Category: Rebeca Monzo

The Cuban Film, Affinidades (Affinities), by Jorge Perogurría and Vladimir Cruz, awakened my interest, which is why I decided to to rent it for this weekend, because I still was able to remember the two of them in Fresa y Chocolate (Strawberry and Chocolate).

For me, I am not a critic of movies nor much else, although as a movie fan, it was like watching a tourist postcard, printed and flat.

All of the action takes place in the beautiful setting of Cienaga de Zapata (it just suffers from this). A quartet composed of two Cuban men, one ordinary technician and another high-ranking official, a Cuban women, wife or girlfriend of the first, and a Spanish investor, who apparently had an intimate and business relationship with the official of Aguas Habana.

As soon as they arrive in a small boat that makes this journey towards the Tesoro Lagoon, where a touristy area is found, the crossed looks start, a childish omen of what is to come.

From the disguised waiter, with extreme imposed kindness, who constantly winks at the official, the use of curse words out of context, the excessive fervor of the investor (the only great acting), played by the Spanish actress Cuca Esribano, up to the incomprehensible and excessive innocence that fades away like magic, of the wife, woman, or girlfriend of the ordinary technician, who throws her into the ring of the boss’s appetites to ensure his job, before the impending layoffs which will take affect in the workplace.

The night of the Taíno Show, in the cabaret restaurant in the tourist center, lacks authenticity (even though it is valid in the film) with the presence, somewhat anachronistic, of Omara Portuondo singing a bland song, until the sexual apotheosis, a Pas de Quatre type, that doesn’t add anything to the film, until the final exit by car along an infinite causeway, all gives the sensation that he came from nothing and left with nothing.

The only contribution for our eyes was the marvelous natural but mutilated scenery of a marsh without crocodiles or exotic birds.

If you would like to lose an hour and thirty minutes, which is about how long this film lasts, without seeing anything interesting, then I recommend it!

Translated by: BW

August 7 2011

In the past few days, I wrote about architectural horrors, today I am going to dedicate this post to the aggressions committed against our monuments.

Walking through the neighborhood of El Vedado, as always with my little camera in hand, I stopped to look at the little park that splits the road in two.

There I was observing the state of abandonment and deterioration of the green spaces and painfully I could see it, the pillaged base of a sculpture of the famous musician Johann Strauss, covered in gold leaf (too shiny perhaps for our strong sun), donated by the Vienna Embassy to the people of Cuba.

Without any respect, the statue was mysteriously removed, under the sleepless eyes of the always alert CDR (Committee for the Defense of the Revolution), something truly incomprehensible, since the thieves would have had to have a truck at their disposal to take it away and would have made plenty of noise separating it from its pedestal

Also left there to the embarrassment of all, the stone with the dedication of the monument.

Unfortunately, this isn’t the only case, sometimes by theft, and other times by political motives, statues and parts of monument that shape the ornate history of our city have been destroyed, mutilated, and stolen. We remember the Maine Monument whose eagle was torn out, under the pretext of replacing it with a Picasanian dove that never arrived, as well as the statue of that President of the Cuban Republic, all that was left to remember him by was his pair of shoes. Also, they don’t have any respect for the sculptures and religious images of the Colón (Columbus) Cemetery, perhaps the most pillaged of our assets, considering by experts to be one of the most important necropolis, in design and monumental value, in the world.

I think it is the duty of all, to report these vandalisms to try to put the brakes on their impunity.

Translated by: BW

August 20 2011

It was a very fashionable refrain when we were kids. Right now, it again seems to occupy the foreground in the media of our planet: rescue the railroad right of ways, rescue agriculture, rescue the sugar industry, rescue the fishing fleet, rescue urban transport, rescue the dry cleaners, rescue the hair salons, rescue the bovine cattle, rescue the milk industry, rescue the food service, rescue the family doctor’s houses, rescue light industry, rescue the henequen plant, rescue, rescue, rescue.

