Maria, Her Story

Part 5 cont.

We met a group of slaves, and my father told a black youth of remarkable physique:

"So, Bruno, is everything arranged for your marriage the day after tomorrow?"

"Yes, master" he answered taking off his reed hat and leaning on the handle of his shovel.

"Who are the godparents?"

" 'Ña Dolores and 'ñor Anselmo, if your worship approves."

"Good. I gather Remigia and you already went to confession. Did you get everything needed for her and for you with the money I sent?"

"Everything is ready, master."

"And is there anything else you want?"

"Your Honor will see."

"The Room that Higinio showed you, is it good?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Ah! I know. What you want is dancing."

Bruno then laughed, showing his dazzling white teeth, and looking back at his companions.

"It is only fair; you work well." "All right," my father added, addressing Higinio, "make arrangements for that, so that they are satisfied."

"And Your Lordships are leaving before?" Bruno asked.

"No," I replied; "we considered ourselves invited."

At dawn next Saturday Remigia and Bruno got married. 

That evening at seven my father and I rode to the dance,  its music could already begin to be heard. When we arrived, Julian, the slave team leader, came to help us dismount and to get our horses. He was looking opulent in his Sunday clothes; hanging from his waist, he had a long machete with silver lining, an emblem of his rank. 

A living room of  our old house had been cleared of work tools for the dance. Platforms had been placed around the room. In a wooden chandelier suspended from a beam, half a dozen lights were spinning. Musicians and singers, a mix of laborers, slaves and freedmen, occupied one of the doors. There were but two reed pipes, a makeshift drum, two alfandoques [maracas] and a tambourine. But the fine voices of the black people sang bambucos so masterfully; there was in their songs such heartfelt combination of melancholic, cheerful and light chords; the verses they sang were so tenderly simple, that the most cultured dilettante would have heard with ecstasy that half-savage music.

We entered the room with chaps [pants] and hats. Remigia and Bruno were dancing at that moment. She was wearing a follao [skirt] of blue boleros [layers], tumbadillo [underskirt] of red flowers, white shirt embroidered in black, a choker and crystal earrings the color or ruby. She danced with all the charm and grace that were expected of her flexible waist. Bruno, his linen poncho hung over his shoulders, pants of colorful material, ironed white shirt, and a new cabiblanco [long knife] on his waist, was dance tapping with admirable skill.

After that 'mano', which is the name peasants called each round of dancing, the musicians played their most beautiful bambuco because Julian announced it was for the master. Remigia, encouraged by her husband and by the team leader, agreed at last to dance a few moments with my father, but then she did not dare to raise her eyes, and her dance movements were less spontaneous. After an hour we left.

My father was satisfied of the way I had paid attention to matters related to his haciendas; but when I told him that henceforth I wished to participate in their labors staying at his side, he said to me, almost with regret, that he was obligated to sacrifice his for my welfare, fulfilling the promise that he had made some time ago, of sending me to Europe to finish my studies in medicine. A trip to be undertaken, at the latest within four months. In so speaking, his face took on a solemn unaffected seriousness, that he usually assumes when taking irrevocable decisions. This happened in the evening when we were returning to the mountains. It was getting dark, have it not been so, he would have noticed the emotion that his refusal caused me. The rest of the journey was made in silence. How happy would I have seen Maria again, if the news of that trip from that moment on had not been interposed between my hopes and her!