Caribbean Crossroads
Charles Croes
Caribbean Crossroads
Carribean Crossroads
LM Publishers Parallelweg 37 1131 DM Volendam The Netherlands info@lmpublishers.nl www.lmpublishers.nl
© 2018 – LM Publishers, Volendam / Editorial Charuba, Oranjestad, Aruba
TEXT Charles Croes EDITING Marcia Harriman, Niantic, USA (mbharriman@aol.com) GRAPHIC DESIGN Ad van Helmond, Amsterdam COVER PAINTING Elvis Tromp PRODUCTION Hightrade bv, Zwolle
The author wishes to thank the following persons for their support and guidance in realizing Carribean Crossroads: Alice Van Romondt – Charuba, Ron Smit – LM Publishers, Ray-Anne Henriquez – UNOCA and Marcia Harriman – editor
ISBN 978-94-6022-467-6
Carribean Crossroads was realized with the support of Union di Organisacionnan Cultural Arubano (UNOCA)
Index
Under a tree 9 Aleman 10 The walk 24 Stallions should be free 41 Chen sails to Aruba 47 Palm Beach – Aruba 53 White sands and pellets 54 Venezuela – the ranch 60 Margarita’s house 65 On Aruba 68 Coming to terms 70 Meeting the blind man 83 Synopsis of death 95 The living encounter 97 In a cottage by the sea 105 Convergence 113 Words of wisdom 124 The meeting 127 A bond with the sea 133 Dreams 136 I love you 145 Voyages 153 The horn 162
Hard decisions 167 The trip 174 A camp 177 The shard left in the cave 180 Empires have tentacles 190 A labor of love 196 Sanchez and Margarita 200 The sailor on the docks 203 The long vacation 208 The future 214 Closure 216
Under a tree
There are women with a natural beauty that assault our senses leaving indelible images of what a woman was meant to be. That was the case with Teresa. Her glistening white teeth bit down furiously on a short piece of wood she had been given. The pain that comes with giving birth while lying under a ragged tree in a desolate outback did not dim the piercing beauty of her eyes as she stared upwards at nothing. Her glistening black hair fell to the sides and in that way framed her near perfect face. Her rhythmic moans were guttural and came from the depths of her body. In between those deep moans she looked to the side and repeated in a low voice, “Why?� There was never a response. Had it not been for Teresa, a series of events would never have happened. She was the catalyst of a small piece of history. It was because of her that a saga was put in motion.
9
Aleman
Aleman Venezuela is a small dusty and unkempt little gathering of houses that exists in an expanse of huge open lands not far from the village of Carora. It was once known to be the breeding area for Venezuela’s best goat meats and cheeses. The herders who kept these goats were a rugged and hardy people who worked tirelessly in the sun. They spoke to no one but each other and to the goats they tended. These people never considered their life a misery. They knew nothing else and were proud to live slightly better than the animals they tended. Aleman and the land around it was flat and barren and did not give much in the way of wood or materials for building homes, but instead only supplied a scattering of shrubby trees that were used to make lean-to structures. These dry and scruffy shelters gave limited shade in the day and, when it did rain, they gave bare protection against the wetness. They were made from whatever was readily available and if the herders moved, the scraps of usable materials or pieces of wood were taken with them and considered as prized possessions. The shrubby trees were left for another family to use. During the sparse rains, day or night, it was the custom to take their dusty garments to nearby rocks and pound them into semi-cleanliness on the wet rock surfaces or in the small rivulets that would appear then dry up and disappear after the rain 10
had subsided. These people sustained themselves on the very animals they cared for. The goats they tended had owners that lived in the small village of Carora, however, it was the custom that the flock owners would allow the herders to set aside some stock from which they themselves could live. This stock was the ‘cutting stock,’ or animals not to be bred due to deformities or weaknesses. The existence was difficult and bare. Within this harsh reality there were some shelters that were better than others. The better shelters were made mostly from dried branches which were carefully woven into the tree so as to create a frail wall or structure for some shade. The sun beat mercilessly on these people, yet they knew no other life. This was their existence and in most cases, it never crossed their minds to complain about it. In the middle of one of these large expanses of dried-out grass, close to a small shallow river, there was a low scraggly tree. One of the families had claimed it as their home. The limbs were bent, twisted and woven into a semi-flat roof which was enough for three people to sleep under if they did so side by side. The limbs of this bent tree were laden with canvas bags in which the inhabitants hung a few pots for making goat stew as well as an assortment of clothing in others. To protect themselves from the glare of the afternoon sun, one side had a wall of carefully placed dead cacti leaning against each other. Before placing them, the cacti thorns were carefully cut off. The other sides of this shelter were open to the environment. It had been many months since the last rain and a thick dust floated in the still air creating what seemed like a yellowish smoke. Within this cloud of dryness there were millions of buzzing flies that came from the large area where the goats slept. 11
