“To be so rich and humble and live a life so full and simple.”

 

“To be so rich and humble and live a life so full and simple.”

By

Manuel A Simo Maceo

 

As I was vacationing in my country from the north, on an impulse I headed northeast at dawn. I didn’t know what was driving me that way, I just wanted to leave the city and Santo Domingo and cross the island by myself. Four hours later I stopped my rented car at the highest point of the road that crosses the precipice of Sánchez going to Las Terrenas of Samana.

I stopped simply to gaze at the spectacular view of the miles of deserted beaches that were visible in the distance bellow me. From there one could see the white capes that rolled gently over the azure surface of the Atlantic and softly died on the white sands of the almost virgin beaches. 

Mesmerized by the view, I began to walk inside the descending green Forrest that boarded the road.

I spotted a Mango that hung from the tree branch almost touching the ground and grabbed it. I sunk my teeth into the sweet pulp of its body before casually continuing down towards the humble little wooden house that extended itself with four wood columns on the side of the hill.

At a little porch in front of the house an old peasant sat rocking slowly back and forth on his mahogany rocking chair while he fanned himself with a piece of a palm branch.

 

Only the sound of the breeze through the trees and the rippling sound of a little stream floating down were heard. Without knowing me, and without fear, as I approached him he kindly greeted me with.

”Welcome my friend. Is the mango sweet?”

I was embarrassed that he mentioned the mango and I offered to pay for it but he waved his hand and said

“If the tree put it low for you, it was meant for you,”

 and in the same breath asked me;

”How can we help you?

When I told him that the view and the loneliness of his house attracted me he replied.

“Yes. I imagined it was that. A lot of people have stopped to see it. I guess that for those that don’t see it everyday it’s beautiful. I perhaps don’t know how beautiful it is because I’ve seen it every day of my life.”

His wrinkled face turned to me and I could almost deduct his age.

 “Have you lived here all your life? I asked him.

He smiled as he told me.

“Yes I was born in this same little house.”

And after a small pause and with the smile still on his lips he finished his sentence with,

”I’ll probably die here.”

His last words surprise me but I saw neither fear nor any remorse on his face. Daringly I asked him;

”Excuse the question sir, but how old are you?”

He laughed out loud and it was so contagious that I ended up laughing with him and then he said.

“Put the pencil to it my friend because I don’t celebrate them, but when the ships with the gringo Marines got to Samana I already had the first of nine children.”

Perplexed I asked him,

“When the Marines got here? In 1916? And how old were you when you had your first-born?

 He thought for a second and said,

“Let’s see? Caridad, my wife was fourteen and I was five years older.”

-“If that’s the case,”

 I replied.

 “You were born in 1897. You have live a century and three years.”

He turned his face to find mine and with questions in his eyes he enquired.

”And that is?

-“A hundred an three.”

I told him as I tried to hide my surprise. Although his face showed age, his movements showed the flexibility and energy of someone much younger.

“They are a lot. No?” he proudly commented with a smile.

- “Yes, but you don’t show it.”

And I returned the thank you smile that without saying he gave me. Glancing casually into the interior of the simple and rustic wooden house, I notice that in contrast to its outside simplicity there was an electric fan, a color television, a boom box radio with CD and tape player a small gas and a refrigerator. The old man continue rocking and fanning himself and as I notice all of the electric articles inside my curiosity got the best of me and I asked him.

 “Why don’t you turn on that fan?”

He turned and casually glanced at the fan by the door and as he continue to fan himself said.

 “That rarely works. Only when there’s a strong breeze do I see it move.”

­- “What? Is it broken?

It was the only thing that it occurred to me in the form of a question.

“No. There’s no electricity and when there is, it rarely gets here.”

Intrigued to have noticed all of the electrical things that he had inside his house, my curiosity got the best of me and while I pointed to the articles I asked him;

“If the electricity doesn’t get here, why did you buy those things?”

Before clarifying he shook his head negatively and said.

