The Madre de Aguas of Cuba

by Adam Gidwitz

  “Ah,” Rosa said, shaking her head, “did you lecture them on politics already? Mi pobre gente, Yoenis can go on and on.”

  “¡Mamá!” Yoenis exclaimed, half laughing, half exasperated. “You just lectured them for ten minutes! And your silly ‘we are one Cuba’ story is a nice dream, but the more important story is how power has been stolen from the people!”

  “The people will only regain their power,” Rosa said, “by relying on the many histories and cultures of Cuba.”

  “Mamá, that makes no—”

  “I am sorry to interrupt,” Professor Fauna interjected, putting an arm around the old woman, “but I get the sense that you two have had this argument before?”

  “It’s been going on for the last twenty years or so,” Rosa admitted.

  “Then I don’t think you will solve it now. Whereas the problem of the Madre de aguas . . .”

  “Yes!” Rosa agreed. “¡La pobrecita! My sweet, little lost friend!”

  Elliot said, “Um, I don’t mean to be rude, but based on some recent field observations I’ve made, the Madre de aguas is not lost. Or little. Or sweet.”

  “Field observations?” Rosa was confused. “Pero, when?”

  “Just now in the bay,” Uchenna replied.

  “When she tried to eat us,” said Elliot.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “¿Qué dicen?” Rosa exclaimed. “¿Mi amiga intentó comérselos?”

  “Sí, Mamá. We’ve had quite an adventure already,” Yoenis told her. “Maybe we can get cleaned up, eat a little, and tell you what happened?”

  “Absolutely not!” Rosa replied, to everyone’s surprise. Then she added. “You will eat a lot!”

  A few minutes later, they were all sitting in Rosa’s kitchen. The furniture was very spare, but the yellow walls and the delicious smell made the kitchen cozy and welcoming. Rosa stood on a step stool and stirred something in a big black pot. She and Jersey had already become fast friends. He was perched on her shoulder, staring into the pot. Rosa didn’t seem to mind.

  “It smells amazing,” said Uchenna. Her stomach gurgled.

  “Ropa vieja,” Rosa replied, without turning around.

  “Translates as ‘old clothes,’” Yoenis informed them.

  Elliot said, “Really? Uh, I’m not that hungry. . . .” And then he added, under his breath, “I mean, I knew things under the embargo were tough, but old clothes?”

  Yoenis threw his head back and laughed. “We just call it that. It’s strips of beef. Kinda looks like boiled shredded up old clothes, though. It’s a real specialty. These days, finding ropa vieja outside of a hotel is almost impossible. But my mother knew we were coming, and so she spent way too much money, and I’m sure she spent three hours on line at the store—”

  “Tsk! Tsk! Tsk! No more of that,” Rosa scolded him. She put down a plate of ropa vieja in front of Elliot.

  Soon, they were all digging into the most delicious old clothes Elliot and Uchenna had ever tasted. Rosa even made a bowl for Jersey and put it on the floor. He buried his little face in it. They heard noisy, wet slurping.

  “Jersey!” said Uchenna. “Manners!”

  But Elliot tapped her on the shoulder and pointed at Professor Fauna. Professor Fauna’s face was also buried in his ropa vieja. He was the one making the disgusting slurping sounds.

  “Ahora,” said Rosa, after everyone had finished their second helpings. “Cuéntenme. You saw my friend?”

  So Yoenis and the members of the URS told Rosa about their terrifying—and confusing—encounter with the Madre de aguas.

  Rosa chuckled through the whole story. “Bueno,” she said when they’d finished. “She is feisty. Good you had your brave little defender here.” She rubbed Jersey’s furry blue head. He looked up at her from his bowl, which he’d just licked clean. Rosa took her plate, which still had some ropa vieja on it, and put it on the floor.

  “But clearly,” Rosa went on, “something is wrong with the Madre de aguas. She was always feisty, but to charge across the bay to attack you? That is not right. And as long as something is wrong with her, the people of Cuba will continue suffering.”

  “More than normal,” added Yoenis.

  “As will the Madre de aguas!” Professor Fauna exclaimed. “Let us not always be valuing people over creatures!”

