The Carnival Gift

Story of the Month

On the occasion of Venezuela's celebration this month of the traditional feast of Carnival (al-Barara), Mrs. Noura Nowayhed Halawani presents to the readers, men and women, of “The Woman's Voice” this true story, in which she describes the life of the Latin people as she saw it and lived it — with its calm and its clamor, its love and its hate, its shallowness and its depth.

It is a captivating life, full of contradictions, but its gaiety and its radiance prevail over its gloom and its repression.

“Patience, patience, for heaven's sake! I cannot bear to hear these merry, laughing songs of yours; I am not happy like you, you who are drunk on the wine of dance and song. Pass by quickly, for Death may pass along this very road in a little while, to knock on this old door which your loud songs are rattling, and whose handle is melted by the fever of your mirth that infects each of you from the other. O Lord, forgive them, for they know not! And you, mother, forgive me that I cannot silence them; they are like the raging, clamorous waves in the face of a poor drowning man.”

Fernando clenched his small fist in fury and pain, and made no effort to wipe away the tears that followed one another down his face; his hands still carried the smell of shoe polish, the smell of the work by which he fed himself, and his handkerchiefs were stained with tears and sweat — tears from his red, weeping eyes, and sweat from his mother's brow, seared with fever! He turned from the window, covering his ears with his hands to shut out the echo of the songs that dripped joy and merriment, and murmured as he knelt by his mother's bed: “Mama, does the people's clamor disturb you? It is the Carnival — it has played with these people's minds and taken hold of their feelings, until every one of them has become a carnival in himself.” The ghost of a faint smile showed on his mother's lips, and she answered: “No, my child, they do not disturb me. The Carnival is a healing remedy for every sufferer, and it is my faithful friend: it was the first to congratulate me, looking in upon me at your happy birth, and it stayed with me three whole days, whispering into my ear and into your two little jutting ears its softest melodies and its tenderest songs; and now it is trying to wipe away your pain with its own true hands.” Adelsia gasped, then wept; and Fernando burst into sobs and cried out in anguish: “Mother, don't cry — I am with you, and I will not leave you alone!”

The street fell quiet, but for the echoes of the departing procession's clamor. The mother fixed her gaze on her only son's face and said: “Fernando, there is something I must tell you, even if the words come out with my last breath. You never knew your father, and he never knew you. I lost him through my own folly, and so I cost you your father's love and his care.”

— But I love you very, very much, mother, and I do not want to know my father.

— Patience, patience, my child, and let me tell what I want to tell. I was in the first months of carrying you when I woke one day and found the house empty of your father. My waiting for his return grew long, and my hope of his coming back grew short. The days of my misery dragged on while I worked to earn my bread, and toiled to put something by to help me raise you — once I had become certain that your father had not strayed from the familiar pattern, but had passed into the arms of another woman who had drawn him with her freshness and her coquetry! Whenever I thought of this, I felt the flame of jealousy breeding in me strength upon strength and endurance upon endurance, and a strange new love growing in my soul: the love of revenge, of returning the stab to the one who dealt it. But when I took you in my arms for the first time — exactly fourteen years ago — I felt your pure love weaving about my hardened heart a fine, soft veil that bound up my pains and buried them in a deep, dark corner of my heart, heaping over them the dust of forgetfulness. A year passed; and one day the door opened, and your father stood on its threshold with a broad, confident smile on his lips, as though he expected me to fly into his arms and thank God for his return! But a woman's jealousy, Fernando, is a terrible thing; it blinds the sight and robs one of reason. My pains rose from their resting place all at once — those pains your great small love had buried — and I trembled with rage as I stared into his smiling, hopeful face!! My hand moved: I seized a bottle of my medicine and hurled it with all my strength at his head. He did not stir from his place, nor lift a finger to stanch the copious blood that streamed from a wound in his forehead. The shards of glass scattered over the floor, then were dyed with the red of blood. Time stood between us with its breath cut off; and through thick black clouds I saw him put his head between his hands, his face pouring tears and blood, and turn very slowly toward the door, and disappear through it... And you went on screaming in terror for long hours while my gaze hung upon the door, my eyes frozen like stone. I have not seen him since that day, my child; and how I have wished to come upon him suddenly, to ask his pardon and win back his love,

and to kiss that bleeding wound which by today has surely become a long white scar, marking his face and blackening his memory of me. So if one day you stand before a tall, broad-shouldered man with a dark, laughing face and a long white scar, throw your arms around his neck and say to him: “Are you not Damon Cortiso? Kiss me, father — I am Fernando, your son.” This is what I ask of you, now that I stand at the brink of the pit, at the end of the road. Promise me that you will do it. Promise me.

— I promise to do it, mother, I promise. I will tell him everything. Are you content?

— Yes, yes; my grave will surely be at peace when the two of you visit me together. And there is one thing more: I want you to put on that shining Carnival suit tomorrow evening, and to go on dancing and laughing and singing with the beautiful Rosita — for you possess nothing but your days and the treasure of their happiness. Do you promise me this too?

— Yes, I promise you this too; and though all the thorns of pain should prick me, I will not weep. Kiss me, mother! He closed his eyes and received the last kiss, his eyelids trembling and wet. Then he raised the familiar cold hand to his lips. The rise and fall of the dying woman's breast grew fainter, and her breathing became even. At midnight it stopped, suddenly and quietly. Her breast settled into its final stillness, with Fernando's weary head lying upon it in a restless sleep.