The more I try to strain my memory, I can’t locate in which previous government it was that all this came down from, but I know we already spent 52 years with it. Why now, in the year 2011, is it that our leaders are informed of this and that everything I mentioned has to be rescued. Where were they (if they are the same ones), who didn’t realize that everything has deteriorated rapidly? With that mentality of always blaming imperialism for all of our problems, I don’t believe that we can move even a single step forward. If we continue giving time after time, implementing guidelines, studying even the most hidden places in the country and waiting for the proper implementation of these, the time will come when now there is nothing left to do. Well then we will go heads down, muttering the chorus goes like this: “R&R Cigar, R&R Barrel, the cars go fast, when there was a railroad.”

Translated by: BW

July 20 2011

(This story is fiction, based on reality)

My friend was finishing transferring to his flash memory, the last poems that, like all, had left his heart exhausted. Each time that he put the last period on one, he said that it was like having given birth. It is clear that this hadn’t happened out of his own experience, this sublime pain, but being the older son, he was the witness of the birth, one by one, of his fifteen siblings, and he could appreciate in the sweaty face of his mother, how painful it was.

Meanwhile, in the other bedroom, his wife hastily put in the suitcase everything that she understood was strictly necessary. After returning, because she knew return was inevitable, they would come loaded with gifts, books, and glory, things that weigh a lot and that would make the overweight fees very costly.

Whatever the case, his slovenly appearance urgently needed fixing, a product of none other than the extreme necessity brought by the passing years, leaving for the last moment the fixing of his teeth. They paid dearly and in the black market economy so that it would be done well. He knew that upon arriving at the town where his books wold be launched he would be obliged to smile and say some words of thanks.

The outbound trip was good, because really he didn’t bring more than the clothes he was wearing and a change for his arrival. His wife, friend, confidant, lover and editor, did the same, so that the luggage would be very light.

After a very tiring plane trip, they took the train. In Groñolo, the destination of both, a massive reception awaited them, with a band, regional dances, and streamers. Meanwhile, from the sky, an airship let mountains of confetti fall from the sky. It looked like it was snowing in the middle of summer.

Suddenly, the music stopped and the multitude of people began to chant his name and clap. He went up to the improvised podium, with his blue suit that the mayor had sent him as a gift and started his speech. As he was getting excited with his own words, he started to notice his tongue getting a little slipped-up: he felt that something was moving inside of his mouth. Relying on the serenity and grandeur that had always characterized him, he continued his address. Then those closest to the platform stopped paying attention to his words, to stoop to pick up those little white and shiny grains, that at first they believed were falling from the sky. When, suddenly, one of those who were present, raised up his arm into the air to show everyone his discovery: “It’s a tooth,” he exclaimed enthusiastically, “A tooth from our great poet!” Everyone crouched down to eagerly look for one, to take it as a souvenir. The poet, growing even bolder and without losing his composure, said, “I haven’t only come to offer the most passionate verses, projecting from my mind and heart, I also left you a little bit of myself: those teeth that you will take today as a souvenir, and that with great pleasure I will autograph, because even though acrylic, they are part of myself since what I paid was so very expensive.

The crowd, in the face of such words, acclaimed deliriously that great man that came from a small island far away, not only to deliver brilliant poems to them, but also his shiny teeth, no less, as proof of his love and friendship.

Translated by: BW

June 27 2011

Today we celebrate the 235 year anniversary of the Declaration of Independence of the United States of America, a country of immigrants and grand opportunities, so defamed by some and so dreamed about by many. I, particularly, have some critics, who say that I am pro-American, they don’t offend me. It is true that I greatly admire that country. But, I was born, I grew up, and I educated myself feeling proud to be Cuban. That is contrary to others, who defame it, and they say they feel hate and resentment against it, but don’t miss the opportunity to shop in its famous stores, take their kids to Disneyland every time they can and dream that someday one of them will get a degree from one of its universities.

In any case, humbly from this, I join my space together to the happiness of the celebration.

Translated by: BW

July 4 2011

To sweeten tense afternoons a little.

Ingredients:

1 1/2 cups of flour.

3 eggs.