  “Bien dicho, Mito,” Rosa said.

  Elliot asked, “Can whatever is happening to the Madre de aguas really be causing this drought, though?” He gestured to the small window. “If those clouds just break, won’t the drought be over? And what does a water serpent—even one with amazing abilities of expansion and contraction—have to do with whether it rains?”

  Rosa said, “I don’t pretend to understand it. But in Cuba there are many beliefs about water, and my friend the Madre de aguas—”

  “For the record she’s the only one who calls her a ‘friend’—”

  “Yoenis, shush,” Rosa said. “Just like the ceiba tree is revered by many different people in many different ways, so is the Madre de aguas. Some say she lives in salt water while others say in fresh water. In some countries she is like a mermaid, and in others she is a goddess. Some are afraid of her: There are stories of the Madre de aguas appearing as a ferocious sea monster as she did to you. But that is not the Madre de aguas I know. I believe if we are kind to our Madre de aguas, she is kind to us and brings us water.”

  “What was that you said about a goddess?” Uchenna asked, interested.

  Rosa turned to Uchenna. “Not all Cubans believe that a sea serpent controls the waters. Many associate salt water with a goddess called Yemayá, and fresh water with a goddess called Oshún. When the Yoruba people, from what we now call Nigeria, were enslaved and brought to Cuba by force, they brought Yemayá and Oshún with them.”

  “Wait, isn’t your mom Nigerian?” Elliot asked Uchenna.

  “Yeah, but we’re not Yoruba. We’re Igbo. Different peoples.”

  Elliot nodded and turned back to Rosa.

  “There is another story,” Rosa went on, “about María, the mother of Jesus, saving Cuban fishermen from drowning. When there is a drought, many Cubans pray to María, and she keeps them safe.”

  “Okay, I’m confused,” Uchenna huffed. “Who should we be worrying about? The Madre de aguas? Or Oshún? Or Mary? Or Elliot’s statistics?”

  Rosa shrugged. “Mary. Oshún. Yemayá. The Madre de aguas. To me? Many roots. One tree.”

  “But can the Madre de aguas really control the water?” Elliot demanded, wanting to get back to the science of it all. “That seems really hard to believe.”

  “Personally, I do not see how she could,” Professor Fauna said. “That seems an evolutionary mutation too far.”

  Rosa said, “Well, there is one way to find out. Find her, help her, and let us see if this sequía ends.”

  “That,” said Professor Fauna, “is a promise. But first, we have to make a quick stop at the Archives.”

  “The Archives?” Rosa said, surprised. “¿Pero, por qué?”

  “¡Busco un unicornio!”

  “What?!” Rosa exclaimed. “You seek a unicorn? In a library?”

  But Professor Fauna had already marched, head held high and shoulders thrown back, out of the kitchen and toward the front door.

  “Does he have any idea where the Archives are?” Yoenis wondered aloud.

  Then, from the garden, they heard Professor Fauna call, “I just realized: I have no idea where the Archives are!”

  Yoenis laughed and rolled his eyes. “I’ll show him.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Yoenis led the professor, Uchenna, and Elliot through the narrow streets of Old Havana. They’d left Jersey to play in the garden, and Rosa sitting on an old wooden chair, watching him and throwing her head back with laughter.

  As they left the house, Yo
enis told them, “I have to stop in and see some friends around town. I’ll let you look for your unicorn and meet you back at my mom’s. You’re sure you’ll be able to find your way back?”

  Elliot waved a hand at him. “Please. I once got lost in a shopping mall. It was awful. The worst three minutes of my life. I’ve never been lost since. I’ll just memorize the route we take.”

  Yoenis looked at Uchenna. “Is he a little weird?”

  “More than a little,” Uchenna replied. “But he’s the best adventuring buddy a kid could have.”

  Yoenis rubbed Elliot’s curly hair. “I believe it.”

