A BookFest Award Winner: **Women's Historical Fiction + **Literary-Adventure & Journey
An adventurous and inspiring story of a courageous woman who struggles against social injustice: as a saboteur during the Costa Rican revolution, and later, as wife to an abusive husband. To protect her children, she immigrates to the US.
Never To Forget is based on a true story of a woman's adventurous struggle to fulfill the promise of love, even from the margins of mid-20th century Costa Rican society and as an immigrant in the US.
Spurned at age five by her mother's admonition that girls can't be soldiers, Bertelina sets out in an adventurous struggle for personal fulfillment to eventually become embroiled in the 1948 Costa Rican revolutionary quest for social justice, and ultimately with women's struggle for self-determination. With the inner strength of a soldier, she grapples to balance the traditional feminine role with her eventual urgency to protect her children after a divorce from an abusive husband. In overcoming social and religious roadblocks, she immigrates to the United States.
After finally fulfilling her aspirations, everything about herself is threatened to be decimated by the devastation of Alzheimer's dementia.
A BookFest Award Winner: **Women's Historical Fiction + **Literary-Adventure & Journey
An adventurous and inspiring story of a courageous woman who struggles against social injustice: as a saboteur during the Costa Rican revolution, and later, as wife to an abusive husband. To protect her children, she immigrates to the US.
Never To Forget is based on a true story of a woman's adventurous struggle to fulfill the promise of love, even from the margins of mid-20th century Costa Rican society and as an immigrant in the US.
Spurned at age five by her mother's admonition that girls can't be soldiers, Bertelina sets out in an adventurous struggle for personal fulfillment to eventually become embroiled in the 1948 Costa Rican revolutionary quest for social justice, and ultimately with women's struggle for self-determination. With the inner strength of a soldier, she grapples to balance the traditional feminine role with her eventual urgency to protect her children after a divorce from an abusive husband. In overcoming social and religious roadblocks, she immigrates to the United States.
After finally fulfilling her aspirations, everything about herself is threatened to be decimated by the devastation of Alzheimer's dementia.
La Machita
âAy, que bonita machita1,â the old lady said about the girl she noticed enter her bedroom. âWhere are you going?â
âJust wanted to say hello and see if there was any- thing I could do to amuse you⊠I was told youâve been sad.â The reply did not distract the old lady from staring at the mirror on the door.
âI donât know who would have told you that, but I am bored waiting for my family to arrive.â
âWell then, Iâve come at a good time.â The chair rasped the wood floor when it was moved closer to the foot of the bed. The girlâs movements were reflected in
1Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â What a pretty blonde girl (the term âmachaâ in Costa Rica generally refers to a blonde woman).
the mirror hanging from the closet door.
âWhat do you have in that?â the old lady asked, referring to the cardboard box she noticed the girl place on her lap.
âI like taking notes on interesting people Iâve met,â the girl answered.
âBut youâre so young⊠you canât be any older than thirteen.â
âWell... maybe not thirteen,â the girl chuckled. âBut no matter what, it doesnât mean I canât listen.â
âThereâs not much I can think thatâs interesting to tell you about me⊠but I would love to hear some of the stories youâve collected,â the old lady said and turned onto her side for a better look at the mirror. âYou look like an angel, dressed in white⊠and what lovely golden curls. Your mother must be so proud to have such a pretty daughter.â
âMy⊠my m-mother?â the girl stammered with the inflection of a question and paused before adding, â... Sheâs not so easily pleased... but does encourage me to read my stories to whoever wants to listen.â
âWell, machita, I like passionate stories, but my favorite TV novela2 wonât be on until much later.â The old lady moved her head higher on her pillow and appeared ready to listen.
Machita scanned the room until focusing on the side table. âHow do you watch the novelas... or are they told over that radio?â
2Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Hispanic television soap operas, often melodramatic.
âAy, muchachita3, that radio only seems to broadcast church music!â
The muchachita ruffled through her box and brought out a stack of white papers. She glanced over the pages as if to assure she picked the right ones. âIâm sure you will find plenty of passion in this story.â She waved a stack of pages as if to get the older womanâs attention away from staring at the mirror. âBut it doesnât come with any pictures⊠would you mind if I read it to you?â
âThat would be nice,â the old woman replied and gazed toward the door, as if anticipating someone else arriving. âI donât have much else to do.â She looked at the papers the muchachita shuffled through. âThat seems like a big story to read... promise me youâll stop as soon as my family get here.â
âIâm sure youâll enjoy it, but I will stop whenever you get tired.â
âBy the way, did the people who sent you here tell you my name?â the old lady asked.
