work with me, collecting a salary. Nieves, my wife, supports me in this project that seems a bit far-fetched.” 

“I'm going to think about it. Thank you for your offer,” Mariano replied, unable to say anything more than how excited he was.

“If you accept my proposal, you will have a good salary and also a percentage of the income from the harvest. Ah! I forgot, there's a little house for you next to ours.”

ariano liked this humble landowner, who was nothing like the owners of the surrounding farms. He couldn't believe that he would offer him so much knowing so little about him. Mariano didn't like the idea of accepting the job and leaving the three brothers behind. He had become so accustomed to them that he was embarrassed to leave. Pablo, the eldest, had already recovered from the stroke he suffered months ago and was able to place orders and keep the accounts. 

After several days of reflection, he told them about the offer that Angel Hernández had given him and proposed the following: "I will continue to be your partner, but I will give you an assistant that I will pay for, and every two or three months I will return to Havana to help you.”

“You run more after businesses than women. I would be calmer if you ran away after a mulatta,” Pedro told him laughing.

“We are happy that you are being sought after for such an important hacienda. It is a great opportunity for you and I am very proud of how you have moved forward,” said Pepe, the reserved middle brother.

“We will miss you! Thank you for everything you have done for me,” Pablo said slowly, for it was still difficult for him to speak with a lopsided mouth from his stroke.

“Let's see if in Pinar de Río you can find the wife you dream of so much.”

“Don't make fun of me, Pedro. I'll have a lot of work and little time for women. Take care of each other and don't get into trouble,” Mariano told them, hugging them.

On February 4, 1881, Mariano sat in a wagon, waiting for the locomotive to set off for San Cristóbal. Mariano, like his father, José Defaus Ballesté, was punctual; he used to go to the station an hour before the train left. As he looked out the window at the comings and goings of people on the platforms, he thought of his first train trip to Barcelona, in 1872.  "How many turns has my life taken since then," he said to himself.

Mariano was excited and impatient to move to Angel Hernandez's farm. However, he felt a slight pain in his stomach, the same one he noticed the day he left his hometown of Malgrat. He blamed this slight discomfort on the fact that he was moving away from Havana, from the port where he had so often imagined he would set sail to return to his homeland. He continued to Pinar del Rio in a horse-drawn stagecoach, as the construction of this railway section had not yet been completed, and would not be inaugurated until 1894.

Mariano arrived in Pinar del Rio at dusk, where a horse-drawn carriage was waiting for him, guided by a coachman who took him to Angel Hernández's farm, called Esperanza, located between Las Ovas and Puerta de Golpe, a few kilometers from Pinar del Rio. “Esperanza (Hope) will be my home. I like that name," he said to himself, seeing it written on the entrance railing.

Angel and his wife were waiting for him. They welcomed him as if he were one of the family and gave him the key to the little house where he was going to live. 

The first thing Mariano did in the new abode was to write a letter to Isabel.

Finca Esperanza-Las Ovas, February 4, 1881

Dear Isabel,

I'm sending you my new address so you can write to me. I don't live in Havana anymore. I was offered a good job on a farm called Esperanza, which is a few kilometers from Pinar del Rio . . . 

Things are going well for me. However, I am sorry to have left you and I feel the emptiness of your absence. I regret my indecisiveness. Maria, tired of waiting for me, married the widower Valls and now, you see, I'm left alone. The owners of Hacienda Esperanza are very good to me. I've been lucky.

How are you? And your aunt? It's been a long time since I've received a letter from you. Maybe you can't find someone to write it for you? I hope you find a man who loves and respects you, you deserve it.

A hug from your sincere friend,

Mariano Defaus Moragas

Chapter 8 - Maria Plana

 

Ever since Mariano began to grow fond of Isabel, he thought less of Maria, the Catalan girl he met on the boat. Going out with Isabel, he lost the habit of sitting at the door of the pharmacy, anxiously waiting for the postman to arrive. Until one morning he received the letter he had been waiting for. He tore the envelope and took out the two sheets of thin paper eagerly. He read the first few lines impatiently and learned that Maria had been very ill. He stopped and sighed, but then, as he continued reading, he became short of breath and had to sit down.

