Candela

By Flor Fernandez Barrios

CANDELA. Its the name Caridad hears called out at night. Candela. Her own nickname, Fire, for the fire that destroyed her family home at the time of her birth. But now Caridad is 48. Her marriage has fallen apart. Her career in pharmacy has hit a wall. And shes haunted by her roots, literally. Though born in Cuba, she and her brother were raised in the US, in rural Washington State. Their entire Cuban family had tried to escape by sea, but had been wiped out by the Cuban Coast Guard. The brother remembers. But Caridad has to re-discover it all. Including her own sexuality. When Chachi, an exciting Cuban lesbian, turns up in Caridads life, everything she has always assumed is up for grabs. And the constant undercurrent, the constant drumbeat, is the voice calling to her from thin air, Candela. Its her own mysterious spiritual life coming to the fore, a life that stretches from the Native American guardians of her childhood, to the exotic rituals of the Afro-Cuban religion, Lukumi. Her birth right. For Caridad to finally confront being Cuban, she must return to Cuba to embrace her past and throw open the doors to a new future. Its a story of truth, love, and absolute courage.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 29, 2010
• ISBN: 9781450247191

Flor Fernandez Barrios

FLOR FERNÁNDEZ BARRIOS was born in Cuba. She immigrated to the United States in 1970. She graduated in 1985 from International College with a Doctorate degree in Transpersonal Psychology. Dr. Fernández is currently in private practice as a psychotherapist in Seattle. In addition to her practice, she is a nationally recognized workshop leader and writer on multicultural issues and spirituality. She authored the critically-acclaimed books, Blessed by Thunder and The Mask of Oyá.

Book preview

 ~One~

It was still dark. Juana Fuentes woke up from a dream. Her dead grandmother, Tula, had come back with a message. Juana listened quietly to the outside sounds of crickets and to the insistent call of an owl. It was important to remember the dream because Grandmother Tula only visited Juana to warn her about bad things coming her way such as death, illnesses and tornadoes. Instinctively, she hugged her swollen belly and prayed to the orishas to protect her daughter. She had known it was a girl. Ochún, the deity of the rivers, had appeared in front of Juana and told her as much. Juana had decided to name her child Caridad in honor of La Caridad Del Cobre, the patroness of Cuba, Ochún.

Next to Juana, Ramon snored. His breath was loaded with the fumes of cheap rum. After years of begging Ramon to stop drinking with no results, Juana felt resigned. She looked at him, wishing he would be there to hold her and reassure her. All the anger she kept inside erupted. She wanted to scream cabron, sinvergüenza, and push him off the bed. Instead, Juana took a deep breath and then another until her heart slowed down and she felt calm. She reminded herself of the early years of her marriage when Ramon was not a borracho. Back then, Ramon worked hard on the farm and dedicated his free time to her and the children. Those were the days when her Ramon would take her to town on Sundays, for lunch at Café La Carreta. They ate their usual Pan con Bistec and drank their cold Hatuey beer. They walked around the park, holding hands, and Juana took measure of the envious looks of other women. Ramon was very handsome with his white guayabera and his panama hat. Then, he was tall and slender. Now, his beer belly constantly popped out the buttons of his shirts. On the way home, they had always stopped at the guarapera to get large glasses of fresh sugar cane juice.

A strong kick inside her belly brought her back to reality. Juana gently patted the side of her barriga. Then she poked Ramon to get him to stop snoring. He didn’t move. She pushed him. Ramon turned on his side. Juana cursed the day Ramon started going to the bar in the evenings. After a while, the domino games with his friends lasted longer. Ramon was not only coming home later but he was leaving earlier. Everyday, as soon as Ramon finished tending to the farm, he showered off the dirt from the fields. He shaved and put on clean and well-ironed clothes and left for town. It became obvious to Juana that he was doing more than playing dominoes. The smell of perfume left on his clothes by other women flooded the air at his return. By then, the children were already asleep and Juana was too tired to pick another fight. Ramon was a loser! His own mother advised her to leave him.

