The Dance Of The Two Sisters

The Dance of the Two Sisters

1

La Casa Lara

Nothing prepared Mina and her sister Cheres for the life-changing trauma that unfolded on that sweltering August day in 1902. La Casa Lara was a modest hut on stilts, unusual for the village because it was painted pale turquoise-blue, like the beautiful Caribbean Sea. Like a worn, faded jewel box, it stood in the warm, balmy sea air, with palm fronds rustling over the thatched roof in the soft golden afternoon light. Its interior was decorated with vibrant Kuna textiles and crafts. It sat on the edge of a sleepy, modest, indigenous Kuna village, where people lived in 40 tukul-style huts on stilts built of bamboo and palm fronds, sustained by sweat and hard work. Casa Lara was the hub of a small, self-sustaining ranch and a dry-goods store tucked away near the Colombian border. The ranch kept a couple of cows for milking, some goats, and chickens.

Mama Amalia Pinzón Lara, a mature, handsome woman, ran the only dry-goods store in the community, offering imported fabrics and other utilitarian items from Europe, as well as locally produced goods and handicrafts. Amalia was married three times. Her first husband was killed in a tribal war. She had 6 children from her first marriage and 6 from her second husband, who died of yellow fever. From her third husband, Senior Locario Lara, a Spanish Jewish immigrant with shocking red hair (El Colorado), she had twin daughters, nicknamed Café y Leche. Amalia was pure Kuna and considered the village’s matriarch.

The Lara family was busy with their afternoon chores. Amalia stood by her large clay comal over an open flame, preparing this evening’s supper of whole, fresh Red Snapper, a zesty marinade with Limón Criollo, garlic, oregano, salt, pepper, and twice-fried green plantain slices called patacones. Josefina Andrades and Emma Zapata, two of her older daughters, helped her chop crisp, aromatic red and green peppers on a wooden stump. A large table covered with plantain leaves held a beautiful assortment of fresh tropical fruit, including bananas, mangoes, and papaya. The younger children played noisily in the dusty yard.

“Café, hurry up, niña,” Mina called to her little sister. The two sisters were heading to the Darién rainforest on the Colombian border, something they often did. The Kuna used blackberries in their traditional dishes and beverages. Amalia sent the girls to forage for blackberries. They entered the familiar section of the forest and began picking berries. Sunlight danced around them, filtered through the many leaves and trees of the Panamanian rainforest. They squinted, sweat beading on their foreheads in the stifling, humid air. The fragrance of sweet, exotic orchids in bloom and wet earth hung in the air. Large leaves still held pearls of water droplets from the earlier-day rainfall. Laughing and giggling, they picked a few blackberries, tasted a few, and put some in the basket. Their mouths dripped with sweet berry juice, and they wiped their hands on their pretty traditional dresses, leaving purple handprints. Mina, 12, had dark, dense, curly black hair and deep brown eyes. She was skinny, tall, and lanky. Cheres (Café) was 4 years old, with short, silky hair, almond-caramel-brown eyes, and dimples. They were both barefoot and used to walking on the soft forest floor. The chirping of crickets, birds, and other chittering noises blended into the rainforest’s rich symphony.

A long, loud whistle, a crack, and then a thundering boom startled the girls. They dropped the basket of berries and ran. Mina, with her long legs, pulled ahead of Cheres and soon lost sight of her younger sister.

“Café!” she called desperately, looking around.

A short distance away, she could hear the villagers’ commotion, their yelling and screaming.

“Café!!!!!” Mina shrieked again, with rivulets of tears streaking her red-hot face.

The booms thundered on, and gray-yellow pillars of smoke billowed from the village, darkening the sky. The grassy, earthy smell of burning bamboo and palm fronds filled the hot, steamy air. The snap-crackle of the uncontrolled fires and the screams from the village continued.

2

Mina’s Story

Mina was exhausted and hoarse from calling out to her little sister, searching for her in the dense, now-darkening forest. Her heart pounded against her chest as if it would burst. Everything seemed surreal, like an out-of-body experience. What is happening? This can’t be happening! she thought. She could hear her own blood rushing in her hot ears. She smelled the fear of her own body. The noise from the village had died down, leaving only an occasional crack and pop! Dark gray, stifling smoke pushed down on her, making her cough and breathe in short, labored gasps. She gave up searching for her little sister and returned to what was left of the village. The village lay in ruins, destruction everywhere. A few listless souls wandered, picking up random pieces of their belongings. The sickly, acrid stench of blood and fire hung in the air. La Casa Lara and family were gone. Nothing left, just fire and ash. She collapsed to the ground in shock and disbelief.

One of the villagers helped Mina to her feet. Gathering her strength, she joined the remaining villagers as they made their way into the city of Colón with the few possessions they had left. She then made her way to the Governor’s house. The Governor and his family took her in as a governess for their children. They wanted to flee the conflict; they were already packing to go to America and chose to take Mina with them. They departed by ship from Colón on the Atlantic side of Panama. The ship followed the Caribbean route, heading north past Cuba and Jamaica, through the Gulf of Mexico, and into the Florida Straits. It then followed the US Northeast coast, passing New York Harbor in Manhattan. It was a long, arduous, and crowded 14-day journey. The Governor was wealthy and already had a home in America. Mina became a well-established governess and teacher in New York and, after a few years, ventured out on her own.

