Christmas for a Black Child
1998; Volume: 17; Issue: 2 Linguagem: Inglês
ISSN
2327-9648
Autores Tópico(s)Latin American Literature Studies
ResumoDedicated to the children of Rosa and Olmedo Murcia. Letter to Carol Beane from Anoldo Palacios. wrote this story in Bogota,, in May of 1973. However, the idea for it had come to me in Lausanne, Switzerland, on Christmas eve, ten years before. Why so much time in between? Simply because since wanted so badly to get it down on paper in a definitive form, especially as had it thought out so clearly in my head, and wanted to have it ready in order to publish it around Christmas time, the years went by and kept missing the Christmas season. had returned to Colombia after three or four years of being away, and in May of '73, said to myself, If don't write this story down now, December will be here and gone again and so wrote it down. In November had to leave Bogota for the Choco; didn't have the story typed up. A friend typed it for me, but it wasn't a clean enough copy from which to set the type. Then another friend assured me that his secretary was quite excellent and she'd make me a perfect copy. could leave the manuscript with him for her to do in my absence and she herself would take it over to the offices of El Tiempo before that newspaper went to press for the Christmas edition. The story was published and didn't even know it. The circumstances of this story are as follows: That Christmas eve of 1963 in Lausanne didn't have anywhere to sleep. It was when confronted with the opulence and luxury of that city, so elegantly decked out and with all its profusion of gifts that was moved to write this story. In fact, tradition in the Spanishspeaking world holds that the day specifically designated as the day of gift-giving is January 6, Epiphany, which is when the Three Kings arrive with their gifts for the Baby Jesus. But that's how this story came about. It has been translated into French, appearing in the weekly L'Eveil de Pontaudemer; it also has appeared in the Cultural News of the Instituto de Caro y Cuervo in Bogota, Colombia. Well now. Once there was a man married to his wife and a woman married to her husband. And they lived together, very much together and they stayed married together. They really did. Each year they had another child and pretty soon they had nine of them. Struggling to get by here; struggling to get by there; and the children kept on growing. A party here and a party there. The years went passing by, one after the other; and still it seemed that no time at all had passed. But then there came one Christmas when they found themselves really shit creek. The roosters were already crowing when Gabino Palomeque, for that was the husband's name, shook Justina's shoulder-for Justina was the name of his wife-so she would get and make the coffee. I been thinking about something, said Gabino Palomeque, but his voice sounded as if he'd already been talking to himself for a good long while. What you been thinking grunted Justina intrigued, her voice still rough with sleep. Since last night been thinking that today we ought to split up What's this all about? You crazy? No, not crazy. Just saying that we're gonna go to work today-you go your way and I'll go mine-and we'll see if somehow between us we can manage to come with enough to get these kids some gifts. Doing it like that, if Lady Luck doesn't smile on you, maybe I'll run into her. Tonight the Baby Jesus is coming and the kids're gonna find Him with some empty hands. Don't even think that way, Gabino; the Lord might decide to punish you. And saying these words, the woman pushed the bed covers aside and went into the kitchen to set the fire to boil the water to make the coffee her husband would drink. And so it was that at about seven in the morning Gabino Palomeque picked his rod, his hoe, the pan he used for washing the ore, his digging tools shaped like a cupped hand eager to scoop the earth, and his machete. …
Referência(s)