The only source for water that these herders had was from a thin shallow river that was relatively close by. The lack of rain had turned it to nothing more than a reddish muddy rivulet. The sun outside of the small shade was sweltering and goats walked aimlessly in all directions looking for water. The sound that the goats made was a deafening drone that accompanied the constant humming of flies that surrounded each animal. No matter how many thousands of times they flicked their tails or twitched their ears and skin, they remained covered with a black blanket of flies. It was in this way that Santiago and Teresa lived with their son Chen. The three of them tended the goats for the landowners who lived in a proper home in the small town of Carora. Here in this small lean-to and in the misery of the environment, on one particular day two events would occur to change the lives of these people forever. Inside the small shelter and amid the buzzing of the flies and the droning sound of the bleating goats, there was the frantic sound of women murmuring instructions to one another. They moved about with urgency and in doing so added to the dust and the sweltering heat. The activity created a feeling of chaos in the humble existence. The women who were under the shade hovered around an incredibly beautiful young woman named Teresa. Her hair was shockingly black with a luster and her brilliantly blue eyes were piercing. Her skin had a beautiful glow and regardless of her life and living conditions, it was flawless. It was commonly known that when she smiled, which was not often, her face radiated tranquility as well as a hint of a special love she kept hidden inside. It was a love that was known only to her and she had known it only once. 12
Here in this desolate place under shreds of tree and amid dust and filth, this most beautiful twenty-five-year-old sheepherder named Teresa lay on her back with legs parted in preparation for childbirth. As she started to feel the increasing pangs, she thought back on her first child who was born ten years earlier when she was barely a child herself. She remembered the pain then and how it became a symbol for the center of her world since the child was from the seed of her single purest love. Teresa’s eyes silently screamed out in silent helplessness. There she was, a young beauty of a woman, on her back amid the confusion and droning sounds from the animals outside as well as the chaotic movement of the women going in and out of the shelter without the comfort she so needed. Outside, the younger women walked continuously to the small muddy stream to gather brownish water which they then brought to a large bucket so they could pour this mud through old pieces and scraps of cloth so as to sift out the larger mud particles. It worked, but not well. When the water had reached an acceptable level of clarity, it was boiled. However, it never lost the colors of earth. With this colored and boiled water, she was cleansed for the moment when she would give birth. She was in her eighth month and not yet due, but had fallen while cleaning their small hovel. This simple fall jarred the birthing process she was currently enduring. Teresa turned and looked at a man standing in the corner. Her eyes streamed as she called out, “Why? Tell me why I am alone?� There was no response, he just stood there. Not far away, a mother goat that was pulling on dried stumps of weeds heard the screaming and turned her head sharply in the direction of Teresa. Many miles to the southeast, in a grassier valley, Santiago, the 13
husband of Teresa, and their son Chen walked together and talked as they herded their goats. They brought one quarter of their animals to this greenery once a month. Another group of goats that were left behind would get their turn next week. There, away from the shelter and the trauma of premature childbirth, father and son walked to a tree and sat on the ground with backs leaning on the tree so they could relax and rest in the shade. Chen was very tall for his age with a body developed beyond his ten years. His face had already started to take on the chiseled look that comes from living in a harsh environment. By all standards, he was stunningly handsome yet when least expected, that handsomeness bled away to expose a boy - a simple young boy. Neither he nor Santiago had been remotely aware of the suffering that Teresa was enduring, and had they been, they would have only been able to return at the pace of 500 goats. In their innocence, the two sat looking at the grazing herd of goats while fighting the temptation of sleeping in the cool shade. From the nearby tree-line a man appeared. Santiago looked at Chen and said, “When that man is near, do not forget to offer him water.” With that, the obedient Chen nodded and went back to their bundled supplies to get a goatskin bag of water. As he turned to make his way back to the tree and Santiago, he noted that the stranger was already talking to his father. He watched the two of them and noticed that the stranger was speaking in a confrontational manner. Chen dropped the water bag and rushed to his father’s side. He stood next to Santiago, and listened as the stranger said, “If you do not have money, then give me some goats to sell and save the life of your little boy.” Santiago said he could not do that since the animals were not his. The stranger stood still for a moment and reflected on this, 14
