Felipe
had always been an active man. Despite his age, every day he walked a
good distance. When he lived in Havana, he would walk to the port
with his box of watercolors to paint. He also took a book and a
notebook to read and write. However, as the years went by, he started
to cut out moments of domestic stillness. After his morning walk, he
would sit in the garden where he felt at ease, sometimes reading and
other times contemplating the plants and trees.
One
morning, he closed his eyes and remembered the day he and Olivia went
to the Bonanza estate for the first time. The two stood paralyzed
looking at the façade of what was going to be their house. The iron
gate was dilapidated, the garden destroyed and full of weeds. The
road that led to the door of the house was completely muddy and
covered with fallen trees which they had to move aside to get
through. Some woody stems were rotten, others dry, and the few that
remained standing were smothered by the vigorous vines that climbed
around the bark, fighting to gain the upper hand. Only crumbled walls
remained of the stables and corrals. It was difficult for them to
open the door of the house that had been dislocated by the blows of
the Spanish soldiers looking for independentists. The hallway smelled
of humidity and when they entered the living room and the rooms on
the ground floor, they realized that everything was in ruins: the
window glass was broken, the door hinges were creaking, the walls
were chipped and stained with moisture, the furniture piled up, the
upholstery dingy and the fireplaces blackened by countless layers of
soot. The stairs were missing steps, the roof of the bedrooms had
collapsed in some places and the few pieces of furniture that
remained were damaged.
When
Felipe opened his eyes again that day, after contemplating the bushes
and trees that Olivia and the gardener had planted, he got up to hug
the walnut tree. Then he picked up a sprig of rosemary, put it to his
nose and smelling it he said to himself, “Why are humans so
distracted and we don’t stop to look, smell, and touch the good
things we have?” Closing his eyes and hugging the trees was a game
he played as a child with his father. Sometimes one of the
farm's cats would come up to him and he would pet it. The first time
Mariano saw him with a cat on his lap, he told him, “I can't
believe it. You never petted the cats, you kicked them out!’
"Wisdom
comes with age,” Felipe commented smiling.
Olivia
also enjoyed her home, but she had been strange for several months.
She was losing her memory of the recent past. She started forgetting
chores in the kitchen and the names of things. She no longer knew the
name of the postman, the shopkeeper or who the town doctor was. When
she realized her mistakes, she became angry with herself. Her sweet
character turned sour. One day she begged Felipe, “Help me get out
of here, I want to go home.”
“Olivia,
this is your home! Where do you want to go?”
“They're
spying on me.”
“Come
here, by my side, I will protect you. You have created this garden
from scratch. Those trees are ours, hug them.”
Olivia
wrapped her arms around a tree and little by little she calmed down.
“I
was planning to go to the Esperanza farm to bring them bananas and
avocados. Will you come with me?”
“Yes,
I want to get out of here,” she told him.
“Let's
walk, if you feel like it. Or maybe you prefer to go by car?”
“Better
walking. Wait for me, I'm going to look for my straw hat.”
Since
the first symptoms of Olivia's illness, Felipe tried to take her for
a walk every morning and in the evening he dictated pieces of a story
for her to write. Every night, he also read aloud to her a chapter
from one of her favorite novels. Often in the afternoons, after a
nap, when Olivia opened the sewing box and sat on the patio to mend
socks and tights, Felipe would leave the house again. He left his
wife with Fausta, an old mulatto woman, a war widow, whom they had
given shelter in their house in Havana. She was very affectionate
with Olivia and got along well with the other workers on the farm.
They had never had servants, but since they lived in the country,
they hired a gardener and a cook who also took care of the cleaning.
Felipe
would have liked Mariano to go out more. Since he turned eighty, he
noticed that he was a little sad, he had lost his enthusiasm for the
Catalan social gatherings, and had less interest in politics which is
why he was going to pick him up by car. He would take him for a ride
and on the way back he would invite him to have a snack at the
Bonanza estate, so that Olivia would see him more often and not
forget about him.
Mariano
let his friend take him for a walk, and enjoyed the relaxed sitting
on the patio of the Bonanza estate. The cook always served them a cup
of coffee with pastries and a tray of fruit, but he preferred
lemonade with sugar.
