Chapter 5… Of poor lovesick poets
Poneloya Beach, Leon, Nicaragua
“Those are nothing but lies!” he would start to say. “The backstabbing slanders made up by the most conniving and deceiving among the fishermen! And for what reason, you might ask? Clearly, to over-charge the tourists for the boat ride, and use that ill-gotten money to pay for the drinks, when they got back to the port, with a boat-load of sea-sick tourists.
“He never wrote that poem for that Margarita. Because that Margarita was just a child, maybe not even ten years old.
“I should know! When I was still a kid, I used to buy fish from that mob of lying scoundrels. Would I know what I´m talking about, when I grew up among them and knew them, more than well, they who dare call themselves fishermen? Oh yes, I indisputably, assuredly, and most evidently, would and do know! It was the fishermen themselves, who told me why the poet spent so much time at that house. The poet had only one reason to stay for so long on the island, and it was because, he was fooling around with another young girl, also by the name of Margarita! The poor rhyme-talking fool had fallen for her, heart and soul, as they so poetically say! He was head over tails, madly in love, just your everyday broken-hearted poet.
Poneloya Beach, Leon, Nicaragua
“Now, this Margarita, the real Margarita, mind you, was the daughter of a fisherman from Corinto whose name was Rafael. Everybody used to call him Rafita, or Little Rafael, because he was so short, skinny, and tiny. On the other hand, unbelievably, his lovely daughter Margarita was a tall, dark-skinned girl, and she was most assuredly gorgeous. That Margarita possessed the kind of beauty, you only find, in the women that come from Nicaragua’s Atlantic Coast. God, in his infinite love of beauty, mercilessly paid special attention to each and every detail, on the blessed day she was born, or so the fishermen swear with a grubby hand on a Gideon’s Bible. It goes without saying how that poor, impassioned poet would spend his half-crazed days and sleepless nights at the island, dreaming of Margarita and drinking to her health, which is by the way, the reason he was so drunk most of the time!”
I really don’t know what I enjoyed the most, whether it was to listen to Grandfather, as he told his stories and then, to hear him laugh at his own little jokes, so loud and full of life; or when Grandmother would intervene, with that mysterious smile of hers, and scold him for talking such nonsense.
Versión en español In the land of volcanoes’ Chapters Purchase the book