Tropical Secrets Read Online Free Page A

expects us to dance
on the Sabbath,
on Friday night
and all day Saturday.
    Â 
    She keeps teaching me Spanish,
but what use do I have
for this island’s singsong language?
I should be learning English.
    Â 
    Even if my parents
are no longer alive,
I must plan on somehow
reaching New York
    Â 
    in honor
of their memory,
their dream.

    Â 
DAVID
    Â 
    I was taught that there are four
kinds of people in the world—
wise, wicked, simple,
and those who do not yet know
how to ask questions.
    Â 
    I was taught that questions
are just as important as answers.
    Â 
    I was a child when I learned these things.
Now I am old, but I still know
that life’s questions
outnumber life’s answers.
    Â 
    Carnival joy is one of my questions—
where does it come from,
this season of musical contentment,
even though I have lived so long
and lost so much?

 
    Â 
    Â 
DECEMBER 1941
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 

    Â 
DAVID
    Â 
    Perhaps I have taught
the art of wondering
too thoroughly—
    Â 
    now, the young people ask
so many questions
that the lack of answers
makes me dizzy.
    Â 
    I cannot bear to speak
about my burning village,
my parents and sisters,
    Â 
    or my Cuban wife
who died too young
    Â 
    or our son
who moved away
to who-knows-where
    Â 
    and never visits,
never writes.
    Â 
    I have no wisdom to offer
when it comes to the art
of waiting for answers.

    Â 
DANIEL
    Â 
    Waiting for a future
and an understanding
of the past
    Â 
    means waiting for an end
to a war, far away,
    Â 
    so instead of tormenting myself
with impatient questions
about Europe’s suffering,
    Â 
    I find my escape
by playing
el sartén
,
a strangely simple
Cuban musical instrument
made by clashing
two frying pans together
like cymbals in an orchestra,
the sound of thunder
or hoofbeats,
    Â 
    the music
of running
and rage.

    Â 
DANIEL
    Â 
    Paloma introduces me
to Ernesto Lecuona,
a great Cuban composer
whose father vanished
when Ernesto was only five.
    Â 
    To support his family,
the boy played piano
in those old-fashioned theaters
where silent-movie stars
danced on white screens.
    Â 
    Now, watching Lecuona’s hands
as they dance on the piano,
I discover the secret
of his genius—
    Â 
    both hands are calm,
his hands are a team,
    Â 
    and so are his inspirations
as he blends the wistful melodies
of Spain
with hopeful rhythms
from Africa,
    Â 
    creating an entirely new
sort of music,
the sound of a future
dancing with the past.

    Â 
DANIEL
    Â 
    The more I hear Lecuona’s piano,
the more convinced I become
    Â 
    that improvising
is the music
for me.
    Â 
    Lecuona has captured
the tropical magic
of daydreams
and wishing.
    Â 
    All over Havana
shoeshine boys
and candy vendors
walk down the street,
changing old songs
into new ones.
    Â 
    Cubans call this skill
decimar
—
the art of inventing life
as it goes along.

    Â 
DANIEL
    Â 
    Instead of answering my questions
about her mother’s dancing
and her father’s work,
Paloma walks with me
up and down the cobblestone streets
of Old Havana.
    Â 
    I understand her reluctance to talk
about painful memories,
so I let her be quiet.
Instead, we listen to the clip-clop
of a cow’s hooves
as the
lechero
delivers fresh milk
from door to door, milking
into a clean pitcher
handed to him by each housewife.
    Â 
    When we listen to a mockingbird
singing from the top of a palm tree,
Paloma says the bird sings
like a Cuban,
inventing new melodies
each time his beak opens.
    Â 
    I tell her I know how the bird feels,
unwilling to be satisfied
with yesterday’s song.

    Â 
PALOMA
    Â 
    I have so much to say
about my mother’s dancing
and my father’s work,
    Â 
    but I do not know how to speak
of things that really matter,
    Â 
    so instead, I tell Daniel about my school
where I study math, reading, writing,
lacemaking, and saints’ lives.
    Â 
    My favorite teacher is an old nun
with a sad smile.
    Â 
    My favorite saint is