Juana had thought of walking away many times. But it was not easy for a woman to find a decent job in a small town. For a while, she contemplated the idea of moving back to her parents’ home in the Sierra Maestra hills. The children could stay with them while she worked at the cafetales, picking coffee beans. But there were no schools in the mountains. The thought of her niños not getting an education deterred Juana from her plan.

Tired of the loud snoring, Juana struggled with her heavy belly to get up from the bed. Her whole body felt like big sack of potatoes. Finally triumphant, Juana stood on her feet. Through the semi-opened curtain of the window, the tender rays of the sun were filtering inside. Juana was glad the night was over. Slowly she walked to the kitchen to start her daily routine. Nothing was easy in her life, she complained to herself as she worked at lighting the rustic wood stove. Once again, there was no milk for the traditional café con leche. Ramon was too drunk to get up and milk the cows.

"Oh Dios hasta cuando!" Juana grumbled. She was so furious she didn’t notice Martin, her ten year old son right behind her. The boy was standing by the kitchen door, holding a canteen full of milk. He was proud of himself.

Mami.

"Mijo querido!"

Her eyes filled with tears. She went and hugged Martin. Her little man!

Ramon stayed in bed until well past ten. Juana did not nag him to get up. She busied herself with sewing a blanket for her unborn baby. When Ramon finally came out of the room, he asked Juana to cook him some breakfast. Juana ignored him and continued her work. Upset, Ramon went to take a shower. Twenty minutes later, he was dressed in a clean shirt and pants. The smell of after shave lotion and cologne traveled to Juana’s nostrils. She held her nose. Ramon disregarded the gesture. Instead, he grabbed his hat from the hook on the wall of the living room and left the house.

By late afternoon, the children returned home from school. They ate a snack of fresh papaya and cheese. Lourdes cleared the table. At age eight, she was a big help around the house. Also, she kept an eye on her six-year old brother Javier and four year-old sister Carmen. After Lourdes helped Juana with the dishes, she invited the younger kids to play a game of parchesis. The three of them settled on the floor of the living room. Martin changed his clothes and went outside to feed sancocho to pigs in the corral.

Juana returned to the kitchen. She sat at a small table where she could peel the potatoes for the carne con papas. Her mind traveled to the time when Ramon built the modest Cuban–style bohío made of palm tree trunk and thatch lashed together. They were about to get married and Ramon promised her a bigger house with many rooms for their future children.

The knife dropped from her hand. She leaned over to pick it up and…her water broke, the warm fluid running down her thighs and legs. The labor pains hit her strong. She clenched her jaw. She looked out the small window that faced the dirt road to town. She imagined her selfish husband sitting at the local bar, drinking straight shots of rum, while a prostitute slobbered her sloppy kisses all over him.

The labor pains became more intense. Juana knew she couldn’t wait for Ramon. With her arms around her swollen belly, she walked to the door. She called Martin. The minute the boy heard the voice of his mother he came running. And before Juana could tell him, Martin knew it was time to go and get the local midwife. He placed the bucket of leftovers on the ground and took off down the road.

Juana did not waste any time. Having given birth to four children, she knew they came down the birth canal fast as a bolt of lightning. She ordered Lourdes to gather white sheets and towels.

Carmen, put more wood in the stove. Juana shouted, and she twisted from the sharp pains. Please, Lourdes, fill that pot with water. Juana held her belly and walked to the bedroom. "Go and get your tía Fita."

Lourdes helped her mother rest on the bed and then ran to get her tía.

In between the screams, Juana prayed to her saints. Alone in the room with her pain every minute seemed like an eternity. When the prayers were not enough, Juana cursed Ramon, his drinking and all the prostitutes in town.

By the time Lola arrived at the house, the head of the baby had crowned. As an experienced midwife, Lola exuded calmness from every pore of her skin. She examined the situation and told Juana to relax. Juana took a deep breath and thanked all the orishas. Lola’s strong hands had pulled hundreds of babies into the world. Even the doctor in town consulted her on difficult cases. At age sixty, she was the queen of the parteras.