âOf course,â the girl replied adamantly, but then softened her tone to continue, âI know your name... Bertha.â
âI suppose I should also be remembering yours.â Bertha hesitated and stared away from the mirror to the hall outside the open bedroom door. Bertha resumed in a softer voice, âCeci comes to mind... Itâs difficult
3Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Young girl (Costa Ricans are referred as âTicosâ for often endearing words by adding -ita(o)).
to recall everything, particularly since not many people come to visit anymore... I often get things mixed up.â âYes, itâs easy to get confused when youâre not feel-
ing well, and thatâs why Iâm here.â
Bertha stretched as if to look again into the hallway and, on noticing no one approach, rested back onto her fluffed pillow. Peering at the mirror, she said, âI guess I have no choice but to listen to your story.â
Â
Enemy Lines
( T O A U G U S TÂ 1 9 3 3 )
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She ran by an open door and saw the flicker of light come from inside the darkened living room. She knew to enter it only when accompanied by an adult. But, stunned by the dancing light, she stopped at the thresh- old of the door and contemplated entering, enthralled by an imagined invitation.
There was no one in the hallway, and she had just left her mother hanging clothes on the line in the back- yard. She took a step forward onto the wooden floor of the living room and cautiously walked to where the candle glimmered.
On top of a wooden cabinet, she recognized a music box. On winding its protruding key, she knew, a melodic tune would rouse the hidden ballerina to pirouette in fanciful accompaniment to the music. But the wavering light, radiating from a centered candle,
drew her eyes away from the box and up onto two large portrait paintings hanging from the wall, high above her.
The first painting had a wooden frame that was gold-painted and embossed with intricate forms of leaves. It was of a man dressed in military uniform, whose steadfast stare was directed as if beyond her left shoulder. She immediately turned, interested to where his eye appeared to be fixated. But behind her was a drawn curtain her mother swung open only on special occasions. She looked back to the portrait and noted the manâs smirk hidden under the shadow of his thick mustache; she thought it probably was a restrained laugh at having baited her to turn.
âAy, señor,â she said as she felt only smooth skin above her lip. âQue necio4.â She repeated her motherâs admonishment for persistent misbehavior.
The second painting was of a woman, whose tender grin and direct gaze calmed the girl from the agitation the manâs teasing had caused her. Quickly, she glanced back over her shoulder, as if to ascertain she had not missed the manâs point of interest.
Examining the woman in the painting, the girl noticed her wearing a cape closed at the front to hide the buttons; and with a large medallion, the tall collars were drawn together at the midline. Her hair, parted at the front, appeared dark and was combed back into a bun.
4Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Costa Rican (Tico) colloquial for foolish, persistent.
The girl brushed her fingers through her hair and felt its strands loosely form strings of curls. Bringing one loop of hair to eye level, she examined its wave and noticed it a lighter color than that of the woman on the portrait.
Further inspecting the portrait, she recognized facial features that made the woman seem familiar. Encour- aged by an apparent fellowship, the girl returned a look over her shoulderâyet nothing had changed. She again noticed the manâs smirk remained the same.
As if for clues, she further scrutinized the manâs por- trait, until focusing on the embroidered epaulettes on the shoulders of the coat. Unlike the womanâs com- forting medallion, the manâs stitched stripes seemed to demand she pay him attention. Then, as if urgently commanded, she turned to look again over her shoul- der.
Footsteps suddenly sounded on the tiled floor of the hallway, coming in her direction. Hurriedly, she tried to hide behind the far side of the cabinet, and hoped to be out of the line of vision. She waited for whoever would pass the door.
Her mother entered the room and continued to the window at the front. As the heavy curtains were swung open, the afternoon sunlight illuminated where the girl was crouched behind the cabinetâfailing to blend with the furniture.
âAqui te encuentro5,â said the mother in a tone of
5Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Here I find you.
irritation. âIâve called for you many times... but like always, you found a way to get out of your chores.â
âNo, Mami,â She stood up and attempted to smoothen the crumple of the Sunday dress her mother had told her to put on. âI just came in to see why the candle was on.â
âLook how you wrinkled that dress, and your aunts will soon be arriving to say the Rosary! Where are your sisters? They were supposed to be watching over you.â
âI was just looking at the paintings.â
Her mother drew closer and reverently moved the candle to shine from under the painting of the man. She looked up to the portrait and made a sign of the cross, then said, âToday is the sixth anniversary of his deathâa year before you were born... He was a great man. Thereâs been no one like him in our family since.â The girl copied her motherâs hand movement in making the sign of the cross. âWho was he?â she asked, and felt his stare directing her to look away. Even with the afternoon sunshine lighting the room, there was nothing she could imagine to be worth his relentless
watch.