“Those? I didn’t buy. Our children brought it from the North. The fan Luisito brought it. But every time he comes he lays down right here and the breeze puts him to sleep the same way as when he was a little boy He always says ‘If I could pack this breeze I would become a millionaire in the North.’ The television tube was brought by our daughter, Mercedita, to her departed mother, supposedly so that she could see the novellas but Caridad never did and when Mercedita would come she would sit under that mango tree where the chicken go to sleep. Her and Caridad with Clemencia our cousin that lives at the foot of the mountain to talk until the rooster sang at dawn. The only thing that’s good for something is the ice box.”

 I couldn’t understand how the refrigerator worked if everything else was electric. So I asked him and he replied.

“Oh, no. It doesn’t work without electricity but at least I can use it to keep the flies away from the fruits”

He looked up at the sun and said matter of fact,

“It’s time for some lunch.”

I glanced at my wristwatch and both hands split the noon mark.

“Please, pull the chair out and join me for some fruits.”

I did. The taste of the mango had left a desire fro fruits in my mouth and I couldn’t think of a healthier suggestion for lunch. He went inside and open the refrigerator and, as he had said, it was full of mangos, guavas, papayas, melons, pineapples, watermelon, oranges, bananas and every conceivable typical fruits. He pulled out a wood bowl and before I knew it we sat to enjoy a fresh fruit salad. When we finished I offered to clean the bowls and he agreed. But when I opened the water faucet by the little kitchen inside the house no water came out and I told him so. He said,

“ Yes. I know. The pressure is not strong enough to bring it up and the batteries on the electricity generator that my son brought us have to be recharged. So go down the steps and to your right you’ll see a little stream with a pond. Wash it there. And don’t worry about the Tilapias fish, they like the bits of fruits.”

I had heard the ripple of falling water but it was hidden from my view by the little house. When I got there, there was a small water cascade that fell into a crystal clear pond full of fish that invited me take off my clothe and jump in but I didn’t. That is until I heard him say,

” If you want to refresh yourself jump in. It’s nice and cool at this time of the day.”

Before he could finish I was inside it and it was just as he had said. When I came out, I felt renew and with the noon breeze, just like Luisito, I fell asleep. When I woke up the sun was going down in an orange blaze that covered the horizon.

“You had a nice long siesta.” He told me.

“I would have awaken you up but you rested so peacefully that I thought perhaps you needed the rest. You woke up just in time to see our day friend go to sleep and let the evening lady shine.”

It hadn’t occurred to me to ask him if he lived there alone. And when I did he answered.

“Yes and no. My wife, Caridad, is buried there on that little plain and so I know she’s always here. At the foot of the hill, my cousin Emilio and his wife Clemencia have their house and right over there, where the river empties into the sea, my other cousin Fernando lives with his children.”

High from where we sat I could barely see the river but he pointed it out to me and it must have been at least thirty miles away.

“When do you see him?” I asked him.

“ He was here this morning. Just before you got here. He brought me the gas for the stove on his mule.”

“Finally! “ I thought. He uses something. So I asked him,

“So you use the gas stove to cook then?

- “No. I don’t.”

He confessed.

“I don’t like the taste that the gas gives the food. I prefer the wood fire to cook.”

-“So what do you use it for?

He looked out to sea and said

“Sometimes at night, the wind from the north makes the mountain and the night cold and the house would hold it in. When Caridad was here it was good because we’d keep each other warm and in some occasions our bodies would respond like when we were young.”

 He laughed shyly and embarrassed before saying.

 “That was fun. But now a day I need something to keep the warmth in. So every once in a while I turn the stove on.”

 Soon it was dark and I wanted to leave before it got darker still but he warmed me about the treacherous winding road. I got the feeling that he wanted me to stay and keep him company and I felt incline to do so myself. So I did. We sat in his small porch and spoke about anything and everything. In the process I notice how every once in a while he would sort of jump in his chair as he stared into the sea and said,

 “There she goes.”

 After a few times I couldn’t resist it any more and I question him.

 “Why do you say that?”

He pointed out and said.

“Keep you eyes on the surface of the sea and you’ll see, once in a while, a puff of smoke. Right after that you’ll see the whales jump out of the water. There’s an old folk tale that says that every time you see one jump is another blessing to you from the sea.”

I remember my old uncle in Miches said the same thing when I was just a child. In all of the time that I had been there he had only asked me one question and it was earlier that day. Now he looked at me and asked me.

