Engle Margarita - The poet slave of Cuba: a biography of Juan Francisco Manzano

The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the authors copyright, please notify the publisher at: us.macmillanusa.com/piracy. Contents This book is dedicated to censored poets everywhere and to my hundreds of cousins in Cuba. E. E.

To my loving mother S. Q. Te sigan los cantares De la paz, del amor, y buen destino Que ofrece al Bardo que sus linfas besa Virtud, inspiracin, y fortaleza. Songs follow you Of peace, love, and good fortune Offered to the poet who kisses these waters Virtue, inspiration, and strength. FROM A LA LUNA (T O THE M OON ) BY J UAN F RANCISCO M ANZANO THE P OET S LAVE OF C UBA 17971853 My mind is a brush made of feathers painting pictures of words I remember all that I see every syllable each word a twin of itself telling two stories at the same time one of sorrow the other hope I love the words written with my feathery mind in the air and with my sharp fingernails on leaves in the garden When my owner catches a whiff of the fragrance of words engraved in the flesh of succulent geranium leaves or the perfumed petals of alel flowers then she frowns because she knows that I dream with my feathers my wings Poetry cools me, syllables calm me I read the verses of others the free men and know that Im never alone Poetry sets me aflame I grow furious dangerous, a blaze of soul and heart, a fiery tongue a lantern at midnight My first owner was sweet to me I was her pet, a new kind of poodle my pretty mother chosen to be her personal handmaid My mother Mara del Pilar Manzano a slave Together we belonged along with countless others human beasts of burden to Doa Beatriz de Jstiz, La Marquesa the proud Marchioness Jstiz de Santa Ana noble wife of Don Juan Manzano who shares my name even though he is not my father Don Juan rules El Molino his plantation on this island of sugar and many other sweet illusions These were my mothers duties: dress La Marquesa undress her cool her skin with a palm-leaf fan answer questions never ask collect milk from new mothers in the huts near the fields slave milk, the lotion used for softening the skin of noble ladies This my mother accomplished: deliver the milk grind eggshells and rice into powder for making la cascarilla a pale shell for hiding the darkness of Spaniards who pretend to be pale in our presence When the noble ladies go out in public milk-soothed, eggshell-crusted masked and disguised we no longer look the same dark owner and dark slaves Now my owner is ghostly inside her skeleton of powder but I, being only a poodle, can watch I am allowed to know these truths about shadow and bright So I listen when the ghost-owner calls me her own baby she plays with me and even decides to set my true mother free Free to marry Toribio de Castro a man also promised his freedom My father is winged, like my mother oh, I envy them what will happen to me little bird left behind in this haunted nest? She takes me with her wherever she goes I become the companion of my owner, noble ghost no, not a companion, remember? a poodle, her pet with my curly dark hair and small childs brown skin suitable for the theater and parties So I bark on command I learn to whine and howl in verse Im known as the smart one who never forgets I can listen then recite every word Listen, she says to her friends and the priest see how little Juanito can sing see how Ive trained him watch him perform Back and forth over and over country home, city home, palaces, the plantation only six years old, she says but listen to his big funny voice Back and forth over and over I recite strange words in several languages Spanish, Latin, French while my sweet ghost-Mam-owner and all her friends listen they are forgetful I am rememberful I remember there is also one more mother in my song a bird-mother caged but winged My son knows all the lines of every play hes seen performed he knows the lyrics of songs and the rhymes of sonnets and ballads he knows the Psalms Ive taught him the sermons hes heard at church the prayers of strangers and curses too all the words of a world observed for six years Everyone applauds at the parties they always giggle and clap so delighted the ladies wearing satin dresses embroidered with jewels and pearls seeing them, youd think were the clay of earths daylight while theyre distant nights filled with stars Why isnt he frightened, so young, so observant? Why doesnt he just play and pretend to forget like the rest of us do when were watched? One mother can leave and be free but she wont not without me The other one is angry with my father, Toribio, who sews and plays the harp my father who picked me up and shook me calling me spoiled like a prince Cant he tell the difference between a prince and a poodle? This is how the ghost-Mam punishes my father: with silence her invisible whip If the priest hadnt spoken to her, the silence might have gone on and on forever the silence I secretly treasured The boy is much cleaner than poodles and parrots or the Persian cats that are always shedding their fur on my pillows I treat him like my own I tell him hes the child of my old age I stroke his curly hair and hold him in my arms Oh, how beautifully he behaves! Not a rebel like his father, Toribio Not a servant like his mother, Mara del Pilar The boy is a genius a pleasure to behold a wonder to hear I take him in my coach and he sits beside me calling me Mam he barely knows his other mother anymore now I am the real one if only he werent quite so dark When I leave the country houses, city houses, palaces when I leave without him, oh, how he screams! Everyone laughs hes inconsolable how amusing, they say, the child actually thinks he belongs to you in that other way of belonging What a find, the ladies exclaim, when I recite the Iliad, the Odyssey, the Catechism and long, dull foreign operas words that make no sense and long, boring sermons in Latin and silly plays that make everyone giggle behind the shields of their open silk fans Ha, ha, a genius, isnt it entertaining ay, how precious what a find The ghostly ladies masked and hidden inside their casings of eggshell-and-rice powder so no one can tell if they are dark too I watch as they arch their eyebrows and flutter their open silk fans each fan the graceful shape of a single wing Even a free bird is helpless with just one wing At his baptism I gave his mother such a wondrous, amazing gift everyone gasped Doa Beatriz is a saint, they said, not even waiting until shes on her deathbed to buy her way into heaven Imagine showing mercy so far ahead of time what a grand act of compassion! The musicians were playing their harps and flutes the music of heaven his other mothers heart was drumming and his rebel fathers eyes were roaring genius, I announced, the brilliant child of my old age My proclamation was not trivial so I lifted my arms in a sweeping gesture my bosom grand, my fingers waving to show everyone the treasures I was free to give my houses were filled with such choices, such gifts, so easily granted all I had to do was choose one, a painting or a marble statue gold and silver coins lampstands and jewels from Persia furniture inlaid with ebony and cedar from this islands dark, fragrant forests I fingered the massive pendant at my neck diamonds, rubies, and emeralds all joined in a single design Just one gift that was all I had to choose for a baptism One pearl or one coin would have been plenty one slim gold chain or carved toy Instead, I made the announcement the one I had been keeping secret although I fear he must have guessed because he didnt look quite as pleased as I had imagined So I wept, I dabbed my eyes with a lace kerchief I said the word, that one word they all wait for, so patiently and foolishly all their lives Manumission! I made it a big word I waited, said it again in its simpler forms Freedom Liberty Libertad all such fine words so generous My proclamation continued in honor, I explained, of the baptism of this genius the child of my old age I give manumission to Mara del Pilar for the price of only three hundred pesos And later, maybe Toribio as well for only three hundred more pesos and furthermore, I hereby proclaim that from this day forward I will abide by the Free Belly custom of declaring all the future children of Mara del Pilar and Toribio free even long before birth, while still in the belly hidden inside their mother hidden, yet already free even before she has earned and paid her own three hundred pesos the price of the court documents she will someday carry to keep the bounty hunters at bay to keep them from seeing her and imagining that she is a runaway headed for the mountains ready to hide ready to die Ay, but my proclamation was so generous that by the end everyone was weeping even Juan, especially Juan and strangely, also his mother and father as if they imagined that three hundred pesos could be considered a fortune Only Juanito, I said very clearly, to make sure no one had misunderstood, only this genius of my old age, do I keep for myself as my own mine until the day of my death when he will also know mercy