3 tablespoons of margarine, butter, or vegetable oil.

1 teaspoon of baking powder.

1 teaspoon of salt.

1 tablespoon of sugar.

3 tablespoons of dry wine.

Pieces of guava already cut-up.

Directions:

In a mixing bowl, put the flour together with the salt, sugar, and baking powder. Combine all the dry ingredients and add 3 tablespoons of margarine, cutting them with a pastry tool or two knives until you’ve made small lumps.

Then, make a hole in the middle and add 3 whole eggs, mixing them with the dry ingredients with a fork. Little by little, add a little dry wine and mix squeezing with the fingers until it is completely mixed together. Cover and let it rest a while.

Take small portions of the mass and rolling them out with a rolling pin until they are thin, fill them with little pieces of guava. Seal the empanada wetting the boarders and with a fork mark around the outsides, pinching them softly, so that they don’t explode when they are fried.

Put them in well-heated oil, moderating the heat once in a while so that it doesn’t get too hot.

Makes around 12 empanadillas. Serve with a soft drink or tea.

Translated by: BW

June 24 2011

For my granddaughter Isabel.

In the neighborhood of Vedado, there was a prestigious store where they prepared food for delivery to homes (gourmet service). After some years of abandonment, in the year 1966, in the same place, a beautiful English-style red cake restaurant was opened, called The Little Rabbit (El Conejito), where they sold all kinds of dishes exquisitely ready-made from the meat of this little animal. Soon the cozy and handsome local place was celebrated for the quality of its offerings and its friendly environment.

Getting a reservation for it became an arduous task. The only way to get one was to call by telephone looking for an available opening. Sometimes, you could spend all day and not succeed in getting connected, because there were hundreds of calls taking place almost in unison. There were some who were lucky and got ahold of them right away, but they were in the minority. Others spent up to two days trying, and when finally they got a time, they called on precisely the same day that they couldn’t go, or that they didn’t want to eat rabbit. Although those cases were the most rare, because it was so scarce that food any day was good and if, by chance, you were sick, it didn’t matter, you wouldn’t eat but bring a bag, and throw the rations in a little sack, to bring home like a trophy and share with the rest of the family, since the reservation that you had secured was for a table for two.

I tell you this, because your great-grandmother lived in another neighborhood, in a very beautiful house with a lovely garden, where the principal decoration was a pretty white rabbit with red crystal eyes. It was so well made that the little animal seemed real. Everyone that passed by in front of the house, stopped a few seconds looking at it as if they were waiting, for any moment, for the rabbit to jump. But it seemed to be a happy thing, enjoying its inertia in the green grass.

One day, your great-grandmother heard a discussion at the wrought iron grille door at the entrance to the house, and when she went out to see what had happened, she saw a man and a woman arguing vehemently. As soon as they noticed her presence, without wanting it, they involved her in the discussion, the man asking her the following question: “Lady, do you believe that woman should behave like that with me, when I only wanted to make a joke?” “I don’t understand,” Mama Nene answered. Then the angry woman intervened, “Look, this man here, my husband, told me: put on your elegant black dress; I am going to take you to the Little Rabbit. And look where he brought me?”

Don’t put it like that, my mom said. He only wanted to play a joke. “Listen lady, what joke are you speaking about, he made me hurry to wash and iron the only elegant dress that fit me. You don’t do that to anyone, much less to me that has to whip up a dish every day to put on the table!”

My mom, embarrassed by what just happened and feeling a little to blame for being the owner of the controversial little rabbit, told them to sit on the porch and brought them each a little cup of steaming hot coffee. Now more calm, the couple were sent off apologizing and thankful for the attentiveness given out by the owner of the house.

Years later, someone tried to steal the rabbit and broke it trying to dig it up, fleeing without accomplishing his objective, and leaving it damaged in the garden. My mother moved it to a corner of the patio, and since then it has been forgotten waiting to be repaired. The same has happened to the famous restaurant that has turned into a low-class one. Both rabbits can say, they shared almost the same luck.

