Rosa María Rodríguez Torrado, Translator: JT
She was one of so many recluses of misfortune, of those by failing to
use the olive green conscience were deprived of liberty. They gave her
permission to go out and she left without baggage, like the images they
like to give to poets. She thought that with her backpack on her back
with the most necessary items was enough. That resulted in
correspondence documentation being indispensable in the country in which
she sought safe conducts. At the exit port, the accredited officer,
after reviewing her papers three times, put on six seals and authorized
her licence. She got on the sky blue boat towards a new life without
looking back. She did all this quickly, because she feared that someone
inconvenient would grab her arm at the last minute.
She took her first lungful of air breathing deeply and stunningly full.
She realized then that she should repeat the act slowly, for as hungry
for emancipation as she was, it was preferable to gradually assimilate
her recent condition. She delighted in rescuing forgotten scents; tastes
that she'd already lost and to discover new ones that were pleasingly
new. She felt small and disoriented in this unknown environment, but she
rejoiced to see how others exercised the rights that had been stolen
from her.
She didn't wait long to look for work; she liked to be independent and
satisfy her desires without asking permission from anyone. She began by
cleaning the bathrooms at an establishment for a salary which, after
paying the rent and the rest of her bills, only allowed her one daily
meal and a café con leche at night. It wasn't much, but winter was
making its entrance and there wasn't time to choose.
The first days were spent beautifully, like a romance novel. After, they
seemed more like a melodrama, with nostalgia for what was left behind
mixed with the asphyxiating smell of bathroom disinfectants. Her first
overcoat of good quality took almost a whole week's salary and she had
to look for an extra job to make up for the rest of her expenses. At
night, she fell so brokenly into bed that her dreams decomposed into
fragments. As she put together the scattered pieces by insomnia, she
began to give names to the objects to lessen the thirst for human warmth
in the midst of her existential snows. In the morning, she woke up
dizzy, because poor sleep all night on her pillow kicked her in the neck.
After six months she had a better wardrobe than she had ever dreamed of.
This way she learned that starting from scratch — without any
inheritances — and receiving an adequate salary, she could obtain the
most necessary things and live from the fruits of her labor. But she
noticed that recently the line of her life refused to bend, that she was
a prisoner of the apathy produced by daily sameness and repetitive acts,
and the sap was drying out – that with which she seasoned her distant life.
At one year, she began to reexamine her past conduct and old concepts.
She asked herself if she hadn't been too intolerant in judging certain
acts of others or if she hadn't known how to defend her rights when she
felt cheated. Also, if it was normal to bear grudges because they had
penalized her dreams. She was so mesmerized in her meditation that she
began to think that she might be suffering a type of tropical "Stockholm
syndrome". Anyway, she packed what she could of what she had acquired
during that period, took its weight, and she found herself next to a
metal bird again. She took one last look at what she could see of that
beautiful and generous territory; she got on board the airplane and
returned to Cuba.
Translated by: JT
August 1 2011
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