An Ecuadorian Festivity: Close to Heaven

By Victor H. Acuna

This is a relate, a little idealize perhaps, of the experiences of a boy about 12 years old, that grew and ran free like the wind in a small city perched up on the Ecuadorian Andes, which he describe as the anteroom of Heavens. Of how the sacrosanct annual festivity of the Patron of the Town was celebrated. Of how interacted the persons of that place in the yearly event. Please read it, may be enjoyable

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palibrio
• Release date: Jul 16, 2014
• ISBN: 9781463385804

Victor H. Acuna

For many years I had been trying to write this little book. The ideas, the visions of what I wanted to mold in words, boiled, circulated in my mind, struggling to come out, with a desire to express it. And I retained them. I neglectfully continually relegate them more and more inside myself. That was for a long time, for decades. I can justify in part my leniency, with the realization that I am not a writer, that I don’t have a proper knowledge of the Spanish grammar, that whatever I write would come out foolish, without syntax, full of errors. No, I told myself “you do not have the capacity to star such a work”. In that way I let the time to pass, with the result that a lot of what I would had written at the proper moment had disappeared; many names, many characters, many places have faded out, or are up to a point to leave my memory. So, before that happens, and also to give myself a satisfaction, here I am, in front of my little computer, with the purpose of typing this tale before the ideas are lost completely. And what do you think of it? had occurred to me the strange idea of doing it at my 84 years of age!! Ja.. ja..Well, let see how far I’ll go. Let me clarify something: this is a real story. This narration is what in reality happened many years ago, by 1939, when I was a boy of 12 years of age, in a little town perched up on the Ecuadorian mountains, where I grew up. My beloved Alausi. To put it properly, this is the relate of the moments we lived in that adorable place every single year in the festivities of Saint Paul and Saint Peter, the patrons of the city, in the month of June. The characters I mention are real, they shared together with me the emotions and experiences of those days; many of them are already dead, also, I don’t remember the names of others. It is possible that this tale is somehow dramatized, but it is only to put on it a little more effect. Also, if this little book is read by some alauseño (somebody born in Alausi) or a descendant of one of my actors in this tale, and finds an omission or error in what I had written, I ask the person to excuse me; nothing I wrote is in bad faith. Simply, this is an old guy putting in words his remembrances. I had waited a long time to do it; I only hoped to finish the task.

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Copyright © 2014 by Victor H. Acuna.

Library of Congress Control Number:                    2014910059

ISBN:                        Hardcover                     978-1-4633-8582-8

                                  Softcover                        978-1-4633-8581-1

                                  eBook                             978-1-4633-8580-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Rev. date: 19/06/2014

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INTRODUCTION

For many years I had been trying to write this little book. The ideas, the visions of what I wanted to mold in words, boiled, circulated in my mind, struggling to come out, with a desire to express it. And I retained them. I neglectfully continually relegate them more and more inside myself. That was for a long time, for decades. I can justify in part my leniency, with the realization that I am not a writer, that I don’t have a proper knowledge of the Spanish grammar, that whatever I write would come out foolish, without syntax, full of errors. No, I told myself you do not have the capacity to star such a work.

In that way I let the time to pass, with the result that a lot of what I would had written at the proper moment had disappeared; many names, many characters, many places have faded out, or are up to a point to leave my memory. So, before that happens, and also to give myself a satisfaction, here I am, in front of my little computer, with the purpose of typing this tale before the ideas are lost completely. And what do you think of it? had occurred to me the strange idea of doing it at my 84 years of age!! Ja.. ja..Well, let see how far I’ll go.

Let me clarify something: this is a real story. This narration is what in reality happened many years ago, by 1939, when I was a boy of 12 years of age, in a little town perched up on the Ecuadorian mountains, where I grew up. My beloved Alausi. To put it properly, this is the relate of the moments we lived in that adorable place every single year in the festivities of Saint Paul and Saint Peter, the patrons of the city, in the month of June. The characters I mention are real, they shared together with me the emotions and experiences of those days; many of them are already dead, also, I don’t remember the names of others. It is possible that this tale is somehow dramatized, but it is only to put on it a little more effect. Also, if this little book is read by some alauseño (somebody born in Alausi) or a descendant of one of my actors in this tale, and finds an omission or error in what I had written, I ask the person to excuse me; nothing I wrote is in bad faith. Simply, this is an old guy putting in words his remembrances. I had waited a long time to do it; I only hoped to finish the task.