Mrs. Valls was the first on the farm to be infected, and she died before the doctor arrived. Maria fell ill a few days later and spent several weeks between life and death. Mr. Valls, after burying his wife in the most remote part of the garden of the estate, took care of Maria day and night, not wanting anyone else to attend to her. He took great care of her, and little by little she recovered.

When Maria was fully recovered, Mr. Valls and Alfredo, the butler, fell ill, one after the other. The two men had lived many years under the same roof, first in Catalonia and then in Cuba. Alfredo had seen his owner born and had a great appreciation for him. He would have given his life for him. Despite his obvious symptoms of fever and jaundice, Alfredo took care of his master until he broke down and began to become delirious, then Maria took care of both of them. At night, she would spend hours and hours at the bedside of the two men, putting wet rags on their foreheads, giving them water and whispering to them that little by little they would be cured. Maria prayed that they would get well. During the day she rested for a few hours, leaving the two sick men in the hands of a servant who had already survived the disease.

After a week of very high fever, Mr. Valls’ fever broke, but he had to stay in bed for a few more days. His skin was yellow and he was so weak that it was not known if he would live, but in the end he survived. Alfredo, like most of the servants, did not have the same good fortune. He died in the arms of Ramón Valls, who wanted to bury him next to Eulalia, his wife, even knowing that she detested him.

Yellow fever caused many deaths, especially on the plantations where slaves lived in barracks. For more than two centuries (from the 17th to the 19th), yellow fever was a mysterious disease that ravaged the tropical areas of America and Africa causing devastating epidemics. No one knew where the plague had come from or how to cure it.

It took a few years for universities to begin to deal with the pandemic. Between 1883 and 1897, several scientists believed they had identified the causative agent, but their theories did not find consensus. A few years later, a team of Cuban surgeons and microbiologists began working on a hypothesis: mosquitoes served as an intermediate host for the yellow fever parasite. At the beginning of the 20th century, different investigations sought to identify the cause of transmission using questionable methods. Some doctors and volunteers, who allowed themselves to be inoculated with germs of the disease, gave their health and their lives for science and only many years later was it discovered that this parasite was a virus.

After the epidemic, the Valls’ estate fell into disrepair, and the few servants and day laborers who had survived the pandemic fled. Many of the cattle, horses, cows, oxen, and bulls were stolen, some cattle died, while others escaped. Maria could have left the farm too, but she didn't have the courage to do so. She felt the impulse to escape and find Mariano in Havana; but in the end, she decided not to leave. She opted to help Mr. Valls who had been left completely alone. Maria, the puny girl, who was afraid of everything when she arrived in Cuba, took charge of the Valls’ cattle ranch.

The months went by. Ramón Valls made a full recovery and, with Maria's help, began to take care of the farm chores. They bought cattle, horses, cows, oxen, pigs, and other livestock, hired a new cook, a handful of servants, day laborers, and set up the corrals again.  

In those days Mr. Valls did not stop praising Maria, telling her that she had been his saving angel. He felt tenderness and love for this loyal girl who had saved his life and property. A few weeks later he asked her to be his wife. After the death of Mrs. Valls, Maria began to care more deeply for Ramón Valls. Caring for each other during their illness brought them together. They were as happy as two children who have been given freedom after a punishment. They felt at ease without the annoying and impertinent Mrs. Valls, who had never enjoyed living in Cuba and who was angry and quarreled with everyone. Maria accepted her master's marriage proposal without hesitation.

Mariano read the last part of the letter three times, trying to catch a glimmer of hope, but he couldn't. He continued reading the letter:

I felt weak, but I had to persist. At the farm we were falling one by one. You can't imagine how horrible it was. We didn't know where to bury the dead. But now, thank God, it's all over. The letter in which you asked me if I wanted to be your wife, came to me a few days ago. I am flattered that you appreciate me so much, but at that time I had made my decision to marry Ramón Valls and I don't think that if I had received your letter earlier I would have changed anything. Ramon has been very good to me. I am very grateful to him and I am beginning to love him. On the boat I was attracted to you, too, but then we were apart for so long. I was waiting for you for five long years, but everything changed after yellow fever. I'd like you to come to the farm. Ramón knows that we write to each other and would be happy for you to come and see us. He's a very good person. I hope you are doing well and that you manage to carry out your projects.

