{"id":2143,"date":"2020-11-05T03:38:25","date_gmt":"2020-11-05T08:38:25","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.turtlepointpress.com\/traveltainted\/?p=2143"},"modified":"2020-11-20T12:54:08","modified_gmt":"2020-11-20T17:54:08","slug":"silence-of-the-bees","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.turtlepointpress.com\/traveltainted\/silence-of-the-bees\/","title":{"rendered":"Silence of the Bees"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

by Herman Portocarero <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

1. BEYOND THE BARRIO of La Mu\u00f1eca<\/em>, leaving Havana heading toward San Antonio de los Ba\u00f1os, the city gradually turns rural. Or, to the inextricable mixture of textures at the edge of any large city, only more confusing in Havana\u2019s case, because history has had such a dramatic break here. Where once a baron would build a mansion, a few decades later a Communist built a factory, or turned the mansion into a school, a clinic, a research center, or, always a favorite, a police station. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Cuba before the Revolution had a rich culture of eccentrics living in these lush areas just outside the city. The most notorious one built herself a castle where she kept an entire pseudo-royal court of dressed-up monkeys. La Finca de los Monos <\/em>entered Havana urban legend, but it was entirely real. Then the Revolution did away with such aristocratic eccentricities. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oscar Soriano\u2019s story was not quite in the same league, but there were similarities. Oscar was the caretaker and yard man of a small palace hidden behind thick bamboo groves on the outskirts of La Lisa. The house was a large villa in a mixture of styles, a hybrid between a Venetian palazzo and a medieval Rhine castle. The property was owned by the Nu\u00f1ez-Vegas family, and the head of the family had been an amateur beekeeper. After the family fled to Spain in 1962, they left behind a young cousin, Angelito, under Oscar\u2019s guardianship so as not to lose claim to the house. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Angelito turned out to be autistic, and never finished grade school. Until the Revolution instated its brand of political correctness, Angelito was considered the village idiot and was treated as such. After the age of fifteen, he never passed beyond the outside gate of the property. Oscar had him help with the bees, and for some mysterious reason they would never sting him, even when he opened or fumigated a hive unprotected. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The last of the Nu\u00f1ez-Vegases died penniless in Madrid in 1975. Letters and money had long ceased coming to the villa. Left completely to his own devices, Oscar little by little expanded the beekeeping operation to sustain himself and Angelito. He started by selling their honey, first to the neighbors, but gradually to a wider clientele, steadily growing through Havana\u2019s lively grapevine culture, radio bemba <\/em>or word-of-mouth.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

His operation was too small at first to attract attention during the various waves of Cuba\u2019s economic reform, ending with the total prohibition of any private production or commerce. Since he employed no workers except for the otherwise helpless boy, and purchased no supplies, he was technically not running an agricultural or industrial operation or anything else falling under the new laws. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Once in 1976, though, some overzealous paper pusher in the Ministerio de la Industria Alimentaria<\/em> who was out for a promotion sent an inspector to the house. He entered the property with the usual air of importance, proud of the status conferred by his polyester guayabera<\/em> and the fake Samsonite attach\u00e9 case made in the USSR (an important symbol of authority, but almost never containing more than an extra pack of cigarettes). When, in the usual manner, he tried to interrogate the \u201cunlicensed worker\u201d and the offending economic operator, Angelito didn\u2019t utter a word. Instead, he opened a beehive, and the bees\u2014reading his peculiar mind, which was attuned to their own instincts\u2014massively attacked the inspector, who fled the property. The following day the ministry sent a report to the local police station, but the cops were all getting free honey from Oscar and never followed up on the complaint. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Life at the villa carried on in this fashion for another forty years. The mansion gradually crumbled, and its use was reduced to the kitchen and two rooms on the ground floor. Oscar, in his eighties, shrank to skin and bones, but maintained an enviable state of health through a sparse diet, little rum, regular doses of royal jelly, long rides on his Chinese Flying Pigeon bicycle to deliver jars of honey far beyond his neighborhood, and sex once a month with a willing widow from the nearby hamlet.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Angelito went the opposite way, expanding to the size of a newborn elephant baby, but maintaining his innocent eyes and his diminutive \u201clittle angel\u201d nickname.  The only annoying habit he developed was to masturbate before any female visitor to the yard; luckily, there were not that many coming. He was by now technically the owner of the ruined mansion and grounds, but since he was recognized to be legally incompetent, Oscar handled any stray document that would come in requiring a signature.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

2. Sergio, the youngest staff writer of the official daily Granma<\/em>, was sent to the finca<\/em> with the delicate mission of extracting a human-interest story without deviating from party lines. It made him nervous, but he set out valiantly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The bus to La Lisa was crowded at first, but had almost emptied by the time it reached its final stop at the ragged outskirts of the barrio<\/em>. Sergio got off and asked his way to the Finca de las Abejas.<\/em> It was late May and the bees had done their work: the dark mango trees had bloomed profusely and were now pregnant with fruit. Kids from the scattered housing projects carried long bamboo poles equipped with the hooks of metal clothes hangers at the ends, to go after the ripe mangoes.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The housing schemes in these parts were low-rise units with verandas, colorful laundry drying in the breeze. Some enterprising neighbor had turned his cemented front yard into a proudly advertised car wash. Already looking for the competitive edge, the sign announced Se Fregan Carros Camiones y Tractores\u2014We Do Cars, Trucks and Tractors. <\/em>The only visible equipment was a new garden hose, but it was obviously treated with the respect of an investment.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

