When the sea is rough, the children from the Consulate arrive around 4:30. They have their technique of expert wave chasers. One, who is 12 years old, knows that a good one is going to come because of the sound and the other, 9 years old, sees it forming in the distance through a small hole whose wall is well attached to the ground. Thus, each one with their strategy, they take turns to warn: “One is coming!” The big kids instructed my little 2 year old in the art of wave chasing. And in what they explained to him, I also learned something. The first thing is that the floor is slippery and you have to walk like an old man. It is better to wait for the wave on the floor, lying face down, because if it is too big it can knock you over. During the first practice, my son slipped several times and was knocked over by the giant wave, but everything was delicious. He also learned from the children of the Consulate that colds do not exist, that sea water is sacred and that La Punta is the funniest place in the world.
There are those who like to sit on the wall, even if the weather is not very good, even if the sea is choppy, even if the sky is grey. Sometimes the intense colors, the sun and the serenity of the weather do not define happiness, although people like to portray themselves with wide smiles and surrounded by a perfect colorful landscape. As if we didn’t have storms and clouds. As if you couldn’t be happy, despite the bad weather. As if you couldn’t portray the joy of living with a salty camera.
From a distance he looked like a promise payer. A suicide. A tragic supplicant created by a Havana imitator of Aeschylus. A sad man scattering the ashes of his parents. A beggar who implores him to improve things. A crazy. A modernist poet resurrected in El Vedado. A retired diver. A character by Lino Novás Calvo. A great actor in decline. A sleepwalking conductor. He showed me a bag full of fish and said with a mischievous smile: “It seems not, but yes.”
I always want to see something unusual. Even though I’m short-sighted and my glasses are a bit out of date, I keep my eyes wide open so I don’t miss any wild wonder. That day we thought we were lucky to be one of the few passers-by who spotted, a few meters from the wall, a strange stain. After a jump in the belly, caused by emotion, we discovered that it was sargassum. It was not a patch of flying fish, nor was it a small orange whale. But we were convinced that it was an extraordinary sargassum and we were privileged to witness this unusual phenomenon. A few days later we read that sightings of common sargassum in the waters of western Cuba have been frequent for a year or so.
They say that after the storm comes calm. Fear and anguish go with the gale. When it clears up it makes a tasty chilly that sneaks into your soul. Then you start looking for beauty among the puddles and that’s when you feel like starting over.
The sea was rough, but not that bad. Some fled from the waves and others clung to the wall to get wet. It was one of those rare days when nothing happens. Or yes, but I was half asleep and other people took my wonder. There was no shock this time. The sun was shining and the Malecón shone dotted with cold white foam.
The fierce wave throws them, wrapped in foam, and leaves them there, scattered on the wet cement. Oblivious to the hustle and bustle of the city, the little snails on the wall are the symbol of the life that comes from the sea. The invasive nature. The wild recovering the space stolen by the asphalt. A metaphor of perseverance, of collective resistance. They return to the water, slowly crawling, knowing that the ominous wave will pull them out again.
When you live with a dedicated photographer, you have to know that time is ticking for you, but not for him. Sometimes you look where he’s pointing the camera and you can’t see anything appealing. You can put your fingernails on or read “La Isla en Peso” up to page 23 where he is “capturing the perfect moment”. And you mock, you mock a lot at his immobility, believing that going faster is better. After 465 photos in the same place, of my desperation, my misunderstanding, some bad word and “come on, the water is going to catch us” repeated 9 times, we ran away fleeing the first drops. He managed to get the photo of himself, even though he told me that he would have needed half an hour more. I understood what long exposure is and I had a life lesson. A few minutes after we left, a waterspout formed right there.
From that day this backlit photo remained like one of those action movie posters where the protagonists are always saved. My son (Naruto) and his best friend (32) had never had as much fun on the Malecon as they did that post-cyclone Sunday. The street was closed and you could run freely from one side to the other. They, disciplined pre-adolescents, calm and raised in a small apartment far from the sea, were happy. They jumped, shouted and laughed in defiance of the waves that, from time to time, gently covered them. No one scolded us for the slider and the yelling. There were people doing the same far away and over the silence of the almost complete blackout city, different tones of laughter could be heard mixing in the air. We returned to the house, like action heroes, drenched in salt water and with enough endorphins to endure, in a good mood, the 3 nights without light that still awaited us.
José María says that: “life is like a mirror, if you look at it smiling, it smiles at you”. In Malecón slang: “In bad weather, good face.”
