Eileen Cruz Coleman
Dancing on the Riverbank
When people needed time off from work, whether it was from selling pupusas at the market, hauling ice from door-to-door, or preaching that the end of the world was near, they would go to El Cuco. There they sat on the porches of rented bungalows on the beach and ate turtle eggs, sucked on ripe mangoes and sugar cane, and drank American beer. They also hiked in Cerro Verde National Park, stared at Izalco Volcano, and wondered how such a beautiful thing could have been created from basalt. But not everyone in El Salvador visited such peaceful places. The people in one town never took time off for vacation; nor were they ever at peace. Their town was different; their town was cursed.
Lucinda opened the front door and shouted,
“It’s coming, send in the boy.”
Jacobo’s mami pushed him forward. He held on to a piece of her dress.
“You must go. You’ve been chosen to watch and deliver the news to us. It’s your turn niño.”
He looked up at his mother and said,
“It won’t live. They won’t allow it.”
She licked two of her fingers and rubbed them against his dirt-stained cheek.
“I think you should be clean when it sees you. Now go. Miranda is waiting for you.”
The townspeople, women outfitted in pink dresses and ribbons, men in dark suits, strands of hair pasted to the sides of their faces with pork grease and boys and girls dressed to match their parents, shouted in unison,
“Dios mio, please be merciful. Allow this child to live.”
Jacobo took a step towards the house, stopped, and turned around to face the people.
“I’m scared. I don’t want to go in. Please don’t make me.” He knelt on the ground, locked his hands, and prayed,
“Dios mio, please be merciful. Allow this child to live.”
Lucinda squatted and scooped up material from her dress; her hairy legs invited glares from the townspeople. She stepped off the front porch. Mouths gaped at the uncertainty of what would happen next. Lucinda began to walk towards Jacobo. His mother closed her eyes. Once a pregnant woman’s contractions began, the matriarch of the house was not to leave the property. She was considered the home’s anchor and strength; her abandoning it for even a short while during a young woman’s delicate time would bring mala suerte.
Jacobo continued to pray. He was unaware of Lucinda’s abandonment until he opened his eyes and saw his mother’s shut lids and the dropped jaws of the people; he knew Lucinda was standing behind him. She pinched the fabric on his shoulders and forced him to stand. When he unlocked his hands, sweat covered the veins on his wrists.
“We’re all scared. One has to be allowed to live. It will be this one. I know it. I feel it. It has been five years since Carmella died. Long enough. They will let this one live.” She wrapped her hand around his and together they moved towards the house. The chanting continued,
“Dios mio, please be merciful. Allow this child to live.”
Jacobo and Lucinda reached the front porch of the house. It was decorated with flowerpots and small garden trinkets—frogs, turtles, and lizards. There were no flowers in the pots; some were chipped, remnants covered parts of the porch’s rotting wood. The windows had no shutters; Christmas lights framed the rims. And a garrabo fed on a mango that had fallen from a tree branch above the porch. Jacobo and Lucinda opened the door to the house and entered. A wet nurse and priest waited for them in the bedroom. Jacobo dug in his pocket and pulled out a miniature bible he had stolen from Santa Maria Cathedral’s gift store after finding out his name had been pulled from the bag. He kissed it and put it in his pocket. As long as it was with him, he would pretend not to be scared; a few drops of moisture decorated his underdeveloped mustache. His thirteenth birthday was two weeks away.
“Wait here.” Lucinda said as she walked to the kitchen.
Jacobo waited in the house’s living space, a combined area where the eating and socializing took place much like in his own house. An indoor window separated the kitchen from the living space and he could see Lucinda preparing the sugar and water mixture. Each time there was a birth in the town, the mixture was given to the expectant mother to drink just before she began pushing. It prevented panic attacks. When they entered the bedroom, Miranda was already in position to give birth. Her legs wide apart, her back straight against the headboard, strands of frizzy hair covered her face.
She began to push. The nurse ordered Jacobo to a corner of the room. The priest recited the Lord’s Prayer and Lucinda shouted,
“No, mi’hijita. Don’t push yet. You have to drink this.”
Lucinda brought the glass to Miranda’s lips. Miranda continued to push.
“Tell her to stop. I can see the baby’s head!” The nurse said.
Voices outside the bedroom closed in chanting,
“Dios mio, please be merciful. Allow this child to live.”
Dark and light faces, some scarred or wrinkled, poked through the bedroom’s window. The priest lifted his arms in the air and said,
“Afuera. Afuera. The boy will give you the news. You know the rules. Get out. Jacobo ben aqui.”
Jacobo didn’t move; his eyes centered on a crack in the cement wall.
“Jacobo come here.” The priest said.