In spite of fifty years of political correctness, the owner of the car wash, when asked for directions, still explained to Sergio the shortcut to El Castillo del Gordo Loco\u2014The Crazy Fat Man\u2019s Castle. <\/em>Beyond the inhabited housing schemes, a vague zone of with the skeletons of buildings in rough gray concrete was either a work in progress or abandoned, difficult to tell. Creepers embraced the concrete, but that didn\u2019t prove anything: microbrigadas <\/em>building their own apartments sometimes took years to complete them, but they never gave up. The buildings served a purpose even as they were: lovers out for a bit of privacy had left graffiti commemorating their best moments on the walls. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Past these constructions, the asphalt road gradually ended and soon was just a dusty path nearing the dark bamboo jungle rustling and clicking in the breeze, shielding the ancient mansion. Two skeletal but still hopeful street dogs, never giving up on life either, continued to follow Sergio for a while. The gate through which he entered the property faced east, on the Venetian side of the mansion, leaving the medieval German side to the darker west. The path inside the gate was slippery with moss under the deep shadow of the bamboo groves.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The welcome Sergio received from the two characters inside was wary at first. Oscar still took his responsibilities as a yard keeper very seriously, and was busy cutting weeds against the impressive backdrop of the drooping house. Oscar\u2019s sparse, angular body was dressed in baggy shorts and torn rubber boots, with the symbolic leftovers of a T-shirt framing his torso. This walking skeleton equipped with a sword looked menacing. To complete the impression, a broken shutter of the house was flapping in the wind, like the loose yardarm of a ghost ship, the entire house the color of a stranded wreck. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oscar took Sergio, with his shiny leather shoes, at first for another inspector. Angelito stood by in mute understanding but in sharp readiness, in case bees had to be released against an invading enemy, but otherwise behaved himself, as the visitor was male. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

When Sergio explained the purpose of his visit, Oscar apologized that he had no coffee to offer but that he could make herbal tea with honey. Sergio had his doubts about the grimy old man making him something to drink, but accepted as an ice-breaking courtesy. Oscar disappeared into the kitchen. Sergio, abandoned on the terrace, checking indiscreetly through broken windowpanes, saw vague objects that looked like an alchemist\u2019s tools on a cluttered counter indoors. Oscar came back with two steaming cups. They sat down under a mango tree and talked, Sergio holding his little voice recorder.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\ndrew you to beekeeping, compa\u00f1ero?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI had no other option to survive. We\nwere abandoned here and I had to take care of Angelito.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe former owners of the property\nfled with their riches?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey\nwere flat broke.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow\ndo you see the bees?\u201d  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey\njust do their thing.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\nmean that they form their own societies? What did you learn from them?\u201d  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey\nwork hard for no pay.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cUnder\nstrong leadership, right?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey\nhave a queen, yes. A kind of monarchy.\u201d  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut\nled by a female. That\u2019s remarkable emancipation in the natural world, no?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey\nare slaves, asere<\/em>. Working hard for the honey enjoyed by others.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey\nalways stick to their duties.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat choice do they have? It\u2019s all\nthey know. They buzz a bit, but mostly they shut up\u2014for if they sting, they\ndie.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou know that bees are dying out in\nthe rest of the world? That here in Cuba they are still safe?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019re good at keeping everything\ngoing that\u2019s long finished elsewhere. Like the almendrones<\/em> and my bike. And myself,\u201d he added. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOur air is just better for them,\nless polluted.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJoven,<\/em> have you ever been on a bicycle\nbreathing in the exhaust fumes of an almendron<\/em>?\nMaybe I\u2019ve been living this long because by now I\u2019m smoked meat.<\/em>\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sergio\ncame to the most far-fetched part of his brief. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHave you heard that great Cubans are modeled in beeswax in an important museum in the United States, en Nueva York<\/em> ?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The old man enthusiastically\nscratched his balls, somewhere deep in the wobbly area of his baggy shorts. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI sell the\nstuff to chicks, for their legs and for their thin<\/em>g, you know. The yumas\n<\/em> like \u2018em smooth, but I myself\u2026.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sergio cringed, but on Oscar\u2019s\notherwise impassive face, the mental association brought out a decidedly subversive <\/em>grin. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIf they make\u2026 personalities <\/em>out\nof it, they should keep them in the shade. You don\u2019t want important\nfigures to melt.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sergio was alarmed, then realized no\none else was within earshot and that the dangerous joke would not be reported.\nBut shit\u2014he still had it on tape!  He\u2019d better erase this part. \u2026 He\nresumed the interview <\/em>on another of the suggested <\/em>topics:<\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe bees pollinate all over the\nplace. You help the mango trees and the natural cycles. It looks like\na rich season.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMangoes? Kids steal some of them,\nand the rest go to rot. A nuisance more than anything else. Clouds of flies.\nAnts. And people in the city, they buy mango juice en cajita <\/em>from\nabroad. I\u2019m old but I see things when I ride out to make my deliveries \u2026\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow does that work?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oscar\u2019s expression signaled that this\nwas an exceptionally stupid question. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI ride my bike. I mounted a wooden\nHatuey beer crate on the rack in 1972 and it still holds. The Hatuey beer\nis long gone, but they made the best crates. I can fit twenty- four jars\nof honey in the crate.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow many buyers do you have?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The old man had never forgotten the\nvisit by the inspector, back in 1976, who had tried to turn him officially into\na black market operator. His mistrust of Sergio came back.   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI have no buyers, only people\nwho love the honey.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWho are they?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sergio himself felt these were\nfoolish questions the moment he asked them. He was further losing the old man\u2019s\ntrust. Oscar\u2019s eyes were constantly fixed on Sergio\u2019s shiny shoes now.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI have all the addresses in my\nhead,\u201d he said warily. \u201cAnd names? I know them as La Gorda, El\nAngolano, China Flaca, La Reina, El Negro Prieto, La Mulatisima<\/em>\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Angelito, sensing the tension and\nreading his companion\u2019s alarm at Sergio\u2019s growing invasiveness, slowly walked\ntowards the beehives on the backside of the house. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The journalist said hurriedly that he\nhad enough material, thanked his host for the hospitality and quickly made for\nthe gate. But Oscar, following his own well-trained instinct, told him to wait\na minute, disappeared in the house and came back with a jar of honey carefully\nwrapped in a sheet of Granma<\/em> newspaper. \u2018I\u2019m accepting a bribe\u2019, went\nthrough Sergio\u2019s immature professional brain, but he didn\u2019t know how to refuse.\nInstead, his eyes stupidly read a fragment of the Granma article of the\nwrapper, a red headline about Venezuela. He said a vague thank you and made for\nthe exit.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Back on the road, it occurred to him that he hadn\u2019t even seen the beehives.   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

