Generally I appeal to the remembrances of old customs. Such is the case of Three Kings Day, about which I propose two unusual abstractions around Melchor, Gaspar and Baltazar, the camels and gifts.
1st
In the first place, one of the many grateful articles from "El Camagüey" in my email refers to a chronicle by Pisto Manchego, published by Interino (Nicolás Guillén) on January 5, 1925.
“I, who believe in the Kings, believe it or not and I feel as childish as anyone else, I am taking my measures.
Tonight, for sure, I will put my shoes next to the bed I sleep in (bought at Casildo's hardware store), with a letter that will say more or less the following:
[…]My dear friends: I beg you to kindly put me in the “attached” shoes a suit made by Leoncio Barrios, a lamp from Casa Mendía and a box of socks from La Gran Señora […]
And, if it were something that could be left in a pair of shoes, I would even ask my friends to put me in them for a year without work and with pay!”
2nd
Half a century and a year later, this passionate about Guillen's pistos took on an event that had a turning point in his life and in that of his family. The events later inspired, with good intentions, the chronicle of an aspiring journalist who was forged in the editorial office of the newspaper “Adelante”.
On the eve of January 6th, 1976, together with my wife, we prepared the first celebration of our son Gilberto on the traditional Three Kings Day, without a tree and a model of a Bethlehem, but with three regulated toys, at that time, by the rationing book. At night, we received an expected visit, given a secret that spread by word of mouth, but still caused surprise. The young soldier informs, laconically: "The Chief wants to talk to you."
Minutes later, I was sitting in the office of the assistant at the Command Post of the Military Unit. After the regulatory salute, the situation relaxes. The smile on the lips of other officers present gives me more confidence. They explain to me that the purpose of the call is the need for an English-speaking exploration specialist for a mission.
"Look - the Chief points out with singular nobility - we are organizing the General Staff of a unit that is leaving for Angola and I want to know your willingness to go with us". The conversation is short. After the affirmative answer, he guides me "go home, say goodbye to your people, here early tomorrow, ready to go"
I entrusted the few details at hand to the family; my father answers me with an unusual “behave yourself”. The next morning, a jeep from “Adelante” picks us up. We left my wife and child in the Alegrías del Hogar kindergarten. We say goodbye again. Then they take me to the entrance of the military unit. Confirming my presence, there are strong handshakes from various officers known in combat readiness activities and they escort me to another vehicle.
Bumping along the roads of the FAR polygon, the landrover arrives at the edge of a camp of makeshift shacks with thatched roofs of palm leaves and tarpaulins. The “right-handed” driver comments on the resemblance to an African village. Would he know from photos? We locate the scouts and I introduce myself. It is a company that participated in the great maneuver First Congress of the PCC. They stayed in full, voluntarily, to fulfill the internationalist mission. Finally, exchange with the new boss, an oriental mulatto, named Lavadí. He explains to me the order of departure: he by plane, I with the troops by boat. We'll see each other there.
The hours of January 6th go by quickly. I sign the voluntary commitment and then I go to the medical check-up -my blood pressure did not play a trick on me...thanks to the juice of a lemon- and with the usual suspicion I get the vaccines. For the first time, I have a tailored olive green uniform, not like the joke of the SMO recruits or they are very big or small. They complete the campaign equipment with the backpack, hammock, blankets... Face of astonishment when they put the individual first aid package in my hand. The possible reality squeezed by my fingers. The passport photo is taken in a suit jacket (front only) and tie that many wore. Thus ended that unusual Three Kings Day.
The next morning we bathed in full sun with a hose from a water tank, as cold as January breezes. Someone alerts the naked ones of the presence of the nurses. We get behind the vehicle. Dressed in civilian clothes, we waited for a column of buses. We are going to the city of Nuevitas.
People have taken to the streets to greet the caravan of combatants and shout slogans, they know why we are there, where we are going. Military technique is already found in the ships anchored in the port... In short, we were all part of a secret jealously guarded by eight million Cubans, as Gabriel García Márquez later pointed out, in an article on Operation Carlota.
Translated by Linet Acuña Quilez