Well, the
quake happened although it didn’t, since neither Mr. Fernández nor I felt it.
There have been, however, 224 aftershocks—also undetectable—including a quake
of 4.16 today.
OK, the
island is rattling around in the Caribbean. Anything else?
Well, the
teachers are on strike, and The New Day has this
to say:
No
hay clase en ninguna escuela del país
Right—no
classes in any school of the island. But using impeccable logic, the superintendent
of our schools pointed out that just because the teachers, in many cases,
stayed home resting (well, wouldn’t you, if you were a teacher?)—it doesn’t
mean that they supported the strike.
In
fairness, he may be right—there’s a lot of anger floating down the school
hallways and—now—out onto the picket lines. And most parents kept their kids at
home, fearing perhaps that there would be reprisals if they showed up with
their kids. Who knows?
The New
Day also reports that the
principle of one school arrived to find the gates padlocked, and not having
keys, she summoned the police, who arrived and said no way—they weren’t going
to cut the lock. So—resourceful lady—she summoned a private security guard, who
went at the gates with something or other, and who succeeded in not so much
felling the gate as siding it. But as you can see below, the principle as well
as some cafeteria workers succeeded in hopping into the school grounds. Oh, and
you should definitely watch the clip, because where else will you see a true,
Puerto Rican protest? (You can watch the video here.)
It took
some getting used to, but I now love it. Whereas furious workers in Northern
climates march silently with signs, what do we do? We’re out there with all the
parranda stuff, the
tambourine, the little wooden sticks, the güiro—a dried gourd that gets scratched. And
everybody is out there dancing and singing—which has to be done, to keep the ánimo up. Very important, the ánimo….
At any
rate, the teachers declared that the principle had treasoned (well, computer, había
traicionado—what are you
going to do with it?) them and they were deceptioned (works in Spanish!).
“Traición,
traición cruzaste el portón”, “Tú me dices que me apoyas y te metes en la
escuela”, le cantaban a la directora escolar.
(“Treason,
treason, you crossed the gate,” “You tell me you support me and you put
yourself in the school,” they were singing to the school principle.)
Well, the
governor has just announced
that only 12 percent of the teachers showed up to teach today, while only 178
students showed up to learn. And so it will be tomorrow, since the strike is 48
hours, unless, of course, it isn’t. One doesn’t know, and that’s how it is in
the tropics. See?
In the
meantime, where’s everybody’s favorite pirate, Carlos Laster?
Because this gentleman makes his living—as much as he does—by dressing up as a
pirate and walking the streets. And very fetching he is, as you can see below….
Nor does
Carlos ever, ever ask for money, when—as very frequently they do—the boat
people flood our streets (we’re a cruise ship hub—and tourists periodically
invade the old city and stand with their mouths agape on sidewalks for hours at
a time. Therefore you walk between the parked cars and the passing cars—at
least you hope they’re passing…..)
Now where
was I?
Oh,
tourists—they like to have their picture taken with a pirate, wouldn’t you? And
Carlos graciously agrees, and then takes his hat off, bows, and states,
“donations are greatly appreciated.” This isn’t soliciting, it’s just asking
for a donation—anybody can see that.
Anybody but
Matos, the guard up at the Federal Fort, El Morro; Matos got it into his head that Carlos
was on Federal ground—absolutely ridiculous—and that he was
soliciting—poppycock. So Matos grabbed Carlos by the cape—what pirate doesn’t
have a cape?—and dragged him onto Federal grounds. Then Matos pulled out his
gun and told Carlos he was being cited for soliciting and resisting arrest.
Then he interrogated Carlos for half and hour, and essentially forced him to
sign the citations. (Carlos—not the wisest move….) So yesterday Carlos went to
court, and did he have a lawyer? Of course not, what pirate has a lawyer?
“We’ve
absolutely got to bake a cake with a file in it,” I’m telling Lady, the owner
of the café where I work (dear Readers, the street outside my house has been
redone and is finished, so what new ways have they dreamed up to create noise
and confusion? Well, they decided to renovate the building across the street—so
the jackhammers moved back in, and go off merrily at 6AM….)
“We could
get all the poets together from poetry night and go to the Federal Jail,” said
Lady.
“We could
storm it, just like the Bastille,” I say.
We’re both
totally into it, and Mendoza-who-is-not-Montalvo (though he pretended to be for
months) joins us.
“Where’s
Carlos,” we asked.
But nobody
knows. Can it be that he’s been…
…pirated
away?
