Читать книгу Archbishop Oscar Romero - Emily Wade Will - Страница 10

(1917–1930)

“Zaída, wake up,” Oscar whispered through the partition to his sister’s bedroom. “Let’s go!”4

“Too early.” Zaída groaned, her voice heavy with sleep. “It’s not even light yet.”

“Come on! The sun’s almost up,” Oscar urged. “Have you forgotten what’s happening today? Hurry!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” eleven-year-old Zaída said, her voice irritable.

Oscar had pail and milking stool in hand when Zaída appeared in the doorway. They left their house on the plaza corner and strolled several blocks up the cobblestone street to the field where the family pastured its cow, mule, and horse.

Oscar basked in the dawn’s beauty and nippy freshness. The rising sun transformed the clouds hovering over the valleys into a fluffy quilt of pinks and orange. The majestic mountains and nearby volcano, still night-time black, lent a stark backdrop.

“It’s going to be a perfect day.” Oscar, almost thirteen, considered whether God had answered his prayers for dry weather. People would be coming to their sleepy village of Ciudad Barrios from surrounding areas to hear Father Nazario Monroy, twenty-five, say his first hometown mass, and the sun would keep footpaths dry to ease traveling.

Father Monroy had journeyed across the wide Atlantic Ocean, to Rome, to study to become an ordained priest. Now he was back. Oscar scarcely dared dream he might someday follow in Father Monroy’s footsteps. Becoming a priest loomed as a large ambition for a boy in his circumstances.

Ciudad Barrios nestles among mountains, the cross on its central Catholic church visible from a distance. (1998 photo, Emily Will)

The visitors would include two churchmen who were even now wending their way on horseback through the twenty-five miles of steep mountain trail separating Oscar’s town from the nearest city, San Miguel. It would take seven or eight hours for the vicar-general of San Miguel diocese5 and Father Benito Calvo Quinta6 to cover the distance connecting Ciudad Barrios to the wider world in that year of 1930. Oscar prayed he’d be able to overcome his shyness long enough to talk to them about becoming a priest.

The lack of paved roads and long travel times led Oscar to believe his homeland, El Salvador, was much larger than its actual 8,260 square miles. Later he would learn why Salvadoran writer Julio Enrique Ávila dubbed the country the “Tom Thumb of America.” About the size of Massachusetts, El Salvador is the smallest nation of the North and South American continents.

A Distinctive Cow

At the pasture, Zaída took the first turn to milk Vallena, a black and white cow with markings around her eyes like spectacles that gave her a distinct look.7

After Oscar finished the milking, he and his sister headed home, carrying the pail between them to share the weight.

“Vallena gave a full bucket today. Guess we won’t have to pass by the spring.” Oscar’s voice contained a smile.

“Don’t remind me!” Zaída replied. “It was a dumb idea.”

Oscar teased Zaída about the day Vallena gave little milk. Zaida became fearful their father might think they drank or spilled some of it and would punish them with a switching or by making them kneel for hours. She therefore suggested they add some spring water. Oscar, honest to the core, would have no part of it.

The family was up, ready to simmer the milk for their breakfast café con leche when Oscar and Zaída returned. It was a good-sized family of six boys and one girl. Gustavo, eighteen, was the oldest. Then came Oscar and Zaída, nine-year-old Rómulo, six-year-old Mamerto, four-year-old Arnoldo, and Gaspar, an infant.8

“Papá, maybe your musician friends will be in town today.” Zaída bit into a warm, thick tortilla.

“How so?” Papá asked.

Oscar’s face grew warm with shame. Papá rarely set foot in church and hadn’t remembered today’s special service. He had had to be instructed in the basics of Roman Catholic faith before a priest would agree to marry him and Mamá in a religious marriage. True, Papá did encourage Oscar to pray daily, but it was Mamá who gathered her children at seven each evening to kneel and say the rosary.

