This is Mount Hope Cemetery in Colon, Republic of Panama.
After grandfather’s funeral my sister had also told me that grandfather had been sick for a long time walking around with urination problems and that he had not said anything to any of them. I thought I would never forget that day we buried him at Mount Hope Cemetery which, in Spanish, translates to Monte Esperanza. Continue reading
The last mental note of treachery was just one more to be added to the string of misery and of things happening to me in those days. But, I still maintained the hope that my mother wound let me stay a couple of days with her to make up for her abandoning me. By then I was also considering the last times I’d visited Colon which was my visit on Fifth of November the year before. Continue reading
The strange “rainbow” that I watched dance from building to building
was probably some kind of back draft activity as the Great Colón Fire of
1940 got started in April, the week of my fourth birthday.
It was my first story and I was almost sure that it may have been Cuadernos Balboa’s first Westindian story of that year of 1950 or any year before. As the class suddenly became quiet, I noticed that the teacher had returned to her desk at the front of the class. Tarrying some at her desk she then left the room again as activities in the back of the classroom became louder. The writing paper I had been examining, while my memories of early childhood flashed back and forth, was almost new. I caressed the page with my sharpened pencil intent on practicing writing a story. Continue reading