As soon as Fita arrived, Lola put her to work. Fita was nervous. She was anxious by nature but she had promised her sister to help. She went back and forth from the kitchen to the bedroom, carrying bowls of hot water, bringing towels and sheets. Lourdes helped out with tending to the fire in the stove.

One of the times when Fita came back to fill the palangana with water, she noticed Lourdes was throwing too much wood into the fire.

"Lourdes mi amor, be careful."

After filling the basin, Fita left the kitchen in a rush, forgetting a half-full bottle of rubbing alcohol on top of a counter near the open flames. Lourdes was about to remove the alcohol and take it to her aunt when she heard the first cry of the baby. Excited, she ran to the site. Fita held the newborn in her arms while Lola was in the process of severing the umbilical cord.

It’s girl. Fita said with tears in her eyes. Come Lourdes, come and see her. She looks just like you when you were born.

Outside, Martin sat on a rock while he kept an eye on Carmen and Javier, who were taking turns riding on Pepe’s back. If only his father would return early to the house this time. Martin turned to look at the road. It was clear! Not a single soul going by. Sometime Martin wished he was as young as Javier so he didn’t have to worry so much about his father and his drinking; or about his mother with her big sad eyes. She worked so hard.

As soon as Martin heard the cry of the baby, he screamed at his siblings, The baby is here. Carmen and Javier freed Pepe, the goat, and ran to the house. Martin walked behind them when he detected the smell of something burning. He hurried to investigate but was pushed back by the smoke coming out from the kitchen. Instinctively, Martin shut the door and raced to warn the others.

Fire! The kitchen is on fire!

Fita and Lola didn’t waste any time. They ordered the children to leave the house and to go and get help. Fita closed the door to the bedroom while Lola finished tying the umbilical cord. Lola knew about the dangers of moving Juana, how she could bleed to death. They needed to act fast. Lola opened the bedroom window and called Lourdes to come to the other side.

Fita, hand the baby to Lourdes.

The window was not too far above the ground. Lourdes opened her arms to receive the baby Fita gently handed to her. By this time Martin, who had gone for help, was returning to the scene with a group of neighbors. They were screaming to the women to come out of the house. The fire was burning closer to them and Lola could feel the heat rising. Without wasting any time, Lola wrapped Juana in one of the sheets and told Fita to get ready to lift her up.

We are going to get her out through the window. Lola shouted to the neighbors. We need a hand.

Four men responded to the call. One of them was Esteban, Fita’s husband, who jumped inside to help the women. Juana was lifted over the ledge of the window into the arms of the men, who waited anxiously to get away from the house.

Keep going Esteban yelled while he helped Lola and Fita out of the room.

The group was too busy to notice that Martin stayed behind. He was troubled by the memories of a promise he made his mother. Two years ago when Juana was initiated in the Lukumi tradition, she brought home a ceramic pot. Juana explained to Martin, it was a sopera that housed her otanes or sacred stones from her spiritual practice. Juana asked Martin to protect the sopera if for some reason she was unable to do so.

Martin knew he would be risking his life to rescue the ceramic pot. By now half of the house was burning. He looked back and saw that the front door was opened and that the fire was lingering on the opposite side. He filled his lungs with air and ran. Martin went to the corner of the living room where he knew his mother kept the sopera. The rustic cabinet was still intact. He reached for the sopera. It was hot. Martin felt the skin of his fingers scorch as he grabbed the pot.

Martin held the sopera in a tight embrace and began his journey out. Blinded by the smoke, he stumbled and felt disoriented. He had a sense of where the door was and kept walking towards it. His mind was fuzzy and his body felt so heavy he could hardly move…Martin panicked. He screamed for help. Then from the cloud of black smoke, he saw a hand. It was the hand of a woman. It pulled Martin. He floated as if he was being carried on the wings of a big bird.