“Come
on, Olivia. Go get Mariano some lemonade.”
Olivia
brought them a pitcher of lemonade and sat down with them again.
“What
are you telling me today, Olivia?” Mariano asked her.
She
began to ramble on about very distant events, carefully remembering
anecdotes from her childhood in the plantation barracks. However, she
often repeated the same things.
One
afternoon when Olivia was busy collecting the clothes hanging in the
sun, she said to the two men, “My Aunt Paca told me that there is a
curse on the women.”
“What
women?”
“The
owner of the mill and her three daughters.”
“What
curse are you talking about?”
“Their
cruelty and meanness towards the black slaves will make their hair
fall out and they will go bald,” Olivia said.
“Your
Aunt Paca was right - they were evil women. Your aunt sang very well,
right? Come on Olivia, tell us about your aunt,” said Felipe.
“I
want to go to the barracks!”
“Olivia,
your aunt is no longer at the sugar mill. Now we all live here, this
is our house. Do you want me to help you fold the clothes?”
“No,
I'm done, now I'm going to give it to . . .” She stayed
silent for a few seconds, searching for Fausta's name in her head. “.
. . to that woman, so she can help me iron it.”
After
a few minutes, they heard Olivia singing and they looked at each
other, happy that she was humming a song from her childhood.
Then
the two friends heard Fausta's loving voice saying to Olivia, “My
Olivia, let's finish the clothes and put them in their place. Can you
help me?”
Felipe
turned on the radio and the news began reporting on the combat of the
first bloody battle of the Spanish Civil War, the Battle of Irun. The
two remained silent for a long time, paying attention to the radio
and thinking about how terrible the fights were from house to house,
killing brothers and neighbors. At the end of the news, Felipe turned
off the radio and said, “The Popular Front is a very heterogeneous
left-wing coalition, as it brings together parties with very
different approaches: Republicans, social democrats, liberals,
socialists, communists and anarchists. They all share the
anti-fascist spirit, but you see, the most radical parties and the
conservatives are starting to throw plates at each other's heads,
like in a marriage.”
“The
only thing missing would be if, due to the disagreements between the
parties on the Red side, the Nationals won the war. It would be a
disaster,” Mariano answered worriedly.
“You
already know that I like to joke. However, speaking seriously, I have
to tell you that I fear for the disagreements of the Reds, but now
what worries me most is the support that Germany and Italy are giving
to the Nationals.”
“Don't
say that Felipe. I hope the aid that the Reds receive from the Soviet
Union and Mexico is enough. Furthermore, I have heard that many units
of foreign volunteers are arriving, right?”
“Yes,
the international brigades and civil militias help a lot and their
courage is to be admired, but poor people fight with obsolete
weapons. I just hope that together they manage to save Spain from
fascism,” Felipe answered.
“The
Second Spanish Republic was an illusory attempt to overcome the delay
of two centuries in record time. The initial good intentions ran into
the intransigence of some and the impatience of others. Catalonia, a
stronghold of the new regime, suffered harshly from the consequences
of its failure. I already saw myself with a Spanish federal state and
within a Catalan Republic,” said Mariano.
“Yes,
you are right, Catalonia has suffered a double failure, but don't
think about it. There will come a day when your beloved land will
once again achieve the autonomy it had: elections, its own
government, a President of the Generalitat, the police officers, and
Catalan will be taught again in schools.”
“Let's
hope,” Mariano said sadly.
“Hopefully!
Wars are long, I don't know if we will be able to see how this all
ends.”
“In
this world or in the next world, I hope with all my soul to celebrate
with you the victory of democracy," Felipe told him, smiling.
Another
afternoon, while they were having a drink under the vine on the
Esperanza farm, Mariano began to complain about his ailments.
“I
won't come to see you again if you complain so much," Felipe
scolded.
“Do
you mean I'm complaining too much?”
“Yes,
especially when we are at your house, instead of Olivia's yard. I
know that your back hurts and that you walk slowly, but you have to
remember that you and I are still alive and we stand on our own,
while there are people who at our age lie still in a bed or in the
cemetery.”
“You
are always so optimistic," Mariano replied.
“Mariano,
do you remember my philosophy of life?” Felipe asked him.
