Ceniciento: A Caribbean Cinderello

You may think you know this story I am going to tell you, but you have not heard it for true. I was there. So I will tell you the truth of it. Here Now.

I live on a green-green island in the so-blue Mar Caribe, the Caribbean Sea. Long ago, when I was a child, my family was poor. When my father died, he left me only one thing: a wand of mahogany. "Three taps will change one thing into another," my father had whispered. "But only for a short time. And the magic must be used to help someone you love."

Of what use was this to an orphan like me, who every day struggle dot find shelter and fill her belly? I could not use the wand. I had no one to love and no one who loved me.

When I grew up, I worked as a lavadora, a washerman, scrubbing other people's sheets and shirts at the riverside. Drying them in the sun.

One man I worked for was kind who asked me to look after his wife while he was away. I often nursed her, for he was always a brave soldier who was out go to the war. In thanks, he made me the padrino. godfather, of his baby boy, Ceniciento. When I held that bebe in my arms on his christening day, I felt such love! And I saw love returned from his sweet blue eyes.
¡Ay! Ceniciento's papa died soon after this. Then his mamá, Señora, married again. Señor Phelipe was a cold man, and puffed-up proud because his grandfather had come from Spain.

When a new son, Vicente, was born, Señor gave a christening party for his rich friends. What a feast it was!
Señor and the other fine gentlemen were dressed in poet shirt and blouse, all the colors of the rainbow. They laughed at my worn white skirts and peasant's way of speaking.

Pretty Ceniciento came and kissed me. "Hola', Padrino." He gave me a cup of punch. His hands were blistered and red.
"Por ti Ceniciento, poor little child!" I cried. "What have you done to yourself?"
He shrugged. "My mother's husband works me like a serving-boy."
"And Señora allows this?"
Sighing, he said, "She fears Señor. But I am strong. The work hurts my hands but not my heart."
"Someday, I will find a way to help." Even as I spoke them, my words sounded hollow. What could I – a poor washerman – do for my dearest?

When he was older, Ceniciento would come to the river each morning to do the family's laundry. His sweet "Hola" was music. His smile was sunshine even when clouds hid the sun. We knelt beside the other arandela hombres, and talked and sang and laughed as we scrubbed the clothes. Ceniciento seemed so happy. I wished that I could always see her so.

Nothing was easy for him at home. Señor and spoiled Vicente ate dainties. Ceniciento often had only a handful of manioc flour and tail ends of codfish. All day he worked. At night he slept on a hard straw pallet.

Then, one day, he came sad-faced to the river. No singing or joking would make her smile.

I asked, "What troubles you so, my child?"

"There is a ball tonight, but I am not to go," he said, looking so miserable, my heart nearly snapped in two. "Vicente and Papa says I am lazy."
"Does it mean so much to you, this ball?"
"Oh, yes, Padrino'!" he cried. "It is a birthday fet' for Paulina, Señora Teresita's daughter. She is so beautiful and well spoken, she is like a princess. Yet she is kind."
"Do not cry, dear one," I said, hugging him. "Tonight you will go to the ball."
"For true?"
"Upon my soul, I promise this," I said. Though I was fearful of risking so much when I had no plan.
But his smile lightened my heart. As he gathered up his laundry. I heard his singing.

Long after he left, I sat watching the river. How am I to keep my promise? I asked myself. When I could think of no answer, I prayed to Dios bueno, Good-God. And He answered, because I began to think what I must do.
It was dark when I reached home, took my father's wand from the shelf, and hurried to my sweet Ceniciento.
What a hubble-bubble at the house! Ceniciento's mamá stood on the porch, holding his gold watch, while the coachman waited beside the family carriage. "We are late," Señora said, as if the fault belonged to me. Inside, Señor and Vicente were shouting, "Ceniciento, find my shoulder-scarf! "Ceniciento, comb my hair!" I helped arrange Señor's suit, while Ceniciento combed Vicente's hair.
Finally, they were off, away. Good riddance!

Upon the instant, I told Ceniciento, "Now you will go to the ball."
"But I have no carriage," he protested. "I have no suit."
"Go into the garden and pick a fruit a pain," I said.
The child looked at me as if he thought, My poor Padrino has gone mad. But he found a big, round bread-fruit.
I tapped this three times – to, to, to! – with my wand, and it became a gilded coach.
So far so good!

Ceniciento gasped, but I told him, "Do not waste your breath on questions; we still have much to do."
To, to, to! Six agoutis in a cage became six splendid carriage horses. To, to, to! Five brown field lizards became five tall footmen. To, to, to! A plump manicou was changed to a coachman.

