Chapter 13 The Parra ( English)

  

The Zanjón Pact of 1878 between Spain and the revolutionaries ended The Great War. With the exception of a few months spanning 1879 and 1880, the so-called “The Little War” kept on going. As time went by, it seemed that the political fervor of yesteryear had stagnated. However, José Martí and his followers were preparing the ground to achieve Cuban independence. But the charismatic Cuban leader had to wait a few years before coming to light, until in April 1892 he founded the Cuban Revolutionary Party.

One late summer afternoon in 1893, Felipe and Olivia entered the Esperanza farm in a horse-drawn carriage. Mariano jumped for joy when he saw his friends and left aside his chores in the seed warehouse. “It's about time you showed up, buddy! And you, Olivia, how pretty you look!” he told them, hugging them. He accompanied them to the patio and invited them to sit in the shade, under the vine. “What brought you here?”

“I was passing near Pinar del Río and I wanted to talk to you.”

“I also love seeing you again,” Olivia told him.

“I'm calling Nieves right now!” exclaimed Mariano.

Mariano called Gabriel, one of his most faithful workers. Gabriel, a man of about forty, approached slowly, wiping his boots on the grass, and shook hands with the guests. His face was weathered by the sun and the weather, his eyes were lively, and his gaze kind.

Nieves arrived after a few minutes, running and out of breath, and immediately threw herself into the arms of the newcomers.

“What a joy to see you again! And what a surprise! You are both looking great!” Nieves told them.

“We are a little exhausted from running from one place to another, and we want to put down roots. Felipe, tell them our project ideas,” Olivia said.

“Well, if everything goes well, we are going to settle in Havana,” Felipe told them.

“I'm glad you are finally going to put down roots . . . Excuse me, let's go to the garden for a moment, I want to show Olivia something,” Nieves said, taking her friend by the arm.

With that excuse, the two women walked away to talk calmly about other things and so that the two men could continue talking at their leisure.

“Felipe, why do you want to settle permanently in Havana?” asked Mariano.

“Well, I am withdrawing from the independence movement,” Felipe answered.

“What happened?” Mariano asked Felipe open-mouthed.

“José Martí and his allies, after having founded the CRP, are organizing to fight against the Spanish. They have cornered me because I am still determined to peacefully obtain independence.”

“I'm sorry, Felipe.”

“I am discouraged and disappointed because I believed in José Martí and admired him. Until today, with his tremendous power of conviction and his personal charisma, he has managed to exert a growing influence on figures unconvinced of the need for a party to structure the new revolution and has tried by all means to ensure that it does not leak into the PRC. The spirit of discord and rivalry among the veterans of '68, however, is being carried away by the bellicose wing of the party.”

“José Martí is to be admired, but I have not been able to understand what is proposed with the CRP.”

“The CRP is not a political party, and it has no electoral purposes. It is a political association that was born to make Cuba and the other overseas provinces independent.”

“And you trusted that the CRP would obtain Cuban independence peacefully?”

“Yes, but it seems more and more impossible to me. Especially right now that José Martí, through CRP, is gathering resources to form a large army to fight against the Spanish.”

“Maybe they won't obtain the desired resources! It's still too early to say,” Mariano told him.

“Don't get your hopes up, I am the only one in the movement who has voted for peaceful independence.”

“Why do revolutionary poets always end up shedding blood?” Mariano sighed.

“Céspedes was forced to do so, because, in addition to fighting for independence, he had another objective: he wanted the freedom of the slaves. Unfortunately, the slaves who participated in the war were cannon fodder and most of those who stayed on the plantations, as retaliation, were mistreated, injured, raped or killed by the Spanish who were advancing to reconquer the lost lands. There was a great massacre. But now it is different. Whites, blacks and mulattoes can together prepare petitions and lawsuits to obtain independence. I don't know if you know that excellent lawyers are active in the CRP. José Martí, although he has always been a subversive - the Spanish have already kicked him out of Cuba twice, knows that he cannot repeat the mistakes that led to so many injustices and disasters in The Great War. Although at this moment Spain refuses to negotiate a treaty, we must wait, without resorting to weapons.”

“I understand very well that you dream of a peaceful struggle, because I hope so too. But perhaps we are both wrong and there is no demand on the face of the earth without violence and with thousands of dead and wounded,” Mariano replied.

“We are not alone. Remember that the pacifist movement in Europe was born in 1819 and that the use of ”passive resistance,” as a way of developing peaceful struggle within the law, began to be used in nationalist and constitutionalist struggles after the Napoleonic Wars. And after a few years, a pacifist movement began throughout Europe through international conferences such as the one in Brussels in 1848, promoted by Elihu Burritt and the precursor of the one in Paris in 1849, chaired by Victor Hugo.”

Mariano listened to him enthralled and admired everything Felipe knew and told him. “Felipe, you know everything!”

“Don't interrrupt, otherwise I'll lose my train of thought. Where was I going? Oh yes! And the Congress of Geneva in 1867 included the boycott of Marx and the Marxists and with the paradoxical presence of renowned defenders of violent action, such as Mijail Bakunin or Giuseppe Garibaldi, who campaigned for the conquest of the Papal States on his way to the unification of Italy. Do you realize what a paradox our world is?”