“Don’t you remember?” Mamá shook her head. She ate breakfast while she nursed the baby. “Folks will be coming into town today for Father Monroy’s mass. Everyone’s eager to hear him speak.”

“Indeed?” Papá turned to Zaída. “Well, m’ija, if that’s the case, perhaps we can expect one or both of my musician friends to drop by.”

“Great!” Zaida said, and Oscar agreed. Mamerto clapped with excitement.

All Oscar’s family enjoyed music. Papá owned a fine silver flute and Mamá possessed sheet music for some waltzes and classical pieces. Both the flute and the sheet music were prized belongings.9 One of Papá’s friends played violin and another played cello. Sometimes when one or both came to Ciudad Barrios, they got together to play. Oscar delighted in the flute’s lilting tones.

As adults, Mamerto and Arnoldo would play the marimba in bands, but Oscar alone wanted to learn the flute, and Papá taught him. He’d draw notes on a dusty surface to teach Oscar how to read music. Only when Oscar had it down pat did Papá give him some scored music paper to use. It was expensive for a family on a tight budget.

“Don’t worry, Oscar,” Gustavo said. “I’ll deliver any telegrams that arrive today.”

Oscar said a polite thanks, but inwardly he smiled. Gustavo’s offer was not as magnanimous as it appeared. It was an excuse for Gustavo to stay home from church. Oscar knew he was different from Gustavo and his brothers—they preferred noisy, rambunctious games while he enjoyed quieter pursuits, such as reading. Also, unlike his brothers, Oscar had been drawn to the church and to religion since his earliest years. In this Oscar resembled his mother.

Mamá and Papá

On other days, however, Oscar willingly helped deliver telegrams and letters. Papá’s work as a telegraph operator had brought him to Ciudad Barrios in the first place. Santos Romero grew up in Jocoro, a town in the adjacent department, or state, of Morazán. Beginning in 1902 and over the next eight years, the national Office of Telegraphs and Telephones posted Santos to ten towns in five of El Salvador’s eastern departments. He spent from a few months to several years in any one spot.

After the telegraph office posted Santos Romero to Ciudad Barrios in August 1910, however, he wanted to stay put. He had set his eyes on Guadalupe Jesús Galdámez, a sweet young woman who received enough schooling, likely through grade three, to work as a primary school teacher. Her friends called her “Niña Jesús,” using her middle name. Officials had offered her a teaching position in the village of Guatajiaqua, in neighboring Morazán department, but her parents did not want her to venture so far from home.10

It didn’t take Don Santos and Niña Jesús long to decide to spend their lives together. They wed in a civil marriage on December 8, 1910, and again in a church marriage in January 1911. The newlyweds moved into a house provided by Niña Jesús’s parents. It was one of several houses owned by members of her extended family along one side of the town’s central plaza.

Oscar’s parents: Santos Romero and Guadalupe Jesús Galdámez. (photo credit, Zolia Aurora Asturias and Eva del Carmen Asturias)

The large house—half a block in size—was modest in its construction. Its walls were bahareque—wood canes or laths covered with mud and whitewashed. The roof was of red clay tiles and the floors of earthen brick.

Furnishings consisted of plain but sturdy chairs and tables made mostly of roble, an abundant oak species. Beds were simple wood frames with rope webbings pulled between them to serve as mattresses. The Romero boys slept at least two to a bed.

Don Santos’s telegraph office occupied a partitioned corner of the house, and another small area was devoted to the village post office, which Niña Jesús ran. Once the boys turned six or seven, their parents enlisted them to deliver telegrams and letters. The task was not burdensome, as the tiny town was hardly flooded with messages and mail, and they didn’t have to walk far.

Oscar, about age ten. (photo credit, Elvira Chacón)

Papá taught Morse code to a few of his sons, including Gustavo, Oscar, and Mamerto, and showed them how to operate the telegraph. Oscar also learned to type after his father bought a typewriter. Oscar enjoyed both the telegraph and typewriter, and would continue an interest in communications technology throughout his life.

