Puerto Bagdad: Shipwrecked Dreams

By Cornelia Levy

By the waters of the Gulf of Mexico, sleeps Puerto Bagdad, a magical port town that would soon be lost to history.  In the summer of 1855 a ship approaching the Mexican port loses its battle against a fierce storm and sinks into the sea.  Tomas Lopez, a twelve-year-old peasant, spots a child among the wreckage and takes her to his mother who calls the child Manuela and raises her as her own.  Twelve years later, the Confederacy arrives for trade of arms and supplies in the American Civil War and brings with it wealth, corruption and political strife. In this setting Manuela comes of age. Even though the shipwrecked girl goes to school, makes friends, and delights in the presence of ships from faraway lands, she never quite fits in and struggles with conflicts between her dreams and reality.  Federico Tamariz, a handsome young man recently arrived at the port, arouses Manuela’s passions but abandons her at a critical time.  An unwelcome sexual awakening by the river turns the child into a woman.  The end of the Civil War marks the beginning of the port’s decay. A hidden music box breaks the silence of the shipwrecked girl’s past.  Time and destiny determine Manuela’s future.’

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cornelia Levy
• Release date: Nov 27, 2016
• ISBN: 9781532323096

Book preview

Table of Contents

Puerto Bagdad: | Shipwrecked Dreams

For | My Mother

LA   GOLONDRINA

Chapter  1

Chapter  2

Chapter  3

Chapter  4

Chapter  5

Chapter  6

Chapter  7

Chapter  8

Chapter  9

Chapter  10

Chapter  11

Chapter  12

Chapter  13

Chapter  14

Chapter  15

Am I happy?

Chapter  16

Chapter  17

Chapter  18

"Hombres necios que acusáis

Chapter  19

Chapter  20

Chapter  21

Chapter  22

Chapter  23

Ships from the capitals of Europe line up close to shore

Acknowledgments

Puerto Bagdad:

Shipwrecked Dreams

––––––––

Cornelia Levy's enchanting tale of the abiding devotion between mothers and daughters and the deep roots of family, home, and identity is filled with magic and humanity. A trip to a little known moment in history, Puerto Bagdad reminds us that the ties that bind are indestructible by time and that love is the ultimate power.

~ C F Yetman,  Author of  The Roses Underneath

––––––––

Puerto Bagdad: Shipwrecked Dreams is a moving story of love and loss, of history and hope. Levy's language and characters will stay with her readers long after they turn the last page.  

~ Bret Anthony Johnston author of Remember Me Like This and

Corpus Christi Stories, Director of Creative Writing at Harvard 

University

––––––––

A fearless heroine animates the passages of Puerto Bagdad. Rescued from the sea as a child and raised on a rancho, Manuela comes of age during the American Civil War, negotiating the demands of the Confederacy with the affections of combatant brothers. Heartache ensues, as well as a radical form of freedom. A riveting debut.

~Stephanie Elizondo Griest, author of Mexican Enough

Copyright 2016 by Cornelia Y Levy

Print 978-1-5323-2309-6

eBook 978-1-5323-2309-6

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Book Cover Design: Harper By Design

Cover Photograph: Tiffany

Interior Format: The Killion Group

/Users/jenniferlitteken/Desktop/Untitled-1.jpg

For

My Mother

LA   GOLONDRINA

A Donde Irá veloz y fatigada

Where will thou go so swiftly yet so weary

La golondrina que de aquí se va;

Beloved Swallow as you leave this land

Oh! si en el viento se hallará extraviada

Oh! If in flight, you were to lose direction

Buscando abrigo y no lo encontrará

Searching for shelter you may not succeed

~ Niceto Zamacois

Spain 1862

Chapter  1

/Users/jenniferlitteken/Desktop/scene break.jpg

Bagdad, Tamaulipas 1859

"Put me down," the ten-year old girl pounded on her brother’s chest.

Tomás pressed forward across the yard to the porch where his mother sat. He released he irate girl who kicked him in the shin, then threw her muddy huaraches on the ground. He walked to the woodshed, a grin on his face.

Elena stared at her daughter. One of the dress sleeves was torn and her skirt smudged with dirt. What happened, Manuela? Did you get into a fight again?

