In the Time of the Americans by Oswald Rivera

Author:Oswald Rivera
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Indigo River Publishing
Published: 2021-05-27T15:03:21+00:00

CHAPTER

THIRTY

LIEUTENANT WALKER ENTERED the ballroom dressed in his white uniform. Leticia never before had noticed how resplendent he looked with his row of ribbons above the left breast pocket. Every head turned as he strode confidently into the room, with its mass of well-attired Ponce elite. Everyone of note was there: Mayor Tormos; her father, don Eduardo; the local police chief; even Juan-Carlos Quiles from La Playa. The only one not present was Antonio, and she wondered why.

Walker ignored everyone in the gathering and made a beeline to where Leticia was standing with a group of other ladies, flouting their best finery. He approached, showing a dazzling smile. “Leticia, how good it is to see you.”

“It’s my pleasure to see you again, Lieutenant,” Leticia replied.

“Please call me Clayton, I insist.”

Leticia matched his smile. “Very well, Clayton, if you insist.”

“I insist.” Walker bowed his head slightly to the others present. “Ladies.”

The three women standing with Leticia showed proper radiant reserve, but all seemed taken with the dashing naval officer. Still, it did not go unnoticed how attentive Lieutenant Walker seemed toward Leticia. And she noted it as well, which made her slightly uncomfortable.

“It’s a shame you didn’t come sooner, Lieutenant,” one of Leticia’s friends commented. “They just finished playing a marvelous piece. Mozart, I believe.”

“I’m sorry to have missed it,” Walker responded, looking toward the small stage where the musicians huddled with their instruments. “They’re a very good string quartet.”

“Indeed they are,” Leticia said. “I remember in San Juan—”

Just then a loud, rhythmic sound was heard emanating from the stage. And it wasn’t chamber music. It was the loud, quirky rhythm of a plena, the music of the jíbaro. Amazingly, everything had been transformed on the stage: The cello had been replaced by the shaped ten-string guitar known as the cuatro; the viola had become an accordion; one of the violins had turned into a hand drum, while the second violin had become the scraped handheld gourd known as a güiro.

The music was loud and infectious in its melody and sound. Everyone in the room started clapping to the beat of the music. Some men and women started dancing in the long, twirling movements that epitomized the plena. The mayoral ballroom had suddenly become a dancehall. It was now akin to the barrio of San Antón, where the plena had evolved long ago.

Someone grabbed Leticia’s hand and pulled her toward the dance floor. It was Walker, who just as quickly released her hand and began to dance, his hands on his waist and rotating his hips, like a true paisano. Leticia found herself dancing in tandem, following his footsteps and adding a few movements of her own. She had never felt so free, so alive!

She began to rotate about the room, hands over her head, twirling and whirling with the rhythmic chant of the instruments. Walker followed suit, clapping his hands over his head, as alive as she in the tumult of the dance.

That’s when the change began. She saw the

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