★

Fernando came back from the cemetery tired and worn out, and entered the dark, neglected house, where he found Maria, his mother's friend and neighbor, cleaning the two rooms and shaking out the soiled, threadbare bedcovers. The moment she saw him she pressed him gently to her breast and said tenderly: “I will not leave you alone, Fernando; I shall be your second mother, even if from afar. Come, eat something of the good food I have brought you.” She led him to the one rickety table, and he sat down quietly and began to eat, his eyes straying to the window as though he were drawing hope and cheer from the strength of the sun. From afar he heard voices approaching, then a voice very near, calling: “Fernando, open the door!” He did not move; his gaze stayed fixed on the plate. So Maria opened the door, and through it the beautiful friend Rosita came rushing in; she knelt before the orphan and whispered warmly: “Fernando, my friend, I heard the painful news, and I have come to take you with me to the Carnival. I will not leave you weeping alone while the whole world is dancing and making merry.” She wound her arms around his neck and kissed his forehead. And it was as though that kiss opened the sluices of his pain: he wept on her breast, his sobbing rising loud. The little girl waited until he had poured out what his eyes had to pour, then brought a damp cloth and wiped his brow. Then she took the glittering blue Carnival suit down from its place on the wall and dressed him in it, with a mask she drew from her pocket, and masked her own sweet eyes with another. She pulled her little sweetheart — who yielded to her every motion — and led him out of the house, after casting one particular look at Maria, who stood watching what was happening with anguish and sorrow!

★

The two disappeared into the crowds as raindrops disappear among the waves of the sea, and mingled with the frolicking dancers; and Fernando was a merry, laughing child again, tossing sugared almonds and pistachios onto people's heads, his voice rising above all the others in the song of “Saloma,” which issued from hundreds of mouths as though sung from a single throat:

Come, Saloma, to the gathering,
For my heart is gay and my mind is free;
Life is in my heart, my heart in my face, and your heart is mine.
Come, Saloma — do you not hear?
Come, for my robe is like a prince's robe;
And gather in your scarf, lest it fly away,
And let down your mask; give me your arm; my heart is jealous.
Saloma, Saloma — will you not dance?

★

A small ring caught the eyes of Fernando and Rosita — a noisy ring of players, made up of twenty boys and two men. They merged into it, took their places among the players, and ran with the runners until they reached the barrier the two men had made with their arms; then they set to striking the two gentlemen's hands to win free, as the game requires. Fernando raised his eyes to one of the two men in appeal, and it seemed to him that he heard a far-off, beloved voice rising above the din of the feast, saying: “So if one day you stand before a tall, broad-shouldered man with a dark, laughing face and a scar...” A mighty force stirred him; he raised his hand and his body swiftly, pushed the mask off the strange dark face — and saw what he had longed to see! A long white scar glistening amid drops of sweat on the man's face! He stood as though the awe of the moment had nailed him to the ground. And he heard the beloved voice say once again: “throw your arms around his neck...” So he raised his trembling arms, wound them around his father's neck, and said in a quivering, sorrowful voice: “Are you not Damon Cortiso? I am Fernando, your son.” The astounded Damon fixed his gaze on the dark, imploring face, felt the thick black hair, then gave a cry of pain and joy and clasped the slight body to him hard and close, murmuring as he kissed his son for the first time: “My son, my only one, my darling!”

As though drawn by some hidden force, they slipped out of the ring, over which silence had settled for a few brief moments before it took up its play and merriment again. And in a corner somewhat quieter, Damon asked his son: “Fernando — you are as beautiful as your name,” and added in a hushed voice: “How is Adelsia?” Fernando bit his lips and said, fighting back his tears: “She passed away yesterday, father. But she forgave you long ago, and we shall visit her grave together.” The look of deep pain that filled his father's face did not escape him, nor the motion of the trembling hand that rose to his slightly furrowed face and touched the white scar softly, gently, as though it were the trace of an old love's kiss, precious in memory!

Fernando felt a hand laid on his shoulder; he turned quickly and saw the crowned King of the Carnival standing there before him. It sprang to his mind that the King had taken this stand only to wish him joy on his birthday, so he said: “I know you — my mother told me much about you, O great King.” Here his voice broke, and he added: “She died yesterday. And I thank you, thank you with all my heart, for the nobility of your heart has quickly given me back my happiness and my mirth — and you have given me back something greater and dearer still: you have given me back my father, whom I feared I should be long in reaching; and here you are presenting him to me as a gift. How precious this gift of yours is, O great Carnival!”

The King bowed his head, then took the child's head between his hands and kissed his forehead; and a tear fell from his eyes and rolled slowly down until it came to rest on Fernando's hand. Then he turned his back with a swift movement and vanished more quickly than he had appeared. The child cried out, deeply moved: “Father, does the King of the Carnival weep? Does this happy one know tears? Look — it is his tear; he has given it to me!” Damon gazed at something hidden and far away and said: “Yes, my child. His heart is wide enough for our sorrows as it is wide for our joys. He gives us his short life that we may suck its hours to the last drop and drink all the joy and happiness that is in it. Perhaps he wept just now for joy, because he made you happy — or perhaps in pain, grieving for you. We are a hopeful, merry people who live for the day, and how quickly we throw our sorrows behind us! You threw yours away yesterday, my child, and I threw mine away today, into the heart of the Carnival; and from that same heart we took our mirth in exchange for what we gave. And perhaps this tear of his was a cry of pain from his heart, which scatters its joys over the people — the people you see scattering them over one another just as they scatter handfuls of rice, exactly alike!!

Come, my child, come, let us dance. We have forgotten your beautiful friend — come, let us look for her before the King of the Carnival snatches her away from you!!!”