day had to start anyway, he decided to have a coffee at the hotel bar and headed for a taxi, called by the receptionist on duty.
The representative office was not far away. That morning, he met with the engineers selected on site, felt the ground, trying to figure out what the real potential of these young people was and how it could be deployed in view of the new trade route.
He drew up an initial timetable for the training of new recruits.
In the evening he returned to the hotel exhausted but found the big black eyes of Azuleya, who with pleasure proposed to be his guide the next day through the streets and alleys of the city.
The girl was able to arouse man's curiosity as a source of historical and folklore curiosities from which a thirsty man can draw.
A couple of times, during the following weeks, they found themselves drinking in the company of some colleagues from Azuleya who, as usual, met at the shift change at a bar not far away.
The following Saturday, Stefano found himself with nothing to do. A phone call to Anna, a shower and then he opted for a walk along the streets of central Havana, drawn to the music coming in through the window.
The city centre was a riot of colour, young street musicians cheered the passers-by.
In the afternoon he visited the old town and its fortifications, remnants of its glorious Spanish colonial past for over four hundred years. Passionate about history, he did not fail to notice the preponderance of indigenous influence linked to local building requirements and how that very resistance made them unique and very special monuments.
He returned to his hotel late at night, after staying in one of the many jazz bars scattered throughout the city, packed with tourists despite having stayed away from the larger and more famous ones.
Back at the hotel, he met Azuleya again. They chatted for almost an hour, about everything he had seen and the many tourists present in that season.
- If you want to know the real Cuba, you have to get away from the center. Tomorrow morning, when I get off, you can come with me to Santa Maria, the village where I live. Expect only so much "Cubanity", the real one, the one that is not seen by tourists. And don't think about renting a car, we'll take the bus. -
The heat was suffocating on that vehicle, even though it was nine o'clock in the morning, air conditioning not even talking about it.
The seats were anchored to the floor with nails larger than those that would actually be needed, the old driver started singing the popular songs that came out of a small radio that he kept strictly resting on his legs.
Azuleya's green uniform had given way to a white blouse and black pants.
The big dark eyes seemed to reach deep inside him, scrutinize him, analyse him finely and understand him.
Stefano noticed that she was wearing a bracelet on her wrist with a medal, he took her hand to look at it better.
- I am of the Yoruba religion. This is Yemaya, Mother of Life and Lady of the Sea. - She explained.
- I guessed she was a Virgin Mother because of the veil on her head. But why is she holding a machete? She asked.
- She likes to hunt and handle the machete, she's indomitable and cunning. The elders of the village invoke her harsh punishments and her terrible anger in their prayers, when they want her to be the executioner for some wrong at once. But she is also a sweet mother who listens to her children's demands and cares about their catch. Catholics worship her as the Virgin of the Rule. -
- That's interesting. This is the first I've heard of a Virgin Mother with a machete. - She hinted at a laugh - It's true, you'll find it's a custom. -
After about thirty minutes, the bus stopped near a rusty road sign, at the crossroads of a dirt road, at the foot of which were laid provisions, and then continued on the main road.
- They are gifts, for the demons at the crossroads. But it's none of my village's business, they come from elsewhere. A few hundred metres further on, you can see a small cluster of houses, all with low roofs and coloured walls.
The first of these, along the road leading to the centre of the village of Santa Maria, had a wooden door that was very reminiscent of the old Western saloons, in dark wood with two doors.
Some small tables and chairs in white plastic were placed outside, partially shaded by a light greenish canvas stretched on reeds, like a canopy.
A skinny gentleman, with a moustache like a musketeer, asked if they would like to sit down.
- What are we having? - Stefano asked the girl, taking off his hat and putting it on the table.
- How about an ice-cold beer? I don't usually drink beer at this time of the morning, but it's pretty hot today. There's a nice microbrew. -
Azuleya nodded with her head and nodded to the bartender to approach their table, while holding on to one of the wooden doors, she dried drops of sweat from her forehead with a handkerchief.
- Oi, Nestor. Duas cervejas geladas, por favor. -
-Grandes ou pequenas? -Mm-hmm. - Precisely the hot bartender. He placed two cork coasters on the table and placed the large dark beer mugs on them, observing the foreigner for a few seconds.
Shortly afterwards they passed in front of the ruins of some houses built by the sea, where it was evident the merciless passage of frequent hurricanes.
That point in the fishermen's bay was not spared even by the storms.
The old people of the village told how years before, there had been a violent and gigantic wave of about twenty meters that fell on that part of the coast that swept everything away.
Azuleya, a little to scare him a little to joke about it, pointed out to him that even if the sea was calm that day, one could not rule out the possibility that such a circumstance might suddenly occur. Anyone who happened to be on the pier at that precise moment would certainly not have been able to save themselves in the face of such violence.
In fact, many had disappeared for no apparent reason or had lost their lives due to the fury of the waters.
- Unfortunately, the government no longer finances the renovation of old buildings in this area and denies permission to build new ones. -
Her eyes glistened betraying a visceral love for that portion of the bay.
They continued until they reached the pretty and cozy little house of Azuleya, on an esplanade overlooking limestone cliffs.
Traditional music came down the sand dunes.
- Carmen was widowed at the age of twenty-five. Her husband, Antonio, died of illness, two years after they were married. She was already a widow when she found me on those rocks, covered only by a blue sheet, the colour of Yemaya. That's why I'm called Azuleya.
She's convinced that I came from the sea, a concession from the goddess who answered her prayer not to be alone. My birth mother never knew who she was, she certainly wasn't local, since everyone knows everything about everyone here. -
- A strong, brave woman, raising you alone won't have been easy.