  They turned from one shady, potholed street into another, and then they emerged into an open plaza. But this one did not contain a sparkling, modern hotel. Instead, shading the plaza was the bell tower of an old monastery. The monastery was topped with red terra-cotta tile, and the walls were made of a warm, sand-colored stone. In the center of the plaza, a fountain encircled by four stone lions gurgled merrily. A band played a syncopated rhythm with guitars, bongos, and an instrument that looked something like a wooden gourd.

  “What’s that?” Uchenna pointed to the instrument as the musician ran a stick over the ridges on its front. She couldn’t help tapping her feet as they played—the instrument looked like fun.

  “That’s a güiro,” Yoenis said. “It’s a Taíno instrument. And yet the rhythms that are making your feet tap uncontrollably are African rhythms. And the guitars are Spanish. This, mi gente, is what my mother was talking about. The combining of all of these traditions.”

  Uchenna spun in a circle, moving her shoulders from side to side. And then she burst into song, giving lyrics to the infectious melody:

  “We crashed in the water of Havana Bay

  And the Madre de aguas charged us.

  Until little Jersey scared her away

  And Yoenis’s cousin barged us.”

  Yoenis threw his head back and laughed. They danced their way across the plaza. Finally, Yoenis led them into one of the side streets, and the rhythm of the band faded behind them.

  Uchenna sighed happily. “I think I am in love with Cuba. Why did you ever leave, Yoenis? You seem so much happier here.”

  Yoenis’s smile faded, and immediately Uchenna regretted the question. “I—” she stammered, “I—I’m sorry. That was a nosy question. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  Yoenis sighed. “It’s okay, Uchenna. It’s a perfectly reasonable question. I’ll tell you. The early 1990s were a really hard time for Cuba. We’d gotten a lot of support from the Soviet Union. But when the Soviet Union fell apart, all of the food and aid they sent ended. It was a horrible time. People were starving. So they started making rafts. Rafts out of trash, rafts out of tires, rafts out of driftwood. Whatever they could find. And they’d try to ride the raft the ninety miles across the ocean to Florida.”

  “Whoa,” said Uchenna. “That is incredibly brave.”

  “And incredibly dangerous!” Elliot added.

  “You have no idea,” Yoenis agreed. “My dad wanted to go with the rafters and take me with him. He kept pointing out that he and my mother couldn’t even feed me three meals a day. How hungry we were. My mother, she wanted to stay. She had a job working for the Cuban government, recording Cuba’s cultural history. They had many fights. It was horrible.”

  Yoenis’s face had become as dark as the clouds overhead. But like the clouds, no droplets fell.

  “Finally, my dad convinced my mom that he and I should go. I don’t know how. But I do remember my last day at our house. I spent it with the Madre de aguas.”

  “Really?” Professor Fauna asked.

  “Yes. I was ten years old. I remember walking slowly around the garden, saying a silent good-bye to each plant, to the tiles, to the pavement stones. I tried to catch one last glimpse of the tiny hummingbird, the zunzún, that sometimes stopped by to visit. I was slowly sipping a can of cola that Mami had given me, trying to savor every last drop. It was a special treat for a very sad day.

  “Then my dad called me from inside. ‘Ya es hora.’

  “I turned back to the fountain. I wanted one last glimpse of the Madre de aguas, before I left. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see her again. Please come, I remember thinking. Just one good-bye.

  “I leaned over the fountain. The shadows stirred. Something dark and shimmery stirred.

  “And there she was.

  “She swam up from the shadows at the bottom, her tiny horns just pricking the surface of the water.

  “I laughed, and she began to puff up and grow, like a balloon inflating. As she did, the water levels in the fountain went down. Then, she shrank again, and the water rose once more.”

  Yoenis pursed his lips. In the momentary pause, Elliot said, “So, do you think she sucks up the water in order to grow? Like, through her scales or gills or something?”

  Yoenis nodded. “Maybe,” he said.

  Uchenna nudged Elliot. “Let him tell the story.”

  “Right!” said Elliot. “Sorry. Science distracts me sometimes.”

  Yoenis smiled. “No worries. Once she was little again, I asked the Madre de aguas to take care of my mom. Through the food shortages and the power outages. To look after her. And just as I finished asking this of the Madre de aguas, my dad called me again. Loudly. I jumped. And I spilled my can of cola into the fountain. The dark cola bubbled and spread through the water.

