Afro-Cuban Tales

Suandende

127 The Green Mud of the Almendares Suandende He was jealous. Asleep or awake, that octopus in his heart gnawed away at him. So he took his wife and left the village. She was young. He went into the forest and built his house in the deepest part, and then he felt calm. There he was alone with his wife. Like a clinging vine. With his brothers, the trees, he could live in peace. Years came and went, bringing nothing, taking nothing. The man spent his time making snares for birds. One summer day, when the sky was white hot, the woman went alone to the river. The sun was in her skin, and she quenched its burning by diving into the water. She was splashing in the water when a man spotted her. He had come from far away, following the riverbank. He was a shy man whose name was Suandende and who made his living by selling jugs. (He hid his face in his hands, peeping at her through his fingers.) She saw him too. Completely naked, she rose innocently out of the water until it covered her only to the waist. He was embarrassed. Not her. The man called out: “Ayáyabómbo, ayáyabón! Me coming in. . . . Can come in?” The woman answered: “Yes, suh, ayáyabómbo, ayáyabón! You c’n come in.” 128 Suandende The man took a step forward. “Ayáyabómbo, ayáyabón! Can look?” And the woman, her skin glistening with broken water jewels , answered: “Yes, suh, ayáyabómbo, ayáyabón! You c’n look.” “Ayáyabómbo, ayáyabón! Can come in?” “Ayáyabómbo, ayáyabón! You c’n come in.” He moved toward her, with the same unconscious sweetness as the flowing water. There they stood, face to face. He said: “Ayáyabómbo, ayáyabón! Can touch?” And she responded: “Ayáyabómbo, ayáyabón! You c’n touch.” The man began to caress her. “Ah, ah, ayáyabómbo, ayáyabón! Can kiss?” The woman raised her mouth. “Ah, ah, ayáyabómbo, ayáyabón! Can take?” The woman opened her arms. 129 Suandende “Yes, sirree! Ayáyabómbo, ayáyabón! Yes, you c’n take!” And he carried her off into the bamboo grove. While the water, innocently . . . When the breeze picked up, the woman returned home from the river completely worn out. Her legs were weak and her eyes were pale. . . . At midnight, the jealous man woke up. The forest was bathed in moonlight. Miraculously, the cactus flowers were blooming. He begged his wife for a little love, but she pushed him away, swearing she was very sick. The next morning, the jealous husband went along with her to the river because she had told him that bathing in the river was good for that kind of sickness, and in any case, he had already finished setting all his snares. While the woman undressed and slipped into the water, her husband watched her from where he was stretched out on the bank. And on the far bank, even though there was no wind, he heard the bamboo rustle. He kept saying to himself, “My wife is sick,” and tried to think of something else. But his desire kept growing in the stifling heat. He joined his wife, who refused him.1 Holding her by the wrists, he kept saying, “I want to, I want to.” Burning with desire, he tried to drag her off. She called out, “Wait a moment,” and whispered something in his ear. And the man was dumbfounded. “Right here in the river?” 1. The French version includes the following: “He hung his shirt and his pants on a branch and joined his wife.” 130 Suandende “Yesterday,” said his wife, crossing her arms chastely in front of her, “it fell off.” Then her husband, heavy with sadness, spoke to the water, his voice cracking: “Ah, how in the world could my wife’s sweet thing get lost? Ah, it’s lost, sweet thing, my wife. . . .” She tried to comfort him and to warn Suandende at the same time. “Dear husband, we will look for Suandende! Andende súa Has got lost.” And they began to look among the pebbles and the reeds. The man would bring up a piece of bark, a handful of mud, a leaf, and show them to her. “The sweet thing is lost...