I will always remember you.

María Plana Tarradas

Mariano spent two days reflecting before answering Maria. When he did, he promised her that when the war ended, he would rent a horse-drawn carriage to go see her, but that at the present time he could not do so because the political situation in Cuba was getting worse instead of improving.

“I'm losing the people I love the most. I've taken too long to go look for Maria. I should have made up my mind sooner," he said to himself. However, after a few weeks he was encouraged that it was time to return to Catalonia. "I have to prepare well for my return home," he said to himself, quite convinced, even though he feared that when he arrived in Spain he might be arrested.

In 1876, the Third Carlist War came to an end; but in reality, Catalonia continued to fight until the beginning of 1878, especially through bloodthirsty guerrilla tactics that caused hundreds of deaths on both sides. As a result, Mariano had to delay his visit to Maria and his departure from Cuba for another year.

He continued to work in the pharmacy, but reluctantly because he did not get along very well with Josep, Jose Sarrá's nephew who took charge of the pharmacy after his uncle's death. Ignatius, the other nephew, returned to Spain, angry that his uncle had not named him in his will. Mariano missed his old benefactor and friend, who had returned to Barcelona to take care of his sick wife, but it was Jose, and not his wife, who died a few months later of a heart attack. Before Jose Sarrá died, Mariano wrote him some letters, but he never told him about his nephew's bad temper, because he did not want to embarrass him.

Josep was a young and intelligent man but very nervous. He slept little and worked at night looking for remedies for tropical diseases. He always wore a white coat and never took off his glasses. He was brilliant as a pharmaceutical chemist, but he didn't know how to treat people. He was sullen and fussy about everyone. He screamed and had no patience with anyone, only delighting in doing experiments in his laboratory or cleaning the cages of his little birds. Mariano sometimes watched him and didn't understand how a man so affectionate with his canaries was so grumpy with his employees. He was a heartless bachelor who got angry with the cook every morning, who was a very dutiful and agreeable mulatto woman.

 Mariano could not help but overhear Josep's reproaches to the cook: “I don't understand why it is such a struggle to bake a loaf of bread and make me a couple of slices of bread with tomato. You get how to make birria; and when baking the bread, it's not the fault of the flour or the water of Havana. The problem is that you do it with a reluctant attitude.” Then he would calm down and say to her without shouting so much, “I've been telling you for weeks, put your heart in it, but you act like it's nothing.”

Mr. Sarrá's nephew had changed cooks several times, but he was always dissatisfied and complained about them all. “Poor cooks! What patience we all have to have with this angry man!” Mariano said to himself every time he heard his squeaky voice! Josep spoke to Mariano in Catalan and almost never shouted at him. It was mainly with the other help that his bad temper came out.

One day in the pharmacy Mariano overheard a customer, a man from Reus, tell Josep that he was looking for an accountant. Mariano didn't think twice, and the next day he went to the store of the Catalan merchant, who bought fabrics in Catalonia and sold them in Cuba, to talk to him.  

At the beginning of 1878, Mariano got a job in the office of Mr. Reus and rented a small room on the street of San Ignacio. After some difficult discussion sessions, he managed to leave the pharmacy, but Josep was very upset that he was leaving. “What shameless audacity! That's how you repay us for everything the Sarrá family has done for you. If you go out that door, you won't be able to come back in,” Josep shouted at him.

Mariano left, upset by the pharmacist's words, forgetting that he had hidden his silver coins in a beam in the back room. In order to recover them, it took several months and he had to bribe a servant, as Josep ordered the servants not to let him in for any reason.

