CAMAGÜEY.- These days there are two points of the day that define us. The eleven of the morning in the "parallel" of the fright because the doctor Durán will go out and quite torn he will say to us in his part that there are more the Cuban infected with the virus; and the nine of the night, in the "meridian" of the gratitude, where Cuba gets connected to honor its men and women, that in extended care, as Durán, turn us harder, healthier.
It is a beautiful gesture. In the middle of the anxiety and the pain for the numbers that every day grow in equal proportions, the "madness" of the nine joins, connects, gives us hope. True, they there taking temperatures, auscultating lungs, cleaning surfaces, processing analysis, washing clothes, cooking the food, do not listen to the rises in the portals and balconies; but at this hour, in the middle of the bustles and the danger, in the middle of the isolation, to look at the clock and to feel remembered must give sanity, strength.
At home we release late the applauses. We did not know of the call on Sunday; on Monday we missed the hour. But on Tuesday, Tuesday yes “we went to our portal”, and since then the 9: 00 p.m. is the favorite hour of Ximena. “Come on, mommy, more applauses video”, she says, while she improvises another nations rosary and up to things that she wants that the “good doctors” save.
The coronavirus has imposed on us more restrictions and more geographical neglect: we are already brought in neither by only one plane, nor one euphoric tourist for discovering us, and therefore not a foreign penny that it is so needed. Cuba, that of the extreme mapping, is more "alone", less mixed, but it remains even to be distributed to theirs where they are needed. There are already 14 brigades, they say. It is a half a thousand of the people entrusted that here to theirs they will be able to contain the famine, the needs, the pandemic; but neither the impulse, nor the happiness, nor the "dementia", nor the life.
Cuba is a lot of Cuba. Here, where they say that it is lived of every day, in skylight be unworthy of our finance; we continue on living without the daily "resolve". The lines are less, also the persons "wandering about the streets", the masks begin to show of all the designs and colors because we understand that to live turns out to be an urgent diligence. Cuba attends to its leaders and applies every recommendation. Cuba is obstinate, yes, but noble and understood, wise. Even the grandparents. Even the children.
“Mommy, tomorrow – and she enters the account, reconsiders. Mommy, when I go next time to the kindergarten you put this garment to me”, and my girl points out a bright orange robe. She knows that she will not be there tomorrow, perhaps this seclusion takes more of the predicted, but a certainty we have in this country: we will win and live. That day, when Serrano announces it in holders, when the promise is a calm moment, my girl will dress in that bright orange dress. I will accompany her to kindergarten, also in an orange dress, and we will be two more in a country of crazy and happy.
These fateful days will turn future history of a leap year. In the story of this nation there will not be missing the summary of the energetic measurements; the images of its leaders explaining every detail in every evening while the thunderstorm lasted; the chronicle of the old Francisco Durán, that one that even with the license of his years does not keep back at home; there will not be missing the interviews and testimonies of many courageous professionals; there will not be missing the remembrance of an unanimous madness, that of the applause that healed us.
Translated by Linet Acuña Quilez