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( 0 Rating )Thanks to the work of the Cuban Revolution and the vision of Celia and Fidel, there were several children who had a different future. This is the story of one of them Cervilio Portuondo Naranjo will soon be 74 years old. Most identify him as the plastic instructor who for more than a decade was surrounded by children in the municipality of Pedro Betancourt.
Almost no one has heard the original story of his arrival in the world, after a storm that cracked the fate of the yagua roofs in Chamarreta, back in Santiago de Cuba; and only a few have he told how the initial course of his history changed.
“I was the second of four siblings. I spent much of my childhood in fear of the rural guard and the usual bombardments of the tyranny. After the revolutionary triumph, we moved to a corner of the Sierra Maestra, between Naranjal and Camaroncito, very close to the La Plata river to be able to survive ”, he says in a parsimonious tone, as if the lips had missed savoring those memories made of mount, of sounds taken from nature.
“The day that Fidel went up to the signing of the First Agrarian Reform Law, like many others, my family set out on the march to the“ santaclareros ”hut. There we were impressed to hear him tell anecdotes of the war. I was barely 13 years old and I did not understand then how much the fate of the peasantry was going to change ”. Cervilio's voice breaks and he tries to hide his tears under his glasses. For a moment he interrupts the narration and goes in search of a sip of water to ease the lump in his throat, but he soon returns to the living room to string the story together.
“The surprises began that December 1959 when, upon returning from my grandparents' house, we passed through Caney de las Mercedes. We met Captain Isabel Rielo, founder of the Mariana Grajales female platoon, who at that time joined her forces to the Camilo Cienfuegos School City project.
“He asked me if I was interested in studying and if my parents agreed. Today I understand that accepting her invitation was the best thing that ever happened to me. At first we slept in tents. They put up an electric plant and most of us saw, for the first time, light bulbs. Imagine a little black man, whom we affectionately called Azabache, began to throw stones at him, believing they were little stars. Later the buildings were erected and exceptional teachers, such as the writer Hermino Almendros, guaranteed our training. Those student residences were more than we could dream of ”.
Today Cervilio is a slightly thick man with tanned skin and medium height. He details dates and places with an accuracy that easily allows you to travel through memories of him. The capital almost completely stripped him of the oriental accent, which is why it is difficult to imagine him as that small and mischievous boy from the mountains.
“At the end of the 60s my adventure in Havana began. Following Celia's instructions, a group of students was selected to leave the Ciudad Escolar and march towards the Sierra Cojímar school. We frequently received a visit from Fidel; sometimes I shied away from him a bit because he asked a lot of questions.
He had a great ability to be aware of all the details, from fuel consumption to production.
“What didn't cross my mind was that he would save me. It turns out that we went to fetch grass for the cattle every day and one afternoon my foot got caught in the rubber of the wagon. The blow was very strong, I was compressed against the asphalt. They barely managed to take me to the Cojímar polyclinic and from there to the Fernando Freyre de Andrade hospital, better known as Emergencies. By little I do not do the story. That day Fidel was far away, but as soon as he returned and they told him what had happened, he wanted to see me. "
They looked for him all over the place and he didn't show up. It was thanks to the Commander's perseverance that they found him lying, evicted, in a place similar to a pre-morgue.
“There was a tremendous uproar. In a few minutes he was surrounded by doctors. I stayed in the institution for a year since I had several fractured ribs and one punctured my lung. The attentions were wonderful, they even brought my mom to take care of me! My recovery was another of Fidel's miracles ”.
“When I was discharged I went back to Cojímar, but during one of the exchanges with Celia, she discovered that I drank from a different glass than the others. She asked the cook and he explained that he had read my medical history and since he had a lung injury, he thought it was tuberculosis. He got upset to the point of taking me to his apartment on Calle 11 in Vedado ”.
Scattered papers, the telephone ringing constantly, the scorching aroma of coffee, the puffs of smoke extending the waking hours so that no letter was left unanswered, maternal concern, the determination to make the unimaginable possible: this is how Celia's image persists in his memory.
“For several months I lived under her roof that I already knew, because she was always willing to shelter the children of Sierra Cojímar and many others who needed her help. She motivated me to continue studies in institutes, agricultural leveling schools, but I did not settle until I found my true vocation in the arts.
“I graduated as a plastic instructor from the Vice Ministry of Military Technological Education, and they located me in Matanzas, because Álvaro Reinoso and Ernest Thaelman were pioneering centers in this regard. Afterwards everything was transformed, but I did not leave the province. I went to education, then to culture ”.
He says that in 1977 he went to Angolan land to carry out an internationalist mission in the province of Uíge. Upon his return, the heroine's health was fragile. Although he and her brother tried to see her, he was unable to receive them. “She died on January 11, 1980 and I could barely make out her farewell from afar. When I arrived in Havana the funeral procession was about to leave. I could only add my tears to the sea of town ”.
Cervilio's work at Pedro Betancourt was prolific. In that land he found love, had his son and became a grandfather. For this reason, most remember him as the man immersed in colors, reluctant to interviews.
“I never asked Celia for anything, it was she who, because of her good heart, gave my parents a little house in Havana. However, my wife did not like the capital and I did not return permanently.
I never bragged or wanted to gain any privilege from my past. People know the fruits that I planted myself, because I keep that stage as a treasure of mine, ”he claims while holding the only olive-green photo he has of his childhood. It is in that image that his smile immortalized, where the second life that was opened for him can be appreciated, like a handkerchief bleached by the sun of the Cuban Revolution.
(By: Lianet Fundora Armas)