“Yes,
one of the first days we met, you told me about the fundamental
points of your good life. Let's see if I remember!”
“Come
on, your brain still works well!”
“One:
we must appreciate what we have been given, without feeling unhappy
when comparing ourselves with those who are richer or with those who
have been luckier than us.” He thought for a moment and returned to
the list - “Two: we have to fight for peaceful ways so that there
are not so many inequalities in our land . . . and three . . . .”
“I'll
help you, three: we must surround ourselves with good people, like
you, and stay away from those who are selfish or evil," Felipe
exclaimed.
“I
don't know if I have been that good, but I haven't been evil,”
Mariano answered.
“For
me, you have been the best friend I have ever had. You have always
been and continue to be an admirable person.”
“Don't
be so serious man, I'm not as good as you say!”
Mariano
answered him, blushing a little.
“I
would add point number four: we must be humble, learning from others,
both directly and through books. Books have saved my life. Without
them, I would already be dead or a jaded old man. Reading makes us
overcome jealousy, envy, hatred, heartbreak, failures, selfishness,
misfortunes, wars, inequalities, injustices, mourning, illnesses . .
. and above all the fear of death.”
“How
you exaggerate!” - and after a minute of silence Mariano asked him,
“Are you afraid of death, Felipe?”
“Yes,
like all people, but more than fear, I am curious to know what the
other world will be like.”
“I'm
really scared. Every time I go to Las Ovas or Pinar del Río, when I
hear the bells ringing for a death as I’m passing near the church,
I breathe a sigh of relief, thinking that fortunately they don't ring
for me,” Mariano exclaimed.
“Don't
be pessimistic. Why don't we do something?”
“Let's
see what you have in store this time?”
“Let
us leave it in writing that, when we die, we want to be buried
without ceremonies, that the bells not ring to death and that we
would like the people who have loved us to gather on our farm, to
celebrate what we did together, all in the outdoors, with music and
good food and drink.”
“You
surprise me, but as always I agree with you. It would be a good
farewell. I'm going to think about it,” Mariano told him, smiling.
Neither
Mariano nor Felipe managed to see the political events that took
place in Spain and Cuba during the following years. In 1939, the
defeat of the Red Army was colossal, the last Spanish cities that
supported the Republic fell one after another. Francisco Franco took
power, a dictatorship was established, and a large part of the
Republicans and their families had to flee to the south of France or
Mexico. Repression, the repeal of rights and the lack of freedom in
all fields, censorship, the abolition of political parties, the
deprivation of free elections, and the prohibition of Catalan, Basque
and Galician languages. This lasted until the death of the dictator,
on November 20, 1975.
In
Cuba, in 1940, Batista was elected president in relatively free and
fair elections. During his official mandate, he approved various
social reforms and began drafting Cuba's most liberal and democratic
Constitution to date. But neither the liberal reforms nor Batista's
optimism lasted long. He resigned after the 1944 elections and handed
power to Ramón Grau San Martín. However, corruption and
incompetence soon triumphed. Batista, aware of his former popularity,
probably made a deal with the American mafia, promising to give them
carte blanche in Cuba in exchange for a percentage of what they won
from gambling, and prepared to return. On March 10, 1952, three
months before the elections that Batista seemed likely to lose, he
carried out a military coup. Harshly condemned by opposition
politicians within Cuba, but recognized by the United States, Batista
soon made it clear that his second foray into politics was not going
to be as progressive as the first. He suspended several
constitutional guarantees, including the right to strike.
After
Batista's coup, a revolutionary circle was formed in Havana around
the charismatic figure of Fidel Castro, a lawyer by profession and an
excellent orator, who was going to run in the canceled 1952
elections. With the support of his younger brother Raúl and his
faithful lieutenant Abel Santamaría, Fidel saw no alternative but to
use force to free Cuba from its dictator and on January 1, 1959, he
overthrew the Batista dictatorship. Cuba became a socialist state and
nationalizations and expropriations were carried out. In the sixties,
the Esperanza and Bonanza farms, like most of the properties on the
island, were expropriated.