  “Suddenly the Madre de aguas was growing large again, larger than before. Her scales gleamed. She raised her body out of the water, rising like a corkscrew. Soon, she was towering over me, and there was no water in the fountain at all.

  “I’d never seen her get so angry, and I hadn’t seen her angry since, until today. So I apologized about a hundred times in one minute, and sopped up the cola from the lip of the fountain with my shirt. She calmed down, and shrank again, and the water rose. And the cola was gone—the water was totally clean.”

  “I’m sorry,” Elliot said, “but I have to interrupt now. That may be how she provides fresh water to the islands—she purifies it by taking it in and letting it out again!”

  “Maybe,” Yoenis agreed. “Though that would mean the impurities remain inside of her.”

  “Which might put her in a really bad mood when there are a lot of impurities!” Elliot exclaimed.

  “This is an excellent theory!” Professor Fauna agreed. “We shall have to write something up for the next issue of the Journal of the Proceedings of the Unicorn Rescue Society, Elliot!”

  But Uchenna turned back to Yoenis. “So, you took a raft to Miami? Was it hard? Scary?”

  “It was the worst,” Yoenis said. “We made it, but barely. And that journey tore my family apart forever. My dad passed away a few years ago. He never made it back to Cuba.”

  Uchenna reached out her hand. Yoenis took it. They walked together, in silence, through the streets of Havana.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Yoenis soon brought them to a wide boulevard lined with royal palm trees. They stopped in front of a tall cream-colored colonial-style building. He shook hands with them all, gave Uchenna an extra wink to thank her for her kindness, and made absolutely certain that Elliot knew the way back to Rosa’s.

  After Yoenis had gone, Professor Fauna stood, staring up at the grand facade, a satisfied smile on his face, and his black trash bag clutched to his chest. “¡Miren, amiguitos!” he said. “¡El Archivo Nacional de la República de Cuba! Vengan, let us see what treasures lie within!”

  Professor Fauna led Elliot and Uchenna through the large gate, up some stairs, through a big wooden door, and into a grand foyer. The children looked around. The foyer was strangely empty. The only person there was a heavyset, grey-haired woman sitting at a tiny wooden desk by the door, reading a newspaper. She did not look up when they came in.

  Professor Fauna approached
her and gave a small bow. “Buenas, señora. ¿Dónde está el tarjetero, por favor?”

  Without looking up, the woman pointed across the foyer.

  The members of the Unicorn Rescue Society walked into a high-ceilinged room with large open windows. One half of the room had long, shiny wooden tables, where people were quietly reading. The other half of the room was lined with rows and rows of huge wooden cabinets. Each wooden cabinet had dozens of tiny drawers.

  “What in the world are those?” Uchenna asked. “Does this place keep the smallest books in the world in those drawers? Books for mice?”

  But Elliot’s eyes lit up. “No!” he exclaimed. “Those—Those are card catalogs!”

  “What?” Uchenna asked, but Elliot was already rushing toward them. Uchenna followed. Meanwhile, Professor Fauna walked over to a counter built into a wall, where another woman read a newspaper.

  Uchenna peered over Elliot’s shoulder as he pulled open a tiny drawer. “Look!” he breathed. It was filled with thousands of yellowing index cards. Elliot picked one up. It was musty and brown at the corners, and it smelled a little.

  “What are they?” Uchenna asked.

  “Each card represents a book or a document. This is how libraries worked before computers. The cards are organized by subject, author, or title—depending on the drawer.” He read the card he was holding:

  “The author is José Martí. And the book is called Documentos personales. Unless this is just some documents. I can’t tell. Ma456.78 is where on the shelf the librarian would find it.” Elliot exhaled. “So cool.”

  Uchenna shrugged. Then she saw that Professor Fauna was struggling to get the woman at the counter to understand him.

  In the little room behind the counter, smiling calmly and staring into the distance, was a very old man. Uchenna noticed that the man’s eyes were milky blue. She wondered if he wasn’t staring at anything at all—maybe he was blind.