“Such nonsense!” Mariano said thoughtfully. “If the non-violent revolution gained ground in Europe, perhaps in Cuba we can have hope of avoiding a new war, but I fear it will be a very slow process.”

They remained silent for a few minutes, each one thinking about the horrors of the new war that was threatening Cuba, then Felipe recited the first stanza of the poem by Jose Marti, Guatanamera.

I am a truthful man
From where the palm tree grows
And before dying I want

To cast out the verses of my soul.

“How can someone who writes poetry like that be so bellicose?” Felipe finished saying.

“I think that José Martí is now convinced that without armed struggle Cuba is not going to achieve independence and that hurts me a lot,” Mariano answered.

“It hurts me, too. After all my efforts to implement non-violent revolutionary tactics in Cuba such as lawsuits, petitions and protests, I feel helpless.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“I am going to continue fighting peacefully in my own way. Olivia and I will move to Havana and there I will once again be a simple coachman. Now we no longer have to hide, no one remembers me anymore. I want to teach all the black people in Cuba to read and write. Olivia and I will organize traveling schools.”

“Felipe, Felipe. Why don't you leave politics once and for all and come live in the countryside? You could also teach here, in addition to reading and writing, how important it is to achieve freedom and equality between whites and blacks, in a non-violent way.”

“That's what I'm doing, I'm leaving politics, despite myself. But I despair thinking that in 1886 the Law was enacted that definitively ended slavery and that in Cuba there is still a lot of racial discrimination: on the haciendas, and in the black neighborhoods of the cities there are still many homicides, forced sexuality, abortions, punishments. And physical as well as other abuses by whites towards blacks.”

“Don't worry, sooner or later blacks will be equal to whites, they will have the same rights, but I don't know if we will live to see it. And what do you say about coming to live in the countryside?” Mariano asked him euphorically.

“I don't know, I don't know. We'll think about it,” Felipe answered with a funny grin.

The two women returned, smiling, and sat down next to their husbands.

“So what are we thinking?” Olivia asked Felipe.

“Mariano asked me if we would like to live in the country,” Felipe answered.

“Well, look, right now, next door there is a small estate, called Bonanza, that is for sale. No one wants it because one wing of the mansion was demolished by the rebels of The Great War.” Mariano told him.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself! We can't leave everything right now. Besides, where are we going to get the money to buy a property? For now, we will live in Havana. Emilia, José Sarrá's widow, has offered to rent us her home at a very good rate.

“How is Emilia?”

“Very well, she inherited a fortune when her husband died and she appointed Josep as her representative, to take care of the pharmacy in Havana. I think Josep was already a partner in the Reunión Pharmacy at that time. Well, José Sarrá's will was a very complicated thing. They say that in principle he had left a good piece of inheritance to the two nephews, but that Emilia, through her influences with high officials, managed to ensure that her heirs were only their daughters. Ignaci, upon discovering that he had received nothing, returned to Spain indignant. Josep, on the other hand, stayed at the pharmacy and little by little he became its owner.”

“It has been a long time since I heard anything about Josep. I already told you in a letter that he was a bit manic and that I had problems with him when his uncle had to leave for Barcelona and he was put in charge of the pharmacy.”

“Well, you wouldn't recognize him. He has changed a lot. He seems like a different man. He still runs the pharmacy, and he renovated it more than ten years ago. Emilia trusted him and they got along very well. But it is said that he mortgaged his house in Malgrat and that he bought the pharmacy from Emilia. He also collaborated in the founding of the College of Pharmacists of Havana, where he was president for several years and little by little he invested his profits by buying properties, becoming a rich businessman. If you saw the new establishment now you would be left with your mouth open. They have a lot of clientele.”

“I am happy that the pharmacy is so successful.”

“I think that much of the credit goes to Celia, his Canarian wife, because when he married her he abandoned his laboratory practices, where he was locked up day and night. Following his wife's advice, he dedicated himself first to modernizing and expanding the pharmacy and then turned his attention to other businesses,” Olivia said.

“It was fortunate that his wife kept him away from his test tubes and stills. Otherwise, he would have gone crazy,” Mariano said, smiling.

“The last time I saw him, he told me that he had many properties in Havana, more than forty houses, but that he was afraid of losing everything if another uprising was proclaimed. As you can imagine, he is not at all a supporter of José Martí. However, he told me that he admired him, not because of his revolutionary ideas, but because he was intelligent and bold; also because he was the son of Catalans and he was proud that he had been born very near his pharmacy, on the same Calle Teniente Rey.”

“Yes, Jose’s roots in Catalonia were always exaggerated, almost pathological. You can't go more than a year without returning to Barcelona.”

“What do you mean by pathological?” Olivia asked him.

“I mean that sometimes he went overboard trying to reproduce his small homeland in Cuba. You already know that I get excited when I hear Catalan spoken, but you can't treat a poor cook badly because she doesn't know how to prepare a slice of bread with tomato. But don't get me wrong, I'm really glad that he has overcome all his manias,” Mariano told him.