Gabriel,
Mariano and Olivia's faithful servant, was a long-lived man. After
the death of his masters, he left the little white house and went to
live in Las Ovas after buying a home with the money that Mariano had
left him as an inheritance. At seventy-five years old, Gabriel
settled outside the farm for the first time and started a new life.
He married María del Rosario, a mulatto woman from Pinar del Rio.
One day, Gabriel timidly proposed to her and she jumped on his neck
and covered him with kisses. María del Rosario was fifteen years
younger than Gabriel, she was a plump and smiling woman. They had
known each other for many years because every month, since she had
become a widow, she brought a cart full of firewood to the farm. He
lived peacefully with María del Rosario until he was ninety years
old. He died at home a few years before Batista's military coup and
Fidel Castro's Revolution. Leaning on a cane, he used to go to the
Esperanza farm to visit the children and grandchildren of his
masters, whom he loved as if they were his own.
EPILOGUE
Following
the wishes of Mariano, who enjoyed music and dancing, Felipe hired a
trio of musicians and sent a card to all of Mariano's family,
friends, and acquaintances informing them of his friend's death and
inviting them to a snack in the garden of the Esperanza farm on the
following Saturday. Gabriel and Lucas placed several tables under the
vine where the bunches of grapes hung ripe, ready to be picked.
Gabriel cut some of them and left them on the white tablecloths of
the tables that Lucas was setting.
Felipe,
Olivia, and Nieves dressed up in their best clothes and went up to
the stage, where the musicians were preparing the instruments.
“Ladies and gentlemen, you have had the luck and honor of meeting
Mariano Defaus Moragas. Now together we are going to say goodbye to
him,” Felipe said.
“We
will talk about him, but not with sadness,” said Olivia, reading
the text from a folded paper that she took out of her pocket.’
“We
will talk about what he enjoyed, about the people he loved, those he
didn't love, what he did and what he felt, but never with sadness,”
Nieves added.
“And
little by little Mariano will be so much ours that it will not be
necessary for us to talk about him to remember him. He will be a
gesture, a word, a taste, a flowing look,” Felipe exclaimed.
At
that moment, the fireworks exploded and the musicians with their
guitars, maracas, and percussions began to play music - the popular
Cuban music that Mariano liked the most.
Gabriel
and the cook served good food and drinks for everyone. Lucas helped
them as he laughed and cried at the same time. Mariano's
grandchildren ran around the patio, while Nieves, Felipe, and Olivia
talked about him with each of the guests.
That
party was remembered for a long time, because those who attended said
goodbye to the deceased in an unusual way - instead of grieving, they
sang and danced to say goodbye, between smiles and tears.
Author's
Note
The
Cuban Cousins
Mariano's
name had been dancing through my head since I was a child. In the
summer, in the afternoons while everyone was taking a nap, I used to
search the dresser drawers in the bedroom of Francisco Defaus Marés,
my maternal grandfather. The drawer that stimulated my most curiosity
was the first one, where there were notarial documents, which were
mostly wills. I would get on a chair and take out the papers.
I
was excited to read stories and those documents contained many. Of
the oldest ones, from the 18th century, I understood almost nothing
because the ink was faded and the handwriting was twisted and
indecipherable; however, those from the 19th century were written
with clearer handwriting and were easier to read. In one from the
beginning of the 19th century, a certain Mariano Defaus Segarra
appeared. But the one that caught my attention the most was a will
from 1887 in which my great-grandfather Francisco and his siblings,
Mariano, María, and Isidro Defaus Moragas, were mentioned.
Everything went to the universal heir and the other children were
left with very little. Teresa Moragas, the wife, was left with
nothing. In other notarial papers from 1898, the year José Defaus
Ballesté died, Mariano's name and that of his brothers also
appeared.
At
the beginning of the sixties, when I was five or six years old, I got
sick every now and then with angina and had to stay in bed for
several days, so I made up extraordinary stories. My favorites were
trips across the seas; my bed was my ship. When I rowed my boat with
a mast, I couldn't have imagined that in the last century a brother
of my great-grandfather had gone to sea.
In
my immediate family, there were neither travelers nor adventurers. We
had all been, and continue to be, quiet and sedentary people. For
centuries, from what I have been able to find out, most of my
ancestors were born and died in the town of Malgrat. Until a few
months ago, no one suspected that one of them embarked and went
overseas. However, in the Defaus house there was no document that
attested to this. Nobody told us about the relative who went to
Cuba.
