Abuelo was old and sad. Due to a disagreement in the immediate family, he had been ostracized. During the day, he sat on his porch and watched as many of his own family passed by his humble home, not saying a word. The family dispute did not phase me, and I walked purposely through his front gate. My visit to Vieques was a quick one –by tomorrow morning, I would be off and I didn't know if I would see him alive again.
He sat somewhat stooped in his rocking chair, but once he saw me, he smiled broadly. His spark rekindled childhood memories of his willingness to tell a colorful joke, and share in the laughter of it. Every weekend, the party was at the "Indales" house. Merriment and respite were always found in his presence, all were welcome. I could tell, as I sat quietly next to him, that he was as content to have me by his side as I was to be there. The coqui were well into their serenade of the returning nightfall, and the rare tropical breeze that had weaved its way through the dense foliage, carried the scent of the not too distant Caribbean ocean. It seemed to be his cue to speak as he whispered in his low gravely voice, "I like to see that the seed I put on this earth grows lovely fruit." At a distance, day after day, he visited his family from the confinement of his concrete porch. They may have banished him, but he could still take a measure of joy at seeing his family moving through life from afar. Time passed, but I carried his words with me. In the twilight of my life, as I settle into my own rocking chair, I finally understood, "I like to see that the seed I have put on this earth grows lovely fruit." From afar, I see my posterity move through life, and I am content. My body rocks back and forth, and my eyes slide close. The cool cement porch is back under my feet, the coqui are singing, and with the shadow of his memory next to me, we look together beyond the open gate.
Comments