“I understand you, Josep has always been extravagant.” Felipe was silent for a moment and a smile crossed his face, “a crazy, wise man perhaps.”

“Josep is very smart. Even if there is another revolution, I don't think he will leave the pharmacy. It gives him too many benefits. How lucky you are to be able to travel to Catalonia,” he thought for a moment and added, “I would also like to return to Barcelona, ​​but for now it seems impossible,” Mariano told them quietly, as if he was ashamed.

“Now let's talk about you. How is life going for you?” Felipe asked them.

“We are fine, we both miss Ángel, but we are proud to have carried out his project. Why don't you stay a few days with us at the farm?” Mariano asked him.

“Olivia, I can teach you how to make bread and clay pots,” Nieves told her.

“Felipe, I'm going to take you to the grain fields so you can see our latest creations and in the meantime we'll be able to talk about our things,” Mariano told him with a wink.

“I would love for you to stay with us for a few days,” Nieves insisted.

Olivia and Felipe accepted the invitation and unloaded their light luggage to spend a couple of days at the farm before leaving for Havana. That night they had dinner under the grape vine that Mariano had planted with care, because in the tropics the vine did not grow very well; but he knew how to find the ideal microclimate for the vines that his friend Miguel brought him on one of his countless trips.

Olivia and Nieves chatted happily throughout dinner, discovering that they got along very well. Nieves retired early with her son, who had just turned eleven. Olivia also went to bed early to leave the friends alone.

The two men continued talking about politics and at dawn, when they were about to get up from their respective armchairs to go to bed, Mariano confessed to Felipe that he and Nieves slept in separate rooms.

“I don't believe you, Mariano, it's not possible that you don't sleep with your wife. We can see that you are in love. But what happens between you?”

“I love her very much, but I don't dare to take the first step. I'm afraid of offending her and especially of her rejecting me.”

“Mariano, you can't wait forever. You have to act. Tomorrow you have to get into your wife's bed.”

“I'll try it, I've been thinking about it for months.”

Two days later, at dawn they all had breakfast together on the patio under the vine. Nieves had baked bread and Mariano had laid out bananas, avocados, coffee and a jug of freshly poured milk on the table. That last breakfast was a real gathering, as Ángelito had fun playing dominoes with Felipe. It was already nine o'clock when they headed to the stable. And while Felipe got into the horse-drawn carriage, Mariano winked at him.

Felipe smiled after his friend's signal that seemed to indicate that he had finally slept with his wife. And while they were laughing, saying goodbye at the gate of the property, the postman arrived with a letter.

Mariano, after seeing Felipe's horse-drawn carriage disappear through the fence of the property, looked carefully at the letter, carefully tore the envelope, took out the sheet of paper and read its contents slowly. Nieves stared at his face, to discover if it was good or bad news.

“It's a letter from Isabel,” Mariano announced to Nieves.

Santa Clara September 16, 1893

Dear Mariano,

It has been several years since my last letter. I am writing to you and not someone else for me (I learned to read and write thanks to a priest). I hope you are in good health. Thank God, I am quite well. Well, I have had some mishaps that I am going to tell you about now.

I never told you about my son Lucas, who is now seventeen years old. I had him before I met you, after being raped by a foreman on the farm where Amelia, my mother, worked. Do you remember that I told you about the atrocities and injustices that she suffered being a slave? Even my mother never knew about the child. Rogelia raised him, the old fortune teller who also acted as my mother. Lucas is a smart and cheerful boy. He learned the carpentry trade thanks to Tomás, my husband. Tomás stayed with him on your wedding day, that's why you and Nieves haven't met him yet. On that occasion, I did not tell you about Tomás, since we did not yet live together. Luckily, he immediately became attached to the boy. Rogelia, whom I loved so much, died eight years ago and then Tomás came to live with us.

But now my son needs to hide for having insulted a sergeant of the Spanish army. Lucas is a fugitive of the law, but he has done nothing wrong.

I know it's a lot to ask of you, but could he stay with you on your farm? I would be forever grateful.

It will now be seven years since I married Tomás. He is a good man who has always taken care of Lucas like a son, but he is in poor health and at this moment he cannot do anything else for him. Right now, my son is in the parish of Santa Clara. Mosén Román, the one who taught me to write, has hidden him in the basement of the church. But at any moment they could discover him. As you can imagine, he cannot continue there for a long time. Everything else is going well, I continue working at the town inn. I clean the rooms and serve food to the guests. I hope everything is going well for you at the Esperanza farm. I enjoyed going to your wedding. Your wife is very sweet. I hope you are happy. And you’re very nice friends.

A hug for you and Nieves

Isabel

Mariano gave the letter to Nieves. While she read it, she smiled, thinking about how stupid she had been to be jealous of Isabel, who in truth she barely knew. She had talked to her for a while on the wedding day and she really liked her. Mariano and Nieves looked at each other and, without having to talk too much about it, decided that Lucas was going to be the new carpenter of the Esperanza farm.