Manuela pushed her golden curls from her eyes. That Pedro is a chicken. He told me my parents are monster fish that live at the bottom of the sea. He said I don’t look like the other girls, and I’m ugly. Well, he won’t bully me again. I smacked him in the face, and he ran home crying.

He will do it again as long as it upsets you. Don’t believe ridiculous stories.

Manuela snorted and skipped to the woodshed. Tell me about the day you found me.  She spit on her hand and cleaned her scraped knees as she waited for an answer. 

Tomás continued splitting wood. The cool breeze of autumn played willfully with his sweat.

You saw a large ship, my ship, and you waved at us.

Her brother picked up another tree branch, but the girl stood between him and the hatchet.

The wind and rain poured from the sky and woke the angry sea. Yes?

As she sat on the porch, Elena tried to focus on the potatoes she was peeling. Every time Manuela asked about that day, the mother’s soul filled with fear. Her love was not enough for her daughter. Another claim lay before hers.

I need to cut this wood before the cold winds get here, Manuela. I’ve told you the story many times. I’ve forgotten parts. 

I remember.

So you tell it.

Manuela stood in front of him, her hands on her hips. I was waiting, and you took me home.

Tomás stared at the lanky girl with the obstinate green eyes. That stubborn look had not changed in five years. Five years! Had it been that long?

Manuela loved Mamá Elena but dreamed about the mother she lost at sea. Tomás understood and often hauled her with him to the beach where he had found her. They’d set off from Rancho Soledad early to avoid the summer heat and see what they could find. As they approached the port, dawn spread its wings over the waters of the Gulf of Mexico. Daylight dabbed color on brownish yellow dunes and the clear blue ocean stretching for miles and miles into infinity.

Together, they watched as fishermen pushed their barges into the sea. When a new ship arrived, they sprinted towards the beach to get a closer view. Excited, Manuela waved to unrecognizable dots on the deck. 

There had been a storm, Tomás told her as they approached the beach. "About a mile out at sea lay the remains of a large ship.

My ship! 

...broken up on the sandbar beneath, her brother said with a sigh. I raced towards the beach to get a closer view of the disaster. A sandpiper took flight and I walked quietly to the back of the dune, Tomás said, his voice low.

Manuela grabbed his leg. "And there I was! I ran into the crashing waves, tripped on my camisole and fell in the water. ‘Mamman!’ I called."

Tomás sat by the water. Like an actor on a stage, he crawled towards his sister. You could not understand me so I thumped, thumped, thumped on my chest, every time repeating  Tomas." Flipping his arms like a dolphin, he flopped on the sand.

You looked so silly, but I was too scared to laugh. I ate your berries and a muffin for I was hungry, and you took me home.

Tomás, however, didn’t tell her about the music box he found at the port. No survivors, he was told. Underneath a pile of debris, he found an ornate box that played music when he opened it. By accident Tomás pushed a button that released a drawer in a lower compartment. Pictures and letters unperturbed by the sea, begged to be left alone. He could not read, and Manuela would cry if she saw the pictures, so he placed the music box in his knapsack. That would be his secret, but not for long. Mamá Elena knew about it. The music box is Manuela’s past, she told him. But his heart would not listen.

You looked like an angel when Tomás found you, Mamá Elena told Manuela as they sat on the porch. Your eyes so green filled with tears, your golden hair a mess. A shining object hanging from your neck looked like a relic and had a picture.

"Mamman!" the ten-year old girl said as she caressed the necklace she only took off when she went to sleep. 

You started to cry. I picked you up, kissed your curls and thought of the daughter I had always prayed for. Then I hummed a cradle song.

I remember, Manuela said. "Señora Santa Ana, por qué llora el niño..." she sang. 

"Sleep, mi Manuela, I whispered. And that’s how you got your name."

Manuela was seven when she first met Fermín, Mamá Elena’s oldest son. On a morning when summer heat had left its mark on the premises, Elena sat on the porch steps braiding her little girl’s hair. Stay still, Manuela. I’m almost done. She tied one more ribbon and kissed the child.  