The pot-bellied gentleman from Reus turned out to be a grumbler, but Mariano endured several months of working in his office because he did not want to admit in any way that he had made a mistake by leaving the pharmacy. Maria continued to write him letters, and she invited him several times to the farm but Mariano kept postponing the visit.

King Alfonso XII, son of Isabella II, reigned in Spain after the failure of the Republic and in 1878 put a definitive end to the Carlist guerrillas. In Cuba, the conflict between the mother country and the separatists also had a few years of tranquility. Finally, in February 1878, a lackluster pact was signed between the Spaniards and the separatists. Exhausted by the war, the worthless agreement solved nothing and conceded very little to the rebel cause. Outraged and disillusioned, General Maceo made his disagreement known at the Baraguá Protest, but, after a brief frustrated attempt to resume the war in 1879 (the so-called little war), both he and Gómez disappeared into prolonged exile.

Taking advantage of the period of peace in both countries, Mariano thought that the right time had come to leave his job as an accountant and return to Spain; however, circumstances had changed.

Mariano was waiting for Miguel and the captain to return to Havana to embark on their ship, but one morning Pedro showed up at the office where Mariano worked, to ask him to join the commercial partnership he founded years ago with his brothers. Pedro told Mariano that he was needed because Pablo, his older brother, had fallen ill. A cerebral embolism had left the right side of his body paralyzed.

“Pepe and I only know how to assist the clients in the store, that's why we need you to help with the business portion of the store.”

Pablo was the one who had been dedicated to buying goods and keeping the accounts. Mariano couldn't miss this opportunity, so he postponed his trip to Barcelona again and moved to live on Mercaderes Street, next to the three brothers' shop. He was pleased that he could finally go into the seed trade.

He telegraphed Miguel to bring him seeds from Spain. When Miguel and the captain arrived in Havana, it was a great joy for him to be able to hug them and unload the merchandise he had asked for. He paid for the sacks of seeds with his silver coins and immediately sold them in the shop. Later he also traded in potatoes for planting, and little by little the shop of the Barcelona brothers began to flourish.

In 1880, Mariano received a letter from Felipe. The letter arrived at the store one spring morning, but he did not open it for many hours. He was afraid, for he still remembered his disappointment after reading Maria's long-awaited letter. Alone in the evening, he opened the envelope and began to read it. Felipe told him that he was living hidden in the countryside, that he couldn't tell him where, and he spoke enthusiastically about José Martí:

. . . When the time came, the man we needed appeared. José Martí is simple, generous, and clever, he is a poet, and he is a visionary and an intellectual (he has studied in Cuba and Spain). He has become a patriotic figure for all of us who want a free Cuba. Completely dedicated to the cause of peaceful resistance, Martí writes, dialogues, petitions and organizes the independence of Cuba. I help him and I believe in him. I hope that it will never come to arms again . . .

I'll come by shortly. If all goes well, I'll come to pick you up in a horse-drawn carriage at dusk on the first Saturday of the full moon.

A hug.

Felipe

Leggendo Le nostre eruzioni

 

Mentre leggevo un breve frammento di Nietzsche, mi sono accorta di non sapere quasi niente dell’autore. Il liceo che ho frequentato in Spagna, prevedeva un corso di filosofia al quarto anno. Il mio insegnante era un uomo piuttosto bizzarro, di naso aquilino dove appoggiavano i suoi occhiali rotondi in corno chiaro che alzava ogni poco a modo di tic. Era tale la sua distrazione che arrivava spesso in ritardo o non si presentava. Le lezioni si svolgevano all’ultima ora, quando tutti gli studenti erano stanchi e demotivati. Il professore con la sua voce rauca, cercava di spiegarci il pensiero dei filosofi più importanti tra l’ottocento e il novecento, ma ricordo ben poco di quelle sonnolenti lezioni.