then put his hand into his pocket and took out a small flask of whiskey. He started to bring the bottle to his lips. As the bottle neared his face he looked at it quizzically then realized it was empty. This enraged him and he threw the bottle on the ground. He watched the pieces of glass fly in different directions. Bleary eyed, he raised his long rifle and pointed it at Santiago as he said, “You stupid pig. You are about to die for a boy and a few damned goats that aren’t even yours.” He pulled back the hammer on his rifle. Chen looked at his father and could see that he was thinking of what to do. Instinctively, Chen dove at the man’s legs and knocked him backwards. The rifle shot into the air and the goats scattered in all directions. Chen stayed on the ground after hearing the rifle discharge. The stranger slowly recovered from the boy’s attack. In his stupor, he looked at Chen as he got up to face Santiago. The drunken stranger then turned his attention back down to Chen who was still on the ground. Looking down at him he cursed at the young boy then grabbed one of his legs and threw him to the side as if he were a bag of paper. Santiago was stunned by what Chen had done and was moving towards the stranger. The drunken stranger walked over to Chen. He stood over the boy and kicked him in the ribs. Chen felt the air go from his lungs as pain shot through his chest and then spread into the rest of his body. The stranger ignored Santiago completely and dropped the riffle as he went down to Chen and sat on his chest. While holding him by the neck, he started to strangle the boy. Chen tried to loosen himself but couldn’t and started to faint, all the time staring at the stranger’s eyes as they looked back at his. The drunkard laughed and cursed as he watched the boy drift into lifelessness. Suddenly the stranger‘s eyes changed and he looked over his shoulder in disbelief. He saw the stock of the 15
rifle coming through the air as Santiago swung it into his face. The sound of the wood stock against his face was a sickening flat thud. The stranger was still for a moment. His hands loosened and he fell from Chen. On the ground, he brought his hands to his bleeding face. The hands that had been around Chen’s neck now covered his face as he made strange gurgling sounds. Blood was slowly coming from the sides of his mouth. Before he had a chance to come to his senses, the stock of the rifle came once again and slammed against his head. His nose flattened and one eye seemed to sink back into his skull. Santiago reached over to the man’s belt and slid out a cartridge and pushed it into the rifle. The stranger’s one eye looked up at Santiago. Chen rolled to the side and quickly looked at his father, then back at the drunk on the ground. He heard the rifle hammer cock and closed his eyes. Then came a soft clicking sound of the trigger-pull. Chen was in a trance. The shot blast was deafening and instinctively the boy raised both hands to cover his ears. When he finally opened his eyes he could see blood oozing from a hole in the man’s chest. The drunkard no longer moved – he was dead. The need for money to buy more liquor resulted in one single shot that finished his life. Santiago’s words were lost on a dead man as he said, “Never, ever touch my boy again.” The stranger’s chest flowed blood, causing a pool to form on the ground surrounding him. Chen looked up to his father and then back at the lifeless body. Not knowing what to do next, he stood and went to his father’s side. The boy felt faint and started to fall, but Santiago reached over and grabbed his arm. Chen steadied himself and looked down at the twisted lifeless body once again and vomited on it. Santiago also looked down at the man, especially at the hole in his chest. 16
Santiago heard the sound of horses in the far distance and knew what was coming and what he had to do to protect Chen and himself. “Chen, we do not have time for grieving, not now. Right here where we stand, I want you to find a soft spot in the soil where we can make a shallow grave that will cover his body entirely. Do that for me, son.” Chen understood the message as well as the urgency and did as he was told. A few minutes later, Santiago could see that the shallow grave had been dug and that it was almost next to the dead man. The two of them lifted the man by his legs and arms and dropped him into the grave. Santiago then positioned him in the ground with his rifle next to him. They covered him and the weapon with sand and placed large stones over the area where the body of the man rested. Santiago looked over his shoulder as the sound of horses was becoming louder. When the last stone had been placed, Santiago stood back and looked at the spot where the grave was. There was still blood on the ground. He told Chen to put sand on it while he himself started moving some of the stones to make it look more natural. Santiago then told Chen to go and get him a small goat. When Chen returned, Santiago took out a knife and killed the goat by slitting its throat. He then held the small goat by its hind legs and let the blood pour down on the ground letting it mix with that of the drunkard. He looked at the boy and told him to get wood quickly and to start a fire on top of the stones that covered the grave. To anyone arriving at this scene, it appeared to be father and son goat herders preparing to cook a baby goat. In truth, it was a countryside pyre, hiding the deeds that took a man’s life. Father and son then knelt and prayed. “God forgive us for what we have done; there was no choice. Amen.” Santiago walked over to Chen and shook him softly until he had his attention and said 17
