With Silvio, Sing a Duet to the Cuban Woman

In Mujeres they shake him, before in life itself, and Silvio Rodríguez with his singing makes us tremble with love. He always makes it from his art and his extraordinary sensitivity, from his passion for human beings.

I watch Mariana Grajales at the beginning of the song. And so I love Silvio more: "I was shaken by the woman who pushed her children / towards the that star of the other older mother / and how she picked them up from the dyed dust /to bury them under the heart".

Suddenly the troubadour discovers behind each creator -it won't be better say next to them, giving way- a woman. Without her, what would be of that man despite his power? Karl Marx is bringing new light to the world even if not everyone understands it. His wife enlightens him and strengthens his struggle. "The woman who set fire to the trails/of the long hair makes me shudder invincible of that German".

Let "the girl / daughter of that fierce continent / who he left her house / for another of all people". For that happy home for everyone, she commits, sacrifices personal affection, the African blood that invaded his veins: it’s for everyone and not for a few people.

There comes a sad joy or a happy sadness: I have felt it to the tears or smile, and both hug each other. I continue singing and I add my reflections when it confesses: "what has shaken me the most / are your eyes, my daughter, your divine eyes". It’s the piece of existence that it has begun to be born from the first kisses, from the first caresses. Even if they get tired, even if they are no longer there, by surviving, they are made eternal.

Towards history, towards the legacy of those who do not appear in the newspapers or illuminate the screens with their faces up close, nor with their names and surnames, but they do not miss the fight, despite blows and contradictions, of doubts and pains. Thanks to them there are heroes and they themselves are heroes despite not realizing it.

"I was shaken by the woman who gave birth to eleven children/ in the time of flour and a kilo of bread / and I watched them harden chewing carijos / (I shuddered because she was my grandmother on top of that) ".

And I think of Josefina, my mother, working as a volunteer in the construction of what would be the Hermanos Ameijeiras Hospital. She's still limping, she's not fully recovered yet after a recent operation that tried to heal her hip fractured by a fall, here she attends to overcome the fear that something could happen to me  in Vietnam, where I am a war correspondent, and "I salute you that way too." This afternoon she has earned a kiss on the cheek from the titan who is in charge of the work: Efigenio!

My mom says goodbye. "Today I'm leaving earlier to make food quickly and get some rest. Look, I have the first watch of the Committee this evening…"

I momentarily abandon these memories and watch my wife working at the computer searching for a new book on music. And it's as if from that machine the rumba or trova will sound better. Oh, Maria del Carmen, I keep my mouth shut and out of shame I don’t tell you, now I write it, that without you I could not have created so much. With more talent, sorrows and virtues than me, you limited yourself to the background to protect my work, to save me from my reckless acts, of the incomprehension of the mediocre. You forged me. Without you the best of me would be long dead and the pain would have poisoned me.

For her, next to you, Silvio, I sing to her: "I was shaken by women/ who history wrote between laurels".