At
eighteen, I left the town to study at the University in Barcelona,
and at twenty-one I moved to Italy. For a long time I forgot about my
ancestors, until one day, when I was about fifty years old and still
living abroad, I wrote a story about an episode that my father, who
at that time was a widower and over ninety years old, told me about
my mother's grandparents.
At
the end of February 2023, I received a message from María Rosa Comas
Defaus, one of my cousins, who lives in Malgrat, telling me that she
had met Jordi Defaus, another cousin of ours, on the street. Jordi
told M. Rosa that a Cuban girl had written him a message on her
social networks, telling him that we had common ancestors. I wrote
impatiently to Jordi.
My
cousin told me that the Cuban girl, Lilién Catalá Defaus, was the
great-great-granddaughter of our great-grandfather's brother and that
she was moving the matter of her ancestor from Malgrat, to obtain
papers for the expatriation of her mother Lidia and her sisters
Elena, Nelida, and Felicita. I immediately wrote to her through her
social networks:
“Hello,
I am Josefina Privat Defaus, a cousin of Jordi Defaus. I was born in
Malgrat, but I have lived in Italy for many years. Through Jordi I
have learned that we have common ancestors. I am very excited that
Mariano Defaus Moragas, your mother's great-grandfather, was the
brother of Francisco Defaus Moragas, my great-grandfather (also
Jordi's). I didn't know that a member of our family had gone to
Cuba.”
“Hello,
I'm happy to meet you. Oh! It must be late in Italy, there is a time
difference.”
“Don't
worry, it's not late, it's ten at night, plus I'm on permanent
vacation, I retired a year ago.”
“How
nice that you wrote to me! Here it is five in the afternoon. Jordi
has been special to me. I was very excited to meet you and now the
same thing happens to me with you.”
“Yes,
Jordi is very kind, he told me something about your
great-great-grandfather Mariano, but I would like to know more.”
“Well,
you are going to love the story, I am going to tell it to you:
Mariano Defaus arrived in Cuba at the age of 17 in 1873 and… when
Fidel Castro's revolution triumphed, Mariano's family lost the
mansion and the lands, when they were expropriated by the new
government's law.”
“Are
there many descendants of Mariano in Cuba?”
“The
Defaus family is large, but the Defaus surname is unique in Cuba. All
the Defaus in the country are family…”
“I
can't believe it and we don't know anything.”
“I
can't wait to tell my mother and my aunts, who are Mariano's
great-granddaughters, about you.”
“I'm
also dying to talk to my brothers about you.”
“I
have learned from Jordi that the house where Mariano was born still
exists.”
“Yes,
but many renovations have been made, I think the façade is from the
first years of the twentieth century.”
“I
am glad that the house remains in the family because it has a very
great sentimental value.”
“We
still have a very old wooden virgin, I will send you a photo.”
“I
would love to see it. Always keep it. Memories are invaluable.”
“Mariano
was very brave, walking away from his family at the age of
seventeen.”
“I
imagine how much he must have missed his mother's hug, the company of
his brothers and sisters. The sea that he loved so much . . . ”
“Do
you know why he left Malgrat?”
“Mariano
told his children that he came to Cuba because he did not want to
enlist in the army. I suppose that in a certain way he did it to
preserve his life.”
“Perhaps
there is another reason, it seems strange to me that Mariano, the
first-born and heir to the Defaus family properties, went to Cuba.”
“I
don't know . . . we'll try to find out together. This search began
because I wanted my mother to recover her Spanish nationality, which
corresponds to her by blood, so that she can travel and visit her
sister Nélida and the family that resides in the United States . . .
And it turns out that I ended up finding something more valuable.”
“I'm
going to ask my brothers and cousins, see if they know anything else.
I'll write to you if something comes up.”
“Thank
you. I have managed to connect with the family in the past and I
think we will be able to maintain communication and get to know each
other. That makes me very happy.”
“Me
too.”
“I
have contacted the Malgrat archive, with María Teresa Gibert, a
woman who has helped me a lot to obtain the certificates that attest
to Mariano's Catalan origin.”