to him, “This never happened. Do you understand me? We heard a shot and came to find one of our goats shot and the butchering had started. Understand? We shouted to a man and he ran off. Son, do not forget that. The blood on your shirt is from that poor goat and not a man. We are hungry and will cook it. Chen – do you understand me? Stop weeping and let me know you understand.” Chen nodded and without a word, they walked over to the large tree nearby where Santiago said, “This is not a good life for you. There is too much cruelty here and the dust will fill your chest and choke you before you see your grandchildren. My boy, today that poor man died by my hand and tomorrow one of us may die at another’s. What do I teach my son? Is my best lesson one that teaches you to cook goat over the grave of a man you just killed? No. No – it is wrong.” Santiago looked down at his hands and then reached to grab at dirt to use to clean them. As he rubbed his hands in the black soil under the tree he spoke to Chen. “I have heard of a place called Aruba where the small sailboats go with supplies and deliver and sell fruits. I have spoken with your mother and we will all go there after the new child is born. We need to live by the sea. The air is cleaner there and men do not kill each other over the hides of goats. Your mother will ask “El Jefe” if we can take eight goats with us. They must be good ones, because they will need to walk long distances to the ocean port of Adicora and then withstand the movement of a ship as we cross to this place. If these goats are good ones and if there is sufficient grass there, then we will become the family that feeds the people with goat meat.” The boy turned to his father and asked him inquisitively if they did not have any animals there. Santiago said “Yes, I heard 18
they have donkeys and many dogs.” Santiago then looked at the large mangoes that hung from the tree next to the pile of stones and turned to his son and told him to grab a feed bag and pick mangoes for his Mama. He was looking for ways to distract his son’s thoughts about what had just happened. After climbing the tree and filling the bag, Chen came to his father and they looked at the burning wood and the dead goat. Santiago turned and looked at Chen and told him to start whistling and calling so that the scattered goats would return. As they did this, two other men came from the same direction from which the dead stranger had come. They greeted, then asked if they had seen their brother walking through these parts. Santiago said that they did see a man that killed one of their goats and then ran off when he saw them coming. One of the two men uttered, “Idiot! Do we owe you anything?” Surprising to Santiago, Chen gave them the price of one goat and one of the men paid it as he apologized for what he thought were his brother’s actions. It was the first piece of business that Chen had done in his life. The two men left and continued on their search. When the goat herd finally came back, both Chen and Santiago started whistling. It was this whistling that would be their herding signals for the next two days. And so, the two of them started their journey back, and did so at the pace of 500 goats. For the rest of that day and the following night, they walked to the cadence of these animals and slowly made their way back to the small shelter that held Mama. Neither ever spoke of the stranger or the gruesome events again during the walk or the rest of their lives, yet Chen now looked at his father, Santiago, in a different way. For the first time in his 19
life, he did not feel like a part of a herding team. He felt like a child should feel - protected, truly protected. On the way back to their home, father and son walked in the blue darkness of night and watched as the sun turned the darkness into day. They continued in the direction of the shelter, but as they neared, they felt something was different. They were both accosted by silence. Santiago stopped and put his hand on the shoulder of his son. “A mother goat has died,” he said as he moved his hand across his son’s shoulder. Chen looked up and asked, “How do you know that?” Santiago kept looking out at the fields and at the goats all lying down not making a sound then said, “Because they are being quiet.” Chen looked at the quiet goats, as they made soft sounds to welcome back the arriving goats, and unexplainably the arriving herd also lay down and became still. As Chen looked at this he heard something else. He tilted his head in the direction of another sound. It was the frail sound of a baby. He then looked up at his father to tell him about the sounds of the baby and found Santiago staring at the goats and that of a black stallion galloping away. Tears filled his eyes and started down his face. The tears slowly moved to his lips and hung there as his mouth trembled. Finally, they fell from his lower lip to his dusty shirt. Chen, quiet and confused, asked Santiago who had ridden away. Santiago continued to look at the goats as he answered, “Sanchez – that was Sanchez and he is going back to inform El Jefe.” Santiago walked to the middle of a few goats that were off to the side and sat on the ground with them. He pet a pregnant mother-goat and softly said, “Silent aren’t you? Kind and silent messengers of death is what you are.” Chen turned from his father and walked towards the small 20
shelter. Eventually his father stood up and followed closely behind his son. In the place where his mother slept, was a long black cloth covering her body. Off to the side, one of the ladies that had been there through it all held a baby wrapped in white cloth. The baby was tiny, premature and crying. The crying slowed and then stopped as the child became listless. Two days later, the sweltering heat and lack of pure water as well as no nourishment from a mother’s milk, all took their toll. The baby girl, who was named Teresita by her mother, drifted into an endless slumber to join her mother in whatever place it is that angels dwell. The funeral was held in town and the landlord and owner of the herd allowed that the two be buried in the family church graveyard in Carora. Maybe four people attended. Off to the side, perhaps one hundred meters away, the landlord - dressed in a long black riding coat