Like a little bird seeking freedom, the shipwrecked child ran down the steps in search for a playmate. She immediately found Pinto, a scruffy looking hound, one ear black, and the other white. She pulled him to her and became engrossed in brushing Pinto’s fur, giving him advice in that strange language Elena could not understand. Pinto yelped in protest and took off. Manuela whizzed in and out of trees and underbrush, laughing, scolding, and chasing after the dog.

A young man, about seventeen, sauntered from behind the bushes. His clothes looked dusty, his feet were muddy and long black tresses covered his sweaty brow and melancholy eyes.

Elena rushed to the son she hadn’t seen in six years. Fermín, you came home. 

The boy cleared his throat, took off his hat and sat by his mother. He pulled a wad of bills from his shirt pocket. For you and Tomás.

Elena took the money and kissed her son’s swollen hands, bruised by the brutal work in the cotton fields. "Gracias, hijo. Papá would be so proud."

Manuela came out of hiding taunted by a saucy butterfly that grazed her cheek. Fermín stared at the strange girl. "What is she doing here?" 

Elena smiled. "Tomás found her on the beach. La tormenta took her family."

What was he thinking? She’ll bring trouble. Her people are taking our land.  

It’s not her fault. She’s only a child.

Fermín’s voice frightened Manuela so she hid behind Elena’s rocking chair where Pinto had curled up by her feet.

Elena opened her arms. "Come here, muñequita." Manuela sat by the rocking chair and patted Pinto’s fur.

We can’t let a stranger bring shame on our family, Fermin said. She has to go, Mamá.

His mother picked up a basket of corn and beans and started for the door. Go wash up, son. You look tired.

Manuela held onto Elena’s skirt and stared at the boy. Fermín stared back.

Leave us alone, he muttered. Go back to your people. I won’t let you harm Mamá Elena and Tomás. 

Time made its nocturnal rounds and turned into a new decade. Gone were the fishing shacks. Now the port was filled with people from far away lands and crowded with bars.

There’s a war, and soldiers with guns are keeping watch on the other side of the river, Tomás told his sister. Ships from far away places are anchored beyond the sand bar. Stay away from the port.

Twelve-year-old Manuela heard the warning but would not be deterred. She approached the embarcadero and looked around to see if Tomás had followed her. The sun had set and sleepy clouds floated aimlessly across the horizon. In the distance, the masts of ships that lined the Río Grande came into view. Caught by the spellbinding rhythm of waves that lapped the land, Manuela gazed into the past.

A ship cruising the peaceful waters of the Gulf of Mexico! On its deck, a young child clinging to her mother!

Je t’aime, Mamman Manuela called in a language she had not forgotten. "I can almost see you watching over me like you did when the storm surprised us. She touched the chain hanging from her neck. Stay with me tonight." 

From the shadows of the solitary sea, the face in the locket seemed to hear her daughter’s plea.

Chapter  2

/Users/jenniferlitteken/Desktop/scene break.jpg

Bagdad 1864

Though the sun had risen in the sky, a roving breeze cooled the ground aided by the shade of swaying mesquite trees and chirping birds. Manuela looked out the window and her heart was filled with excitement. Most of the time she secretly escaped to the beach even though Tomas discouraged her from going alone. But today Mamá Elena needed her and Tomás was at work.

Manuela found her mother sitting on the porch in the old unstained rocker. Though only in her early thirties, Elena had been marked by the rough life in the Rancherias and the American war that had robbed her of her beloved husband. But her weather-beaten face was tempered by the softness of her large brown eyes. A smile escaped Mamá Elena’s lips when she saw her daughter.

We better get started, Mamá, before the morning heat makes you tired. We have a long way to go.

Each carrying a bundle, mother and daughter headed to the port.

It was business as usual at the port. Confederate soldiers engaged in trading of carbines, pistols and ammunitions with business agents from European and American ships anchored four miles from shore.

Not far from the beach, a Confederate officer paced up and down the dock as workers loaded large crates into military carts. Careful there, he barked.

Hidden behind the dunes, Fermín watched as the campesinos worked, slaves to the money needed to feed their families.