I AM GOING TO START

THE NARRATIVE

As usual, as almost every night at that time of the year, a heavy mist darken the small town, given it a ghostly aspect. The fog had fall completely down. Very little could be seeing in front of the few mortals that had go out in such a night to walk the streets, in a careful way of course, because the irregularities of the cobbled floor and of the sidewalks were of no help; and least at all the fainted light irradiated by the few street lamps, that appeared like flicker points enveloped by the heavy halo of fog. The electric fluid proportioned by the small and old plant situated en La Caida (The Fall, or The Drop? any of them apply to the Spanish name) hardly lighted the streets. Down by the bottom of the ravine, some of the water of the placid river was capture and by means of a canal was directed to move the turbines. The problem was that the river down there was a mountain river, which in the raining season became not placid at all; it inflates with the bulk of water and debris coming down from the heights with such a force that very often destroyed the capture system of the canal. Then the poor town was half lighted, and sometimes not at all.

The persistent rain had come down all the afternoon of that day, which is usual by the end of February or beginning of March at that latitude. It started precisely after the pass of the Mixto (the Mix, half cargo and half passengers of the afternoon) It was the train that started in the Costa (the plain part of the country) and climbed all the way to Quito, the capital. The arrival of the train at 2 o’clock sharp, every afternoon from Monday to Friday, was a real success in the otherwise tranquil town; was something magnetizing, all eyes were fix on the big black locomotive, that appeared majestically down by the little bend formed by the loma the Lluglli (the Lluglli Hill) slowly carrying the four wagons of the convoy, puffing the short distance to the station jingling the bell. With great expertise the maquinista (the train engineer) stopped the train just by the water supply that immediately started to quench the thirsty monster.

What a black giant, what a huge thing, what brilliant was that locomotive. It was a heavy one, # 40 type. It was coupled to the convoy down in Bucay, the last railroad center in the coast. It has to be a powerful machine in order to pull the four wagons all the way up, to Alausi; and to be capable to climb the stepped slope from Bucay, about 2300 meters up!! From here it is a mere 300 meters to Riobamba. The rest of the terrain till Quito it is plain. The convoy consisted of four wagons. One for freight. Another for carrying the baggage of the passengers, which served also as an office for the luggage handler who was always Mr. Nevarez; followed by the second class coach and finally by the first class one. The baggage coach was also the gathering place for the Conductor (the one in charge of the convoy) and for the two tickets collectors; together with Mr. Nevarez they form a cheerful circle to relax the moments between stops of the train. The same routine was repeated in the trains coming down from Quito to Duran.

The people filled the small station, some to welcome a relative returning from Guayaquil, others to salute friends who were just passing to Riobamba or Quito. Among the gathering were we, the mocosos (the boys of age 10 to 12) to dispute fiercely for the few issues of The Telégrafo that their fathers order them to get, the only way for the old guys to be informed of the last news of the Spanish Civil War, which was either finish or about to be; or of the rapid politics advances of Hitler in his way to conquer Europe. Also, of the always exited news from Quito. Wasn’t the miserable Paez who was occupying temporarily the Carondelet’s Presidential Palace in the Capital?

Mr. Nevarez was also the one who brought the scarce issues of the newspaper. Problem was that he started with a bundle down in Duran, but a number of them were leaving in the stops of the train in its way to Alausi. Therefore too often for Alausi he had only a few issues left. Therefore, the dispute between the mocosos for the few diaries was intense. God saves the poor mocoso if he presented to his dour father without El Telégrafo, simply he had to go to him properly prepare for the fuetiza (leashing) for having leave him without the anxious news.

It is that still hadn’t come to Alausi the heavy radio receptors, which informed throughout the radio waves what was happening in the more advance cities Guayaquil or Quito, or the outside world. Anyway they would have been of little use because the city had electricity only from 7 o’clock on in the night. Nevertheless the electric fluid was so weak that the receptors very often didn’t go on. Also, Alausi is situated in a profound valley formed by the Oriental Andes with the tall mountain Gampala, on the Occidental it is the Vayamag, and I guess that on the north side it is the Gonzaga. So, the radio waves carrying the news, seldom reached the place. And the technology at that time was o no help.

Something else, Nevarez was the one in charge of bringing the sacks with the correspondence to the town, carrying the letters so waited by the vacationers in Alausi. They were yearning so much specially for the ones containing the girito (postal order) with the funds so needed by the monos (monkey, ja..a nickname affixed to all the Ecuadorians born in the coast) to cover the spending for the days that they will remain in the city. Remember, Alausi was an ideal place for vacationing for the monos.

But most of the people gathering in the small station to see the pass of the mixto were only onlookers. They were there because there was very little to do in the sleepy town. They fill the narrow platform to see and be seeing, and as soon the train continued its journey either to the north or the south, they dispersed. However, some of them accompany the slim Mr. Julio Moreno, the Postmaster of the town, in his procession to the Post Office situated up by Ricaurte Street, carrying the sacks of correspondence by some porter. In the narrow office, Mr. Moreno process with the help of his assistant—wasn’t he one of the many Robalino born in Alausi?—to open the sacks and start the processing of the correspondence. This was a task that took from 20 to 30 minutes under the anxious and curious sight of the persons that filled the scarce room between the window on the counter till the door of the little place, and even beyond to the street in defiance of the persistent drizzle that usually fall at that time of the year.