Still, Oscar was grateful to Gustavo that he wouldn’t need to leave church today to deliver a telegram.

As if reading Oscar’s mind, Mamá said, “Do you remember the outfit I sewed for you when you were a little boy and a church dignitary visited?”

Oscar shook his head. “I must have been too young. I always liked to play priest, though.”

“You borrowed my aprons to wrap around your shoulders as a robe.” Mamá smiled.

“Playing priest” was a common childhood activity, and it was little Oscar’s favorite make-believe. Wearing his apron “cassock,” Oscar created altars on chairs and “said mass” or “gave Communion.” Sometimes he called his friends to march in a pretend saint’s day procession. In their play-acting, Oscar reserved the role of priest for himself.

As he grew older, Oscar followed Father Cecilio Morales around. He eventually became an altar boy, and the priest gave him duties, such as ringing the church bells. Oscar stopped in the church to pray at least once a day.

In reality, however, the Romero children did not enjoy much play time. They had to help their parents with household chores and a patchwork of activities to supply their basic needs. Don Santos received a small income for running the telegraph office, as did Niña Jesus for managing the town’s mail service. Niña Jesus, an adept seamstress, also sewed clothes for neighbors.

“El Pulgo”

Don Santos farmed some 104 acres of fertile land acquired from his father-in-law.11 It was located along the skirt of the nearby volcano, some two to three miles from the family home. Since at least 1880, coffee had replaced indigo as El Salvador’s “king crop,” and Don Santos planted coffee bushes in the shade of the slope’s oak trees, as well as some cacao, coconut palms, and nance, a type of fruit tree.

The boys hiked to the small farm, which Don Santos named “El Pulgo,”12 to help their father. Coffee was a fussy crop in certain seasons. Oscar and his brothers cleared weeds and helped prune the bushes and pick the ripe red berries. Leaving the farm, Papá gave each boy a piece of firewood to carry home for the cookstove.13

At least the Romero children were spared the burden of handcarting water from a spring to their home. In 1918, Papá had connected his house to the town’s water supply. Mamá and the girl she hired to help scrub clothes were blessed with water piped into the home.

The running water and an indoor bathroom were the family’s only modern conveniences, however. The town had no electricity. They lit a kerosene lamp for a couple hours each night, and Papá often read to the children then.

Later that day, Oscar held his head high as he entered the church in the central plaza for Father Monroy’s mass. He had worked with others to clean the sanctuary, and townswomen decorated it with sprays of flowers.

Oscar frequently stopped in this Ciudad Barrios church to pray. (1998 photo, Emily Will)

Following the service, the town mayor, Alfonso Leiva, called Oscar to speak with him and the two visitors.

“This young man has been interested in God’s work since he was a cipote, a little lad,” Mayor Leiva told the vicar-general and Father Calvo. “He’s bright and would make a fine priest.”

The vicar-general turned to Oscar. “Tell us about your education.”

“The minor seminary requires a solid foundation,” Father Calvo added. Oscar knew the priest taught at the minor seminary, or preseminary, in San Miguel city.

“I attended the public school here.” Oscar cast his gaze to the ground.

“Were you a good student?” the vicar-general asked.

“Maestra Anita said I was,” Oscar said quietly.

“The public school goes only through grade three,” the mayor informed the vicar and priest.

“Oh?” Father Calvo said. “Oscar had only three years of school?”

“No,” the mayor quickly replied. “His parents asked Anita Iglesias, the local teacher, to give Oscar private lessons for three additional years. Two hours a day.”

“I went to the school for the extra classes in the afternoons after the younger children left,” Oscar said.

“What’s more,” Mayor Leiva said, “Oscar enjoys music. He’s learned how to play his father’s flute.”

Aspirations

“An impressive achievement.” The vicar smiled at Oscar. “What do you say, Oscar? Do you want to become a priest? Learn the Gregorian chants?”

“I’ve always dreamt I would be a priest.”

“How about your parents? What do they say about your hopes?” the vicar-general asked.

