The below is an excerpt from the new book, Relics of the Heart: Stories of my Family. It is available to purchase by clicking here.
My father relates that when he was 17, my grandfather took him to enroll at the Air Force base near San Pedro Sula’s international airport, which was a short distance from his home in San Cristobal. He had been getting into too many fights, and Grandpa Toño feared that something bad would happen to him if he didn’t straighten up his life at an early age.
The Air Force seemed like the perfect solution. My father recalls that when they arrived at the admissions office, they were told that all the slots were filled and that they would have to wait until next year when recruiting sessions would begin again. On his way back home, my grandfather made it clear to my father that he needed to do something positive with his life so that he would not end up living on the streets, that he needed to straighten his path; otherwise, he would have to look for a job to help with expenses at home.
The next day, my father saw an ad in the newspaper looking for cooks to work aboard a cargo ship traveling to Europe. Those interested had to be willing to commit to a 12-month contract. According to my father, my grandfather was very supportive of this job opportunity, even though my father was only 17 years old. Eight months passed, and his job on the ship had a work schedule of 40 hours a week, with time off for recreation and rest. The cargo ship carried hundreds of containers filled to the brim with Honduran coffee, roasted or decaffeinated, the country’s main export, accounting for 22% of Honduras’ total export earnings. The ship had already made stops in the eight countries scheduled on its shipping route, including the Netherlands, Germany, Belgium, France, the United Kingdom, Italy, Spain, and Portugal.
Its last stop was Monrovia, Liberia, a common stopover for ships due to its strategic location in West Africa. My father tells a story of a trip back to Honduras when one of the older sailors, who for no reason at all, did not like my father from the first day he boarded the ship. This older sailor liked to get drunk on his days off, and on a foggy night, when my father was leaning on the edge of the stern of the ship, watching the sharks eat the ship’s debris, this sailor appeared out of nowhere, grabbed him from behind in a choke hold, laughing. In those days, it was not uncommon for a man to fall overboard and disappear into the water, and my father feared for his life. He tells how he had to find the strength he didn’t have to free himself from the sailor’s stranglehold, stomped his toes hard with his right leg, hit him in the stomach with his elbow, turned to face him and hit him in the face with his right hand, and the man recoiled. That’s when the sailor grabbed a 2×4 plank of wood, and my father lunged across the floor toward a hammer that had been left there with other tools. The sailor swung the plank of wood toward my father’s head, and my father swung the hammer at the plank, splitting it in two.
The sailor then lunged at my father in a blind, drunken rage, intent on pushing him over the edge, my father threw the hammer with his right arm and hit the sailor in the center of the forehead, knocking him down.
“You killed him!”
someone shouted in the distance, running towards them through the fog of the night.
“What have you done, young man? You killed him, look at all that blood!” the man continued nervously.
“He’s not dead, look at him, he’s breathing, he’s also very drunk, and besides, he attacked me, he tried to throw me overboard,” my father said nervously and agitated.
Three more sailors arrived and took the sailor away. The ship’s captain appeared through the fog, smoking a cigar, walking, limping toward my father.
“Are you all right, boy?”
“Yes, Captain, he attacked me from behind and wanted to throw me overboard, and I…”
The captain interrupted him with: “Yes, I know, boy, I saw the whole thing from the upper deck, but this wooden leg didn’t allow me to get there in time to stop the fight.”
“So, I’m not in trouble?” my father asked.
“No, you’re not in trouble because you didn’t kill him with that hammer. Get out of here and go rest.”
“Thank you, captain!” said my father, walking away, feeling relieved.
Back at the Port of Cortes, Honduras, my father waited with his bag of clothes over his shoulder, while my grandfather exchanged a few last words with the captain, shaking hands and walking away from the ship in my father’s direction.
On the trip back to San Cristobal, they didn’t say a word to each other, my father was sure he was in deep trouble with his dad, but just as they entered the San Cristobal colony, my grandfather said to him:
“Yesterday your friend Chico came by looking for you, he said that you should get in touch with him, that he got you a job as a masonry helper.” It was then, in 1971, that he met my mother, Gloria Esperanza Zúñiga, at a bus stop near the Leonardo Martínez Valenzuela Hospital.
“It was 2:00 pm, and my father and his friend Chico were laying cement blocks across the street from the Leonardo Martinez Valenzuela Hospital in San Pedro Sula. They were adding an extra room to a small single-family house, and both sat on plastic buckets upside down on scaffolding 16 feet high. They worked together in a rhythm: cement, block, tap with the wooden handle of the masonry tool, level and repeat.
“At 2:30 p.m., the alarm on Chico’s watch began to ring. My father finished the last piece of cement on the last block, while Chico poured hot black coffee into two small cups and handed one to my father.
Then, they heard the hospital bell ring.
They sat there drinking their coffee and waiting for all the beautiful hospital nurses to leave the building. They had been admiring the nurses in their white uniforms for almost a month, and my father had his eye on one nurse in particular.
He had heard the other nurses call her by name and learned that her name was Gloria, but he wanted to know more about her, dreamed of meeting her someday, falling in love with her and even marrying her.
“Suddenly, the front doors of the hospital opened and the crowd of nurses dressed in white, with their white caps and white shoes, came out in all directions.
Oscar: [Looking at Gloria with determination] Chico, today is the day. I can’t just dream anymore. Gloria is my birthday present to myself.
Chico: [Smiling] Go ahead, Oscar! Go and talk to her.
[Oscar combs and curls his hair, climbs down from the construction scaffolding, and approaches Gloria (my mom) while she waits at the bus stop.]
Oscar: [Nervous, but determined] Hi! My name is Oscar Armando Fuentes. Sorry if this sounds a little strange, but today is my birthday, and I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for a long time.
Gloria: [Surprised and smiling] Happy birthday, Oscar Armando Fuentes! I am Gloria Esperanza Zúñiga. Did you really intend to meet me?
Oscar: [Smiling with relief] Yes, Gloria. I’ve been watching you for the past few weeks and somehow today I felt I had to take the plunge and say “hello.”
Gloria: [Flattered] That’s very sweet, Oscar. I had noticed you too.
[Oscar and Gloria begin to talk animatedly as they wait for the bus together. They discover common interests and feel a special connection.
[Finally, Gloria’s bus arrives.]
Gloria: [Preparing to board] I have to get on the bus, Oscar. It’s time to go back to my neighborhood, Calpules.
Oscar: [Walking her to the bus] I understand, Gloria. It’s been a pleasure meeting you.
[They say goodbye with a smile, and my mom gets on the bus. My dad watches her walk away and then heads back to the construction scaffolding where Chico is waiting for him.]
Chico: [Anxious] Oscar! How did it go?
[My father returns to work with a smile on his face, hoping that this is the start of something special.]
Oscar: [With a dream in his eyes] Unbelievable. Her name is Gloria Esperanza. Gloria Esperanza, Gloria Esperanza, Gloria Esperanza.
My dad tells how three months later, they got married in the Catholic church in Ciudad La Lima, that my grandfather Toño had rented a big bus to bring my mom’s whole family from Calpules to the church and that someone had written on the outside, “Just Married,” and then they tied a bunch of empty cans with string to the back of the bus so they would make noise against the pavement as they drove, and that they said their vows with the Virgin of Suyapa watching them, and that it was the best party in the history of Calpules.
My mom tells that the wedding party took place at El Barracón, that my grandmother Fina and her sisters and brother were very happy and attentive to all the guests, that my grandfather Toño built a makeshift bar to serve drinks, and even my grandfather Carlos, who never drank, got drunk that night celebrating the wedding of his first-born daughter, his little girl, his nurse.