Rileggendo le frasi, innumerevoli cose… forse dopo secoli, rompono improvvisamente alla luce, ho pensato che bastano poche coincidenze per appropriarsi di persone e fatti che non sospettavamo che esistessero. Come è successo quando sono venuta a sapere di Mariano Defaus Moragas, uno dei fratelli del mio bisnonno Francisco. Lui fuggì a Cuba nel 1873, ma nessuno della mia famiglia ne fu mai a conoscenza. Grazie a un messaggio di una sua discendente cubana si è aperto per me un nuovo mondo sulle mie radici.

L’autore riflette sulle nostre virtù (o difetti), che possono essere ancora nascoste e, se si ha tempo di aspettare, possono essere manifestate nei discendenti. Secondo lui da quando abbiamo un figlio possiamo comprendere meglio noi stessi. Negli ultimi tempi mi è capitato di scoprire qualcosa di me, gesti o modi di fare, nei miei discendenti: Helena, mia figlia, già da piccola amava invitare gli amichetti a casa e organizzare incontri con loro. Come di solito faccio io, mi piace riunire gente intorno a un tavolo. Alessandro, il secondogenito, si preoccupa per gli amici e parenti, cerca di aiutare quando sono in difficoltà, ascoltando i loro problemi, cercando loro un lavoro, si fa in due per dare un passaggio in macchina, ecc. In Giulio, il più grande dei nipotini, a volte, quando esce dall’asilo e offre ai bambini un pezzettino della merenda, vedo qualcosa di me; ricordo un giorno, quando da piccola, ho regalato tutte le pesche, che aveva raccolto mio padre da un albero dell’orto, ai bambini della strada. Il fatto che io sia testarda e diffidente sui cibi mai assaggiati prima o di sapore esotico (forse questo è veramente un difetto più che una virtù), l’ho ritrovato in Massimo, l’altro piccolo nipote. Bambino piuttosto tranquillo, si arrabbia solo quando insistiamo a fargli mangiare cose nuove o a lui non gradite. Ai mie genitori sarà successa la stessa cosa, mia madre avrà visto in me la sua oculatezza nelle spese quotidiane e mio padre avrà notato l’ansietà che sento, come succedeva a lui, ogni volta prima delle partenze.

Dalla similitudine finale “siamo tutti vulcani in via di sviluppo” mi vengono fuori le stesse domande di prima: Cosa c’è di nascosto dentro di noi? Quando verrà fuori?... E poi divagando, quante cose ancora abbiamo da scoprire sotto i nostri piedi? Da adolescente, leggendo il libro, Viaggio al centro della Terra di Giulio Verne, sono rimasta colpita da quello che potrebbe esserci in profondità. Poi per una serie di coincidenze, che non c’entrano con Giulio Verne ho indirizzato i miei studi verso la geologia e la paleontologia. Come i lenti, ma a volte rapidi e catastrofici, movimenti geologici, con l’impossibilità di sapere quando avranno luogo, anche la nostra vita è un susseguirsi di fatti, talvolta graduali e prevedibili, talvolta fulminei e stravolgenti, con le due uniche certezze che abbiamo, la nascita e la morte, il resto non lo sa nessuno. 

Chapter 7 Isabel

                                            
 

After the fall of Céspedes in battle in 1874, the war between Spaniards and separatists dragged on for four more years, to the point that the Cuban economy collapsed and there were more than 200,000 victims. In Spain, things were no better - the Third Carlist War had no end either.

For Mariano, the fall of Céspedes, along with the disappearance of Felipe, was a hard blow. That year and the four that followed were the blackest of his life. He felt his lack of friends because he didn't see much of Miguel and the captain, who at that time began to make new, safer, and more profitable routes to Colombia and Venezuela.

He was dissatisfied with the lack of success in his search for work in the commercial field, but he was very grateful to pharmacist Jose Sarrá and continued to work in his pharmacy until José, after his wife fell ill, moved permanently to Catalonia at the end of 1876. José knew that it was a bad time to embark, and Josep, one of his nephews and Jose’s business partner, with whom he had always been very close, was starting to act strangely, but he could not leave his sick wife alone in Barcelona. At the port, Mariano became emotional saying goodbye to the person who had helped him the most to flee Spain and settle in Havana. He had to try hard not to cry.