“You live in the North. Don’t you?”

I told him that I did.

“ You know, Luisito took me to the North once. He lived high in a building full of people in the middle of New York. You could see it was a rich area because I could see, from where I was, the horse drawn carriers and the big park next to it. But when I walked the sidewalks the people looked scared and suspicious. As if by looking at them you would try to steal their souls. Everything and everyone were moving so fast as if by doing so they could grab more of life. It took me a day to get there and a week to get back.”

- “How’s that?”

I wondered out loud.

“The only thing that made me stay the week was the fear I had for getting in the plane.” He laughed.

“ I had never held my ass so tight as when I was in the air. I had never been more scared. And I swore I would never fly again.”

- “So how did you get back?”

-“My son, Luisito, bought each of his brothers and sisters that lived there a ticket in fancy ship that was bound for Puerto Plata and we all came back together.”

I became curious about his son and when I asked him what he did he said that he worked making money for other people at a big investment company on Wall Street and that he had a big house in the town of Terrenas.

“Why then” I asked “ Do you live by yourself up here?”

He pointed to the skies and said.

” But I already told you.  I’m not alone. My Caridad is right there and every night she prays with me and the moon and the stars keep me company. During the day, the birds and the sun keep me entertained. When the breeze blows at noon it lulls me to sleep and at the proper time it also wakes me up. The trees give me all of the fruits that I can eat, and the river gives me all the water that I need. My children are all grown and they have their own lives to lead and yet when they seek peace they come here, to the side of this mountain, and to me.”

I had never met anyone so content with life and nature and without realizing with the tone of his voice I went to sleep.

I slept on the porch that night on an old army cot right next to him. When I woke up to the birds and the roosters’ songs he was already up. The scents lead me to him and I found him squatting next to a little circle made, with bricks that served as his stove, as he fixed eggs with toasted water bread and fruits with hot nutmeg chocolate and vanilla sticks for breakfast. I wanted to give him something for his hospitality but I knew that he would feel insulted, so without he seeing me I took a small golden chain and crucifix that I had around my neck and placed it on a nail inside his door. When it was time to leave we shook hands and for the first time I heard his name.

“I’m Luis Sanchez. It was a pleasure having you here.” 

-“ The pleasure was mine.” I responded gratefully.

 After that he asked me to…

“Come again soon and take some mangos for the road. “ which I did.

The next time I was home from the north I went back to Sanchez but when I got there were other people living in the house. It was one of his many cousins, Andres and his family. They greeted with the same cordiality as don Luis had and when I asked for him they told me he had died a few days earlier. They found him in his rocking chair a few hours after his heart stopped beating from old age.  I tried to find out if that little piece of land was for sale now that he was dead but found out that it wasn’t; That he didn’t own just that piece of land where the house stood, that all the land surrounding him all the way to the sea was his. He had inherited from his parents, who inherited it from their parents parents, that had been given to them by royal decree hundreds of year before and he shared it with his many cousins. He was rich beyond my imagination and yet he chose to live and die in the same place that he was born only with what the land gave him. By coincidence, his son, Luisito, arrived as I was there and when I introduce myself it made me feel good that Don Luis had told him of my one day and night stay.

“He liked you.” Luisito said.

-“I only spent one day with him and in that day I learned to love him.”

I told him from the heart.

“Our father had that effect on people.”

He said sadly.

“He never stopped anyone of us from leaving and making our own lives in the north but he always said that everything we ever needed to live was right here. I’m just sorry to that it took his death to make me realize how right he was. I’m never going back there.”

As we spoke, I started walking to where I knew he would be at and found his grave right next to his wife, Caridad. A simple cross stood over it with the name Luis Sanchez - 1897-2003- engraved on it and at the head of the cross hung the gold chain that I had left him. I’ve stopped twice since and spent the afternoon just looking at the same view. And before I leave I go to his grave to say hello and goodbye and the chain remains untouched. But must of all I think of the lesson that Don Luis gave me. To be so rich and humble and live a life so full and simple.

 

(C) 11/14/2000 Manuel Arturo Simó,. All Rights Reserved.