America Domitro Terlebauca ....

America Domitro Terlebauca ......

A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
T. S. Eliot

Un dia como hoy . nace en la Villa de Guanabacoa
America Domitro Terlebauca. Sus padres Ivan Domi-
tro y Rufina Terlebauca eran natural de Bukowina
Bucovina / Bukovyna, Rumania, convertida em Ucrania.
Debido a la falta de oportunidades ambos conyugues
planearon dejar Bucovina con la esperanza que en
el continente Americano lograrian un mejor futuro.
El matrimonio planeaban viajar con dos niñas y un
niño. Rufina estaba embarazada,y aunque no hacia
planes imaginaba que los tramites que tenian que
hacer les demoraria lo suficiente para poder tener
su pacto antes del gran viaje. El matrimonio man-
tuvo en secreto sus planes, por no hacer sufrir a
la familia. El nerviosismo de la joven madre era
a tal grado estremo que le nacio sietemesinos el
cuarto hijo , al que llamo Tara naciendo este un
30 de diciembre del 1930. Comenzando el año 1931,
los visados llegaron. Si le espera fue dramatica
mas dramatica fue la partida. Cuando Ivan y Rufina
fueron con sus hijos a despedirse de la madre de
Rufina , esta tomo entre sus brazos a la hija mayor
de la paraja sin soltarla, la situacion fue terrible,
la pareja hubo de marcharse sin la niña , corriendo
hacia el vehiculo que los llevaria al barco que los
llevaria a AMERICA. Ivan, Rufina, Maria, Atanasio
y el joven Tara lograron llegar a tiempo al arribo
del barco. La travesia fue triste, atras quedaba su
hija mayor, y todos los seres que les amaban y con
los cuales habian ambos crecido.... Mientras deposi-
taban en una caja de zapatos al sietemesinos...la
pareja logro llegar sin contratiempo a America,con
destino a Cuba. Cuatro años despues en la Villa de
Guanabacoa un dia 25 de noviembre del 1935 les nacia
otra hija la que llamaron America.

PD despues de mucho años Rufina visito a su hija...


← Journey of the Magi
- T.S. Eliot

A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times when we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities dirty and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.

Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wineskins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory.

All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.


For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times when we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities dirty and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.

Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wineskins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory.

All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.