Martin ran until he was safe, away from the house. He kneeled on the road, coughing hard and gasping for air. Every breath was painful. Martin placed the sopera on the ground, so he could thank the woman who had helped him. Only Pepe, the goat, was by his side. Puzzled, Martin sat next to his friend and patted its head. His eyes filled with tears and his heart ached. The roof of the house caved in and the evil flames grew larger, like monsters having a big feast.

The loud crackling sounds stirred in Martin the anger he felt towards his father. He tightened his fists and hit the air. He wanted to punch his father in the face and be the first one to tell him their home was gone. The intensity of his feelings scared him.

It is his fault! Martin screamed aloud and jumped to his feet. He would go to town and find him.

When he got to the bar, Martin expected to find his father half passed out in front of a big mug of beer. The place was dark and stank of sweat. Ramon was not there. Where was his father? The bar tender had seen Ramon leave the bar with a woman, but he didn’t dare say anything. Instead, he handed Martin a glass of water and asked if everyone had survived the fire.

That night on his way home from his lover’s house, Ramon heard the news of the fire from people in town. He tried to run down the road, only to fall down many times. Still intoxicated from his parranda, Ramon was trailing the fumes of alcohol and sex. His wobbly legs could not hold the weight of his body from the shock he suffered. He dropped to the ground. Instead of a house, his eyes took in the still-smoking charred remains. The air was thick with the odor of burned wood. Ramon closed and opened his eyes in a futile attempt to clear his brain. He imagined all his children and Juana incinerated by the fire. It was his fault! He was a bad father and an awful husband. He was as weak and selfish as his own father had been.

"Viejo desgraciado! Ramon yelled into the night. You must be happy now! I swore I would never be like you! You won. I killed my family!" Ramon held his head in his hands. He wanted to stop his mind from spinning so hard. He felt nauseated. His gut twisted with pain. He punched himself in the face. He kicked his legs in the air and finally he puked out the contents of his intestines. The slimy vomit with its foul odor covered his white shirt and pants.

Ramon sat on the dry soil holding his knees as he rocked back and forth. He looked up to the sky. The night was dark. Large puffy clouds veiled the moon and the stars. The murmur of the palm trees and sweet smell coming from the nearby sugarcane field felt refreshing to his senses. Where is my family? He pulled himself back on his feet. He was drowsy but able to walk around the periphery of the house.

Among the smoldering remnants of furniture and wood was a half-burned doll. Ramon fell to his knees. The soil was still hot. With effort, he reached for the remains of the doll, Lulita. Ramon sobbed as he lifted the warped body from the ashes. The arms and legs were missing. The hair and the skin scorched. Ramon took it in his arms and held it against his chest. He remembered the happy face of his daughter, Carmen, when she saw the doll for the first time. Ramon gave it to Carmen for her last birthday. Lulita was the name she chose in honor of her sister Lourdes. Stricken with grief, Ramon kissed Lulita again and again.

Holding Lulita in one hand, Ramon managed to get up on his feet. A fine rain was beginning to fall and lightning illuminated the sky. He shook his head and his mind cleared up enough for him to remember about Fita and Esteban. Maybe Juana and the children were in their farmhouse. As he started towards the road, his feet felt heavy. His head spun with all sorts of promises about changes he was going to make if he found his family alive. He even held his arms in the air and asked God to help him. Ramon was not a believer. Now, he needed the divine intervention of God and of all the saints.

On his way to Fita’s, Ramon found Pepe standing by the side of the road. By now, the rain had turned to heavy showers and he could hardly see ahead, but the little goat’s white and black coat shone in the dark. It came to Ramon and rubbed its fur against his legs. Ramon patted it and more tears poured out and mixed with the drops of rain. Ramon wished the animal could talk and tell him where his family was. His questions were met with silence and the rumbling of thunder in the far distance. Ramon kept walking and Pepe followed him down the path.

