***
As I approached the door to my room, I could see, hanging on the door, another one of those notes. I had previously suspected that Noelia had been the one writing the poems, but now, as she had been with me the entire day, was sure it wasn’t her. Someone else was the author, but the mystery would have to wait to be solved.
I detached the note from its snag. I wished they didn’t have to put it on that nail. It always made a hole in the paper. A work of art shouldn’t have to go through such drilling torture. I opened the note, which this time had been left folded, like a mystery waiting to be unraveled by someone willing. I was that someone.
Whomever it had been, that wrote the poem, had, this time, done so in English; yet there were no misused words, or rough badly-written sentences, just a well used language well placed into poetic beauty; and thus it read:
HER (colors)
Something unusual
Soft streaming beauty
It breaks the coarse horizon
Covering the landscape
The colors are changed
Fluorescent greens have died
Leaving the soothing breeze
Warming through the valley’s eve
It’s a dash of sprinkle white
Soft hands across an icy face
Mine, like the sunset, ever-changing
But her, to create a glossy blue sky
The tones are melting
Bleeding, weaving into one
The decorative lilies in her hair
Seem to dance across the hilltops
Where I created streams
To lift – and bend – and stir
The sky... then air – slides
Rushing sudden-
Red meets blue Hail!
The purple: It’s a sonnet greeting night
Wash away all pale and dull
It’s one breath beneath this trail
Wave of thrashing waterfall
To sail across its frosty edge
Wrapped around in safet
Know not where I am but You
I held my breath and put the poem down. Once again, it felt as if my lips had just barely left hers, and the shrill and triumph returned through my body. How was it that this man knew what words to write? They were the exact words that were in my heart.
I thought the unknown author could be a man, for I don’t think the poem was meant to win me over. It was just a perfect description of what I had just gone through and how beautiful it was. I had to show it to Blanca! Maybe this time, with this note, after I told her what I’d gone through with Noelia, she would change her mind about the curse.
The way there was easy. Not at all like before, when I had dreaded the confrontation and had tried to talk myself out of getting any advice from Blanca. I hardly thought of it, this time, but rather thought of Noelia. Her little life, her village and this little place, so close to home, where my heart wanted to be, pranced inside me in a dance of joy. When I arrived at Blanca’s door, it was open to welcome me in.
“Blanca! Alli esta? Where are you, my mother?” A little head popped around the corner and a hand with a pot.
“Aqui estoy, mijito. You comin for yous suppers alredy? I no evin finish it yet. AY! Ay!” Her head bobbed up and down and was relentless as she panicked to hurry up and finish making something to eat. It was funny, to me, that eating was one of the most important things for the islanders. Or maybe, not eating, but serving the food and being ready to do so. It didn’t matter if you dropped by unannounced; the food was to be expected without say. And if the hostess did not have the food ready, it was always her fault and not yours.
It appeared silly that Blanca should have to go through such stress over me, so I calmed her down and told her I had not come to eat. She calmed down some, but she still insisted in giving me something. She served me some fried bananas topped with condensed milk, then sat down. It was a relief to see her sit and by the way she looked, it was probably the first time she had done so all day.
“Mamita, I came to tell you about the new letter I got. It came to me tonight. This is why I’ve come.” I started the process of taking out the letter.
“New letter?” she asked, looking very confused. She hadn’t understood what I’d meant, for I never called the poems letters. Perhaps she thought it was a dispatch from the States that had bad news in it, or worse, something demanding my return. She had grown so accustomed to me, that my leaving date gave her heartache. I could read her fear, at that moment, so I explained it to her.
“It’s not from the states Blanca, don’t worry.”
Her face smiled to my response and answered back happier, “Yous know me toos well, mijito. How you know I tink it from States?”
Her arms stretched out to hold me and I enjoyed a motherly hug. She held my shoulders after the hug then asked, “So what’s it sit, den?”
“It’s another one of those beautiful poems I receive. Look, this time it’s so nice. The person wrote it for me in English. Let me show you and tell you what it says.”
To my surprise, Blanca became angered, as she lunged towards the poem, trying to push it away. “No, I do not want to hers yur expication any mors. I toughts yous hungry, dat why you come! And I toughts yous finally sees and be safe and du what I say is good for yous. I pray and pray to the santo dat maybe dis be taken away, but now I sees it still heres. Oh what can we do, what can we do?” She started to sob and wave her hands in gesture of frustration.
“No, you do not see... I met this wonderful girl and she is the most beautiful thing in this world. You see, we met and she led me to this place in the mountains where there was this great waterfall and I think she is the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen. You don’t understand Blanca. I wanted to show you this poem because…”
But she cut me off before I could explain. “Becas notin. You fall in love with dis girl and naw she’s curs toos. If El Malagra finds out about her she toos will fall to the curs. Donz you see, you make dis bad for hers now?”
“No Blanca – that is enough! It is not bad at all. Let me tell you! She is not under any curse! This poet, that brings me his work, seems to know our futures, our good fortunes. Yes, at first I didn’t believe it myself, but see for yourself Blanca. He spoke about her in this poem, and I don’t know how he does it, but whatever this Malagra is, that you’re talking about, I’m sure it had nothing to do with the poems or this mans ability to foresee my good fortune. I should pay the man for his good services. But anyway, whatever it is, or if there is such a thing as your Malagra, I’m sure this is the good kind of Malagra and not the bad kind.” I began to be agitated, as a man is that is told his love is not for him.
Blanca’s face dropped dimmer and her sobbing increased to a louder agony. “No mijito, it is yous that does no understand... Poor girl... No good can come, poor girl. Somtin tragic will happen. Da curse espreads, and no one can stop it, only, maybe, El Gauchito. But even his not naw answer my prayer.” She cut off her conversation and went into a meditation-trance, chanting some local prayer, again, to this Gauchito. I immediately interrupted her, now perturbed with her ridiculousness.
“Look Blanca, there is nothing bad going to happen! So far, there has been nothing but nice and good that has come out of these poems and I will not have you say anything ill-predicted about Noelia! She is lovely and good, and her relationship with me will only benefit her. I don’t want you to be spreading any of your rumors or superstitions around, especially when it might get back to her family! I mean – the serious repercussions it could have on us! They are just as superstitious, if not more, than you are, and that could have a bad effect on her. Especially the way family influence is around here... Maybe she’d think it wouldn’t be good to see me. No! Blanca. I will not have you talking wildly about this any more! This silliness stops now!”
“No, mijito, you dons see... Poor child, I...” Now mad, I cut her sentence without giving her a chance to speak.
“No Blanca, you stop
with this right now! I mean it! I won’t have any more of it!” My hand was in the air and I was so irritated and silly that my face was red. I must have looked like a lobster at that point, but all my arguing, disputing and threatening was useless because she wasn’t going to listen to me. So I just had to endure more of her nonsense and, of course, more of her silly chants to El all popular Gauchito Gill.
I left a little after that, when I could no longer tolerate a second more of it. In all reality, I think it got me so razed up because I had fallen in love with Noelia, without noticing it yet and any thought of risking her loss was a direct assault. Yes, I am sure that was the case, but where and exactly when it was that I fell in love with Noelia is unknown to me. I just know that as far back as I can remember I have felt for Noelia in that same way. So I left the kitchen, furious, wanting never to return. There was no change of opinion taking place in Blanca’s mind ... or in mine.