Irma and Maria…
The Booby Twins…
No,
it wasn’t a “typo”… these were their call to fame. As mentioned elsewhere, and
more than once, my grandfather’s home –where I was raised- was in the older
part of town; it was close to Parque Martí which was, in our town, the
equivalent of Central Park . A bit smaller than
the one in New York Third World , right?...
OK, OK… a two square block space, nicely built up with trees, benches, walks,
statues and all that stuff… But definitely older than the other one.
 |
| A partial view of the Park |
Our
home, a byproduct of the early 1920’s, maybe even from earlier times, was one
of those older, long homes; the kind that filled block after block of the older
section of the inner cities of the then time and place. If you can visualize
it, there is (yes, it is still there; a
little down on its luck, but still useful as a home to, I think, two other
families) a short entry way, about 18 feet long. To the right of this, sits
what would be known as the “sala”, the formal receiving/living room where the
“better” folk who came a’calling were received.
Then,
the entryway opened into a big, square room. On the left, a library (we were introduced to books and reading at a
very early age!!) covering the complete wall and to center and right, the
open area of the “saleta” (a colloquial
diminutive for “sala”, the more formal term) where everyone else would be
received and where we, the children of the manse were allowed to play. These two
receiving areas were divided by a center wall, which covered about 55% of the
space between the two; the remaining open space was covered by one of those
things which opens up as a divider, creating the illusion of a more solid wall
and thus, in a manner of speaking, keeping that illusion of a well measured distance
between any formal visitor and the riff-raff (that was me).
Beyond,
it was our world, where we played during the time we were at the house. Picture
a long rectangle and draw a dividing line down the centre of said rectangle; on
the right side, the space would be split into squares, representing bedrooms,
dining area, bathroom, junk room and kitchen at the end. On the left side, a
long open space broken by trees, small canteros (planting areas) and not much
else. That was the inner courtyard… well, OK, patio. Great for skating, make
believe races, superheroes hanging from the mango trees and whatever else the
imagination could muster. Overlooking this world of mine, and perching atop the
living room of the neighboring house like a lookout tower, was a small square
which contained a two bedroom apartment.
Therein
rested the object(s) of this entrée: two sisters, Irma and María. They were in
their mid twenties, but older looking due to the relatively harsh life path
they had chosen. María had come back from “El Norte” or, The North, which is
the name we gave to the US (It is north of Cuba New York for some time and through her I
learned about Spanish Harlem long, long before it became a pass through on my
daily route to Mid Manhattan from Connecticut
She
had been a prostitute in the city (not
yet “The Big Apple” then) for a few years, using her body to subsidize
living the American Dream, whatever it may have been in those days. She was
dark haired and actually not bad looking. Her younger (by a couple of years) sister Irma had stayed behind, dying slowly
in the Cuban Dream, whatever that may
have been in those days. The one thing in common with her older sister was that
she also used her body to pursue her own goals. And in the venues she did, the
wear and tear was much more apparent.
In
the summertime, during the early afternoon hours, the windows overlooking our
little inner world opened up and they would each be filled with one of the
ladies in question. Being sunny and warm, they would be sporting what just
might be considered the absolute minimum necessary to cover their upper body,
their breasts cascading over the lower window sill like four (yes, two each) flowing rivers of flesh… In
retrospect I could even understand the price they supposedly fetched… As they
would see me down below, their arms would wave… and so would the barely covered
breasts hanging over their corresponding sills… Waving banners worth following
into battle.
Both
sisters were actually funny/sad ladies, their daily trade notwithstanding… We did strike a neighborly friendship (yes…
just that... wipe that smirk off your face!!) and would often sit by their
door stoop and talk about life in the US
My
grandmother, poor soul… she wasn’t very happy about this door to door acquaintance
but curiosity won over rules and I think that in getting to know these two
sisters, the way was opened to a bittersweet friendship that has already been
explored in these entries, and which came to pass later on, when I went to work
at the family factory.
Time
went on and, eventually, my moment to leave all these incredible, credible
people came to pass. They were all left behind... Irma, Maria, Rosie (the young
friend from the latter days) and a bevy of others who, in one way or another populated my life during these rather scrambled times. Each one has a story to tell and was a story lived, some a bit closer to my heart than others but
all real, flesh and blood people.
There
are many occupants of this character gallery… most gave me something along
the way which contributed, in one way or another, to the make up of who I
am today.
So,
to the Booby Twins, wherever you are… keep those things covered and in check!!!
Be
Well … Be Back!!!
Final Notes:
- Pray for those who are fighting an illness which
may take them away from their loved ones… Every request is heard, and
counts!!
- Follow us on Twitter… @RJAsPandora
- Any comments please send to otherboxp@yahoo.com
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6:30pm EST (GT –5hrs). http://www.blogtalkradio.com/theotherbox If the link does not work, please just copy and paste
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- “La
Otra Caja de Pandora”… The
Spanish language Blog… “otracaja.blogspot.com”
… Bienvenidos!!!
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