Translated by: BW

June 21 2011

Every day, the signs of aging and social deterioration are more obvious. The discussions in a raised voice on a busy street, the shouts from balcony to balcony, the pushes on the city buses, and the fights in the lines mark our daily lives, being those of a more advanced age, the more vulnerable target of these actions.

It’s puzzling to see how on our television, daily, idyllic images are presented about the care of senior citizens. Nevertheless, go out to the street and observe: you will surely see in some of the parks and vacant lots of the city at early hours of the morning, small groups of elderly and others not so old, doing exercises in the open air, guided by a teacher. But it is no less certain, that you will also observe many elderly people (perhaps some of those mentioned before), seated on the benches on the sidewalk or at the exits of the stores and agricultural markets, offering, with a certain timidness and embarrassment, cigarette packets (of inferior quality), plastic bags (of short supply in the stores), handmade candy, and the well-known paper cones of peanuts. They don’t have to shout loudly to announce what they are selling, everyone that passes at their side knows that they are selling things to survive.

The majority of these people have passed, exceedingly, the age of retirement, without being able to save some money for their retirement, during their long working life. Others continue to carry out their hard work, because the pensions they receive hardly will suffice for one daily meal.

In the hospitals, shops, bus stops, and other places, they have to line up like any citizen. They don’t enjoy any special discount in any of the public services nor any other social advantage. Many live alone, because their children and grandchildren have emigrated. Where is that well-publicized attention to the elderly?

Happy Father’s Day to everyone!

Translated by: BW

Spanish post
June 18 2011

“The conceited villager believes the entire world is his village.” In another paragraph taken from Our America he wrote, “The presumptuous man believes that the earth was made to serve as his pedestal, because he happens to have a facile pen or colorful speech.”

Writer, philosopher, poet, politician, organizer of the Cuban Revolutionary Party, Freemason. Recognized and venerated as an Apostle of Independence, by the majority of Cubans.

Also organizer of the necessary war (1895), he fell in Dos Ríos, shot down by the Spanish army under the command of Colonel Jiménez Sandoval. His companion succeeded in fleeing and informing Máximo Gómez of the fall in combat of Martí.

His death in Dos Ríos, left everyone with some mysteries that were lost until our time. Had Martí been more useful alive than dead? The mystery of the lost pages of his Dairy of the Haitian Cape of Dos Ríos has never been disclosed.

It was almost an act of suicide to have faced the Spanish troops alone, without any previous military experience. A thing of fate, or perhaps he felt obligated to do it. This will never be known with certainty.

Translated by: BW

May 18 2011

Last Friday, I had to leave to run some errands, all in Havana Vieja (old Havana) and fortunately in the same area.

We left at 1:00 in the afternoon, with enough time, because the primary appointment was at 2:00. Our old Lada refused to continue running when we were halfway up the street. We had to move it onto the sidewalk on Carlos III and push it down the side street where they told us we could find a mechanic. There I left Fernando taking care of the problem. I return to the avenue to look for an old communal taxi, that for 10 Cuban pesos would take me as close as possible to my destination. All those that passed by were going to the Capital building. Once there, I saw a bicycle taxi and I hired it. It was the first time I had done it.

I told the driver of the vehicle that I didn’t want to him to be offended, but that until today, propelled by a great need, I had refused to use this means because I found it inhumane. I added that before 1959, on my planet I never used human traction. I had seen that it was very common in some countries of the Middle East, India, Thailand, and others, but not here.

Talking with him, about how many hours per day he did this work and what his food was like, he told me that he had had to reduce his working hours and set aside one or two days a week to take a break, because he was beginning to suffer from back and kidney pains. That he had decided that he felt so bad that money couldn’t change his health, but on the other hand he had a family to support.

Upon arriving at my destination, the street he took was blocked by some enormous tow-truck and it was blocking us from going around it. I decided to get down and walk the rest of the way so that he didn’t have to make some big detour and take me to the agreed upon place. The young person thanked me for it, I felt relieved when I got out of the bici-taxi.

Translated by: BW

June 6 2011