Oscar Hijuelos - Beautiful Maria of My Soul

O ver forty years before, when Nestor Castillos future love, one Mara Garca y Cifuentes, left her beloved valle in the far west of Cuba, she could have gone to the provincial capital of Pinar del Ro, where her prospects for finding work might be as goodor badas in any place; but because the truck driver whod picked her up one late morning, his gargoyle face hidden under the lowered brim of a lacquered cane hat, wasnt going that way and because shed heard so many thingsboth wonderful and sadabout Havana, Mara decided to accompany him, that cab stinking to high heaven from the animals in the back and from the thousands of hours he must have driven that truck with its loud diesel engine and manure-stained floor without a proper cleaning. He couldnt have been more simptico, and at first he seemed to take pains not to stare at her glorious figure, though he couldnt help but smile at the way her youthful beauty certainly cheered things up. Okay, he was missing half his teeth, looked like he swallowed shadows when he opened his mouth, and had a bulbous, knobbed face, the sort of ugly man, somewhere in his forties or fiftiesshe couldnt tellwho could never have been good looking, even as a boy. Once he got around to tipping up his brim, however, she could see that his eyes were spilling over with kindness, and despite his filthy fingernails she liked him for the thin crucifix he wore around his necka sure sign, in her opinion, that he had to be a good fellow un hombre decente .

Heading northeast along dirt roads, the Cuban countryside with its stretches of farms and pastures, dense forests and flatlands gradually rising, they brought up clouds of red dust: along some tracks it was so hard to breathe that Mara had to cover her face with a kerchief. Still, to be racing along at such bewildering speeds, of some twenty or thirty miles an hour, overwhelmed her. Shed never even ridden in a truck before, let alone anything faster than a horse and carriage, and the thrill of traveling so quickly for the first time in her life seemed worth the queasiness in her stomach, it was so exciting and frightening at the same time. Naturally, they got to talking.

So, why you wanna go to Havana? the fellowhis name was Sixtoasked her. You got some problems at home?

No. She shook her head.

What are you gonna do there, anyway? You know anyone?

I might have some cousins there, from my mam s side of the familyshe made a sign of the cross in her late mothers memory. But I dont know. I think they live in a place called Los Humos. Have you heard of it?

Los Humos? He considered the matter. Nope, but then there are so many hole-in-the-wall neighborhoods in that city. Im sure therell be somebody to show you how to find it. Then, picking at a tooth with his pinkie: You have any work? A job?

No, seor not yet.

What are you going to do, then?

She shrugged.

I know how to sew, she told him. And how to roll tobaccomy papito taught me.

He nodded, scratched his chin. She was looking at herself in the rearview mirror, off which dangled a rosary. As she did, he couldnt resist asking her, Well, how old are you anyway, mi vida ?

Seventeen.

Seventeen! And you have nobody there? He shook his head. You better be careful. Thats a rough place, if you dont know anyone.

That worried her; travelers coming through her valle sometimes called it a city of liars and criminals, of people who take advantage. Still, she preferred to think of what her papito once told her about Havana, where hed lived for a time back in the 1920s when he was a traveling musician. Claimed it was as beautiful as any town hed ever seen, with lovely parks and ornate stone buildings that would make her eyes pop out of her head. He would have stayed there if anybody had cared about the kind of country music his trio playedperforming in those sidewalk cafs and for the tourists in the hotels was hard enough, but once that terrible thing happenednot just when sugar prices collapsed, but when the depression came along and not even the American tourists showed up as much as they used tothere had been no point to his staying there. And so it was back to the guajiro s life for him.

That epoch of unfulfilled ambitions had made her papito sad and sometimes a little careless in his treatment of his family, even his lovely daughter, Mara, on whom, as the years had passed, he sometimes took out the shortcomings of his youth. Thats why, whenever that driver Sixto abruptly reached over to crank the hand clutch forward, or swatted at a pesty fly buzzing the air, shed flinch, as if she half expected him to slap her for no reason. He hardly noticed, however, no more than her papito did in the days of her own melancholy.

But I heard its a nice city, she told Sixto.

Coo, s, if you have a good place to live and a good job, but And he waved the thought off. Ah, Im sure youll be all right. In fact, he went on, smiling, I can help you maybe, huh?

He scratched his chin, smiled again.

How so?

Im taking these pigs over to this slaughterhouse, its run by a family called the Gallegos, and Im friendly enough with the son that he might agree to meet you

And so it went: once Sixto had dropped off the pigs, he could bring her into their office and then who knew what might happen. She had told him, after all, that shed grown up in the countryside, and what girl from the countryside didnt know about skinning animals, and all the rest? But when Mara made a face, not managing as much as a smile the way she had over just about everything else he said, he suggested that maybe shed find a job in the front office doing whatever people in those offices do.

Do you know how to read and write?

The question embarrassed her.

Only a few words, she finally told him. I can write my name, though.

Seeing that he had made her uncomfortable, he rapped her on the knee and said, Well, dont feel bad, I can barely read and write myself. But whatever you do, dont worryyour new friend Sixto will help you out, I promise you that!

She never became nervous riding with him, even when they had passed those stretches of the road where the workers stopped their labors in the fields to wave their hats at them, after which they didnt see a soul for miles, just acres of tobacco or sugarcane going on forever into the distance. It would have been so easy for him to pull over and take advantage of her; fortunately this Sixto wasnt that sort, even if Mara had spotted him glancing at her figure when he thought she wasnt looking . Bueno, what was she to do if even the plainest and most tattered of dresses still showed her off?

Thank goodness that Sixto remained a considerate fellow. A few times he pulled over to a roadside stand so that she could have a tacita of coffee and a sweet honey-drenched bun, which he paid for, and when she used the outhouse, he made a point of getting lost. Once when they were finally on the Central Highway, which stretched from one end of the island to the other, he just had to stop at one of the Standard Oil gas stations along the way, to buy some cigarettes for himself and to let that lovely guajira see one of their sparkling clean modern toilets. He even put a nickel into a vending machine to buy her a bottle of Canada Dry ginger ale, and when she belched delicately from all the burbujas the bubblesSixto couldnt help but slap his legs as if it was the funniest thing he had ever seen.

He was so nice that she almost became fond of him despite his ugliness, fond of him in the way beautiful women, even at so young an age, do of plain and unattractivehideousmen, as if taking pity on an injured dog. As they started their approach towards one of the coastal roadsthat air so wonderful with the scent of the gulf seaand he suggested that if she got hungry he could take her out to a special little restaurant in Havana, for obreros like himselfworkers who earn their living honestly, with the sweat of their browMara had to tell him that she couldnt. She had just caught him staring at her in a certain way, and she didnt want to take the chance that he might not turn out to be so saintly, even if it might hurt his feelings. Of course, he started talking about his familyhis faithful wife, his eight children, his simple house in a small town way over in Cienfuegos,and of his love of pigs even when he knew they were going to end up slaughteredall to amuse his lovely passenger.