Conquistadora - Esmeralda Santiago [161]
Benito was a fourth-generation native-born Puerto Rican. “Criollo to the core,” he said. He was an orator and a singer, and displayed both skills in the gatherings in his botica, where he tried to instill criollo pride in another generation. Most nights, the discussions were informal and followed a meandering path determined by how much liquor he dispensed over the course of the evening. At other times, he prodded the young men to focus on issues crucial to an understanding of history and the situation on the island as a colony of Spain. On such occasions, Benito prepared a discourse, delivered in a booming voice, gesticulating passionately, taking frequent sips from a glass with rum and water by his side.
“From the day Cristobal Colón landed on our shores in 1493,” Benito began, “Puerto Rico has been little more to Spain than an outpost. The military has unlimited powers to enforce laws designed by peninsulares to benefit them and their compatriots.”
The young men voiced their agreement.
“Even the most insignificant government post is filled by españoles. You know what that means. We, born on this island, have no say in how we’re governed.”
Miguel attended these evenings out of camaraderie rather than political conviction. He’d rather spend time at an art opening or at the theater than with these men whose emotional appeals never went farther than the walls of the drugstore or one another’s smoke-filled rooms.
“The high taxes collected from landowners and businessmen go directly to the Spanish treasury, with scant investment on the needs of our vecinos. You’ve addressed this before us, Félix Fonseca, with your usual erudition.” Félix Fonseca nodded, and those sitting by him patted his back. Benito continued: “Those of you who’ve traveled to the interior know that with the exception of the roads near the capital and bigger towns, transportation en la isla is a disgrace. Public works, paid for with the exorbitant taxes the Crown imposes, are undertaken only if they improve the life of españoles and foreign colonists in San Juan and the bigger towns like Ponce and Mayagüez.”
Again the men turned to one another in agreement. The druggist leaned back, enjoying the effect of his words on the young, eager minds of these criollos, the generation that he hoped would create the Puerto Rico for Puerto Ricans that he envisioned yet was unable to realize.
Benito acknowledged don Simón. He’d been the teacher of most of the younger men present, and they regarded him with respect and affection.
“Thank you, don Benito. As usual, you remind us of the issues we should be discussing around your generous table.” Benito nodded. “We cannot forget,” Simón continued in his soothing voice, “the deplorable condition of education on our island. In San Juan and the bigger towns we’re fortunate to have public and parochial schools, but en la isla, public education is virtually nonexistent. After decades without a census, the one conducted in 1860 gives us a more dismal picture than we ever imagined. It reveals that eighty-four percent of our compatriotas are illiterate. How can we build a nación if over two-thirds of it can’t even sign their name?”
Andrés raised his hand. “Our esteemed maestro points out that eighty-four percent of our population is enslaved by their ignorance. But twelve percent of its residents are also physically, emotionally, and legally enslaved. To overturn the tyranny of Spain we must work toward freeing them with as much passion as we seek freedom for ourselves.”
Forbidden to utter their aspirations