“To return, to return, I want to do it soon. But I don't want to go into a black hole and not be able to get out of it,” Mariano told himself. He returned home with his head down. Without Mr. Sarrá, he felt even more helpless, but he cheered himself up thinking that he still had Maria, and he began to write her a letter. As he started to write, tears started to form and he let off steam by telling her of his anxieties. When he said good-bye, he promised her that as soon as he had a good job he would help her leave the Valls mansion.

Mariano also wrote a letter to his mother that day, but avoided telling her about the disastrous events on the island. Writing helped him to calm down. Then he stared at the fountain pen his father gave him on his sixteenth birthday, and thought of the words he had said to him as he gave him that precious gift. "You are already a man, and soon you are going to take over my businesses. You will be the one who runs the José Defaus Ballesté Grains and Seeds Society. Remember that good businessmen always carry a good pen with them.”

In the weeks that followed, Mariano waited impatiently for the postman to deliver a letter. However, since the political situation worsened, the letters were long overdue. One day, he received two letters from his mother, several months after he had received the last one.

From the moment Maria's letters stopped reaching him, Mariano's face was downcast and melancholy. He had idealized Maria, the shy girl he had briefly met on the ship, but only in the last days of the voyage were the adventures of their uprooted lives recounted under the stars.

In the first letters he did not dare to ask her to marry him, but letter after letter he prepared the ground. In the last one, he asked, but received no reply.

During those long months, he didn't leave the house much and when he did, he couldn't relate to other women. On the other hand, Pablo, Pepe, and Pedro led an unbridled life. Every night they got drunk and spent everything they earned in the brothels. The first time the three brothers told Mariano that they were never going to get married, he thought they were joking. But he soon realized that they were serious.

One night, he went out for a glass of rum with them. Pedro immediately got involved with the prettiest girl in the place. Pablo, the older brother, started dancing with a woman of about fifty years but of striking beauty. Pepe, the reserved one, was chatty that night and it seemed that he was not in a hurry to find a girl. They sat down at a table in the back of the room and Pepe told him the story of his family.

“The three of us grew up on our own as our father was in jail for a long time. He was arrested in the late 1930s for his progressive ideas. My brother Pedro was not even a year old, and Pablo and I were also young. My mother and grandmother carried on as best they could, but the store was losing customers every day and they were getting desperate. We went through a lot of hardships, but what made us suffer the most was living without our father. We grew up among sacks of potatoes, lentils, and chickpeas. The store was our home and the three of us started helping our mother. My father came home when the three of us were older. After several years, when things in the store were improving, he was arrested again, during La Gloriosa, the revolution that dethroned Queen Elizabeth II, but he was only in jail for a short time. Our father was idealistic and believed in revolution, but he was very impulsive. None of us three brothers are like him - we are not interested in politics. We don't want to get married and have children so that they suffer as we have. That's why we like to have fun and spend everything we earn in taverns and on women.”

“By staying together, you can help each other. You seem very close,” Mariano told him.

“Of course, we help each other with everything.”

This made Mariano feel even more lonely and helpless. Mr. Sarrá, Miguel, and Felipe, his friends from the new world, were far away. “Well, I’m not alone! The three brothers are trying to get me out of the house. In their own way, they are helping me,” he said, trying to cheer himself up.

However, he felt a strange uneasiness, as if he were dizzy even though he had drunk very little. He got up while Pedro was sitting down again at the table. Mariano left the brothers and hurried across the threshold of the tavern door. “Mariano, stay a while longer! The best is yet to come,” Pedro shouted at him. Mariano ran home and went to bed, but it was hard for him to fall asleep, wondering obsessively why Maria still didn't answer him.

The months went by, and Mariano was increasingly dissatisfied with the life he was leading. However, one night he let himself be convinced by the three shopkeepers to go partying with them. "This time I won't let you escape!" said Pedro.