“I don’t know if Papá would like it,” Oscar said. “He’s apprenticed me to a carpenter.”

“To my brother Juan,” Mayor Leiva put in.

While Oscar was dutiful in serving as Juan Leiva’s apprentice, sawing boards to fashion tables, doors, and coffins wasn’t what he envisioned for his future.

“Jesus worked as a carpenter before he began his ministry,” the vicar said. “You’d be following his example. And how about your mother?”

“She would like me to be a priest, if that’s what I want,” Oscar replied.

“Let’s talk with Don Santos later,” the mayor said to the vicar and Father Calvo. “It’s a big commitment to send a son off for many years of schooling.”

The mayor turned to Oscar. “We’ll see what your Papá has to say.”

“Thank you.” Oscar had no idea how Papá would respond to the idea. His going off to study would mean Oscar would not bring any income into the household. What’s more, he’d create new expenses for his parents.

After the churchmen left to return to San Miguel, Papá spoke with Oscar. “They’ve offered you a half scholarship,” he said. “The mayor speaks highly of your abilities and hard work.”

“Can we afford the other half of the tuition?” Oscar asked.

“It’ll be difficult, but we’ll give it a try. Father Calvo thought I’d be able to pay in coffee beans.”

“Thank you, Papá. I won’t disappoint you.” Oscar set his firm jaw in determination.

“Father Calvo left a list of clothing and other items you’ll need to take,” Papá said. “He’ll be back early next year and you’ll return to San Miguel with him.”

In the weeks ahead, Oscar thought about the people in his life who made it possible for him to follow his dream.

Papá, for one. Oscar chafed less at Papá’s iron hand at the helm of the household than did his brothers.14 Oscar feared Papá, but he was naturally obedient and therefore avoided some of the punishments Papá imposed. He also recognized how Papá gave them advantages not available to most other village children. He read books to them, encouraged their love of music, and taught them skills such as Morse code. He had taken time to teach Oscar how to read music and play an instrument.

Then there was Mamá, patient and understanding, who involved herself with each of her children.15 She modeled kindness. Whenever poor people came by the house, she invited them in for coffee, never looking down on those less fortunate. Oscar hoped to show such faith and charity.

Both parents sacrificed to pay Maestra Anita for Oscar’s three years of tutoring, and neither Zaída nor his brothers resented him for this extra opportunity.

Oscar owed a debt of gratitude to the mayor, who went out of his way to speak on his behalf, as did the priests who served his town.

It seemed as if God’s hand brought these people together so he might take the next steps to priesthood; as a Bible verse says: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”16 Now Oscar looked forward to God’s future plans for him.

4. Chapter 2 is based on 1998 interviews the author had in El Salvador with Oscar’s surviving siblings—Zaída, Mamerto, Arnoldo, and Gaspar—as well as with one of his half sisters; a first cousin on his mother’s side; a woman who as a young teen had worked for Niña Jesus in the household; and a preseminary classmate who later served for two periods as parish priest of Ciudad Barrios, where he came to know the people who had known Oscar in his youth.

Many details come from Don Santos’s “little black book,” then in Tiberio Arnoldo Romero’s possession. In the notebook, Santos jotted births and deaths, the towns and years in which he had served as telegrapher, various recipes for herbal medicines, amounts of money owed and paid, dates of major purchases, and similar details. Information was also gleaned from Jiménez and Navarrete, Reseña; Brockman, A Life; and Delgado, Biografía.

5. Brockman says the church official who visited Ciudad Barrios in 1930 for Father Monroy’s first hometown mass was the vicar-general of the San Miguel diocese (A Life, 35). Jiménez and Navarrete identify him as Monseñor Daniel Ventura Cruz, who “upon learning of Oscar Arnulfo’s calling, was interested in his studies and became the primary advocate of his vocation” (Reseña, 8). Almost two decades later, in a funeral oration for Ventura Cruz, Romero apologized for his failure to say anything at the earlier burial; he had been too torn up, mourning the loss of this prelate who had counseled and helped mold him as a young priest (Chaparrastique, no. 1715, April 10, 1948).