The crack expanded and shot down the corner of the wall. They were there. Jacobo licked his hands and spread the moisture on his chin and cheeks. He wanted to be clean when the baby saw him. He turned around and started to walk towards the priest; his hands carried the bible.
“Recite the Lord’s Prayer with me.” The priest said.
Jacobo moved his lips,
“For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son that whosoever...”
The priest placed his hand on Jacobo’s mouth and said,
“Do you not know the Lord’s Prayer?”
Jacobo shook his head.
Voices outside the window,
“Dios mio please be merciful. Allow this child to live. Miranda, drink the sugar and water.”
Miranda shouted,
“I don’t need it. This baby will live. I know it. It has been five years since she died. Long enough.” She pushed harder.
The insides of Lucinda’s eyes reddened; it was too late. The baby would not live.
“Mami!” Miranda screamed.
Liquid soaked the bed’s sheets.
The priest raised his voice and continued to pray. Jacobo watched in silence; his bible fell to the floor. The crack in the wall crossed the ceiling back and forth and slid down the sides of a wardrobe dresser. The nurse yelled,
“She must come back. We have to get her back. It has been long enough.” She scratched her scalp.
“Oh, mi vida!” El bebe.” Lucinda pushed the nurse against the wardrobe dresser, bent forward, and reached for the baby’s head. She pulled out the small body; his lungs produced no sounds. She slapped his back. No sounds. She shook him. No sounds.
“Mami let me see it. I want to see my baby. Is it a boy? Is he beautiful?” Miranda extended her arms to her baby.
Lucinda placed the newborn next to her on the bed and said,
“He’s dead.”
No babies had been born alive in five years.
Lucinda removed the glass from the end table. If only Miranda had swallowed the mixture. She had not allowed one sip to enter her body. Lucinda’s tears reached her neck; she walked out of the room. She didn’t want to see her daughter die.
Miranda inhaled deep breaths; her lungs rejected them.
The nurse wiped the blood from the inner parts of her legs. Jacobo could see the soaked towel. He picked up the bible.
“Go outside and tell them.” The priest said.
Jacobo nodded and left the room. Drinking the sugar and water mixture wouldn’t have helped Miranda or her baby. And Lucinda’s abandonment of the property during her daughter’s labor didn’t bring mala suerte to their household. The town was cursed. And nothing they did or didn’t do was going to break it. Jacobo imagined he was seven years old and in Cerro Verde National Park, his mother pointing out different bird species as they walked. If only Carmella and Andres had never existed. Because of them, his life and that of the rest of the townspeople was no longer a simple one.
Lovers who met by the river; Carmella was married to someone else and had five-year-old twin girls; Andres was her childhood sweetheart. As children, they sat in front of Manuel’s bakery, eating chocolate-covered mangoes until their gums hurt from all the hairs that got stuck between their teeth. Life was simple.
But when Carmella turned sixteen years old, her parents died while on route to deliver ice to a bodega just a few miles north of their hometown; their truck was found at the bottom of a cliff, there were no rain clouds that day and people claimed Carmella’s papi drove the truck off the cliff. He had a lot of bills; Carmella’s mami would buy goods imported from the United States. Later that same year, Andres left to study in Spain. His parents did not approve of the fact that he had fallen so in love with a girl whose parents sold ice for a living.
Carmella was left alone. She visited the bakery two or three times a day and stayed all day when Manuel offered her a job as a cashier. While Carmella was wiping semita crumbs from the corners of her mouth, a young man named Marco came into the store. He was the son of a postman. Though they attended the same school and were in the same class, Carmella had never spoken to him. Marco approached the counter and pointed to a pastry.
“Can I have that one?” He asked.
Carmella handed him the semita.
“Gracias,” said Marco and paid her.
The next day, Marco returned and asked for another semita. For ten days straight, Marco came into the store and bought a semita. Several months later, they married but Carmella’s heart still longed for Andres.
For seven years, Marco and Carmella lived a happy life and in that time, Carmella gave birth to twin girls whom she named Melissa and Miriam, named after Carmella’s mother, Miriam Melissa Santiago. While Marco was away at work delivering mail, Carmella would take the girls on a picnic by the river. They would sit on a blanket, sing songs and eat cheese-and-pork stuffed tortillas, fried plantains, and pickled cabbage. While on one of these picnics, Carmella felt a presence behind her. Andres had returned home. They embraced. He joined Carmella and the girls on their picnic, and told them of his adventures in Spain and the rest of the world. In the seven years he was away, he saw most of Europe and visited the Galapagos Islands. The picnics became daily events and on occasion Carmella left the girls with her friend, Marina, so she and Andres could be alone. Marina did not approve and so began the love affair that would bring a five-year curse to the town.
