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Alicia Estévez
alicia.estevez@listindiario.com
died phyco. The neighbor across the street, in Seibo. From the gallery of my father’s house, my mother, who also passed away. Almost three years ago, I greeted him shouting, as happens in the villages. I seem to hear their conversation: “¿Doña Mercedes? How are you? you?”. “Hello, Fico, here we are. average bad & rdquo ;. And, later, he would tell him that I had some grapes for him and, naive as I was, since Fico was a well-known rancher from our town, I thought that now he grew grapes. I never asked, but I guessed because if not, where did she get those beautiful corsages that I saw so many times in my mom’s fridge when I went to visit her?
The mystery of the grapes
After the death of our neighbor of five decades, my sister Libertad revealed to me the mistery. Fico, Federico Oscar Morales Aybar, bought the grapes here, in Santo Domingo, in a specific supermarket, where he said they were the best, and he took the trouble to take them to my mother, an octogenarian old woman, who saw him grow up and become the boyfriend of the beautiful Dolores, with whom Fico came to town. to marry three times and now she is his widow.
Yes, we were
At the wake that was held for Fico here, in Santo Domingo, before transferring his remains to his beloved Seibo, Dolores’s sister, Miguelina, recounted her brother-in-law’s longing for the town we knew as a young man. Venes and his strange idea that his funeral would not be attended by people. He was wrong, the friends and relatives who went to see him off didn’t fit in the room. Some with tears, like Karyna, his closest neighbor, wife of Carlos Goico, another lifelong neighbor of ours and a relative of Fico.
He kept a legacy
On his side, Father Franchi Lluberes recalled the faith of that man, equal to that of his mother, Mrs. Saida, with whom he has already met, and from which Fico, too, inherited. his love for plants. The wonderful garden of Doña Saida, when she left, remained untouched. almost the same thanks to him. Whenever I look at his house, I think of the fidelity, care and respect of that son for keeping a legacy from his mother; that to others may seem superficial, and it is not. A garden requires love and dedication and, with it, we perfume the air that surrounds us and beautify the life of those who look at it. Fico knew it, he had a high spirit, he was a literate rancher, I know that. Sometimes, it came He called me to discuss issues that concerned him, with his humorous style, he tackled difficult situations with such grace that I couldn’t stop laughing during the conversation.
Keep in the habit
And now he’s gone. At the funeral home were his widow, his beloved grandson and his children Melina and Fiquito. The last time I saw Melina, before that moment, she was dressed as a bride, our neighbors were kind enough to invite us to her wedding. Before the corpse of her father, I hugged her. Fiquito, a man with an adult son, whom I always think of as if he were still a child, the baby. whose first year I attended excited because it was a great party. I hope that he, and his uncle Ramón Elpidio, take care of the Garden of Doña Saida and maintain the custom of greeting from sidewalk to sidewalk, now, my brothers who mourn Fico’s death so much, for whose good soul I will pray forever, until we meet again. Hopefully, we will also be neighbors in heaven.