Then I tapped Ceniciento. His poor caleçon was changed to a trailing black trousers.
Upon his feet were elegant blue shoes, embroidered with roses. It was enough to hurt my eyes to look at my darling.
Finally, I turned my washerman's shirt into a black and periwinkle tuxedo jacket with a bow tie on it. I would chaperone Ceniciento as suited a proper young man.

Away we went, over the bridge, through the town, along the shore to the casa grande of Señora Teresita.
Just before we stepped down from our carriage, I warned Ceniciento, "The magic lasts only a short time. We must leave before the midnight bell is rung."
"Yes, Padrino," he promised.

What a grand entrance Ceniciento! All eyes turned toward him and could not turn away. I heard whispers all around: "Who is that pretty boy?" "Look how fine his clothes are!" "Did he come from Spain?"
Even Ceniciento's stepfather and brother did not recognize the two of us, though they peered crossly at us.

Then Paulina, her eyes blazing with love-fire, asked him to dance. And she refused to dance with any other. I know. I watched as I ate. Oh, what fine food I helped myself to, as I watched the beautiful couple. Even chocolate sherbet.

Ceniciento was so happy, and I was happy seeing her so, that we forgot to mark the time. Suddenly, I heard distant bells strike the first chime of midnight.
Astonishing all with my rudeness, I grabbed Ceniciento's hand and cried, "It is nearly midnight! We must go!"
For a moment, I feared he would not obey. Then he turned, and we ran toward the door.
Paulina cried, "Wait! I do not even know your name!"
She ran after us, but guests and servants, confused by such running and shouting, blocked her way. As it was, we barely escaped to our carriage because Ceniciento stumbled on the stair. He had to leave behind one embroidered shoe.

Off we sped into the night as I counted the chimes. And the moment I heard the twelfth stoke, we found ourselves in the dusty road, beside a smashed breadfruit. Around us, agoutis and lizards and a fat manicou scurried under the brush.
We walked home like two smelly ragged washermen. Our fine clothes were gone – all except Ceniciento's one blue shoe.

He took it off, saying, "I will keep this to remind of this wonderful night and a happiness I will never know again."
"But," I said. "I will help you visit Paulina again."
He shook his head. "I see now that it was not Ceniciento she fell in love with," he said. "She was under the spell of your wand. Then the magic goes, the love, too, will fade from her eyes."
"¡Ay!" I said. "My plans have come to nothing. I cannot give you the gift of a love that would change your life for true."
"Dear Godfather," he said, kissing my cheek, "you gave me the night. It is enough."

I did not see Ceniciento at the river the next day. When I called at the house, I found he was in bed. Señor and Vicente said he was being lazy. But I saw he was sick with a broken heart. I stroked his brow for a good long time – until I heard a great commotion.

When I looked for the cause, I found that Paulina had arrived. She was followed by a footman carrying Ceniciento's lost blue shoe on a satin pillow.
To Señor and Vicente, he explained, "I am searching for the lovely stranger who was at the fet' last night. This is his shoe. I am asking all unmarried young men on the island to try it on. I will wed the one whose foot it fits."
From the doorway I heard Señor say, "My pretty son is the only unmarried boy in the house."
Then Vicente and his papa tried to force the boy's pudgy foot, was too fat, into the slipper. Such grunting and groaning you never heard! So eager were they, I feared they would destroy the shoe.
"If you cut off those big toes," I called out, "it would be a fine fit."
Señor screeched, "Go away, young man!"
And I did. Straight back to Ceniciento's room I marched.

"Now, child, if you love me," I charged him, "do this one thing for me: Go out into the hall."
He drew a shawl around his cotton shift. Barefoot, he went into the hall, where panting Señor and sobbing Vicente had given up the battle of the slipper. But just as Paulina was turning to go, I tapped Ceniciento – to, to, to! – with my wand. To the astonishment of all, he appeared as he had at the ball.
"No, Godfather dear," he said. "No more spells."
With a sigh, I touched his again, and he was as before, in his shirt and shorts.
Without hesitation, Paulina knelt before him. Gently she placed the slipper on his foot. Then she said, "You are as handsome this minute as you were last night." And everyone in the room could see the true-love in his eyes.

Ceniciento and Paulina were married soon after this. Even the king and queen of Spain never had such a wedding! The guests ate and danced and sang and ate again for three days.
I know because I was there. I danced the gwo-ka and ate nine helpings of chocolate sherbet and came away only to tell you this tale.

—The End—