“I
think my sister knows Maria Teresa, she is a cousin of her
daughter-in-law. I'm going to ask her since I have lived in Italy for
more than forty-five years, but every summer I return to Malgrat. In
July I will go to see M.Teresa, I want to meet her.”
“Very
good. For now a big hug.”
“Yes,
we'll continue talking, another hug from me.”
That
same night I went to look at my social media and found a message from
Lidia, Lilién's mother. She also told me that she was looking for
members of her great-grandfather's Catalan family and that she was
sending messages to everyone with the last name Defaus.
All
my life I have been complaining that my family has been monotonous,
in terms of genealogy. On both my father's and mother's sides, all my
ancestors came from the same town - Malgrat. For centuries, they
intermarried and never left the region. That's why it was exciting
for me to discover that we had family in Cuba.
“I
have Cuban cousins and no one told me about it!” I said
happily to my husband that night before we went to bed.
The
next day, I called my sister. Upon the death of my parents, she
inherited the mansion and all the papers of the Defaus family.
“María
Carmen, as far as you know, do we have a Defaus family in Cuba?”’
“I
don't think so, our mother would have told us.”
“Well,
a Cuban girl wrote to me, telling me that she descends from the
brother of our great-grandfather Francisco,” I told her.
“I
can't believe it! Are you sure that girl isn't confused?”
“The
girl has evidence that Mariano Defaus Moragas arrived in Havana in
1873 and that he came from Malgrat.”
“This
sounds fishy! If everything is true, Mariano's story could be a
secret that our family has hidden well and didn't want to reveal to
anyone,” my sister said.
“We
have to find out!”
That
same day, María Carmen went to our childhood house, which had been
closed for several years, to see if she could find any clue to solve
this enigma. Her son and daughter-in-law helped her. At the bottom of
a brass box on a shelf in the dining room display case they found a
photograph of a man of about thirty years old, with deep eyes, light
eyes, a beard and mustache, short and wavy hair, perhaps reddish,
with a dark jacket, a white shirt and bowtie. That sepia-colored
portrait had been taken by a photographer from Havana, in a
photography studio called J. A. Suarez and company, at 64 O'Reilly
Street. There was no date on the photo. She and I deduced that it was
Mariano Defaus Moragas. Who else could it be?
“Why
didn't anyone realize that the photograph came from Havana?” I
asked my sister.
“They
had not noticed it because it was hidden at the bottom of the box
where our grandparents kept the photos and over the years those who
knew Mariano's story died,”
my sister said.
She
also found the will from 1887 in which José Defaus Ballesté left
his assets to his children. It was the same will that I had leafed
through as a child.
I
wrote to Lilién again telling her about our findings and she told me
that her research had also obtained good results, thanks to María
Teresa Gibert, a volunteer from the group Friends
of the Malgrat archive.
I
did not know María Teresa; however, it did not take long for me to
meet her through the messages she sent me on my social networks:
“Hello,
I'm María Teresa, you don't know me but I'm from Malgrat and I know
your sister and your sister-in-law. I am a volunteer at the town
Archive and I love genealogical studies. We have a common bond: your
Cuban cousins. Lilién wrote to me asking for information about
Mariano Defaus Moragas, her mother's great-grandfather. I could have
given her instructions on how to move, as I always do, but she was so
kind and so polite that I had to say: I'll take care of it. I learned
from Lilién that you are writing to each other.”
“Hello,
nice to meet you. Yes, I'm writing to Lilién. And she told me that
you found what you were looking for.”
“It
was difficult for me because when Mariano was born (1856) there was
no civil registry and I had to consult the parish books, but
unfortunately many were burned during the Civil War.”
“What
bad luck! And what did you do?”
“Mossen
Salvador de Malgrat, helped me, telling me, “consult the archives
of the diocese of Girona. If Mariano was baptized, he should also be
confirmed and that is done by the bishop.’”
“What
a good idea! And you got it?”
“Yes,
Mariano was confirmed by the bishop of Girona, I also found him in
the census of January 1873, the last year in which he lived with his
family in Malgrat. In the following years he no longer appears.”
“I'm
glad you found it.”
