The canticle of the empty snail
In the time when this island of today was another,
when the mixture of taíno and black occurred, in a strange parallel that was
never lived, there was a black woman named Mabú. The black Mabu was the eldest
of six sisters. She was abducted from an African beach and woken up under the
brand-new Caribbean island sun, Borinquén. It was the year one thousand four
hundred and something, something more or something less. Mabú escaped from his
white mistress and ended up in a small taíno village, on a small island annexed
to the big island. Mabú did not understand the taínos, nor the taínos
understood her, but they welcomed her as one more, as another expatriate in the
ranks of extermination. Those were the times of the oppressed Caribbean, if it
ever happened, if it ever got left behind. And on the small island, Mabú became
part of the family, the eldest of three forcibly related sisters, mixed like
water and oil. The taina Guaninina and Maguax were the daughters of the
cacique. All the taínos of the village respected the leader's great family, but
not Mabú, because she was not a legitimate part. Her sensual blackness brought
the tainos mad, but Mabú was already a free woman, and her freedom was
absolute, no one would lay a finger on her without her consent. Guaninina, the
cacique' s eldest daughter, was in love with the conquest, with the conquerors
who had killed her offspring and had abused others. Nothing stopped her, she
escaped with her conquest, she was conquered and discovered to its depths in a
bush. That same night she was colonized.
Nine
months later a pair of whitened twins opened their eyes under a thatched roof.
The first thing both twins saw was Mabú's black face, and perhaps it was the
face they saw the most in their lives. When the cacique died in battle,
Guaninina lost her privileges and was ordered to work the land at the time of
the farming. The twins stayed in the hut with Mabú who closed her wings and
abandoned her dream of returning smuggled back to África. She raised them as
she would have done with her children. Guninina did nothing to take care of the
children, she brought nothing but problems to the hut. She did not want to
clean the ditas, nor the dujos and much less the hammocks. Mabú was the one who
had to prepare the cassava every day, because Mabú loved her as a sister, the
twins, as her children and the other sister, the younger one, she looked after
her as if she were the light of her eyes, but she died young. Without wanting
it, Mabú became the sustenance of the family.
It was like this for many years, not even a boyfriend could have, not
for lack of decision, Mabú was a woman of word, honor and respect, renounced
everything for the love of her family, the people who took her into their land.
One day Mabú fell ill. The hut in which they lived was shattered, the hammocks
frayed and there was no one left to help her. Mabu was alone, with her forehead
held high. She knew it before, the only time she visited the seashore, an empty
snail shell whispered to her ear. Although she did not believe in it, there she
was, alone, dying, after having taken a lineage of others forward, after her
sweat had carved the roads, after having given to strangers everything that
must have been hers. Maybe that was killing her, that's what ended up finishing
her from the inside, she was born to be great and when greatness does not come
out of the chest, one bursts from the inside.
I
couldn't stop staring at her, I thought she was delirious. I put the serum in
her and asked her ear, very carefully: And that story was true? Maybe,"
she whispered. Not knowing why, I kissed her forehead. She gave me her hand. I
held her, I didn't let her soul crawl on the ground, I put her in her place, at
the height, as she always should have been. She smiled. In my hand she left an
empty snail shell. She carried my hand to my heart. That's when I understood.
She asked me with her eyes to keep the memory of the only time she visited the
seashore.
F.
JaBieR
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