The eyes of a human being are able to tell an entire life’s story with a single glance. This I believe.
I have in my possession, two photographs taken during the same week a few years back, that speak thousands of words. One shows my grandfather at the age of 89, during a visit by his brother and sister-in-law, looking straight at the lens of my camera. The two brothers hadn’t seen each other in 40 years when finally, after two years of attempts, a precious Cuban exit visa (tarjeta blanca) had been acquired, thus allowing my great-uncle Eugenio to see his older brother for what would become “one last time.”
On the afternoon of Eugenio’s arrival at the home of “mamita and papito” (I’ve never referred to my grandparents as “abuela” or “abuelo”), the family gathered outside on the lawn for a group photograph, As my elderly grandfather made his way back into the house after the photo was taken, he glanced at me for a split second while I tripped the shutter yet again. The next day, as I sat reviewing the prints, I looked over at a friend who was with me at the time and remarked; “he’ll be gone within a week.” Papito had looked at me with a solid gaze as if to say “I know something you don’t.” That “something” was the premonition of his death. As I’ve said before in posts on Babalu, my grandfather would die on the afternoon his “hermanito” returned to Havana. It was his last wish in life. It had been achieved and he left this world in peace.
This photograph on the other hand, shows my mother embracing Tio Eugenio upon her arrival at my Uncle Gerar’s home for the first Sunday meal shared by our entire family in some four decades. It was snapped at the very moment she walked through the door and embraced her now-aged uncle. Her eyes say it all. Never since have I seen my mother that happy. For all those who shoot the Cuban community down, who label them as “whiners” and “spoil-sports,” the eyes of those who have suffered so much as a result of the Castro regime should serve as the ultimate example of the toll this dictatorship has taken on two generations of Cubans.