When The Church Bells Toll

El Marinero

      Leoncio Marco had taken another glance at the Port of Tobera. Seven colorful flags billowed in the breeze on top of the long and very high bamboo poles lined up at the breakwater of Pier 11, as it welcomed boating visitors. Leoncio had been in and out of this port for the last ten years of his life. The harbor was still a sight to behold. The stillness of blue ocean water - where dreams came alive - captured the innocence of his youth. The soft wind brushed his face and listened to the melody of the distant past. He remembered those days clearly. He sat there at the banks, his feet submerged in the cold water, and watched the smaller ferries lined up the shore. Sometimes, out of pure joy, he gathered sands in a bottle, seashells and brought them home. The graceful movements of the waves created mystical powers, as the waters splashed against the massive concrete barrier, to join the ocean once again. It was a never-ending process of nature he had seen in his lifetime, just like sailing. To be free under the skies, sun, and the stars. To let the waters swing and rock the boat, perhaps, like a mother who danced and sung a sweet lullaby that put him to sleep. The ocean, like the singing sirens who lured men to their death, still had that same power over him since he was a child, and maybe, if fate would allow it - till the day he died.

   Tobera, a few miles north of Frias, was the place where Leoncio, a 36-year-old sailor, was born and lived for the first twelve years of his life. The first time his father brought him to Cascada de Tobera to learn how to swim, he enjoyed playing with his paper sailboats in the water. It was summer and the heat was overwhelming. His father surprised him one morning. We are going to the waterfalls!   Excitement, written on the face of a young child was always very hard to forget. As soon as they arrived, he ran to the river with his boats and splashed his feet in the shallow part, while others were swimming nearby. He placed one sailboat in the water and let it flow. When the boat went far enough, Leoncio ran after and grabbed it, and did the same thing over again.  

   From that moment on he knew, he wanted to sail. 

   It was the turning point. He had never been so happy in his life. Armed with a simple dream from his childhood, he worked his way up to becoming a sailor. It had been almost ten years now, and he was coming home every nine months. Leoncio received his latest promotions in a cargo ship four years ago. From an ordinary unlicensed seaman, he rose to the rank of chief officer in a short period, due to his efficient work and outstanding records. He learned the value of hard work from his father, Simon Marco, a successful salesman - who after his mother died of childbirth - didn’t marry again. When he suffered a minor stroke, Leoncio was 12 years old. They moved to Frias and lived with Simon’s eldest sister, Tia Gertrudes, and his son, Rogelio. It was decided, it would be better for Leoncio to have a woman to look after him.  

   “Love for sailing - was it the reason why you decided to become a sailor, Leo?” Rogelio Ortiz asked him on the day he came back home. They walked farther away from the port and entered along a narrow alley leading to the bus terminal.

    “Yes, Rogelio. I loved the waters. It was a dream come true,” said Leoncio. “Father taught me how to swim. He was a very good swimmer,” he added.

    “Good for you, I never learned how to swim. Mama didn’t allow me, afraid that his unico hijo might drown without giving him several ninos y ninas.”

    “You are very lucky you have Tia Gertrudes.”

     Rogelio quickly changed the topic, “It’s good to see you again, primo Leo.”

    “Me too, Rogelio. Look, how much you have grown! It’s as if I have been away for nine years and not nine months. Let’s visit the town plaza tomorrow. I missed the tacos and quesadillas from Burritos Amigos.”

   “A bright idea! They’re as delicious as ever. But why wait for tomorrow?

     “Hermano Melanio’s expecting me tonight.”

   The bus left the town after it passed by the Ermita deTobera and traversed the national highway. It was a quick two kilometers bus ride to Frias. Leoncio felt comfortable and stretched his legs. He sat there for a long time without saying a word, while Rogelio took a nap. The hills and valleys were his favorite scenery along the highway. It was a welcome respite, after sailing for months and seeing nothing but water. Leoncio’s lip formed a wide smile. He can’t put his eyes to rest. His thoughts meandered. His heart pounded and he didn’t know why.

    “Frias! Frias!” The driver shouted at the top of his voice - as the bus came to a halt.

    Leoncio woke up Rogelio. “We’re here, buddy!”

    “That fast, huh?” Rogelio smiled.

    Leoncio Marco waited outside the entrance of the bus terminal, while Rogelio got his motorcycle. Leoncio felt a big lump in his throat and couldn’t utter a word. It was comforting to see old and beautifully familiar once again. Plaza de Frias. El mercado. Burritos Amigos. La Cucina. La Biblioteca Nacional. Leoncio stopped and stared at the last building for a long time. Where have all the months gone? A sense of guilty feeling surged inside him. It felt like it was only yesterday as if he had never left at all.