and black hat - sat on his equally as black stallion. He stared at the simple grave and finally adjusted his wide-brimmed black hat then crossed himself and rode off. Sanchez, his bodyguard and constant companion, followed him from a short distance behind. It was a profoundly quiet and sound occasion. After the funeral, Santiago and Chen both seemed lost. They returned to the shelter and cleaned up Teresa’s things. The two of them put all of her earthly possessions in a large cloth bag which they hung from one of the branches. Father and son then walked into the goat herd and selected ten of the best ones. Santiago told Chen to tie them all on one long rope then tethered them on a far-off tree stump. As Chen was doing what he had been told, he looked back and saw that Santiago had gone to the shelter and started to burn it to the ground. As it burned, Santiago stared at the huge fire, never 21
looking away until the last pieces had become nothing more than embers struggling to glow in the dark night. During the burning of the shelter that was once their home, both of them stood transfixed and wept. Santiago wept in misery while the boy wept in fear. Santiago finally called Chen to his side. They stood and looked at the charred and burned pieces of their family life. Chen’s history had turned to embers that were glowing in the night. He looked at the spot where Teresa had finally passed away and asked Santiago, “Papa, who will cook for us? Who will love me now?” Santiago turned to Chen and with eyes that were red and swollen from staring into the fire, he said, “I will my boy, I will.” And when the burning was done, Santiago, his son and ten goats – along with some meager food, including a large bag of mangoes, started to walk towards the northern coast of Venezuela. On this walk, they would pass through desolate places of absolute loneliness. In this solitude and madness, a father and his son marched with determination to get to the small coastal village of Adicora. During this walk, the two of them and their animals stopped anywhere there were people or water and did whatever it took to feed themselves and their animals. When they were asked where they were off to, the answer was always the same. “We are going to Adicora and the ships that sail to a small island named Aruba where goods and supplies are sometimes delivered.” Santiago hoped to find an island without goats, without messengers of death. It became his obsession to take ten animals and his son, Chen, to Aruba. This very obsession would change the course of his life. What he thought would be easy, would be more difficult than he could ever have imagined. The noble quest of a father and son to conquer a far-off island 22
would change each of them drastically. The plans Santiago had envisioned were not those that would materialize. How could he have known? A journey he had planned for four people now consisted of two, he and his son, Chen. His wife and newly born daughter would stay here in this infernal country. How could he ever have suspected what awaited them? Many years later as Chen would sit and ponder this, he was always left with the purest admiration and a most profound love for Santiago. He would be left with the memories of his last words to his mother, Teresa. Burned into his mind was the sight of his struggling baby sister Teresita – a child who barely knew life, lost that life due to heat and hunger. The fact that mother and infant did not come on this hellish walk was a kind thing. Chen wondered many nights about how Sanchez had known to be there so that he could take the horrid death news to his Jefe and he also thought of the courage it took to burn their simple home. In his later years, he would realize that putting flames to all that you are is not an easy task, no matter how humble the thing is that you are burning. A trail of heartaches, pain and misery is what Aleman and Carora were. He knew, even as a small boy, that there would be things to settle there in this rotten land. He knew some day someone would come to him and give him an answer to this nightmare. He also knew that if the answer was not a good one that that particular someone would pay for the death of his mother and that of his baby sister. Yet – even though he knew these things, he was unable to do anything about them – he was a boy.
23
The Walk
Father and son walked across a wide and horrid expanse of outback Venezuelan country, followed by the bleating sounds of ten goats. The animals were no longer tethered, yet remained amazingly close to the two herders. The only purpose for this incredible journey was to go to an island where they heard that there is no goat meat. It was the intention that once there, they would breed their meager stock into magnificent animals and be known to all that lived there as the ones that feed the people of Aruba with the most delicious goat meats as well as the milks and cheeses that came from these homely animals. The pair remained true to their vision and repeated it over and over to themselves by way of storytelling or imagining how it would be and then talking to each other about their visions. The many miles of land they walked through every day was grayish in color and feeling. It was a grayness that came through the eyes and went into the soul. The way the land was, attested to aridity of soil and did so in the purest sense of the word. As they walked across this misery, the country seemed to speak to them in a loud humming sound. Sometimes, when they chose to walk in the middle of the day, the sound that came from the desert sounded like a slow drawn out moan. Chen became withdrawn and lived with the ongoing sounds and thoughts of death that seemed to surround him. He was 24