“But
the cousins also asked for something else, which was the most
difficult to obtain: a certificate from the court declaring that in
those years Spain did not have a civil registry. In Malgrat they
didn't want to do it for me, I had to ask Madrid for it.”
“Oh
my God, so much paperwork!”
“Luckily,
now they have everything. They can now apply for Spanish
nationality.”
“You
have done a great job. The Cuban cousins will be grateful to
you all their lives.”
“I
don't know why I embarked on that matter, something inside me told me
that they needed my help.”
“You
did very well. I also believe that we have to follow our instincts
and help others.”
I
met María Teresa personally in the summer of 2023 and she told me
that she really put great effort into requesting and achieving what
seemed impossible. Once the four copies of the confirmation
certificate were obtained, they were sent to Lidia, one of Mariano's
great-granddaughters, not by mail but through a Cuban person who was
in Madrid at that time, since the cousins were afraid that the
documents would get lost in the meanderings of the Cuban post
offices. The cousins submitted the request to the Spanish
consulate in Havana, but are still waiting for a response.
Lilién
is a thirty-something Cuban woman full of enthusiasm. It was she who
created a WhatsApp group, to bring together all the Defaus scattered
around the world. First there were six of us, Lilién's three aunts,
her mother, her and me, then the Catalan cousins, Jordi, M.Rosa,
Teresa and Montse and other Cuban cousins, Mariela, Idania, Dinorah,
Drialis, Nydia, Amy, joined us. Wendy, Adilen . . . and some cousins:
Emilio, Osvaldo, Juan and Gilberto. Now there are twenty-five of us
in the group, all descendants of the spouses Teresa Moragas Gibert
and José Defaus Ballesté, married in the seventies of the
nineteenth century. Most of them live in Cuba; however, there are
also family members who live in the United States and Catalonia.
Sometimes it is a bit complicated to talk to so many people. At first
it was dizzying when we all wrote at the same time, but now we have
learned and we are more organized. María Teresa Gibert is also part
of our group, and after several genealogical studies she discovered
that she is also a distant cousin of ours.
The
day I wrote to Lilién I knew that there was a story to tell in my
life. Each of the Cuban cousins have been giving me stories and
anecdotes that their ancestors passed from mouth to mouth. María
Teresa, consulting the archive for hours and hours, has helped me
reconstruct the life, customs and most important events of some
inhabitants of Malgrat at the end of the 19th century.
In
the WhatsApp group, in addition to the stories of our parents and
grandparents (Cubans and Catalans), old photographs of Malgrat, Las
Ovas, Pinar del Río and the Sarrá pharmacy in Havana, we have
shared videos of the area where the Esperanza estate stood (today
only the mansion's large water tank remains) and images of the Las
Ovas station where Mariano took the train, which unfortunately a few
years ago was destroyed by a tornado, songs by the Cuban singer Rigo
Duarte describing the town of Las Ovas, old postcards, municipal
documents, funeral reminders, etc.
I
don't know how to tell you why I started writing Mariano's story;
however, I know that something inside me prompted me to do it. The
reason may be contained in the words of a character in a book by Care
Santos, a contemporary Catalan writer: Novels
serve to bring back the dead, to reunite us with everything we lost.
You
may wonder why I wrote the story in Spanish and not in Catalan.
Here are some reasons: not everyone to whom I dedicated the story
understands Catalan, and Mariano, from the age of seventeen, without
forgetting his mother tongue, adopted Spanish as his own language and
in my imagination I heard him pronounce the sweet Cuban Spanish.
All my primary and higher studies were done during the time of the
Franco dictatorship. That is why it is easier for me to write in
Spanish, which is the official language. Catalan was never taught to
us at school. In any case, Catalan is my native language and I will
continue to love it all my life; You have to know that as soon as I
finish the translation of this story into Italian, I will start the
Catalan version.
For
several months, every morning I have woken up early thinking about
Mariano, his parents, brothers, wife, friends, etc., and after
breakfast I have sat down at my desk to write down his exploits. Once
a chapter was finished, I sent it to the Defaus cousins' WhatsApp
group, about one every two weeks.
Mariano
and the characters around him (some real and others from my fantasy)
have returned, they have accompanied me week after week. I hope that
you, those of you who have finished reading this story, have also
been captivated.