3. It took Sergio the best part of the week to come up with his human interest article for the Friday edition: <\/p>\n\n\n\n

La Finca de las Abejas: Of Bees and Men<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

One of the many successful innovations in our national food policies is the expansion not just of suburban agriculture, but of apiculture on the very doorstep of our capital city. Compa\u00f1ero Oscar Soriano, living on the outskirts of the municipio of La Lisa, aided by his ward Angelitoa sturdy worker, in spite of his mental challenges<\/em>\u2014is a veteran of the art of beekeeping. He took up his demanding craft when the owners of the property emigrated after the Triumph of the Revolution and, with the selfishness of their doomed class, left him and Angelito to fend for themselves. <\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n

In his\neighty-five years Oscar has absorbed much of the wisdom of the industrious\ninhabitants of his numerous hives. He admires their ceaseless work ethic and\ntheir structured society. \u2018It\u2019s not just about the honey they produce\u2019, Oscar\nsays proudly; \u2018they also play a vital part in the natural cycles by pollinating\nthe mango trees in these parts. We\u2019ll have an exceptionally rich harvest this\nseason.\u2019 He\u2019s well aware that the pollinating bees, outside our island,\nare threatened with outright extinction by the degrading of the environment by\nmindless capitalist industrialism.<\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Oscar\ngenerously shares the honey with his neighbors, and even rides out on his\nvintage bicycle to make deliveries in other barrios, to friends fondly evoked\nby their colorful nicknames. <\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n

On an unexpected note, showing that in spite of his rural background, he is aware of cultural riches as well, he adds: and the wax, which many people only think of as a by-product, serves a better purpose too. I have sent much of it to our national museum of wax effigies in Bayamo, where the likenesses of our national heroes molded in wax have nothing to envy in such museums in the United States, where even Fidel is portrayed, from what I hear.\u2019 <\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

Herman Portocarero<\/strong> is a Belgian-born writer of Spanish and Portuguese descent. He is the author Havana Without Makeup: Inside the Soul of the City<\/em> (Turtle Point Press, 2017) and has published more than twenty works of fiction and nonfiction in Europe. Between 1995 and 2017, he was ambassador in Havana for his native country and later for the European Union, and developed a deep professional and personal relationship with Cuba, Havana, and her people. “Silence of the Bees” <\/em>is an excerpt from his collection Habanera\/os<\/em>: Tales from True Havana.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

1. Beyond the barrio of La Mu\u00f1eca, leaving Havana heading toward San Antonio de los Ba\u00f1os, the city gradually turns rural. Or, to the inextricable mixture of textures at the edge of any large city, only more confusing in Havana\u2019s case, because history has had such a dramatic break here. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":2239,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[152],"tags":[140],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nTraveltainted | Silence of the Bees - Turtle Point Press Magazine \/ TPPM<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.turtlepointpress.com\/traveltainted\/silence-of-the-bees\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Traveltainted | Silence of the Bees - Turtle Point Press Magazine \/ TPPM\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"1. Beyond the barrio of La Mu\u00f1eca, leaving Havana heading toward San Antonio de los Ba\u00f1os, the city gradually turns rural. 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