They entered a tavern full of people, where they danced to Caribbean tunes played by two black musicians. A mulatto woman asked Mariano for a dance. She was pretty, but not as flashy as the other women who moved insinuatingly. She wore her hair in a bun, wore a simple dress, and had a captivating smile. She taught Mariano dance steps that he didn't know. He let himself be carried away by this attractive girl. The two drank too much and ended up half-drunk on a bunk bed in a boarding house in the port. It was the first time Mariano had slept with a stranger and he felt guilty, as if he had committed a bad or unjust action.

Isabel, the girl who lay beside him, was the maid of a Spanish dressmaker. She then told him that in the evenings she went dancing in the slums of the port to earn some money that she sent to her aunt. The men tipped her, but that night she wouldn't accept a coin from Mariano. From then on, he often went to see her dance. She still didn't want him to pay her anything, but Mariano brought her gifts such as delicacies or household goods and products from the pharmacy that she almost always sold on the black market of the port.

One evening, while they were walking, Isabel told Mariano that she was the daughter of Awelia, a slave who arrived from Africa at the age of ten. "It horrifies me to think that a few human beings uprooted thousands of Africans from their land, took away their freedom, and treated them so cruelly," Mariano replied, thinking of Felipe. “And the bad thing is that they still do it, it hurts me to think that all the blacks and mulattoes who live on the island are either slaves or descended from them. I'm ashamed to have been born in the same land as slaveholders," Mariano told her sadly.

“My mother, as you can imagine, went through the pains of hell, but her bravery saved her life. She was caught by slavers, taken to Cuba, and sold to a Spanish landowner who owned a huge sugar cane plantation. My mother, Awelia, who was immediately re-named Amelia, had never seen so many people working together, nor so many vast tracts of cultivated land, bordered by rows of trees. They gave her a machete to cut reeds from dawn to dusk. The slaves sang so as not to die of pain, because in addition to being forced to work like animals, they were treated with whips. Amelia did not despair and she tried to adapt to the regimen of that prison. The women in her barracks at first welcomed her with suspicion, but they soon realized that shel was good at taking care of children who fell ill, and that little Amelia watched and learned any task very quickly without question. Listening to the foremen, she learned Spanish. In a few months, my mother suddenly grew up. At the age of fifteen she became pregnant, and she never knew who the father of her daughter was, because she was raped several times by the foremen of the plantation. Thanks to two women from her hut, she managed to give birth to me and, after asking permission from the owners, she gave me to Rogelia, a kind woman who went to the farm to predict the future of the owners. Every month, the fortune teller brought me, so that I could spend some time with my real mother.  The plantation owners agreed that Rogelia would raise me, but she would remain their property and when she could work she would have to return to the farm. Those were the deals. My mother, Amelia, managed to get me registered under the name Isabel.”

“One day, my mother, Amelia, rescued a baby who was drowning in a ditch. The babysitter had left him on the side of the irrigation canal while she bathed. The seven-month-old boy, who was very lively, turned over and fell into the water. Amelia, returning to the barracks, exhausted after a hellish day, found the nanny walking and approached her to play with the child. On that occasion she was very quick to save the baby, and no one knew how she did it.” 

 “As a reward to Amelia, the owner gave freedom to her daughter, Isabel, after Rogelia raised the girl. Amelia was happy that she had obtained her daughter’s freedom, the thing she longed for most. I inherited my mother's beauty and strength of character. My mother advised me not to wear low-cut dresses, not only so as to not attract white men, but also young slaves who sometimes could not contain their sexual urges and violently harassed female slaves.”

“It didn't help me to dress modestly. One afternoon I was raped by one of the foremen, one of the men who had also assaulted Amelia. I did not tell my mother so that she would not be embarrassed, and save her the pain, but I promised myself that sooner or later I would take revenge on the evil man, which I was never able to do.”

“A few months later, the owners of the hacienda sent me to Havana, to the home of a cousin of theirs, a dressmaker. I cleaned, cooked, and took care of the shopping. The dressmaker gave me food and a bed and sometimes I would receive a few coins. My mother was very proud of me, the fact that I was the maid of a Spaniard was a very big social leap, but she never knew that I danced in taverns, she wouldn't have liked that. She died of a mysterious fever a few years later, in the hacienda barracks where she had lived most of her life,” Isabel said sadly.