A foreign trader approached the Confederate officer. The shipment my company promised will be delivered tonight. I hope your government has raised the funds.

Our money is as good as our honor, the officer said. We need the ammunitions. Conflict is escalating fast.

A recently arrived vessel unloaded its passengers into waiting dinghies.

Swimming close by, smiling señoritas playfully avoided the advances of love-smitten men from far-away lands. Seventeen-year-old Federico Tamaríz, knapsack in hand, strode into town. His clothes needed pressing and his flaming red hair could have used a trim, but the boy’s eyes shone with the excitement of one who had just reached the Promised Land. 

Along the muddy sidewalks, men whispered at corners striking deals with undesirable riffraff. Federico didn’t notice them. He had no money and needed a job, so he focused on a man who looked and acted like the boss. Need a worker, Mister? You could use a good strong arm. 

The shrewd man adjusted his spectacles and looked at the boy. Why should I hire you?

"I’ll work hard and don’t need much pay. Come on, Señor. You won’t be sorry. I can do the work of two. Just watch me." He picked up a bale of cotton as if he were lifting a feather pillow and placed it in a different wagon. 

The portly businessman shouted at a worker. Hey, you, be careful with that crate. Annoyed, he turned to his foreman. Watch these animals, Chucho. That’s what I pay you to do. 

Chucho walked over to the troubled area. His presence commanded the workers’ respect. Although he held a position of power, his bulging muscles and callous hands worked as hard as those of his men. 

Federico continued loading crates into the wagon. His confident gait foretold that nothing and no one would deter him from his purpose. "Well, Señor? Do I get some work?"

You willing to leave this place, boy? I go where opportunity calls.

No man has a hold on me, Mister. I’m free to go where I choose.

Chucho, take the boy to the dock. Let’s see what he’s made of.

"Si patrón. Come on, muchacho. There’s much work to be done." 

As they made their way to the beach, Federico watched Mexican workers load cotton into shallow boats.

Trading cotton makes people rich, Chucho told him, and everyone wants to make money. Is that why you came?

Federico shook his head. No. I worked the docks in Spain. When a ship came into my town, I offered my services to the captain, thinking we sailed for the Arabian port in the Middle East. We stopped in a few ports before I found out the ship was coming here instead. 

You came to the right place. Folks from all over the world seek their fortunes in Bagdad.  

This Bagdad holds the promise of a new life for me, Federico said. I’ve got plans.

Chucho laughed. 

Two boys put up a large poster by the cargo area that read:      

NEW SHOW FROM THE BEST SALOONS IN PARIS!

A crowd of sweaty workers, gamblers and recently arrived tourists stood around whistling at the poses of scantily dressed ladies. Federico smiled as the embarrassed boys lowered their heads and left. 

Loud sighs and whistles from a small crowd got Federico’s attention. Then he saw her. 

Thirteen-year-old Manuela was walking along the beach with Mamá Elena.   Dressed in a burlap skirt and beautifully embroidered blouse, she wore a necklace of wild flowers. Her golden hair pinned up with what looked like a clothespin, gave her an impish look.

Taking off her shoes, Manuela ran to the shore and sank her feet into the soothing sand. Her hair flowed freely and her tanned complexion imbibed the caresses of a scorching sun as she splashed in the waves that welcomed the child the sea had long ago spit onto its shores.

Federico couldn’t take his eyes off this fascinating creature, neither afraid nor self-conscious. 

Not far behind, Elena tried to keep pace with her daughter. Though she looked tired, a mother’s love transfigured her appearance as she watched Manuela.

Look Mamá. Ships. Manuela ran to the end of the dock and stared at the vessels. Mamman, the shipwrecked child whispered.

"Bon jour, mademoiselle. A French soldier tried to grab her. I kiss you, oui? Manuela ducked. 

Federico clenched his fists ready for action. Chucho grabbed the boy’s arm. "This is not your fight, muchacho. Let it go."

As if to prove the foreman right, Manuela kicked the man who tried to caress her.

Sailors milling around the dock formed a circle around the girl and chanted, I kiss your beauty, in mocking tones.

Elena placed herself between her daughter and the men. "Bestias! She is only a child."  A sailor pushed her aside and she