By the time Ramon stopped at the entrance of Fita’s house, the rain had washed the smelly vomit from his clothes. He was sober enough to remember that Fita had forbidden him to set foot in her house. The last time he went there looking for Juana, Fita, who was as tough as a man was, greeted him with a shotgun. She pointed the escopeta at his head and ordered him to leave on the count of three. Ramon knew Fita meant it and wasted no time running away to the nearby cañaveral.

There was light inside the house but Ramon couldn’t hear any voices. Shaking from cold and fear, he knocked at the door and waited. A few seconds went by. He gathered enough courage and banged the door with both hands. This time, he heard steps followed by the sound of the door latch, and then it was Fita with her shotgun. She stood like a capitana holding the long escopeta pointed at Ramon’s chest.

Please, Fita, don’t shoot! Ramon placed his hands behind his head.

Get away from my house. One, two…, Fita yelled.

Please. Please, Fita…

Ramon dropped to his knees and began to sob. Fita’s finger relaxed on the trigger. As much as she hated Ramon, she couldn’t kill a coward.

Ramon, get the hell off of my property!

I don’t care if you kill me. Go ahead and shoot!

Ramon got up from his knees and stood facing Fita. He opened his shirt and exposed his chest so that the woman could put the buckshot right through his heart.

"Ramon, if you’re looking for Juana, she is not here. Go back to the tavern, to your putas! That’s all you have left. Your children and Juana are gone. You’re not going to see them again. They’re gone!"

Tell me, are they alive? Ramon begged.

Ramon, you deserve your misery. Go and ask God.

Fita slammed the door behind her and Ramon was left standing in the rain. He knew that Fita was not going to give him any answers. He began his walk back to town, followed by Pepe. He had no idea what time it was, but maybe the tavern was open and he could drown his pain in a bottle of rum.

~Two~

Candela. Candela.

Caridad opened her eyes. She reached over to the digital clock that sat on top of the night stand. She pressed the bottom and the numbers flashed. It was 2:20 in the morning. Caridad placed the clock back. Once again, her sleep had been interrupted by a voice coming from her dreams. She rolled over on her side and pulled the covers over her head.

The voice sounded so familiar: a woman, who called her by her nickname, Candela. Julio, her uncle, called her Candela because Candela meant fire. Now at age forty-eight, it was strange to think about her Cuban relatives. She had no memories of them. Caridad had found out from Martin that on the day of the fire her aunt, Fita, took the family to her house. And later, as soon as her mother recovered, they went to live with Uncle Julio at his beach house in the town of Trinidad.

The memories of the cobblestone streets and the turquoise waters of the ocean had vanished from her mind. She only knew the town through the eyes and stories of Martin, who never missed the opportunity to talk about his childhood memories of Trinidad. Candela was part of a past — buried back in Cuba deep under the white sands.

Caridad had first heard the voice at the tail end of a hot flash. The heat uncoiled from the center of her belly and spread to her chest, arms, and face. Caridad felt consumed by her own volcanic explosion.

Candela, the voice called. Caridad fought her impulse to run downstairs to the room where William, her husband, slept soundly, unaware of her terror. Instead, she grabbed the pillow and held it against her chest. She cried. She felt so alone.

Caridad went to sleep and dreamed she was in the middle of a turbulent ocean. Her body was tied to a large plank of wood that floated on the waters. All around her was the vast ocean, with waves that swelled up like the huge tentacles of an octopus, lifting her up and then dropping her down. Caridad woke up feeling seasick.

With her head still spinning, Caridad sat up on her bed. She reached over and turned on the lamp. She was afraid to close her eyes. Maybe it was all the turmoil. Her marriage of twenty-three years was falling apart. It was impossible for Caridad and William to have a conversation without arguing. Desperate to avoid conflict, William had moved into a room downstairs. The shouting matches ceased only to give way to a cold war.

When Caridad finally consulted her doctor, she was sent home with a prescription for an anti-depressant. For more than week, she kept the piece of paper inside one of her drawers. She hesitated, thinking she didn’t need the pills. She could manage on her own. But eventually her tiredness and discontent won over and Caridad took the first dose.

Determined to put an end to the