On a day when Carmella was meeting with Andres, Melissa and Miriam, now five years old, snuck out of Marina’s house and made their way to the river in search of their mother and the man whose stories made them jump up and down and sideways and backwards. They wanted to hear about the giant turtles and penguins which the man said lived in one of the most beautiful grouping of islands in the world. The girls danced on the riverbank, every few minutes stopping to throw pebbles in the river. As Melissa raised her arm, she noticed a ball floating on the water coming towards them.
“Let’s get it,” she said to Miriam who nodded and jumped in after it.
Melissa followed and two minutes later, the girls were trapped in the river’s current.
Later that day, a farmer found their bodies on the bank just a few miles south of where Carmella and Andres were hugging, touching, and kissing each other. The curse was set in motion.
The farmer ran into town to look for Carmella and when he was unable to find her, he went up and down the streets yelling,
“Marco, Marco, Marco!”
He found Marco delivering mail in La Calle de Señorita Martinez, one with few dogs; it was the cleanest street in the town. Señorita Martinez’s broom inhaled and later coughed the street’s dirt into a trashcan she kept in her backyard. She didn’t have to empty it too often, the people who lived on her street made sure not to litter and the waste Señorita Martinez picked up was brought in by the rain and wind.
Señorita Martinez was standing outside her house waiting for Marco to bring her the mail; she was a solterona and some people claimed she never got married because she had fallen in love with Marco’s father; others claimed she didn’t like men. The farmer’s legs slowed his pace as he got closer to Marco and he said,
“Marco, Marco, por Dios Marco. Dios mio, Dios mio!”
Marco turned around and said,
“What’s wrong? My God, my God, my God!” He dropped envelopes and packages on the ground.
The farmer stood in front of him and was silent.
Señorita Martinez said,
“Tell him what has happened. Tell him. You can’t run out of air now!”
The farmer opened his mouth and spoke,
“Your daughters, your daughters, your daughters.”
Marco began to cry. Señorita Martinez knelt on the ground and prayed,
“Dios mio, please be merciful.”
The phrase that would be repeated over and over again for many years was uttered.
When Marco heard what happened, he shot off with the farmer to the riverbank to see his daughters for the last time. But the farmer could not remember the location so they ran up and down the bank and several hours went by and Marco’s face began to wrinkle. The farmer scratched his head and said,
“I don’t understand. They were here.”
Marco continued to cry and said,
“Perhaps you’re wrong. Perhaps my daughters are home with Carmella.”
A ball crossed his path; his eyes followed as it rolled down the riverbank. Marco stood up and raced after it, the farmer at his side. Several minutes later, the ball stopped in front of two figures. He ignored the stains and cuts on Miriam and Melissa’s faces and arms and the clouds of dust on their clothes. He bent down, picked them up, and said to the farmer,
“Please find Carmella.”
The farmer nodded and took off.
When the farmer made it to town, he instructed some of the townspeople to go and find Carmella and when Marina was questioned about her location, she was so distraught by what had occurred that her mouth remained closed. And she held on to her son, Jacobo.
Señorita Martinez led the search group. As a child, while on her way to Manuel’s bakery, Carmella would often stop by Señorita Martinez’s house and help her polish the metal legs of her furniture. The group searched the town for several hours.
“Let’s go north on the riverbank,” Señorita Martinez said.
“No, she has no reason to be up there,” one of the townspeople said.
“Childhood sweethearts are never forgotten,” Señorita Martinez said and north they all went.
They found Carmella and Andres lying naked on the grass, a blanket covered their feet and chocolate-covered mangoes sat in an open basket. Señorita Martinez said,
“Dios mio, por Dios, Dios mio.”
Carmella stood up and wrapped the blanket around her body; Andres grabbed his clothes.
“Does Marco know?” Carmella asked. “And why did you bring so many people with you? It’s none of their business. I love him. I’ve always loved him.”
Andres finished getting dressed and said,
“I’ve always loved her.” He placed Carmella’s hand in his.
“Tell her what has happened,” said one of the townspeople.
“Carmella,” said Señorita Martinez.
Carmella freed her hand from Andres’ and let the blanket fall to the ground. The townspeople gasped.
“Your daughters, your daughters, your daughters,” Señorita Martinez said.
When Carmella heard what happened, she began to walk down to the river.
Andres said,
“Carmella, Carmella, please come back!” He chased after her and just when his hands could almost touch her hair, a ball crossed his path and tripped him. Carmella jumped into the water and let the current take her. The townspeople left Andres crying on the bank and they raced south to tell Marco what had happened. They found him sitting on a rock, the girls in his arms.
“Look, I’ve cleaned them. The stains on their faces are gone. I tried to get rid of the cuts and bruises. I don’t want Carmella to see them like this. Did you find her?” He asked.
Señorita Martinez nodded.
“Where is she?”
“I’m sorry,” said Señorita Martinez. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” And she told Marco what happened.