“My parents, they wouldn't like to know that I'm dating you either,” Mariano told her.

“Why, because I am mulatta?”

“No, that's not why, it's because I haven't been honest with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have hidden from you that I am engaged to another woman, to Maria, a Catalan girl I met on the boat. She was, and still is, the maid of a rich lady, Mrs. Valls. We talked, and I promised her that I would get her off the farm and marry her.”

“Even though it took you so long to tell me, I appreciate that now you've been honest. Many of the men I've dated have used me, and when they've had enough of me, they've stood me up without explanation.”

"Isabel, I'm so sorry, I wish I wasn't engaged to someone else," Mariano told her.

 “Don't worry about me. In a few days I'm leaving the city.”

“Why? Are you leaving the dressmaker without letting her know? Where are you going to go?”

“I've been thinking about going to Santa Clara, where my aunt Rogelia lives, to take care of her. She raised me, and I owe it to her. I was embarrassed to tell you. Don't worry about the dressmaker, the other day she told me that she is going to close the workshop and return to Spain.”

“Isabel, you are very brave, and I admire you. You have been, and continue to be, very valuable to me. I don't want to lose you.”

“We will stay in touch. I'll find someone to write my letters to you. I was also embarrassed to tell you that I am completely illiterate.”

"I'll write to you, too," Mariano whispered, kissing her for the last time.

Poesia Parlem de tu - Parliamo di te - Miquel Martì Pol

 

Parlem de tu

Parlem de tu, però no pas amb pena.
Senzillament parlem de tu, de com
ens vas deixar, del sofriment lentíssim
que va anar marfonent-te, de les teves
coses, parlem i també dels teus gustos,
del que estimaves i el que no estimaves,
del que feies i deies i senties;
de tu parlem, però no pas amb pena.

I a poc a poc esdevindràs tan nostre
que no caldrà ni que parlem de tu
per recordar-te; a poc a poc seràs
un gest, un mot, un gust, una mirada
que flueix sense dir-lo ni pensar-lo.

Miquel Martí Pol

Parliamo di te 

Parliamo di te, ma non con tristezza.
Semplicemente parliamo di te, di come
ci hai lasciato, della lentissima sofferenza
che ti stava indebolendo, delle tue
cose, parliamo e anche dei tuoi gusti,
di ciò che amavi e di ciò che non amavi,
di ciò che facevi, dicevi e sentivi;
di te parliamo, ma non con tristezza.

E a poco a poco diventerai così nostro
che non sarà necessario parlare di te
per ricordarti; a poco a poco  sarai
un gesto, una parola, un gusto, uno sguardo
che fluisce senza dirlo né pensarlo.

Poesía de Miquel Martì Pol - Parlem de tu

 

Parlem de tu 

Parlem de tu, però no pas amb pena.
Senzillament parlem de tu, de com
ens vas deixar, del sofriment lentíssim
que va anar marfonent-te, de les teves
coses, parlem i també dels teus gustos,
del que estimaves i el que no estimaves,
del que feies i deies i senties;
de tu parlem, però no pas amb pena.


I a poc a poc esdevindràs tan nostre
que no caldrà ni que parlem de tu
per recordar-te; a poc a poc seràs
un gest, un mot, un gust, una mirada
que flueix sense dir-lo ni pensar-lo.

Miquel Martí Pol

Hablamos de ti 

Hablamos de ti, pero no con pena.
Sencillamente hablamos de ti, de cómo
nos dejaste, del sufrimiento lentísimo
que fue debilitándote, de las cosas
tuyas, hablamos y también de tus gustos,
de lo que amabas y lo que no amabas,
de lo que hacías y decías y sentías;
de ti hablamos, pero no con pena.

Y poco a poco serás tan nuestro
que no será necesario ni que hablemos de ti
para recordarte; poco a poco serás
un gesto, una palabra, un gusto, una mirada
que fluye sin decirlo ni pensarlo.