The Firefly Letters (6 page)

If Mamá would allow me,

I would even teach them how to read

and paint, and play music on the piano.

Artisans and musicians

are well-paid,

the slaves most likely

to earn enough money

for liberty's

steep price.

Imagine my nervousness

having to translate while Fredrika

scolds the schoolmistress

for keeping girls in class

only one hour per day

and for teaching them nothing

but embroidery, lacemaking,

and saints' lives

while boys study all day long

learning mathematics and science.

Elena looks so astounded

sitting in her classroom,

surrounded by giggling girls

in silk dresses with lace ruffles,

while Fredrika scolds

and I translate,

all the time thinking

that one hour of school

is more than any slave girl

can hope to receive

in a lifetime.

In church, Fredrika kneels

in the back, next to the slaves,

instead of sitting up front

with the ladies who are draped

in silks and jewels,

with lace shawls on their heads

instead of turbans.

I kneel beside Fredrika

with my baby kicking

in my belly

while I pray,

wondering if babies

can hear voices

and the music

that pours out the door

of the church

and up

toward the blue sky.

With the Swedish lady

kneeling beside us in church,

I begin to wonder how much my wife

will have changed

by spending so much time

in the company of a stranger

from the land of the North Star.

I hardly know Cecilia.

We are married

but we are strangers.

When the foreigner

goes away from Cuba

to travel in some other

distant foreign land,

will she leave my wife

with useful gifts . . .

or just fine ideas

and wild hopes?

I gave up my wealth

when I left my father's castle

to roam, and to write.

Now, I am troubled by my inability

to help Cecilia buy her freedom

and the liberty of her husband

and her child,

and I am overwhelmed by my wish

to help all the other slaves

on this suffering island.

Even if I had thousands of gold dollars,

I could not give them to Cecilia

without offending my host, Elena's father,

and that would cause problems

for the Swedish Consul—

an international incident

between our two nations.

Still, I would do it

if I had inherited

my father's gold.

In the evenings

I look over Fredrika's shoulder

as she writes letters

with fireflies resting

on her hand.

When I ask her to tell me

what the rows of squiggles mean,

she reads her Swedish words out loud,

translating into English

so that I can understand

when she describes Cuba as one

of God's most beautiful creations—

an island of eternal summer

like an outer court of Paradise

where she has inhaled new life,

although she cannot imagine

having to stay here

and live in this garden

where freedom

does not grow.

The quality of light in tropical air

is more intense, and on hot days

a sea breeze feels like the breath of heaven.

I cannot understand

how people who live surrounded

by so much beauty

can shut themselves up indoors

like Elena, and her mother.

Can it be

that they are afraid

of hideous truths

that will be revealed

by the lovely sun

as well as the dangerous

moon?

Fredrika says her father

gave her a hill

for her birthday.

The hill was stony,

but it overlooked

a green meadow.

Her older sister

had received a hill too,

but one with gardens, walkways,

and benches for visiting

with friends.

Fredrika's hill had nothing

but a view

of wildflowers

growing.

When we go out at night

to watch the dances of slaves

on sugar plantations,

Fredrika sketches furiously

in her fat notebook,

turning the bursting pages

in a frenzy of excitement.

She says she loves the music of drums

and the graceful movements of dancers

just as much as she loves her own

treasured freedom to roam.

An overseer orders me to warn Fredrika

that some of the songs might be prayers

to dangerous spirits from distant jungles,

but Fredrika merely smiles, and tells me

that in Sweden people still believe in elves

and trolls, and a World Tree with roots

in the Fountain of Destiny.

I understand none of this

until Fredrika explains

that she has no wish to judge

the beliefs of others

because her own beliefs include

both the endless comfort

of the goodness of God

and the practical help

of a little traveling fairy

who rides on her shoulder

protecting her from harm.

I try to see a traveling fairy

on my own shoulder . . .

but all I see is Fredrika

at my side,

helping me to imagine

invisible wings.