âHeâs your abuelo6,â the mother said as she turned around to organize the room. âHeâs my PapĂĄ.â
âWhy does he have those things on his shoulders?â
âAy, muchacha. Que necia.â The mother sat on the sofa facing the wooden cabinet. âCome here.â
Her mother reached for her when the girl stepped
Â
closer to the sofa and was turned to face the hanging portraits. She brushed her fingers through the girlâs hair and said, âHe was a proud and courageous Colo- nel in the Costa Rican army... You would have loved him.â
The girl looked at the manâs smirk and again felt the tease. âI donât think he likes me,â she said, as her mother gathered her blonde curls with a barrette.
âWhy do you say that?â the mother asked. âI think you would have been his favorite... youâre as bull- headed as he ever was.â
âI am not,â the girl countered without knowing the meaning of her motherâs claim.
âBut I think thatâs what gave him coraje7... Your grandfather was a hero in the coup dâĂ©tat of 1870... which turned out to be eventful in Costa Rican his- tory.â The mother paused while stroking the girlâs hair, then added, âIn 1871, the victors of that rebellion wrote up a constitution securing justice for all Costa Ricans, not just for coffee landowners.â
âBut MamĂĄ, donât we own the coffee plants you send me out to pick beans from?â
âOf course we do, as well as the lands where we grow everything to sell at the store.â
âMy favorite are the fresh roasted peanuts. I love when I can eat them while waiting for shoppers.â The girl pulled away when her mother finished with her hair.
âWell, you can thank your grandfather for all of that. He managed to get our family most of what we own... now if we can keep your father from losing it all.â
The girl returned to the wooden cabinet and gazed at her grandfatherâs painting. The mother resumed preparing the living room. âIâm afraid that, with all his drinking, your father might manage to give away everything we have,â she said.
âMami... you look like that lady.â
âThatâs your grandmother... I wish I could be as strong a woman as she was... then maybe Iâll be able to protect this family from your fatherâs mismanage- ment.â
The girl scanned back and forth between the two paintings and asked, âDoes a hero have to wear that bar on their shoulder?â
âKind of,â the mother answered. âPapĂĄ was certainly heroic when, along with some of his friends, managed to hide under a bale of hay being delivered in a carreta8 to the central fort in San JosĂ©. At that time, the fort was controlled by enemy soldiers; and, once inside, they surprised the enemy and forced their surrender. Tomas Guardia then won the battle and eventually became President. Your grandfather was rewarded for his heroism and made an officer. Years later, he was granted Colonel status. Thatâs why he wears those bars on his shoulders.â
âMamĂĄ, do I look like him?â
âAy, que muchacha mas necia... You take more after your grandmother... but you certainly have your grandfatherâs carĂĄcter.9â
The little girl gleefully ran out of the room shout- ing, âYo voy hacer soldado!10â
The mother ran to the door and called out after her daughter, âBertelina, girls canât be soldiers!â
I couldn't put down this elegant and historically informative book. The story spans multiple timelines and cultures and centers on (la machita) Bertelina's odyssey as a Costa Rican native and U.S. immigrant. Beginning with Bertelina's youth, the tenacity of her character propels her through adolescence and the Costa Rican revolution of 1948 as she fights for equality, women's rights, and justice.Â
As Bertelina comes of age, she faces several challenges that change the course of her life. These predicaments lead her into an abusive marriage. She later relocates to the United States to protect her children and change their future. Through various inevitable ups and downs, Bertha (her name is Americanized) finds her strength and courage and becomes the heroine of her story.Â
One of this book's central themes is progress, seen throughout the almost century-long chronology. Another theme of the book is the unconditional and everlasting mother's love.Â
History buffs and saga enthusiasts will love this immersive and captivating book. The reader will find themselves enthralled by Bertelina's authentic journey, the beautiful Spanish imagery, and the world's progress. Culture is a focus that permeates each page with a focus on language and how our surroundings can influence us.Â
Each chapter has around seven footnotes listed at the end that clarify Spanish translations and expressions. If I could change one thing, I would list each translation at the bottom of the page so the reader doesn't have to thumb back and forth for clarity. The translations richly imbue the book with uniqueness and believability. Â
I highly recommend this book to anyone who wants to go on a lively adventure and enjoys reading about positive progress. This story would also be excellent required reading in school curriculums. It's one of those supremely special and rare books you want to reread to glean more insight and knowledge of a bygone era and its cultural implications.Â