Finally Don Julio, with a resonant an slow voice started to sing the names of the receivers of the letters, warning that he will call a name only one time, or at the must two; and that the persons should be alert and immediately present themselves when he/she name was called. The handing over of a postal parcel, or of the money of a giro will be done once the handling of the letters was terminated, he prevented. Then with a voice sufficiently high, so that even the people waiting outside the office will hear, he proceeded to call: letter for Rosa Lavayen. For Carlos Cuesta, Carlos Cuesta. JH Robalino, JH Robalino. Cesar Cordova, Cesar Cordova. And so on, easily and calmly he called the names. It happens that Cesar Cordova was there, he was one of the monos vacationing in Alausi, therefore he rapidly answered: here, here, Cesar Cordova, that’s meeee" Still, Don Julio would fixed a look to Cesar, to be sure of his identity, anyway he knew the people that received some correspondence in Alausi, not too many anyhow.

The letter will pass from hand to hand to the anxious recipient. Sometimes he will open it right away and even informed of its content to the little gang of friends that surrounded him; nevertheless, there weren’t too many secrets in Alausi, except some very strictly belonged to the family. Ah….lucky Cesar, with the brief letter from his father, telling him some piece of gossip of the relatives in Guayaquil, and with the usual advices, appeared the receipt for 20 sucres, !20 sucres! How will jump in happiness the flacuchento mono (the skinny monkey) waiving the piece of paper that in a few minutes will become into a small fortune, sufficient for a lot of servings of the tasty hornado (a special recipe of pork meat) that he, and the rest of the monos and a few longos of the locality (longos, an euphemism affixed to the people born up in the Ecuadorian Andes) all friends, will enjoy. Because something was proper of the monos, they were generous, they expended carelessly the billetasos (the bulge of bills) that the rich fathers will sent continually.

It is that Alausi filled on with familias costeñas (coastal families) every single year during the winter season. They will arrive at the beginning of January and remain there till the first half of April. They will expend in Alausi the Carnival and the Holy Week. They were escaping the rigorous rainy winter of Guayaquil and other places of the Ecuadorian coast, to enjoy the healthy air of the Ecuadorian mountain. Entire families will come to the town year after year. Everything was convenient for them, the distant: Alausi is situated at only a six hours raid by train from Durán, ideal for the gentlemen whom remain in the city to attend their business or because their jobs, it was easy to go two o three times during the season to visit their lovable wives that were having the great pleasure of their lives in the place. The climate: Alausi has the best of it, by the time they will come, the temperature was of an enjoyable summer, healthy and revitalizing; how flacos (slim) and rangalidos (verbal for super skinny) the monos would arrive and in a few days will appear chapudos (glow with health) and lozanos (luxuriant). The prices: Alausi was the cheapest place possibly; with all largess the señoras costeñas (costal ladies) will pay for meats and fruits at ridiculously low prices; prices already inflated to the double or triple by the vivisimas longas (sharp longas) in the open market. So cheap was everything that at times the haughty monas and the alert longas will compete among themselves in the cargos de consciencia (pans of conscience) that overcome them, then the ladies will forget the real y medio (15 cents) change, anyway in Guayaquil they were used to pay double for what they have just bought; the cholas (market vendors) compassionately added two or three potatoes or a handful of peas to the purchase. So, you will come back to me next week caserita (domestic for client) was the longa advice.

That was the take and give in the fair of every Sunday in the open plaza, where also you will gorge with the tasty, glazed, roasted, hornado. Or the potato tortilla soaked with peanut butter, reinforced with salty portions of pork sausages of the house fried to a point, everything toppled with two or three fried eggs, with the accompaniment of a tall jar of cold juice of naranjilla (kind of bitter orange of the Andes) or of blackberry. Ah….what a wonderful life. The kiosk of Miss Rosita Quishpe was preferred by the monos for such banquets; of course she even gives them credit for the meals. Debts that the monos would pay her punctually with the next giro that the generous father will send in a few days.

Now, the real problem for the local ladies becomes when the visitors returned to their cities. It was the time to put in line the cholas of the market, to make them return to the proper prices in use in Alausi. They complain that those rich monas leave unseemly the local cholas. But with us they are not going to abuse.

Halfway the season, by February, with the monos still vacationing in the city, is when the celebration of the king Momo, the Carnival, takes place. Now is when the vacationers and everybody else in Alausi becomes mad, the whole town is taken by the madness of Carnival. And this happens not only in the little town, but in the entire country of Ecuador; it is three