6. Father Benito Calvo Quinto, a Claretian brother from Spain, had been trekking to the town every so often to offer mass following the death of Father Cecilio Morales, the parish priest who had baptized Oscar on May 11, 1919, when Oscar was going on two years old.

7. The author speculates the name may have been Vallena, a wordplay on she goes full (as in milk) or the homonym Ballena, meaning whale, or it may have had no meaning. Oscar’s father named the cow; the surviving offspring did not know its meaning.

8. Names and birth dates of Oscar’s siblings are: Roque Gustavo, October 19, 1911; Aminta Isabel, September 11, 1913 (died as an infant); Oscar Arnulfo, August 15, 1917; Zaída Emerita, October 5, 1919; Rómulo Plutarco, December 2, 1921; Mamerto Obdulio, May 15, 1924; Tiberio Arnoldo, September 13, 1926; Santos Gaspar, September 15, 1929. The children also had three natural, or half sisters, in town by their father and two other women. The sisters were, according to Oscar’s brother Mamerto: Rubia de La O de Esperanza, Rosa Portillo Esperanza, and Candelaria Portillo. Natural, or out-of-wedlock, children were common and accepted. “We got along well and we visited one another. We didn’t have any problems,” Mamerto Romero said of relationships between Santos Romero’s legitimate and natural children.

Father Carlos L. Villacorta, one of the seminarians Romero mentored, explained in an August 5, 1999, phone conversation with the author that churchmen didn’t speak out against natural children because “75 to 80 percent of Salvadoran families have illegitimate children.”

9. In addition to the concert flute, according to Tiberio Arnoldo Romero, his father owned two other fine possessions: a pocket watch and a steelyard weighing scale.

10. Tiberio Arnoldo Romero believed his mother had taught school locally for a period before her marriage.

11. At the end of the nineteenth century, Oscar’s maternal grandfather, José Ángel Galdámez, purchased fertile but unused farmland ringing the base of the nearby volcano that the mayor’s office of Ciudad Barrios had put up for sale. Upon Oscar’s grandfather’s death, he divided the land, giving his son-in-law Santos Romero some 104 acres of it (Valencia and Arias, “Plática”).

12. The word pulgo has no meaning. Mamerto Romero described his father as quirky, a trait he said showed in his naming of his children, farm animals, and farm. At one point Don Santos had two kid goats, named Canario and Orión, whom he turned over to a local woman for two years so she could train them to pull carts. Much to his son Romulo’s chagrin, who hoped to use the goats to transport firewood to sell, Don Santos sold them to buy the cow.

13. Although several biographies describe Oscar as a weak, sickly child, the author’s interviews did not confirm this. Oscar suffered at least one serious early childhood illness, but he was not sickly in general. The confusion may come from the word débil, frequently used in Spanish to describe him as a child. While débil often means physical weakness, another meaning is akin to nerdy or brainiac—a difference cleared up for me when Mamerto Romero used débil to describe young Oscar in our interview, but went on to explain what he meant by it. By all accounts, Oscar was shy and introverted, but he had no difficulty with the farm or other physical chores, nor in walking the distances involved to do so. “He was timid, that’s the word. But for [physical] work he never had problems. He was strong,” Mamerto said.

14. Mamerto Obdulio Romero said about his father: “He was very strict. He didn’t let us get away with anything. Therefore, we were raised in an atmosphere so immersed in fear that we didn’t dare do anything disorderly in the house. And if we told him we were going out to play, he’d say, ‘One hour, from seven to eight.’ If we went over that time, we were punished.”

15. Gaspar Romero told the author that his mother did not scold or yell at her children for misbehavior, but rather talked with and counseled them. She often did not disclose her children’s misdeeds to her husband so they would avoid Papá’s punishment.

16. Rom 8:28 NIV