Marco gave the girls to Señorita Martinez.
“I’m going home. Will you take care of them?” He asked.
“We will all take care of them.” Señorita Martinez said.
Marco went home, sat on the porch, and never got up again. He died a few days after the girls were buried.
Andres got on a plane bound for Ecuador to see the place in which giant turtles and penguins lived.
But Melissa and Miriam were not entirely gone; their spirits still searched for their mother and so the curse was placed on the town and five years passed.
The townspeople seemed convinced that the curse was placed by Melissa and Miriam and that they would not allow any babies to be born alive until they were reunited with their mother. But it seemed that Carmella did not want to be found. The girls’ spirits had been seen dancing on the riverbank; Carmella’s had never made an appearance. The people had hoped that by sending in children to witness the births, the girls would allow the babies to be born alive. They had no proof that this would work, of course, but they were desperate and willing to try anything. And so they clung to whatever hope they had.
The door opened and Jacobo stepped onto the porch. Ants feasted on the mango seed the garrabo had left behind. The people waited for him to deliver the news. Jacobo’s mom held her hands on her stomach. Nobody moved, not even the children. Jacobo could hear Lucinda crying in the house; the priest continued to recite the Lord’s Prayer.
Jacobo stretched his back and said,
“She didn’t drink it! She didn’t drink the sugar and water!”
Several women and men fell to the ground and wept.
“She’s dead. And so is the baby.” Jacobo said.
A boy freed his hand from his mother’s and said,
“You’re too old. That’s why it didn’t work!”
The boy’s mother closed his mouth.
Jacobo heard steps behind him.
“It’s time she came back! We must get her back!” Lucinda said.
Jacobo’s mom walked over to Lucinda.
“We have to get her back Marina. We have too.” Lucinda said.
“We’ve tried. But she has never been seen. She doesn’t want to come back.” Marina said.
“Your baby will die. You know it will.” Lucinda said.
Marina placed her hand over Lucinda’s.
“Jacobo is too old. That’s why it didn’t work. His name should never have been in the bag. We’ll pull another name next time, a younger child’s. The twins were only five years old when they drowned. It must be a younger child.” Marina said.
Lucinda rubbed her face and neck.
“Lucinda, I’m sorry about your daughter.” Marina said.
“And I’m sorry that your unborn child will never take a breath in this world.” Lucinda said and walked back to her house.
The townspeople gathered in a church that night and brainstormed ways to lure Carmella’s spirit from the river. In the past, they had called out her name but she had never responded. People suggested they have children call out her name. Others suggested they find Andres and ask him to come back and call out her name. But the townspeople could not agree on what to do until someone finally jumped up and said,
“Chocolate covered mangoes!”
They sped to Manuel’s bakery. Dozens of mangoes were piled in boxes and carried to the place where Carmella and Andres were found naked on the day the twins drowned. The people hid behind bushes and trees and waited to see if Carmella would come. Hours passed and Carmella did not appear. Days passed, the mangoes began to rot, and Carmella did not appear. Weeks passed, garrabos devoured the rotted mangoes, and Carmella did not appear. Meanwhile, Marina’s stomach continued to expand. Convinced that the only way to bring Carmella back was to continue to replace the mangoes, teams of four or five people took turns keeping watch each night. One day, a figure was seen walking up from the riverbank. Marina pushed and shoved the rest of the group. The figure got closer—a naked woman, her eyes hollow and wide, her mouth open.
“Carmella!” Marina said.
The people awoke, hid behind bushes, and peeked through small open spaces.
Carmella approached the mangoes, picked one up and began to pet it as if it were a dog or cat. After a few minutes, she put it down and picked up another one, repeating the same ritual until she had held all the mangoes. When she was finished, she started to walk in the direction of the river. The people jumped out from behind the bushes and yelled,
“No, come back! Dios mio, please be merciful! Dios mio, please be merciful!”
But Carmella continued walking. She got to the river and a ball appeared on the water. She knelt on the ground and two small figures moved in the water. They grabbed the ball and swam to the riverbank. Carmella extended her arms and the three figures embraced. The people cried and cheered,
“Gracias Dios. You have been merciful.”
The five-year curse was broken.
Two months later, a baby was born alive in the town. To celebrate the birth of Marina’s daughter, the townspeople visited El Cuco. There they sat on the porches of rented bungalows on the beach, and ate turtle eggs, sucked on ripe mangoes and sugar cane, and drank American beer. And when Jacobo’s little sister was old enough, he took her to Cerro Verde National Park and pointed out different bird species as they walked. But Carmella and the girls were not entirely gone. Their spirits were often seen dancing on the riverbank. Some even claimed to have seen Marco’s spirit.
©2004 by Eileen Cruz Coleman
