COSTUMBRISM: THE LADY IN THE RAIN
The Lady in the rain
In my neighborhood of Guantánamo in the south lived a black woman whose skin was like bitumen, if the sun gave it strong it would seem that it would turn into chapapote. She was always clean and with her poor clothes well washed. It was said that she worked as a washerwoman and one day when a lightning struck her little son went crazy.
The truth is that when the sky was cloudy, she would go out into the streets screaming and get into the first house she saw open. The people screaming closed their doors and the children of the neighborhood, cruel always, shouted: Juanica is going to rain. And she despaired even more.
One day I saw her come and leave the door open. My mother at the bottom of the house did not know anything until she heard the cries of Juanica who threw herself on a sofa sobbing and asking for salt water. My mother came over and put a damp cloth over her forehead as she comforted her.
But Juanica was inconsolable and asked for water with salt to drink. I went to the kitchen and poured a handful of salt into a glass of water to see the effect it made, to see if it was leaving and how cruel it was.
They said that if it started to rain it would get worse and get under the beds which would make things worse. When Juanica drank the glass of salted water, she screamed and ran like a rocket through the door with her usual hymn.
Years went by and Juanica continued with her crazy ride. I saw her on Sundays in the church of La Milagrosa with her poor but clean clothes and just finished bathing. Then he felt more respect for her but remained silent only muttering who knows what.
One morning I learned in the hospital that Juanica the mad had died and that no one from the church had gone to her funeral
DR ORLANDO VICENTE ALVAREZ
CUBAN URUGUAYAN
GENIUS
In my neighborhood of Guantánamo in the south lived a black woman whose skin was like bitumen, if the sun gave it strong it would seem that it would turn into chapapote. She was always clean and with her poor clothes well washed. It was said that she worked as a washerwoman and one day when a lightning struck her little son went crazy.
The truth is that when the sky was cloudy, she would go out into the streets screaming and get into the first house she saw open. The people screaming closed their doors and the children of the neighborhood, cruel always, shouted: Juanica is going to rain. And she despaired even more.
One day I saw her come and leave the door open. My mother at the bottom of the house did not know anything until she heard the cries of Juanica who threw herself on a sofa sobbing and asking for salt water. My mother came over and put a damp cloth over her forehead as she comforted her.
But Juanica was inconsolable and asked for water with salt to drink. I went to the kitchen and poured a handful of salt into a glass of water to see the effect it made, to see if it was leaving and how cruel it was.
They said that if it started to rain it would get worse and get under the beds which would make things worse. When Juanica drank the glass of salted water, she screamed and ran like a rocket through the door with her usual hymn.
Years went by and Juanica continued with her crazy ride. I saw her on Sundays in the church of La Milagrosa with her poor but clean clothes and just finished bathing. Then he felt more respect for her but remained silent only muttering who knows what.
One morning I learned in the hospital that Juanica the mad had died and that no one from the church had gone to her funeral
DR ORLANDO VICENTE ALVAREZ
CUBAN URUGUAYAN
GENIUS
JUANICA LA LOCA
En mi barrio de Guantánamo en la zona sur vivía una negra cuya piel era como betún, si el sol le daba fuerte parecería que se convertiría en chapapote. Siempre estaba limpia y con su ropa pobre bien lavada. Se decia que trabajaba de lavandera y un día cuando un rayo mato a su pequeño hijo se volvió loca.
Lo cierto es que cuando el cielo se nublaba salía a las calles gritando y se metía en la primera casa que veía abierta. La gente a sus gritos cerraba sus puertas y los niños del barrio, crueles siempre, le gritaban: Juanica va a llover. Y ella se desesperaba más aún.
Un día yo la vi venir y deje la puerta abierta. Mi madre en el fon do de la casa no supo nada hasta que escucho los gritos de Juanica que se tiró en un sofá a sollozar y a pedir agua salada. Mi madre se acercó y le puso un paño húmedo en la frente mientras la consolaba.
Pero Juanica estaba inconsolable y pedía agua con sal para beber. Yo fui a la cocina y vacié un puñado de sal en un vaso de agua a ver el efecto que hacía, a ver si se marchaba y por cruel que era.
Decían que si empezaba a llover se ponía peor y se metía debajo de las camas lo que empeoraría las cosas. Cuando Juanica bebió el vaso de agua resalada emitió un grito y salio como un cohete por la puerta con su cantinela de siempre.
Pasaron los años y Juanica continuó con su andar de loca. Yo la veía los domingos en la iglesia de la Milagrosa con su ropa pobre pero limpia y como acabada de bañarse. Entonces sentía más respeto por ella pero permanecía en silencio solo murmurando quién sabe qué.
Una mañana me enteré en el hospital que Juanica la loca había muerto y que nadie de la iglesia había ido a su entierroDR ORLANDO VICENTE ALVAREZ
CUBANO URUGUAYO
GENIO
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