Mina returned to Panama 10 years later to look for her sister and found her at the Catholic Orphanage of the Daughters of Charity. Cheres, now called Catalina by the nuns, was alive and well cared for. While making their rounds among the tribes, the nuns found Catalina living as if she were one of them. She lived among them for over a year. Catalina was extremely happy that her sister had come back to find her; however, she intended to stay at the convent and become a nun, so Mina returned to America alone.

The years passed, and Catalina, now 21 and ready to take her final vows, came to America to visit her sister Mina for a final farewell. The smells of factories and warehouses, manure, and burning coal in New York assaulted her senses. The city was a concrete jungle, loud, busy, and intimidating, a stark contrast to the peaceful serenity and introspection she had known at the convent. Her sister’s life in the city was exciting and unlike anything she had known. She knew all sorts of eclectic people: artists, musicians, poets, and journalists. All of it was completely foreign to Catalina. Mina took Catalina to a party. A handsome young man with smoky dark eyes approached her. He was an engineering student at Columbia University. That party changed her fate forever. James stole her heart the moment she set eyes on him. They started dating, and after 6 agonizing months, they married. The decision was not easy, given her devotion to God and the Daughters of Charity.

4

Lost in the Rainforest

Cheres remained lost in the rainforest. Terrified, the 4-year-old hid even more. What little of the sky she could see was bruised purple and red, like flesh, and the roar of cannons and stifling pillars of pungent smoke from the fires filled the air. Cheres made her way deeper into the inky darkness, farther from civilization. Howler monkeys, their throats grunting and booming warnings, swung up into the highest tree branches as this little girl stumbled in the sweltering heat, whimpering as she went deeper into the deadlier parts of the deep forest. Tree branches snapped and hit her. The wet fauna soaked her. The rainforest creatures were as afraid of her as she was of them. Iguanas, snakes, and other reptiles scurried along the ground and up trees. The forest was alive with creeping, slithering, and jumping movement. Instinct told her to be brave and keep going. She finally reached the river’s edge on the other side of the forest—the borderline between her people and the Embera. The river was a deafening cascade of water tumbling over jagged, flat, slippery rocks. The passage was almost impossible and dangerous. One slip and she would be carried down the river with a backbreaking roar. Cheres crawled over the damp, musty rocks, as if hanging on to her dear life. Sometimes she crawled on all fours over the rocks, her bare feet getting scratched and cut by the sharp edges. The sky opened up all at once, and the torrential rain pounded her like painful little daggers. It was as if the fury of life had unleashed everything on her at once, as if the dark, scary rainforest wasn’t enough of a test of her courage.

A small Embera hunting party found Cheres shivering at the river's edge. In shock, she had lost her voice and could not speak. They took her to their village, where they offered her protection. There, she stayed for over a year, learning their ways and being cared for by the tight-knit community. She learned their language, learned to swim like a fish and to catch fish with her bare hands, learned to sing and dance the soulful Dance of the Two Sisters, and learned to carve animals from small pieces of dense cocobolo wood, as the other children in the village did.

5

Catalina (Cheres)

Cheres (Catalina) Pinzoń Lara, “La Chinita,” as her school friends called her back in the day at the orphanage, stood quietly in her pink housecoat at the stove, stirring her pot of intensely aromatic “Sancocho,” a Panamanian stew with chicken, plantains, yuca, potatoes, and corn. She stopped to chop cilantro for the stew. Her smooth, rounded face belied her true age, and her almond-shaped, dark Café Caramelo eyes spoke of her rich Indigenous, Spanish, and Jewish heritage. Four of her rambunctious grandchildren plowed through the back screened door, which squeaked furiously as they burst in with excitement. They had collected blackberries from the overgrown field next to the property and wanted her to make her delicious blackberry pie. Catalina smiled and accepted the basket of berries. She gave them Kool-Aid and cookies for a snack. They gobbled the cookies and slurped the Kool-Aid breathlessly, eager to get back outside. But first, she had to play nurse, clean, and mend a few scratches. The field was full of thorns, insects, and other hazards.

A grouchy old man, smelling of outdoors and tobacco, with thick, dense eyebrows and a brown face weathered by time, walked through the back door now, shooing the children out of the house. James, Santiago Jesus, was not an easy man to live with. He was Colombian, proud, and controlling. He was an aircraft mechanic and a World War I army veteran. He offered her stability, a safe home, and children. In exchange, he could be demanding at times. James was a man of few words but many political opinions. He made his way through the kitchen and into the living room, plopping down like an old suitcase with broken straps, settling into his favorite big chair in front of the TV set. He picked up his favorite smoking pipe and a small bag of loose, sweet-smelling tobacco, then began his afternoon ritual, puffing billowy smoke from his pipe and discussing the day's news on TV out loud to no one in particular, since Catalina just smiled and continued with her dinner preparations.

6

Dance With Me

Catalina danced the Dance of the Two Sisters alone in the kitchen. Reminiscing about her time in the rainforest and among the Embera, she opened a couple of cans of Puss and Boots to feed the kittens who lived outside under the house. She opened the screened back door, and as soon as she set the cat food down, the kittens tumbled over one another to reach it. In the distance, she heard the children laughing and playing. Catalina closed her eyes and breathed in the fresh spring air. She called the children to come in for supper. The fragrant blackberry pie cooled on the kitchen counter, and the grandchildren elbowed each other toward the bathroom sink to wash their hands and faces.