Silvia Antonia Brandon Pérez

Habanera* Duérmete mi niña, duérmete mi amor the voice of abuelita Adela asking me the flavor of my thumb at night, abuelo cheating at Scrabble played in four languages while I learned the rudiments of ajedrez, rooks, knights and obispos. The house and its large gardens a strange menagerie of dogs and cats and once a goat, several hens for eggs, ducks in the pond, and parrots discussing politics and the news in raucous orange cries. My tata Eugenia braiding my hair with pretty yellowgreen lazos, telling me about el coco who'd kidnap any niña foolish enough to misbehave. Abuela Inés always the perfect beautiful señora rocking herself in her sillón as she played old habaneras on her guitar. The world tasted of sweet fried plaintain, arroz con leche with canela, warm hugs and toothless smiles while I combed abuelita's hair, a long cascade of silver. Mother's divorce was swift and hidden, sundered my world of chickens and abuelos, left me with shortened weekend visitation, long enough for Sunday trips to the Larousse, el Diccionario de la Real Academia Española, and ten volumes of Oxford's for good measure. It was impossible to win at Scrabble. Memories of my father then are dim. He was a background picture lit by blue linternas. It took his death to resurrect his living. The sounds of son and rumba are all that's left now; memory plays her tricks with time and shadows, the players have gone on where none can follow. They've left their hearts and voices in an habanera, flauta, bongó, guitarras and maracas, sway of the palm trees singing habanera eres tú, habanera... * An habanera is an old form of Cuban music, slow and nostalgic, usually played on guitar.

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