-“You are a relative of the Peñas, aren’t you?” I said, more than asked. I knew I was right.
Still with a twinkle in his eyes, he said to me: -“I’m the best kept secret in this family, my boy”. –“I am your great uncle Eusebio and, also, what is known as the black sheep of the family”.
At this moment, one of the most fascinating summers of my life began to unfold. As it turned out, my grandfather had given his blessing to have him come in to the house when he was in town and make his own lunch, as long as he kept to the kitchen, at the back of the house. This may sound strange but, in that society and at that time, this was a good deed. His own brother, a taller and much better kept and dressed version of him (that was the resemblance I could not put my finger on at the beginning) who was very concerned about what others would say, refused to have him in his house at all.
We hit it off from the get-go and he began to, on a daily basis, tell me in chapter and verse some of the stories of his life. Not all of them I’m sure, only those which could be safely told to an 8 year old. He had dropped out of school when he was in 8th grade, and had done odd jobs in different areas and in different towns. Then, when he was old enough (or looked the part), he joined the merchant marine and went out to see the world.
He talked about towns which were then only the stuff of geography and picture books. I learned about the Venice channels, the lagoons; I learned about the people from northern Europe, the Mediterranean port cities and about the “Brits” as he called them. He became a breathing, living travelogue, with insights no brochure would ever be able to give me. He had been in the merchant marine during the war and had been a part of several convoys, being very lucky in that his ship, although shot at, was never sunk. These stories were a regular part of the telling; I also learned about many towns in Cuba I had never heard off and about the many things that could be done in these towns (Many of which I would come to understand only later in life). Most of these stories included a fight or two, hence the big round scar on his right temple, the thin, tired body and many other not so visible scars.
What I most learned from him was about self respect. Here was a man who obviously liked to drink and whose life had been, by choice, a hard one; his health was affected by his drinking as well as other vices I could not even begin to fathom at that age. Yet, he did not consider himself a loser or a beaten man. What he had, he enjoyed to the fullest. If it was a piece of meat for lunch, it was the best meat; if it was pork, it was simply great! If it were only vegetables on days he did not have the money to purchase something else; the veggies were the grandest this side of town. Of course, I became his accomplice and with cook's help, on those days he was short there would appear, as if on a miraculous cue, a piece of whatever we had had for lunch at the house.
This daily get together would go on for the better part of 2 months and, although there were many people from whom I learned much as a growing child and in later life, I have to say that what my uncle Eusebio passed to me in those afternoon conversations, was that we as individuals should not be bound by parameters imposed from the outside. Only each one of us has the ability to understand what we can do and not do and we should then do it. Or not. But our choice.
His existing was such a well kept secret that many years later, in Miami, when I would mention him to my mom’s life long best friend (and mother of my best childhood friend) she had no idea as to whom I was referring. She would categorically deny to me that this person existed… Amazing!
Sometime later that summer, I came into the kitchen one afternoon for my daily chapter of this wonderful, ongoing novella but the kitchen was empty and too clean to have been used earlier. I waited, but my uncle never came. Later that afternoon I saw my grandmother and her eyes were red and humid, she had been crying. I did not see him again; he became part of my personal “lore” since no one else would talk about him. Her brother, my great-uncle, had ceased to exist and, almost, there was an underlying sense of relief with the older members of the family which, to me, was very difficult to understand, much less accept.
I can only surmise my uncle Eusebio had been in one bar too many and had had one fight too many. Or, perhaps, his heart just gave up pumping blood to that very much tired and abused body. In either case, it had been his last fight and he had lost it. If only the mind could have been saved!!
There could have been many more sessions; his story telling kept me totally immersed in these worlds of his making. Who knows whether some of it was made up or not; if it was, he made it be real in my mind. In fact, years later, as I had a chance to visit some of the places he had talked about, I would recognize some landmarks. And I would smile, remembering those vivid, bright blue eyes and their mirth.
What do you think?
Bye for now.
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